Can doing nothing, my antithesis, be my salvation? No more deaths on my soul. Douglas can rejoice. What a madwoman he must’ve thought me, declaring a death warrant on an illusion.
“We can get into the particulars later,” I dismiss the topic before Liney can pepper me with questions. “It’s an idea I’m considering. And I’ll continue to consider so long as you continue improving.”
Liney’s beam blooms hope in my chest. I can be a good sister when the circumstances present themselves.
“One request,” she begs. “It’d be good for me to walk outside. The air always does such good for my breathing, even Mother would let me walk in the gardens after an episode. I’d be ready for a journey much quicker.”
It’s hard to say no to Liney. Yet, despite every positive sign, my paranoia is slow to cool. Liney must prove her seriousness to me, and I must prove my humanity to her. Plus, this could be a test of my illusion theory. Liney has no reason to lie to me about a survivor. It’d be foolish for the girl to stay out in the elements if Liney offers our home. If she comes back with a girl on her arm, I’ll know action is needed. If not, she can enjoy the island as she always has and stay out of my hair while I plan our trip.
“Keep away from the harbor side. Stay in the forest. Mind any passing fishing boats. And not for long stretches, or when it rains, or—”
Liney springs from her chair and wraps her arms around me in a hug so strong it nearly chokes me. I can practically feel her smile pressed in my hair. So different from the night she shoved the table and showered me with sour asparagus.
“I love you,” she says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I can’t remember the last time one of us said that. My little ghost, my secret sunshine, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. She still loves me though I’ve clipped her wings.
“Oh, and Elle, I know you said no one survived,” she adds as she’s putting on the same jacket she wore the night of the storm, “but on the off chance I find someone, wouldn’t it be most prudent to bring them here? I keep worrying that someone may steal our boat if they’ve been out there all this time.”
She grimaces at me. It reminds me of a time, years ago, when she brought a dying butterfly to me in the garden. The thing had come out of its chrysalis too early. It was doomed. Yet she thought I could save it. I told her to find the red can of powder in the kitchen. It was just baking powder, but it forced her out of the garden for long enough that I could find another butterfly. She thought it an act of magic. I buried the dead butterfly, still glistening from its semitransformation, in the shade of our oldest oak.
“You won’t,” I say, as much to remind myself as her. “I hate false hope, little ghost.”
“But if I—”
Something snaps. The tension of days without knowing if I’m lying to her or not. She’s got a point. If someone lives on the island, I need to know about it.
“Yes, fine!” Too loud, too sharp. She’s only a sick girl who wishes she could’ve helped. Nothing will come of it. That’s a lesson she can learn on her own. “Just go.”
I shoo her out the door, gritting my teeth until they slip and I bite my tongue. I pound a hand hard on the counter to stop from making noise in case Liney can still hear. My fist leaves a small dent in the wood. I spit into the sink, mostly bright red with a few dark globs of something sticky, like a blood clot. It smells off. Like rotting meat. Which of my bargains is this a result of ? I carefully poke at my tongue. My canine sliced through the muscle. It’ll heal, but it’ll sting and bleed plenty first.
It doesn’t take long for Douglas to appear. He keeps his distance, just on the edge of my vision across the room. What did he make of that conversation? I spit out another mouthful of blood, then swallow my pride.
“I’m sorry, D—Mr. Douglas.” Will some respect earn me enough goodwill to get the truth out of him? “For my assumptions of you and your intentions.”
He turns, moving to the middle of the room. He thinks himself noble, but the drama paints a different portrait.
“I’m no longer planning any…” I can’t say it.Murders. Killings. Slaughter.
“What was that?” he asks, putting a hand to his ear. “Any what?”
This is worse than confession. I should not care to even the score with a man beyond the grave. Not that he has a grave. He’s a pile of bones beneath us.
“I’m done,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ve found a solution. Liney saw an illusion, as she’s been doing for months without my knowing. I saw it too, so it had to have been a trick. Thus, I’ve not seen another living person outside my family. I’ll send her on errands and never see another but Liney for the rest of my life. No one will pay for my misdeeds.”
He doesn’t relax or, as I dared hope, smile. Is that more tension in his shoulders now?
“What could you have to fault me for in this?” I ask, keeping every word quiet to fight my natural reaction to his sad eyes. Will he correct me? Mention a visitor?
He gazes back to the unmade bed. “Liney trusts you again, but I don’t.”
He’s impossible. I go against my nature for them both, and this is my thanks? I stand, begin pacing. There must be a way to explain this. I’m right. I’m doing the right thing.
“It’s a good plan. I’ll—”
“It’s still aplan, Elle!” he shouts. My name slips through. Notgirlfor once. It’s more than just his shouting that has my hair spike on my arms. “Yet another plan! A loophole, a scheme to avoid your fate. You couldn’t find it in yourself to do the right thing until it benefited you again.”
I stop pacing, staring him down from across the dining table. He won’t take it well if I ask directly. Yet he doesn’t understand.
