“Following you?” The thought gives me chills.
Esther clears her throat. “It was very unusual. But you know you can just sense things sometimes? It was like eyes watching me everywhere I went, a shadow at my back. Maybe it was just a delusion from the gin, I don’t know. But it felt real. I ran to my hut. Annabel was inside, of course, we’d switched in our confused state. And God, it sounds awful now, but I was just so relieved to be inside, and thought that if anything was out there at least it would, you know—”
“Get me first,” Annabel finishes, appalled. “Jesus, Esther.”
“Well,” she blusters. “Nothing happened to you. You must have stumbled back to your hut fine, because you woke up there the next morning.”
“But it could have! Poppy was killed that night!”
“I didn’t know that at the time, did I?”
The two of them bicker at each other like this for a while, as I lose myself in trying to think back to last night. It’s all still a blur. I can figure out the main events: us getting together, drinking that gin, getting wasted, doing stupid things with the scavenger hunt items. But the details are hazy, and I don’t like the idea that Esther felt someone was watching her. Because every time I think back to that night, an uncomfortable prickling feeling seeps over my skin.
And I think it’s because I thought the same thing.
“Maybe we should each have something.” Fear is making me speak. “Each carry a knife too, just in case.”
“In case one of us decides to murder the other two, you mean?” Esther runs her fingers through her hair. “We’re safer without them. We just need to stick together.”
I don’t know how to explain to them both that I’m going mad in here, locked in this small room with the two of them. Knowing one of us is a killer. Not knowing when they’ll strike next. It’s all very well and good pretending two against one will make a difference. What about the one they go for first?
And I’m not planning on that being me. I’ll kill these bitches myself before I end up dead.
“I think it’s better if we all split up,” I say.
“Split up?” Annabel says. “No way.”
“And there’s the storm outside,” Esther points out. “None of us could move even if we wanted to.”
Something about the way she says it, that patronising tone of hers, breaks me.
“You both think I’m so stupid, don’t you?”
“What?” They feign ignorance, but I know them.
“Airhead Chloe, always down for a laugh but not for a stimulating conversation,” I say. “See? ‘Stimulating,’ that’s an impressive word, no? I’m not completely braindead. I can see right through both of you. I don’t trust either of you.”
“Now isn’t the time for you to get all insecure about your intelligence,” Esther snaps.
“But you two have always lorded it over me. And Tanya, and even Poppy bloody Greer. Treating me like I’m some dumb blonde bitch without any substance.”
“Well,” Annabel says. “I mean. You are, aren’t you?”
“Jesus, Annabel,” Esther says. “Stop making things worse.”
“I knew that’s how you saw me.” I stand up and head for the door.
Esther tries to reach for me. “Chloe, don’t. It’s not safe.”
But the air in here is sticky and humid, and I’m sweating, the glare of torchlight making me hot. Through flashes in the dark I can see Annabel’s stubborn expression, Esther’s concerned one, but I don’t care anymore.
“I can’t spend another second in here with either of you,” I say. “Don’t follow me, or I’ll think you’re the killer. Just leave me alone.”
“Chloe!”
I swing open the door, and before I even take two steps out it flings backwards at me by the force of the wind, knocking me in the side of my body and making me gasp.
“Are you alright?”
“Fuck off!” I shout. Despite increasing pain in my side, I push the door again, holding it open fiercely with all my strength.
The storm hasn’t let up. If anything, it’s worse than before. Projecting my torch ahead, I can only see a few feet in front of me, the tended lawn now filled with debris from around the island. Palm trees swing practically horizontal, and my hair has a life of its own, trying to escape being rooted to my head.
But it’s better than in here.
“You’re making a mistake,” Esther calls.
“So let me make it!” I say. “I’m so done with this. Poppy deserved to die anyway.”
“And Tanya?” Annabel says. “What about Tanya?”
I take one last look at them both. The torch shines across their faces, giving me a final snapshot of the women I thought were my friends. Annabel is furious, eyes blazing, standing with her own torch aimed my way. She’s drenched from the storm, hair sticking across her face and obscuring her mouth so I can’t tell if she’s saying anything more. Esther is still sitting, calmer, a slight frown between her brows. She doesn’t say anything. They’re not the women I came to the island with.
I don’t recognise them at all.
Leaving them behind, I head out into the storm.
Twenty-Six
Esther
May 21, 2023
Annabel and I are left standing in the dark, the door still open. The storm makes its way inside with greedy ambition, knocking our mugs and smashing them to the floor. Rain seems to come in sideways, drenching us without care. My ears start ringing, sensitive to the harsh elements. I flick my torch towards Annabel, and then the door.
She seems to understand, even if it is hard to speak over this force of nature. “We should go and look for her. She’s just gone a little stir-crazy.”
Haven’t we all? Despite the storm’s assault, there’s something freeing about the rush of air that attacks us, fresher than the humidity in here. I’m also very aware that I don’t want to be alone with Annabel right now, not here in the dark like a sitting duck. Better we go out and face the island than stay in here together.
It’s hard to judge what she’s thinking without shining the torch in her face, too much of a giveaway that I’m trying to figure her out. Her admission to stealing my necklace has twisted things for me. Before, if there was anyone I was going to trust, it would be Annabel. Now, I’m not sure. If she’s willing to steal my most precious possession from me, what else is she willing to do?
“Let’s go,” I shout. “She can’t have gone far.”
Armed with our torches, we march out into the downpour. It’s worse out here, unprotected, the gale careering us in various directions. Rain soaks my skin, making it difficult to breathe. We edge out, slowly, then stop, wondering which way to go.
“The beach will be dangerous,” Annabel yells. “She won’t have gone there.”
“Where then?” I call. Even speaking is an effort. The storm seems determined to suck up our voices and carry them away like fallen leaves.
“She’s probably gone to one of the huts,” Annabel shouts. “We need to check.”
“Maybe we should split up,” I say. “Take two each.”
There’s a silence, and I wonder if she’s heard me. I turn to her, and catch her struggling expression in my torchlight. Her hair is stuck to her face no matter how many times she tries to free it, and mascara drips down her cheeks. She looks vulnerable in this moment, and not scary at all.
I take pity on her. “Never mind. Let’s carry on together.”
We head around the main lodge slowly, sticking close to the walls. Every now and then lightning illuminates the way for us, crashing down into the sea nearby with a hiss that seems to crack open the earth, making the ground we move on shake, as if we’re stumbling about drunk. I’m careful to keep my torch pointed forward on the path ahead, but Annabel seems more frenetic, the beam scattering across the general area, revealing shadows within the trees that look like people watching us.
“Chloe!” Annabel screams, straining to be as loud as possible. “Chloe, where are you?”
There’s no response. Hard for there to be, when even the highest scream gets whipped away like it’s nothing. The wind is the only reply, a great howling and whistling that starts up as if the sky is in agony.
We reach the first hut in gasps, practically falling on the door to open it. Automatically, I reach for the light switch, but of course it remains dark.
“Chloe?” I call.
Again, no answer. Our torches prove there is no one in here, not in the bathroom either after Annabel checks. But it is a relief to get out of the storm even just for a few minutes, and we sit on the bed and take the time to get our breath back. Even though we’ve been moving very slowly, very carefully, it’s as if we’ve run a marathon.
“What should we do?” Annabel asks. Her voice is hoarse from screaming.
“This is the first hut. There are three others.”
“Two.”
I frown at her. “What do you mean?”
“She won’t have gone in Tanya’s.”