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“What was the vandalism?”
“Someone had painted the door.” I hesitate before saying the rest. “They wrote the wordliar.”
Flynn’s brows arch. Exactly the reaction I’m expecting. “Interesting word choice. Any reason behind it?”
“Yes,” I say, annoyed. “Maybe to preemptively make sure no one believes me.”
“Or maybe you did it to deflect suspicion from yourself.”
“You think Iplannedto abduct those girls?”
“That makes about as much sense as everything else you’ve told me,” Flynn says.
My headache flares—a fire at my temples.
This isn’t happening.
I’m not going crazy.
“Someone was watching us,” I say. “Someone wasthere.”
“It’s hard to believe you without any proof,” Flynn says. “And right now, there’s nothing to back up your story.”
Another realization swerves into my head. One I was too upset to conjure until just now. One that will prove to Flynn he’s wrong about me.
“There is,” I say. “A camera. Pointed right at the cabin door.”
28
The cabin glows green on the monitor, thanks to its night-vision feature. It’s an ugly green. A queasy shade made worse by the camera’s position. Instead of a straight shot from the back of one cabin to the front of Dogwood, it’s been angled downward into a bird’s-eye view that induces vertigo.
“The camera is motion sensitive,” Chet explains. “It starts recording only when movement is detected. It stops when whatever it’s recording also stops moving. Each time the camera records something, a digital file is automatically saved. For instance, this is a paused shot from the night it was installed.”
On-screen, the cabin door is ajar. The motion that triggered the camera. In that sliver of darkness, I can make out a foot and a green-tinted glimpse of leg.
Chet moves to a second monitor—one of three that sit side by side in the Lodge’s basement. While most of the space is filled with tidily stacked boxes and cobwebbed furniture, just as Mindy had predicted on my arrival-day tour, one corner has been outfitted with unpainted drywall and a floor of white linoleum. This is where the monitors reside, sitting on a metal desk with two PC towers slid together like books on a shelf.
Chet occupies a creaky office chair in front of the desk. The rest of us—Theo, Franny, Detective Flynn, and myself—stand behind him.
“This all seems pretty elaborate for one camera at one cabin,” Flynn says.
“It’s just a test camera,” Chet replies. “We’re going to install more throughout the camp. For security reasons. At least, that was the plan.”
Behind him, Franny flinches. Like the rest of us, she knows there won’t be a camp left unless Krystal, Sasha, and Miranda are found by the end of the day. This could very well end her dream of one last glorious summer.
“The camera can also be set to a constant live feed. That’s what this is.” Chet points to the third monitor, a daytime view of Dogwood. “Usually the live feed is turned off because there’s no one to constantly monitor it. I turned it on while we’re all down here, just in case the girls return.”
I stare at the screen, hoping against hope I’ll see Sasha, Krystal, or Miranda come into view, returning from an extended hike, oblivious to all the worry they’ve caused. Instead, I see Casey pass by, leading a group of crying girls to their cabins. Mindy appears next, bringing up the rear. She gives the camera a fleeting glance as she passes.
“The recordings are stored here,” Chet says, using a mouse to open a file folder located on the center monitor. Inside are dozens of digital files identified only by a series of numbers. “The file names correspond to the day, hour, minute, and second each recording was made. So this file—0630044833—means it was recorded on June thirtieth, thirty-three seconds after four forty-eight a.m.”
He clicks once, and the image frozen on the first monitor jerks to life. The door opens wider, and I see myself slip out of the cabin and walk awkwardly out of the camera’s view. I recall that moment well. Heading to the latrine at the break of dawn armed with a full bladder and a swarm of memories.
“What were you doing up at that hour?” Flynn asks.
“I was going to the bathroom,” I say, bristling. “I assume that’s still legal.”
“Are there files from last night?” Flynn asks Chet, who uses the mouse to scroll down and check the folders.