I sit up, buzzing with alarm.

“Theo’s back at camp?”

“Yes,” Chet says. “He said he found you with the girls and that you attacked him before vanishing in the woods.”

“He’s lying.”

“That’s crazy, Emma. You know that, right?”

I keep talking. Setting the crazy free. “He hurt those girls, Chet. He can’t be near them. We have to call the police.”

I reach for my phone, amazingly still in my pocket and in working order. There’s even a bit of battery left. I start to dial 911 but am halted by a shadow crossing the screen.

Chet’s reflection, as warped as a funhouse mirror.

Gripped in his hand is the oar. I see that reflection, too. A faint glimpse of wood swiping across my screen right before Chet swings it into the back of my head.

For a slice of a second, everything stops. My heart. My brain. My lungs and ears and eyes. As if my body needs a moment to figure out how to react.

In that thin sliver of time, I assume that this is what death must feel like. Not a drift into deep slumber or a slow edge toward a warm light. Just a sudden halt.

But then the pain arrives. A screaming, nerve-jolting pain that floods every part of me, telling me I’m still alive.

The dead don’t feel this kind of pain.

It hurts so much I envy them.

Anguish takes over, rendering me helpless. My vision blurs. My head rings. I belch out a grunt of surprise as the phone springs from my hands, and I collapse to the bottom of the boat.

42

I come to on the floor of the boat. I feel the scruff of fiberglass against my cheek, smell the fish stench, hear the echo of the water below.

The boat is moving now. The outboard motor hums like white noise. Occasional sprays of lake water mist my face.

I’ve landed on my side, my left arm pinned beneath me, my right one twitching slightly. My left eye is closed, smushed as it is against the floor. The lid of my right eye keeps blinking, the sky and clouds above flickering like an old movie. Rather than breath, I hyperventilate—short, gasping breaths that huff out air as quickly as I take it in.

I’m still in pain, but it’s no longer all-consuming. A steady drumbeat instead of a clash of cymbals. I’m surprised to learn that I can move, if I really put my mind to it. That twitching right arm bends. Both legs stretch. I wiggle my fingers, marveling at the accomplishment.

The clarity of my thoughts is another surprise. I know what’s going on. I’m not struck dumb or deaf or blind. I assume Chet pulled back on the swing of that oar right before striking me. Or else I’m just very lucky. Either way, I’ll take it.

When the sound of the motor ceases and the boat slows, I’m able to flip onto my back, pleased to learn that my left eye also works. I see Chet standing over me. The oar is back in his hands, although he switches between holding it too tightly and almost letting it fall from his grip.

“I can’t believe you had the nerve to come back here, Emma,” he says. “Even though it was my idea, it still surprised me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you came back. I just didn’t think you’d be that stupid.”

“Why . . .” I pause to take a dry-mouthed swallow, hoping it will help get the words out. Each syllable is a struggle. “Why ask me back?”

“Because I thought it would be fun,” Chet says. “I knew you were crazy. Theo told me all about that. And I wanted to see just how crazy you’d get. You know, trap a few birds and put them in the cabin. A little paint on the door and an appearance at the window. A little peek in the shower.”

Chet pauses to give me a wink that makes my stomach roil.

“I totally didn’t expect you to run with it, though. I thought it would take a lot more work to make you look guilty. But all that talk about seeing Vivian? That alone made everyone think you’d snapped.”

“But why?”

“Because of the real reason I wanted you back here. Girls from your cabin go missing, and to put you at the scene of the crime, I drop something of yours into an empty canoe with a broken pair of glasses and set it adrift. That bracelet of yours worked wonders, by the way. When I snapped it off your wrist outside the Lodge, I knew it would be perfect.”

He flashes me a twisted smile. It’s the grin of a madman. Someone far more insane than I ever was.

“After that, all I needed to do was delete any surveillance video of me near your cabin and change the file name of the one showing you leaving Dogwood yesterday morning. I’ll let you in on a little secret, Em. The girls didn’t sneak out five minutes before you woke up. They’d been gone at least an hour.”

I sit up, using my elbows for support. I tremble a moment before locking my arms and steadying myself. That small movement wakes me up a bit, gives me some lift. I hear the newfound strength in my voice as I say, “All that effort. I don’t understand.”

“Because you almost ruined our lives,” Chet says with a snarl. “Especially Theo’s. So much that he tried to kill himself. That’s how much you fucked him up, Emma. When you destroyed his reputation, you destroyed ours as well. When I got to Yale, half the school wouldn’t even talk to me. They saw me as the kid whose brother got away with murder because we’re filthy rich. And we’re not. Not anymore. All we have left is my mother’s apartment and this godforsaken lake.”