Ellie had worn a black skirt and red flutter top and high heels. It was the same outfit as the night in the courtyard. The same outfit she’d seen her in that whole last summer—how could Hannah not have noticed?
But Ellie had been real, at least to Julia and now to Hannah. Ellie had been as real as earth and soil and river and stone.
It was possible that she just hadn’t been alive.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Then
August 2, 2002, 12:30 a.m.
It sounded like rain on her window. Faint, pebbly, but lacking the rhythm of a summer storm. Hannah’s eyes opened, blurry, then focused on the ceiling, the intricate medallion that encircled the chandelier, visible only by the moonlight streaming through her bedroom windows.
Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat, sounding like a spray from a hose. Or pebbles.
Pebbles.
Hannah rushed to the window, pushed the heavy wood casement out, and stuck her head outside into the humid night air.
Wyatt.
“What are you doing?” she snapped. His hair curled on his forehead, and he wore a rumpled T-shirt and mesh shorts.
“I’m sorry. I’m a jerk. Can we just talk?” he stage-whispered.
“Go away, Wyatt. You’ve done enough.” Hannah felt the ache in her chest. The vision of Julia’s red nails curled around Wyatt’s hair flashed in her mind, and she felt sick, her throat constricted. She pulled the window in and had started to latch it shut when she saw Julia, her blonde head appearing below.
“Hannah, wait!” Julia called, and Hannah paused. “Just come down and talk to him. I didn’t know, okay?”
“Whatever. You guys can have each other.”
“Please just come down? I want to talk to you too.”
“Why, so you can both act like I’m a child? A crazy kid with a puppy-dog crush? No thanks, both of you.” Hannah pulled the window shut, latched it tight, and crawled back into bed, pulling the coverlet to her chin. Below, she heard the faint murmuring of voices and felt sick. Would they just pick up where they’d left off?
She imagined them below, kissing, Wyatt caressing Julia’s face and her back the way he used to touch Hannah. She pulled her legs up to her chin and moaned. Why did they call it heartbreak? She felt like her whole body was breaking.
A creak on the staircase, and suddenly Julia stood there, between their rooms. Looking uncertain. Beautiful. Hannah hated her. She wanted to claw at her sister’s face. Imagined leaving a scratch with her nails, deep and red, that would later turn to a purple scar. She wouldn’t be the beautiful one; she’d be the ruined one.
“Hannah.” Her voice floated through the darkness, and Hannah’s stomach coiled. “I have to go to the police, okay?”
Hannah sat up, narrowed her eyes. “What? Why?”
“There’s so much you don’t know, but I need you to trust me.”
Hannah let out a laugh. “What?”
“I know. I can’t ask for it. I can barely bring myself to say it. But on this, I have to. Things are . . . unraveling. Something’s happened, and I’m afraid for us.” Pause. “It’s Fae.”
This time Hannah laughed for real. “That’s ridiculous.”
Julia stepped into the room, her face visible in the full moonlight. Stricken. Pale. Terrified.
Hannah almost felt something for her. Almost.
“I know it seems that way to you. Aunt Fae killed someone. I can’t explain it all right now, but I know it’s true. I confronted her, and she flipped out and screamed at me. We aren’t safe here. I have to tell someone. I have to tell the police.” She took a deep breath and continued, her voice small. “Will you come with me?”
“What? No.”
Her sister was a liar. There was no way Hannah was getting involved in going to the police over something her sister had invented. Besides, Julia had spent the whole summer ignoring Hannah. Why should Hannah do anything for her?
“I’m going with or without you. I’m telling the police everything I know.”
Hannah felt a stab of fear. “Then what will happen?” she whispered.
“They’ll come arrest Aunt Fae and maybe Uncle Stuart. They aren’t good people, Hannah. You have to know that.”
“Then what happens to us?” Hannah pressed, her voice pitching higher.
“We’ll go home, I’m sure.”
“Home. Like to Plymouth.”
In the moonlight, Julia nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you love it here, but you don’t know everything.”
“That’s because you haven’t spoken to me all fucking summer!” Hannah let it loose. Her blood rushed in her veins, and her temples throbbed. Her sister was going to ruin everything.
“I’m sorry, Han. I love you.” Her voice was desperate, pleading, her cheeks pinked and shiny.
Her sister had ruined Wyatt.
Her sister was going to ruin Brackenhill.
Her sister was going to ruin Fae and Stuart.
Hannah would not be made to leave. She would not go back to Plymouth a minute early. What waited for her there? The creak of a bedroom door. A cold hand on her thigh. The smell of cigarettes and beer.
When Hannah said nothing, Julia sighed. She turned to leave and paused at the door. “I have to go. I hope you understand.”
And she was gone.
August 2, 2002, 4:42 a.m.
Hannah woke up in the courtyard. She was in her nightgown, but she wore sneakers. The hem of her nightgown was soaking wet. She’d been crying.
In the dream she’d followed Julia down the path, a sick pulse in her head. A rage she hadn’t known existed had seemed to burn her from the inside out. Her hands had clenched in fists.
The sky was inky blue, a streak of purple dawn along the horizon.
She missed her sister. The sister of summers past, when they’d been partners. Best friends. Confidantes. Her shoulders racked with sobs, tears and snot on her face, as she stumbled inside and up the stairs and crawled back into her bed.
She was just so goddamn tired.
Later she’d remember Julia standing between their bedroom doors, her hair tangled. Dirt and tears streaked tracks down her face, her mouth open like she was a trout from the Beaverkill, eyes wide and glassy.
“Hannah, please,” she’d said.
When Hannah blinked, she was gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Now
Wyatt left Hannah in the greenhouse with a promise to come back later for the truck. “I need a forensic team. Again.” He sighed when he said it, and Hannah felt the need to apologize.
Back at the house, Hannah rattled around, restless. She opened and closed the kitchen drawers, looking for what, she didn’t know. Just looking. In the drawer under the sink she found the fleur-de-lis key. Huck must have put it back before he’d left. She tucked it into her sweatshirt pocket. There had to be a door it opened somewhere, right?
She pulled out a cutting board and began peeling carrots for dinner, tossing pieces to Rink on the floor. He loved carrots. Hannah wanted to make soup. Something to warm her from the inside. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. She thought of Huck back at their condo in Virginia. The white, clean kitchen. Stainless steel appliances. Hardwood floors. Cream and neutral throw rugs. Everything modern and styled and bright and functional. It seemed like another life, belonging to another person. The shape of her had changed—she no longer fit in that house. She imagined herself there, dirty as a chimney sweep. Here felt better, like home. Damp and musty and dark.