A person had died.
Here.
She’d thought it was possible, when she saw the husk of the Lake House, but knowing it intellectually and seeing it right in front of her—
“She’s not burned,” Mariana whispered.
Shakily, Claire stood up and made herself turn to face the others—and the body. She saw that Mariana was right. Therewas no sign of burns, scorched clothes, or singed hair, at least not that she could see. There was so very much blood....
“She was shot,” Reyva said flatly.
“How can you tell?” Claire asked.
Reyva just looked at her.
“It could have been...” Claire trailed off. She didn’t know what else it could have been, but none of them were doctors or coroners, so Reyva could be wrong... or not. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “You think she was shot?”
Wordlessly, Reyva pointed to the woman’s right shoulder, then chest, then thigh.
“I’ve never seen a dead body before,” Mariana said, hushed. “What are we supposed to do? Who do you think she was? Was she the program director? Ms. Williams?”
“Maybe it was an accident,” Claire said.
“You don’t shoot someone multiple times by accident,” Reyva said. She knelt next to the body. Claire didn’t know how Reyva could stand to be so close. She felt like bolting or vomiting or both.
“Who did this?” Claire asked.
“How should I know?” Reyva said.
Mariana asked, “But you think she was m-m-murdered?”
“Yes,” Reyva said. “And I do think it’s the program director. Or was. Jack said she was supposed to meet us.”
Claire took a deep breath and then another. She couldn’t taste the hint of smoke in the air anymore, which meant she’d gotten used to it. In another minute, she suspected she’d get used to the dead body here. One of the advantages, if one could call it that,of always imagining the worst-case scenario was that it didn’t take her long to process all the ramifications of their situation.
And the worst part wasn’t that there was a dead body here.
The worst part was that somewhere out there... was a killer.
Three
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Don’t scream.
Claire had imagined what it would be like to see a dead body. Did other people—didnormalpeople—do that? She suspected they didn’t, at least not on a regular basis. She’d pictured one on a subway platform, one on a street, another in a hospital bed. She’d run through dozens of macabre scenarios, yet never envisioned stumbling on one in a dark wood. That kind of thing felt relegated to horror movies. Yet here she was. In real life.
Beside her, Mariana was whispering, “Oh dear God, wake up, Mariana. It’s a dream. You’re asleep. Wake the hell up.”
“You aren’t asleep,” Reyva said flatly. “And this isn’t the time for freaking out. We have to figure out what to do.”
“I think it’sexactlythe time for freaking out!” Mariana said. “It’s a tailor-made time for freaking out. How are you both taking this so calmly?”
Without changing inflection, Reyva said, “Oh no. Ahh. Eeeeee.”
