? ? ?
ON DAY FIVE I crow like a wild thing, head flung back, arms raised, a marathon photo finish. I glance around, waiting for my accolades, then remember I am stranded, alone, not at the end of a performance. I’m not doing anything that warrants applause.
That’s not true. I’m surviving.
I march straight into the water, not bothering with bearings. I will swim in some direction until I hit land, and then someone will take me to my people.
I get no deeper than my ankles before the chill stings me through my boots.
Now my boots are soaked.
Drat.
What if my people are on their way to liberate me right this instant? Best to stay put.
* * *
? ? ?
I SLEEP OR don’t. I know not how long but not too long because my feet are too cold to let me. Strangely, even after the rest, I don’t feel clearer. I seem to have been abandoned, but that cannot be accurate. I am beloved.
I have a horrifying thought that takes hours to form but eventually barrels over me: what if I continue waiting here in vain until it’s too late for my feet, that they’ve reached a state of numbness that will no longer allow me to use them as propellant devices? Will I swim in this bulky coat or remove it? Shall I wade stage left or right?
There are rather too many decisions required of one in adulthood.
* * *
? ? ?
THE TIME IS nigh. The rescue party is lost or nonexistent. Others may fear the sea, but not an enlightened one like Madame Fearless.
I have been training for this challenge all my life. I will think of it as a second attempt at Frozen, my chance to redeem a prior failure.
Idly I wonder what the record is for a long-distance swim in the Atlantic.
I am goddamn invincible.
* * *
? ? ?
AT FIRST I enjoy the bracing slap against my face. Water wakes in a way that alarms and name-calling cannot.
Soon, though, I find it hard to breathe. I do not panic. I keep paddling and kicking, remind myself this is merely a large Lake Minnich.
What’s the only way you’re going to succeed? he grunts.
Through my willingness to endure!
Did you prove your father wrong if no one saw you do it?
My arms tire, for I am a mere mortal, not impervious to the deleterious effects of hypothermia, as proven in nineteen-ninety . . . eighty . . . the aughts. I think about turning back, but when I do the parking lot appears miles away.
Just-in-case thinking is for losers, he growls.
He is awfully loud for being so far away.
I swim until I can’t feel my limbs. I imagine my trunk as a china platter, a landing strip for seagulls to rest their weary wings. I spot a sea green buoy with a number one spray-painted on it, and I grab onto it, pulling myself up and out of the water. I am filthy hot; I am burning up. I tell myself I’m not, this is one of the symptoms, I have trained for this, I know what to do, but still my brain cannot convince my body. It is my body that convinces my brain that this is a rare case in which I truly am burning up, so I give in, so I free my neck, so I remove the scarf. I can’t recall how it came to be in my possession in the first place. I leave it behind and return to the water.
* * *
? ? ?
CAN ONE SWIM and sleep simultaneously? I cannot remember a time I was not swimming, and now I long to stop. I care not if that makes me a loser.
My legs are below instead of behind me. I don’t recall granting them permission to run amok, but I’m too tired to castigate. Too cold to regret.
Like a carousel, their faces whirl past me: Sir, Mother, Jack, Lisa, Evelyn Luminescence, Gabe, my staff. All those miserable human beings have failed me. Who have I ever been able to rely on but myself? Who but me has been dependable one hundred percent of the time?
I suffocated. I split. I bled. I burned. I froze. I freeze.
I let go.
I have endured enough.
49
Kit
JANUARY 10, 2020
I EXAMINE NAT as though seeing her for the first time.
What did I tell you during our second session? Natalie has never had your best interest at heart.
I flex my neck, then continue walking. We pass the front of the house, stopping at the wrought iron gate. I punch a code into the panel. The door swings open.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I say, “but I can only control my actions, not yours.”
Police interference has always been a possibility at Wisewood, though Teacher said the NDA was enough to silence the rare unhappy guest. If not, Gordon has employed a few scare tactics once or twice to ensure our secrets stay secret.
If Nat goes to the cops, if they locate Teacher, they’ll find no evidence of a struggle. No signs of foul play. She was the one who refused to return to the mainland. What had I done besides carry out her wishes?
You destroyed the one woman who accepted you as you were.
The gate closes behind us. We clomp down the path toward the pier.
“I don’t understand you,” Nat says, trying to slow me down.
I speed up. “You probably never will.”
Teacher’s absence is best for Wisewood. She distracted us during our q’s, ate up our time with never-ending tests of loyalty, pitted us against one another. She put us all at risk—Jeremiah was determined to take her down and would’ve gladly crushed Wisewood to do so. Now that I’ve eliminated the threat of her, he has the justice he wanted. If he ever speaks to the press, then I will too. I’ll explain that Rebecca Stamp is no longer affiliated with Wisewood, that we didn’t know how Madame Fearless treated her employees in the past, though perhaps we should have guessed. Teacher will never again hurt my peers or students the way she hurt Jeremiah’s brother, the way she hurt me.
My sister watches me expectantly.
“Someone has to uphold this institution,” I tell her.
Teacher was Wisewood, but Wisewood is not her. The staff designs the courses, teaches the classes, conducts the quests. We bring students to the island and lead them through orientation, guide them every step of the way. Ruth and I can lead one-on-ones. We can do this without Teacher.
Don’t flatter yourself. Without me, Wisewood is a washed-up commune.
Teacher gave birth to a movement that has outgrown her. This is the natural order of things: mothers age, languish, die, while their offspring move on without them. Teacher’s principles were right, but her means of implementing them were wrong.
If the mother makes the baby sick, you remove the baby from its mother.
“God knows Gordon isn’t capable of protecting Wisewood’s values,” I add.