“Are you sure?” Norton said. “Won’t you reconsider, given the day they’ve had?”
They, not we. I didn’t expect Norton to clink glasses with the others, but considering how upset he’d been that morning and how well he knew Jasper, it was a strange choice of words. They suggested he alone was free of emotion. Distanced him from the family.
“It’s tradition,” he went on. “The cocktails, the formal attire. It might seem trivial to you, but I know it would mean a lot to Mrs. Sinclair to be doing something normal with the family. It’s a comfort, if you know what I mean.”
I didn’t bother pointing out that Camilla, still resting upstairs, hadn’t been with her family for hours. I was too busy wondering why Norton was dead set on plying the family with drinks. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but it isn’t appropriate.”
Suddenly, Flynn was in my face. “I thought I made myself clear. You don’t tell us what to do.”
Tim pushed his way between us. “Cool it, Mr. Sinclair. Relax. He’s fine.”
That last part, Tim meant for me. I wasn’t sure why, at first. Then I felt an explosion of pain and realized with a start my hand was once again on my gun.
I wouldn’t be where I am today if I had a problem with self-control. I have a remarkable ability to stay calm, even when the situation’s dire. That’s what Carson called it when I told him what I’d been through: a remarkable ability to remain calm. Cops who can’t keep their shit together don’t stay alive. Some of it’s muscle memory, sure. We’re trained to react. Nibble your nails, think it through, and you’ll have a bullet in your neck long before you make a call. There’s a time and place for a freak-out, and it isn’t while you’re on the job.
What I experienced in that hallway was different. I had no recollection of pulling my weapon on Ned in the library until the muzzle was inches from his face, and couldn’t have been more surprised to find it there than if it flew through the window on wings. Now I’d nearly done the same thing with Flynn. My arm trembled. Flynn wasn’t backing down. His breath, hot on my face, reeked of stale coffee, but I couldn’t move out of its path. I couldn’t take my hand off my weapon either. My fingers were welded in place.
“Bebe’s right,” said Flynn. “You small-town detectives are pathetic. I should never have let Norton call you. You can’t help us find Jasper. You can’t even find your own ass.”
I wanted to tell him to back off, that he was asking for trouble, but the bulk of my energy went toward keeping my hand on my weapon. Flynn was losing it, and if he moved on me I couldn’t be sure what I’d do.
“Don’t you get it?” Like paper in the blades of a shredder, Flynn drove the words through his teeth. A trail of spittle swung from his lower lip, and as he shouted it splattered, warm and wet, on my cheek. “We invited you to this island, this private island. It’s time for you to go.”
“You think you invited us here?” My voice was high, my ears under pressure. I swallowed to clear them, but no dice. I felt like I was underwater.
“That’s not how this works,” Tim said. His hands were up like he was miming the act of holding us back. Tim had more than enough muscle to contain Flynn, but he just stood there doing nothing. Small-town detectives are pathetic.
“Your brother’s gone,” I said. “All that’s left of him is a bloodstain the size of a goddamn garden pond.”
“Watch your mouth,” said Bebe, “you’re in the presence of an innocent child.” She tried to wrap a protective arm around Jade’s shoulder. The kid recoiled from her touch.
“That child dumped boiling water on my hand for her own entertainment.” Even before the words left my mouth, I was sure. The spill was deliberate, and Jade was as sadistic as the rest of them. “Jade’s a long way from innocent. Are you aware she’s obsessed with her uncle? Or that her gossiping may have gotten him killed?”
“Shana,” Tim muttered, startling me. He’d broken character, undermined me by using my first name. I ignored him and blinked hard. The walls of the hallway were closing in.
“How dare you,” Bebe shouted as Jade’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll have you fired for this!”
Something happened to her then. As I watched, Bebe Sinclair changed. Her features became a collection of bloated, oversized parts. I knew it was an illusion, a quadrant of my brain adjusting her face to match the person I now knew her to be, but the effect was alarming. Breathe, I told myself. Let these images go and connect with the breath. But my mind was a zoo with the gates flung open, my thoughts stampeding like underfed beasts. There were skeletons in every closet here, hidden by people who shuffled grudges like playing cards, their diamonds with edges like blades. In the game this family played, the only hearts dealt out were bloodied and beaten until there wasn’t a beat left. In that moment, my perspective shifted. These people all looked like monsters to me.
I listened to Carson’s voice inside my head.
In your case, Shay, I believe you’re under extreme psychological stress. What happened with Bram, it messed with your mind. To put it simply, you’re no longer able to separate fact from fiction. We call this cognitive dissonance. Your beliefs are in conflict, fighting against each other, and that impacts your ability to make value judgments. You can’t trust yourself to know right from wrong. You’ll feel fear when you’re safe, see a threat where there’s none. And you’ll experience the aftereffects of this debilitating condition for a long, long time to come.
“Was it you?” I scrutinized Bebe’s hideous face. “Did you hold a pillow over his mouth when you stabbed him, or did you jump at the chance to watch him die?”
She gasped. Near the stairs, Abella wiped her mouth on her sleeve and swayed in place. My chest constricted under my shirt. No, not my shirt—Camilla’s. A million ants zigzagged over my arms, and when I clawed at the fabric I swear I felt their globular bodies pop and ooze under my nails. Hours and hours I’d been on the island. The incubation period was almost up. These people were sick, I was at risk of contamination, and nothing, not even my clothing, felt safe. Under the gauze my hand throbbed. They did this to me, I thought. They caused all of this.
“This is outrageous!” Flynn strained against Tim to reach me. His voice was deafening.
“Or was it you?” I said, staring up at him. I had to know. I needed to hear I wasn’t insane, that Jasper was dead and they’d killed him. “How does it feel to know you’ll never have to compete with your perfect little brother again? I’ll find Jasper like Camilla asked me to, don’t you worry. He’s in the river, Mr. Sinclair. Right where you put him.”
Several things happened at once. Flynn shoved Tim aside and lunged at me. One of the women screamed. Before I could stop myself I drew my weapon, found my target, and squeezed the trigger.