Page 46 of Forget Me Not

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I try to stay calm, letting Galloway emerge in the back of my mind.

I imagine that large white house with its big band of porch, twin rockers swaying with every hint of a breeze.

Then I see those curled ribbons of vines stretching out in the distance, the long dock reaching out toward the water.

Orange sun spilling over the marsh every morning a camouflage for the poison the place really is.

My eyes shoot open, fingers shaking as I swipe at my phone.

Then I navigate to the compass app, watching as the digital needle points north.

I know the sun rises in the east and I look around now, twisting in a circle as I find my bearings before taking off in the direction of the water.

Flashlight bouncing as I sprint through the woods.

I approach my door, finally, hands shaking so hard I can barely get a grip on the knob until at last, I grasp it, twisting it hard and letting myself in.

I run to the bed first, making my way to the side table and grabbing the diary from where I left it.

Then I flip it open, this time not interested in the remaining pages but instead looking for that picture of Natalie I had stuck in the spine.

I finally find it and pull it out, that shot of her messing around with that grape; then I dig my phone out of my pocket, tapping it on for what I’m sure will be the very last time as I use these final few seconds of charge—and there, right there , is the exact same necklace nestled into the dip of her throat.

A thin gold chain with a verdant peridot the same color as the vines behind her.

I run my fingers across her face, my chest constricting as I think about how she wore this for years until, that summer, she suddenly stopped. I always thought she took it off, that she outgrew it the same way she outgrew me… but now I know that wasn’t the case.

Now I know she lost it that summer, the cheap clasp breaking as she lay in that camper, the chain swallowed up in those dirty old sheets.

I exhale, a wave of relief coursing through my veins once I realize she didn’t remove it on purpose—but then I think of the alternative, the reason why she might have been in that bed in the first place.

All along, the police thought Jeffrey had been the older boyfriend who Natalie kept secret, but now a new surge of revulsion swells up in my stomach as I think about Marcia and Lily, Katherine and my mother.

All those young girls who Mitchell had groomed, meeting them in their most vulnerable moments.

Girls with domineering parents or distant parents; girls without any parents at all or who were away from their parents for the very first time.

The thought makes me sick, but I know now that I have to consider it.

Mitchell would have been in his forties back in 2002; Natalie left shortly after she turned eighteen.

That’s the same age as the others when they suddenly stumbled into his grip, and while it’s hard for me to imagine a world where my sister would have fallen for someone like him, someone who was over twice her age, there was also so much she kept from me.

I barely even knew her that summer, so defiant and difficult and hard to pin down.

Maybe Mitchell learned about our dad leaving and somehow made her feel special, zeroing in on another lost, lonely girl.

I blink away a tear, focusing on my sister’s smiling face in an attempt to wash down the nausea clawing its way up my throat…

but then I notice something else in the picture—or, rather, some one else.

There are a few other people in this one, the faces of coworkers I never paid attention to.

I had simply blurred them all out, my admiration for Natalie overpowering them all, but now I zero in on a person off to the right, the edge of his profile barely in the shot, though his adolescent face is suddenly so familiar I have no idea how I didn’t see it before.

I drop the picture, turning around before dashing to the desk. Then I grab the knob and open the drawer, looking for the gun I have hidden inside—but as soon as the light lands I see that it’s empty before my flashlight blinks out, my phone dying for good.

I stand still in the dark, my breath clotted in my throat as I realize the door wasn’t locked when I came back in.

I locked it when I left, I know I locked it, and now I remember the day I returned from the vineyard to find that basket of supplies already inside.

There’s another key to this guesthouse, someone else has been able to let themselves in, and I glance down at the desk in the dark, its surface cluttered with all the evidence I’ve found.

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

I close my eyes, the cold tip of the gun pushing into my back as Liam’s soft voice cuts through the night.