She dropped him down here, closed the trapdoor, then ushered me inside to make a home out of a crime scene. I’ve been living with a murderer wearing the skin of my sister.
“How are they that…” I search for the word and bite down on my tongue to keep from retching.
“Clean?” Bridget squats beside the bones. “No idea. There’s no decay. Only bones.” She examines them while I struggle to keep my nausea at bay.
I need open air, away from this cursed room. Is there another explanation? The lighthouse keeper could’ve been a drunkard, been a villain, attacked my sister, been found dead already—
“Liney?”
My head swims as chills run up my spine. I’m unanchored.
“Hey, hey now—it’s all right.” I can barely hear Bridget as she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Lean against that wall. I’ll investigate.”
I press my back against the cool stone. But cold doesn’t fix cold. I’llfreeze, ocean to ice.
Bridget reaches down to the bones.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a panic.
“Shouldn’t we collect them? If not to confront your sister, at least to give him a proper burial?”
It is the kind thing to do, though I don’t wish to. Finally facing my sister’s crime, I want to turn away. I yearned to know more for so long. To piece together the ripped edges of our lives and stitch them back together. And now? I’m a coward.
“Liney?” Bridget asks, her voice soft but insistent.
“A moment. Please.”
Bridget turns away and picks up a bone near the top of the pile. She turns it in her hands. I make myself watch since I won’t do it myself. That was in a person. It’s been given no more respect than the discarded bones of a fish. I shiver, too aware of my own skeleton.
“I don’t know why I thought they’d be wet,” she admits. “Dry as a bone.” She’s holding back a laugh at the realization.
I let out a tear-choked laugh. Even down here, in the dark heart of my sister’s sin, she’s found a way to thaw me from the fear. I take a few steps away from the wall, toward her. If she can be brave half a world away from home and nearly killed twice on the same island, I can be too. I put a hand on her shoulder, squeeze it. She leans her head against my arm.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admits, grimacing.
“Anyone deserves better than this.” Frustration tinges my voice. “I wish we could talk to him.”
“Talk?” Bridget’s eyebrows turn up. “I know you love your sister, but I don’t know how much clearer it could be that—”
I wring the frustration out of my hands. “I’m not saying she didn’t do this. He’d merely have a lot to say about who threw him down here. Left him alone.”
Bridget holds the bone level with the floor, cradling it carefully.Neither of us says it, but we both bow our heads for a moment. I close my eyes and offer a small prayer.Let us know how to put this soul to rest.
I want to apologize to him, yet I know that’s far too little and I’m not the one he needs an apology from. Where do we go from here? How can I look in Elle’s eyes again without seeing this room, these bones? Why did she just leave them here, so close to me? Did she mean to tell me eventually? My throat constricts. Am I having another asthma attack? My eyes, swollen, burn from tears. I breathe in as deep as I can, shallower than I’d like but not dangerous. At least not yet. I scrunch my face tight.
Bridget’s hand grasps mine and pushes against me gently, like the last time I had an attack. I concentrate on that connection, warmth replacing fear.
“Bridget,” I whisper, weak between long breaths but full of gratitude.
“Liney. Something’s happening.”
I open my eyes, blink a few times to clear the bleary streaks, taking one more breath as deep as I can rattle. It’s not getting worse. Good. I’ll survive the basement yet.
The streaks aren’t going away. I squint. It’s not my eyes. It’s in the room. The air above the pile of bones simmers.
“Our breath? Disturbing the air?” Bridget suggests in a rush. She can see a pile of bones without a pause, but this has her squeezing my hand again. “Gas, maybe?”
It’s hard to look at the streaks, like the edges of a mirage or the sun.
