Wet fabric rustled like Heather was crouching in front of her. “People like me get away with a lot, Marlowe. I could show you the same mercy you showed my fiancé .” Her voice was strung tight. “But there’s power in forgiveness. I forgive you, Marlowe. For everything.”
Getting preached at after being beaten was a new low for her.
And she had seen some lows over the years. Marlowe traced every trial and tribulation back to Heather—the kiss before cabin 13, her parent’s boating accident 4th ofJuly, being trapped by a lake monster—but she could have finally been at peace if she had only killed her. A now unrecognized, futile dream.
“Go to hell.” Marlowe dug out the words from the roots of her clenched teeth and spat them at her. She wouldn’t forgive Heather, even if she had five minutes to live, even if she ended up serving thirty years in a concrete cell. Forgiveness was freedom, but resentment had given Marlowe a backbone and ensured she was still here, even if—
“Marlowe.” She could barely hear from the dirt crusted in her ears. But it didn’t sound like Heather. Too quiet, almost scared. She said her name, louder.
Marlowe’s eyes cracked open. Her hand brushed against something rounded and heavy, the small lake waves rolling it against her. Her fingers curled into the pitted surface and her thumb squelched into Kenny’s eye socket. She snatched her hand away, stomach churning.
But Heather wasn’t looking at her. The familiar smell of decay wormed into Marlowe’s nose. Her chin scraped along the ground as she slowly turned her gaze to the lake, searching, hardly daring to hope. Something dark rose from the water out of the corner of her eye.
“Hey, easy…I remember you…” Heather’s coaxing voice dripped like acid into Marlowe’s ears even as it wavered witha note of uncertainty. “I have someone coming…to help—”
Pike leaped from the water in a flash of bloody teeth.
Miss Marlowe With The Oar
Pike tore into Heather's arm and dragged her in, tail frothing the water to foam behind it. Blood streamed from the needle-teeth wound on Heather’s arm, strips of flesh dangling in the mud, and she made a choked, gurgling scream, fingers scrabbling along the shoreline.
Fins cut through the water.
Pike.
Disappearing in the lake.
Heather clawed at the shore in front of Marlowe, heaving her body out of the lake with one arm, the other held tight against her chest, legs kicking sporadically likethere were weights tied to them. She crawled to the truck, sobbing, begging, leaving a dark smear on the ground.
Pike surfaced, tendrils snapping around her head, eyes rolled white. She snarled from deep within, tongue writhing in her gaping mouth like a trapped snake trying to shed its skin, as her jaw swung, unhinged to her chest, and she pounded her webbed hands into the mud. Her tail thrashed behind her and Pike lunged onto shore, jaw gouging a trail through silt under her as she crawled, her tongue lashing.
Pike would never make it to Heather before she found the keys.
Hand over hand on the slippery oar, wedging it in the ground, Marlowe staggered to her feet, swaying in place. Pikecame back. Pike came back, and they needed help, and even though she was beaten halfway to hell, Marlowe was going to give it to them.
Heather snot-bubble sobbed as she glanced behind her, one leg thrown over the tailgate. Her ribbon was gone.
God, she wouldn’t shut up. Pike should have her at the bottom of the lake by now.
Heather disappeared in the truck bed, empty cans scattering in a clash of metal. Marlowe shuffled closer, hunched and twinging with each movement.
When she curled her fingers over the tailgate, careful to avoid the rust, she readied herself for Heather brandishing her tire-iron to bash her head in and end it all.
Pike snarled behind her.
Shallow, quick breathing filled the truck bed.
Marlowe bit back a groan and steadied her footing, using the oar to pull herself up.
Heather curled in a bed of beer cans, her shredded, venom-sticky hand bleeding a puddle onto her camp shirt. Red seeped into the outlines of pine trees. Only her eyes moved, pinning Marlowe in place with white, panicked flashes.
Pine and vanilla coated Marlowe’s tongue in a bitter memory. The reason for Heather’s escape—nearescape.
Marlowe glanced behind her, but Pike had slowed to a crawl, jaw hinging back into place and tail going limp behind her. No telling how much of Kenny she’d eaten or how soon she would regain a burst of strength.
Marlowe lowered herself to sit on the wheel well, her oar balanced across trembling legs. “You almost made it.”
A brittle rasping sound scraped out of Heather’s mouth.
