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“They…burned alive in a car accident.”

THIRTY-FIVE

“This world holds no semblance of sanity. It shifts and ridicules like a sentient being.”

— VICTOR LAZARUS

By morning, I waste no time. Sleepless or not, I have breakfast with Kieran to keep up appearances then spend most of the afternoon listening to him drone on about his vintage record collection. My fault for asking a question with no merciful end. By evening, I write everything down in a journal. What if Sara Wren was me? I don’t feel like her. Every word I’ve read so far feels borrowed, like her life is being pushed into me and my body is rejecting it. Still, this helps the pile of evidence I’m building against Kieran.

And then when Kieran disappears, I slip easily from the estate, Misty trudging behind me without hesitation. Something tells me my furry guardian has more understanding of what’s happening than I do. We descend the limestone staircase carved into the cliffside, staying hidden in the shadows. The sea crashes below in restless intervals, but I no longer flinch at the sound. The first night I feared it; now it feels like a bystander.

“Watch this you fucker.” I raise a middle finger to the sea.

The shore is slick and black beneath the moon, waves reaching for my boots as I hurry toward the crevasse. I push through and see Christian standing at its opening, shoulders squared, jaw tight. He’s been waiting for me.

“Sorry I took so long,” I say lightly, offering him a smile.

“I would wait for you, an eternity and more.”

“You’re not getting in my pants,” I counter facetiously. I did, in fact, want him in my pants.

“Come on little bird, we have a lot to do.” His hand moves to the small of my back as we enter the jagged passageway.

When we take a step into its shadows, a sting lances along my spine. “Ow.” My hand moves to the spot Christian’s hand now hovers over.

“You, okay?”

The pain fizzles.

“Yeah—this place gives me the creeps.”

“I’m surprised it allowed me to find it,” Christian remarks as he cranes his head to study the dead trees that form bridges across the crevasse.

We continue our steady pace ahead. At this hour of the night, the water trickles in higher between the cliff faces but I feel steadier than I did the first time. Less like prey hustling through a maze and more like a participant. I feel safe. Or safer with him than I have with anyone else.

It’s dark, and smells of rotten eggs and salt. I stifle a gag and move closer to Christian. Only when the darkness of the cove swallows us entirely does he switch on his lantern. The warm beam of light slices down the narrow tunnel.

“This way.” I gesture ahead, leading him toward the chamber entrance. We pass the diverging tunnel and ahead to the lab. If we have the time, I want to explore what’s down that dark passageway.

The metal stairs groan beneath our weight as we climb, and when we push through the heavy door, a red glow washes over us. The chambers remain the same as they were a few days ago: bodies suspended in viscous fluid, a tangle of limbs, protruding bones and slackened facial features. The same human faces now appear to be awake, the whites of their open eyes stark against the gelatinous liquid their bodies are suspended in.

“Camera.” I hold out a hand. Christian passes a rusting Polaroid camera to me without another word. A grimace contorts his features as he examines the cylinders, then the assortment of tools scattered nearby. There are bone fragments laid across the table he searches.

“You know…” Christian begins as he picks up a handful of bones. “There was a time when Kieran and I weren’t enemies.” He gently lays down each small piece of bone, his expression shifting to one of hesitant confusion. The red-light cuts across his features, highlighting his villainously handsome face. He then plucks up a small glass bottle with clear liquid inside.

“Tell me more,” I reply, turning back to my evidence, knowing that time will evade us.

The flash of my camera highlights fresh blood smeared across the base of a chamber. Stooping closer to the cylinder, I memorialize the gelatinous liquid into a photograph. The blood has a thick, crimson sheen unlike the liquid pooling at the top of the chamber. Had Kieran collected another body? This blood is fresh.

“We were best friends until the end of sophomore year,” Christian continues in the background. “His mother worked for my father before my stepmother took over the house. This is after my mother passed, of course. We were inseparable. And idiots. Well, I was an idiot to trust a Lazarus. You never trust a Lazarus.”

Meanwhile, I was urged to trust a Lazarus for him to unravel himself to me.

“There was a prank,” Christian says evenly. “Soap on the teacher’s lounge floor. Harmless, right? I don’t know what he added to it, but it started a fire. Half the building burned in thirty minutes. A witness only saw me, and a single picture he left behind corroborated that story. My father pulled me from school before any action could mar my record.”

“And Kieran?” I ask.

“Tucked tail and kept hidden. Obviously, no matter what I said, no one believed me. He’s only good for creating pawns and using them.”