“Yes, you are,” Kit says. “You’re leaving now. If you won’t go willingly, we’ll find another way to get rid of you.”
She glares at Jeremiah, her lips a flat line. After a minute he sighs, opens the cabin door, and bangs it closed behind him. The door rattles on its hinges.
Gordon turns to Kit. “Don’t think for a second that you’re scot-free in all of this. I don’t know what you’ve done, Ms. Collins, but you can bet I’ll be back once I figure it out.”
Kit puts her hands on her hips. “So that’s it? You’re going to ditch Wisewood?”
He gazes out the window. “I’ll return when I have Teacher with me.”
The corners of Kit’s lips turn up. Gordon doesn’t catch it, but I do.
“Then take my sister with you,” she says. “She’s been dying to leave Wisewood since the minute she arrived.”
Finally I speak up. “I want to talk to you first, Kit. Alone.”
“I have nothing left to say.”
I grind my teeth. “Then you can listen.”
“I need to pack a bag,” Gordon says. “I’ll meet you at the pier in forty minutes.”
Kit puts her hand out. “I’ll take back that scarf.”
“Not a chance. It belongs to Teacher.” He heads for the door.
I block his exit. “You said it doesn’t smell like her anymore.”
“I’ll keep it safe,” Kit says.
Reluctantly Gordon gives it to her. “You Collins girls are nothing but trouble.”
“So you’ve mentioned.” I move aside to let him pass. He storms through the doorway. “Don’t forget my phone.”
We watch him go.
“Walk me to the pier?”
Kit shrugs, then pulls on her boots and coat. We walk side by side down the path as the sun slinks free from the clouds.
“What did you do?” I say.
“Carried out Teacher’s orders.”
“It doesn’t add up. This woman who craved control, who worshipped the spotlight, left without giving her devotees a chance to prostrate themselves?”
“She feared for her life.” Kit shoots me daggers. “You know nothing about Teacher.”
“I’m trying to learn.”
“No, you’re not. It was a mistake to ever bring you here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me you dropped Rebecca off at the harbor in one piece? And haven’t seen her since?”
She stares straight through me. “Yes.”
I click my tongue. She weaves through the rings, leading us toward Rebecca’s house. Along the way a few guests wave. She wiggles her fingers back like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Kit, listen to me carefully. I don’t know what you and Jeremiah, or whatever his name is, have done. When Gordon figures it out, he’ll go to the authorities. Come home with me now, before it’s too late.”
“How do you still not get it? I’m not leaving.”
“Is this because you’re pissed about Mom?”
“Nat, come on. I have more important things to worry about.”
I shake my head. “I hate what this place is doing to you.”
“This place has made me strong. And you can’t stand it. You have no identity if you’re not my savior.”
Stung, I search for traces of the little sister I raised and protected. She’s gone. I send up an apology to my mother. I’ve failed her too.
We pass the pole with the cream-colored arrows and make our way around the side of Rebecca’s house. I’m running out of time. At what point does societal obligation upend the familial one? If Kit and the others are hurting people, don’t I bear some responsibility to stop them? How many future guests might be left in the cold or threatened at knifepoint because of an insignificant misstep? How many families have lost their loved ones forever to this impenetrable world?
Mom’s dying wish was that I keep Kit safe. Could my sister go to prison for whatever she’s done? Would she be safer locked up than left here? Kit would say it isn’t my job to answer these questions. She’s her own lifeguard now; she’s made that much clear. I make one more stab at saving her.
“Either you get on that boat with me now,” I say, “or I’m going to the cops when I get back.”
She stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes narrow. She purses her lips, trying to tell whether I’m bluffing.
Even I’m not sure if I am.
48
THE BOAT PULLS away from the shore. I survey my temporary abode: a wild island the length of an Olympic swimming pool, the width of three lanes, possibly four. The nearest patch of land is a light-year away. The longest swim of my life, I suppose.
I return my socks and shoes to my feet. I have not slept well these past weeks, what with the constant threats to my welfare. My eyes ache from the wind. I long to lie down somewhere soft and warm, unwatched.
I wander for a while. A forest in shambles—that’s all there is to it. A parking lot for seaweed. No berries or critters. Not that I’m hungry anyway.
My eyelids are heavier than my boot-clad feet. I sit on a bed of moss. The girl said it would be a few hours until she returned. What could be the harm in a midday nap?
Decades ago, I read a story in the newspaper about a close-knit community that used to lower traitors upside down into a well by their ankles or lock them in a six-by-four-foot box. They beat them with hoses, wrapped snakes around their necks. Imagine the efficiency of fighting fear and crushing dissent in one fell swoop. I nod off to the image of that dreadful brawny man in handcuffs, features drenched with remorse.
I smile as I succumb to the land of dreams.
* * *
? ? ?
WHEN I WAKE, night has fallen. The girl and my rescue party have not yet come. It must be taking longer than she had expected to vanquish our foe. I try not to worry, tell myself to be patient. Much easier to sleep through the chaos. I pull my parka tighter around me, return my head to the earth, and fall back into a fitful sleep.
* * *
? ? ?
ON DAY TWO, I spend groggy hours at the shore. No matter how long I sleep, I cannot shake this exhaustion. I am dizzy, light-headed, full of dry. Well over twenty-four hours have passed since I took in sustenance. This knowledge causes a stirring within. I try to catch a fish with my raisin hands. When the water takes my hands from me, I give up on flounder. I think grass and twigs might not taste so bad. I am correct.
* * *
? ? ?
ON DAY THREE, I discover pine cones are edible (+2).
* * *
? ? ?
ON DAY FOUR I can’t be sure it actually is day four, but I believe it to be so. I think I’ve been watching my watch, or is my watch watching me? It’s the one called a watch, after all. Should it perhaps be called a wrist clock instead?
No one has come for me. In fact, I’ve not seen so much as a ship, any sign of human life, so I may be forced to swim. It is unlikely I could make it from here to Rockland, even with my powerful stroke and superior technique, so I will settle for the place from which I came.
I scan north, south, east, west. I don’t know which is which, but I know I inspect all of those directions because I turn a complete circle. None reminds me of my kingdom more than the others. Was I blindfolded coming out here? That can’t be right.
Am I blindfolded now?
* * *