Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Calum

The morning sun pierces through the curtains of Holiday House, streaking the walls with pale gold.

It feels intrusive, unwelcome. I sit at the edge of the dining table, Annabel’s journal splayed open in front of me like an autopsy.

The inked words stare back, jagged and chaotic, a voice from the grave pulling me into her head.

Every line feels like a blade, sharp with meaning, cutting deeper with every turn of the page. Words tangled in riddles and contradictions. I love him, but he suffocates me. Was she talking about me? Or Jonathan?

The thought lingers like a bitter taste, and I slam the book shut, unable to read another word. I rake a hand through my hair, my chest tight, and reach for the whiskey bottle I’d left on the counter the night before. The burn in my throat steadies me, if only for a moment.

Jonathan. He’s the only one left who might understand this madness. He was always there, in the periphery, watching us, watching her. I don’t want to admit it, but part of me wonders if he’s just as haunted by Annabel as I am. Maybe more.

I grab the journal, shoving it under my arm, and head for the door.

The walk to Jonathan’s house is a short one, but the tension in my shoulders makes every step feel longer.

His place sits on the other side of Ravensreach Point, perched atop a rocky hill overlooking the ocean.

It’s smaller than Holiday House but equally lonely, a shadow of the grandeur our family homes once boasted.

When I walk up the gravel driveway, I see him through the window, standing at the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in hand. He glances up as I approach, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. Cautious, maybe. Guilty?

He opens the door before I can knock. “Calum,” he says, his tone flat but polite. His eyes flick to the journal tucked under my arm. “What brings you here?”

“We need to talk.” I step inside without waiting for an invitation. The air smells of coffee and faintly of salt, like the ocean is trying to creep in through the walls.

Jonathan closes the door behind me, his movements slow and deliberate. “Talk about what?”

“Annabel.” Her name feels like a challenge on my tongue. “And this.” I hold up the journal before tossing it onto the coffee table. The impact makes him flinch.

He doesn’t sit, doesn’t touch the book. Instead, he crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his face tightening. “You’re reading her journal now? Isn’t that a bit… invasive?”

I glare at him, the tension between us crackling like static. “Don’t play righteous with me, Jonathan. You cared about her. You probably think you knew her better than anyone, right?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might tell me to leave. But then he sighs, his shoulders slumping as if he’s deflating. “What’s in it?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to admit how much of it I’ve read or how much of it I don’t understand. “She wrote about feeling watched. About... being trapped. And she mentions us.” My voice hardens. “Both of us.”

Jonathan doesn’t move, but his eyes darken. “What does she say?”

“She said she loved me but that I suffocated her. She said you…” I stop, watching him carefully. “You made her feel free.”

His lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead, he looks away, his gaze settling on the window.

“She was always good at making us feel like we were the only ones who mattered,” he says quietly.

“Is that your way of admitting you loved her?” The question hangs between us, heavier than I intended.

Jonathan’s head snaps back toward me, his expression hardening. “Loved her?” He laughs, but it’s bitter and hollow. “Don’t act like you didn’t already know, Calum. It was obvious to everyone. Even her.”

“Then why didn’t you—” I stop myself, biting down on the question before it tumbles out. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he had a chance with her.

“Why didn’t I what?” he presses, stepping closer. “Sweep her off her feet? Steal her from you?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. My fists clench at my sides, my nails digging into my palms.

Jonathan shakes his head, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. “Because it didn’t matter. She didn’t want me. She liked the attention, sure, but she always went back to you, didn’t she?”

“Don’t make it sound like I trapped her,” I snap. “She chose me. ”

“Did she?” He gestures toward the journal, his tone cutting. “Because it doesn’t sound like she was as happy with you as you like to believe.”

The words hit their mark, and I feel the heat rise in my chest. “What the hell do you know about it?” I take a step toward him, closing the space between us. “You don’t know what we had.”

Jonathan doesn’t back down. “I know she was different before you. Lighter. Happier.”

“Bullshit.” My voice rises, the anger bubbling over. “You think you’re the hero in this story, don’t you? The noble friend who would have saved her if only she’d picked you.”

He flinches, but only for a second. Then his expression hardens into something colder. “No, Calum. I’m not the hero. But neither are you.”

The room falls into an uneasy silence, broken only by the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs. Jonathan finally moves, picking up the journal and flipping it open. His eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowing as he reads.

“She mentioned being watched?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now.

I nod, my anger simmering beneath the surface. “Yeah. She said she felt like someone was always there. Watching her through the windows, following her.”

Jonathan’s fingers tighten around the journal, his knuckles turning white.

“She told me something similar once. Just before...” He trails off, his throat working as he swallows.

“Before what?”

He hesitates, his gaze flicking to me before returning to the journal.

“Before the night she died. She seemed... distant. Like she was somewhere else entirely. When I asked her about it, she just laughed it off. But later, she pulled me aside and said she felt like something bad was going to happen. Like someone was waiting for her.”

The words send a chill down my spine, but I force myself to stay composed. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before?”

“What difference would it have made?” he snaps, slamming the journal shut. “She’s gone, Calum. Nothing we say or do will change that.”

“But it might help me understand.” My voice cracks, betraying the weight of my desperation. “Don’t you want to know what really happened to her?”

Jonathan looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that I can’t quite place. Regret? Fear? Pity? He sighs, setting the journal back on the table.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever understand her,” he says quietly. “She was a mystery to both of us, and maybe that’s how she wanted it.”

I leave Jonathan’s house feeling no closer to answers, only more questions. The journal is heavy in my hand as I walk back to Holiday House, the storm clouds gathering on the horizon mirroring the chaos in my head.

Annabel’s voice echoes in my mind, fragmented and haunting. You and Calum both want me, but neither of you truly understands me.