Page 42 of On Edge

I need him to listen. Or at least come crawling when I crook my finger.

“Tar!” I bark out the old Gaelic command forcome, and then give a short, low whistle at Ben, who is sniffing the other end of the clearing. He looks up, eyes on me, and then he bounds toward me. For once, some goddam obedience.

It doesn’t take long to trek back to the cabin. Then I pack, lock up, and make my way toward the moored boat. Ben jumps into the vessel, settling on one of the seats.

“Síos.”

He lies down, watching, unmoving, while I load the boat with my gear and untie it. I don’t bother to clip him. He won’t jump out unless I tell him to. Usually, Ben stays in the cabin. Mundel feeds him, takes him on his rounds.

But I want him close.

Because that stubborn little songbird won’t leave her cage, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else have her now she’s decided to stay.

11

SAGE

Ican’t sleep here. I just can’t. I haven’t been able to since I got here, nearly a week ago.

Should I have gotten on the boat when I had the chance?

But there’s no answer inside my head. Leaving the light on, I get out of bed and crawl beneath it, curling up into a ball as I wrap the blanket around myself, trying not to hear the echo of footsteps somewhere in the house below. It’s only the faint sound of wind whistling outside that drowns it out.

When I was little, I used to sleep under the bed, until Nell used to come and make me see how babyish I was being. She’d sing a lullaby and then tell me she’d protect me. Only then would I feel brave enough to fall asleep.

But Nell’s gone.

Hiding under the bed is all I have left.

After a little while, the rain starts, a light pitter-pattering sound on the windows at first, which should be soothing. Instead, it reminds me too much of water torture, especially with a light headache building. On top of that, overhead, the sound of a helicopter can be heard, growing nearer.

I’m never going to fall asleep like this.

Time to get up.

A stray text from Laine makes my chest pull.

We miss you at group. And lunch isn’t the same without you. I know it’s difficult for you to get away, but Nola says that if you don't check in soon, she’ll assume you've married him for real. Should we be worried, or are you just busy with things? x

ThingsI interpret as plotting murder, since she can’t exactly ask that outright on a phone network. I type back that all is fine, but it hangs undelivered, making me feel even worse.

I hate missing our Stronger Together group sessions, and I’ve never missed any until recently. But it was on Monday, which was only two days ago, though it feels like forever ago. Time here seems to merge into one big bad dream, so I didn’t even notice it had been and gone until it was too late. Not that I could have gone anyway. St Jude’s Church feels too far away to travel there by boat.

To make me feel better, I take a long, hot shower, letting the steam and the pounding jets bring me back to life. When I come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, there’s a set of clothing on the chair that wasn’t there before. I look around for the person who placed it there, but the room is empty. Someone came into my room while I was in the bathroom.

The thought of that makes me shudder.

Hopefully, it was Kathy.

I had planned to find a sewing kit for the rip in my dress. But there’s no need now. Gathering the clothes off the chair—a tulip-sleeved two-piece with flares in a floral print that looks suspiciously like it was actually made in the seventies—I get ready.

It’s still raining, but mizzy now. Tiny dew drops jewel on the glass, too small for gravity to claim.

Everything I know so far feels like scattered water droplets, refusing to run into one coherent stream, so I take time to think it all through—the newspaper clipping, the bloody diary, and where it was found, the day Nell arrived here, even the fact that Severin has multiple identities.

Since Kathy said Severin wasn’t here that day he bought this house, which has to be a lie, if I prove that Severinwashere the day Nell was, then that ties him to her disappearance. But I need more evidence, like flight details, passport stamps, or even his calendar on his laptop. Photos on his phone, perhaps. I’m going to have to break into his office again.

I should also jot down everything before I forget.