impending doom.
But as the morning unfolds before me, I’m struck by how normal everything seems. As if the rest of the world has failed to realize that I will die today. And why should they? I suppose I expected dark rain clouds. Ominous ravens swooping overhead, letting out mournful cries.
But today is bright and sunny and beautiful. Gulls swoop high above, and a lark sings cheerfully. The house is no different. When I finally venture cautiously into the downstairs, every corner is abuzz with anticipation of the party tonight.
Servants trim the lawn and wash Ned’s Rolls Royce. Caterers
and decorators bustle back and forth with bright, glittering
armloads of food, champagne glasses and decor for the party.
Only one thing remains out of place. There’s no sign of Ned.
I long to see Cassandra. I wish we could talk about what I
should do. After not seeing her last night, I have to wait for her now. She must be beside herself with worry. I want to comfort her. I need her to comfort me.
After watching the steady flow of party preparations for a good ten minutes and deeming it safe, I head outside. The
sun beams down on me like a spotlight, illuminating me for
any dangerous entity to see. My skin tingles as if I’m being
watched. I have to be brave for Cassandra. Everything will be better once we are together. As I cross the lawn, however, my eyes fall on a man. He leans against a marble pillar on the back patio, watching the hustle and bustle as he smokes a cigarette.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I recognize
him. But from where?
All at once it hits me. Hank.
I see him now as I saw him last, casually ordering the execution of a bound, unarmed man. My knees lock. And then, as if summoned by my silent terror, Hank’s face slowly turns in
my direction.
The instinctive need to survive takes over. I know it draws more attention to me to run, but I can’t help it. In that moment, all that matters is getting back into the seclusion of my room.
I race through the house, slamming my door behind me and
locking it. My heart beats furiously in my chest.
That was too close. He still might have seen me. He might be on his way after me right now. I tear open the button of my shirt collar. Even so, breath comes in short, tight gasps. I press my forehead to the cool wood of the door.
Cassandra, what am I going to do?
I can’t go to the beach now. I can’t risk being seen. I hate
myself for hiding like this, but my body refuses to let me do anything else.
The afternoon drags by with intolerable slowness. Then early
evening. By seven, the first guests start arriving. Music floats from the outdoor bandstand. Laughter and the rumble of
bright conversation ripple through the house.
Unable to bear the sight of my room a minute more, I slink
down the stairs and into the shadows of a rarely used sitting room. I need to see if Hank is still in the crowd. I need to
look for Uncle Ned. By now, the anxiety of waiting has worn
my nerves raw. I hide in darkness, listening to the pulse of the party outside and feeling more painfully alone than I imagined possible.
Peeking out between the silk curtains, I watch the swirl of
lights and brightly colored dresses. It’s happy, carefree, oblivious chaos outside. I imagine my gaze pushing past them, traveling to the calm beauty of the beach. The sun will be setting soon, sharpening the colors, casting brilliant, golden light over the waves. I imagine Cassandra standing at the shore break,
her long hair and white gown flowing behind her in soft ocean breezes. Her arms reach for me. Her lips form my name.
And then, like a flame searing past my eyes, I catch a glimpse
of red in the midst of the swirling party guests. The sight brings me out of my dreams. I know that color, that dress. I know that sharp swoop of black hair.
Fay.
She moves through the crowd, searching. For me? I watch