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“I went out that morning to see if I could find that goddamn phone. Figured since we were here and all, I’d check out the mine.

See if I’d left any other evidence. And then you come along, snooping, nearly scared the shit out of me.

I couldn’t let you see me. I mean, it wasn’t like I had a good reason to be there.

Didn’t really mean to shove you that hard; I just needed to get out of there. Sorry about that.”

His tone is flippant, like he’s recalling a casual mistake, not one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I feel removed, like I’m watching the conversation unfold on a television show. One where someone else is the victim.

“You’re a psychopath,” I finally manage.

A flash of anger sparks in his face at that. “No. I’m not a psychopath ; I just do what it takes to survive. You could learn a lesson or two from me, Claire.” He spits my name like a curse word.

“So, is that why you came back? To save yourself?”

And just like that, the small smile is back on his face, a gruesome pantomime of authentic feeling.

He snaps his fingers. “Bingo. I really did think about sitting it all out, letting the police come to whatever conclusion they felt like. But I couldn’t risk the others digging around and uncovering something.

” I shiver, realizing how similar our motivations were for returning.

“And I guess I was right. Look at you; you’ve been like a dog with a damn bone.

Plus, I had another loose end to tie up. ”

For a moment I have no idea what he means, and then it clicks.

“Hari,” I say softly, hoping he’ll contradict me, tell me he had nothing to do with her death, that it really was just an accidental overdose.

“Ding ding ding. She saw me leave Phoebe’s room in the Whitsundays the night of the Anything but Clothes party. It wasn’t a big deal at the time, of course, and then the drugs completely warped her mind.”

He sighs. “I liked Hari; I did. We actually stayed in touch off and on throughout the years. I was glad to hear she got clean a few years back. But then she had to go and text me after the AFP told her about Phoebe’s remains being discovered.

Telling me she remembered that I’d hooked up with Phoebe, asking me straight out if I had anything to do with it.

I knew she wouldn’t let it go; that wasn’t Hari’s way.

She was kind of like you in that respect.

So, I made sure she would keep her mouth shut. ”

My insides freeze. “But the police said it was an overdose,” I stammer.

“God, you really do underestimate me,” he says with a sneer. “You were right, though, figuring out that I didn’t go to the AFP to talk to them when I landed in Sydney. I could tell you knew something was up that morning at the Inn when we were talking. That’s why I ‘came clean.’

“I actually landed in Sydney the day before I showed up at Kyan’s.

I went straight to this hell house called the Wharf, a place Hari used to tell me about.

She said you could buy anything there, and I can attest to that.

I found some lowlife willing to sell me some heroin and took it straight to Hari’s apartment.

She was surprised to see me, of course. Thankfully, I caught her right before she was about to head over to Kyan’s.

I told her I wanted to talk to her before we all got together to tell her what really happened between me and Phoebe.

She let me in, poured me water like a damn homemaker.

I sprinkled a couple of the sleeping pills my doctor had prescribed for the flight into her glass.

It only took her a few minutes before she conked out, and then I dragged her to her bed.

Injected the smack. It’s just a shame she wasn’t conscious to enjoy her last hit. ”

I look away, disgusted.

“I spent the night at some seedy motel where I could pay in cash and waited around until the next day when I went over to Kyan’s. Pretended I had just arrived.”

I want to end this, but I know I’m playing for time. It’s the only thing currently keeping me alive. I scour my brain thinking of things that still don’t fit.

“And Kyan? Why did you stab him?”

He laughs. “That wasn’t me. I always liked Kyan. And honestly, he was too dumb to ever suspect I had anything to do with Phoebe. My best guess is Randy. I mean you saw how totally ballistic he went that morning.”

I remember the pure rage encapsulated on Randy’s face. The hatred he harbored for our group, and for Kyan more than any of us.

“But why slash the tires on our rental cars?” That had to have been Josh. Even if Randy had stabbed Kyan, he’d have no reason to keep the rest of us around longer than we needed to be.

“Well,” Josh says, “once we ended up back in Jagged Rock, I couldn’t give up the opportunity to find Phoebe’s phone. I needed time, and I couldn’t have any of you scurrying off before I found it.”

I have one question left. One that I don’t want to ask, but that I need the answer to more than any other.

“And,” I clear my throat, my mouth dry, “what do you plan to do with me?”

To his credit, Josh’s careless facade seems to crumble just slightly. But his eyes stay glued to the road, on the single yellow line dragging to the horizon.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, you know, but you left me no other choice. I thought our encounter in the mine might have scared you off, but you just wouldn’t quit. And I could tell you were getting closer. Even before you found the phone, I knew what I had to do.”

His tone turns practical.

“You’ll disappear. I managed to find a shovel back at the Inn that I threw in the trunk.

There’s plenty of places to hide a body out here.

The police will think you pulled a Phoebe—ran away to escape.

They’ll see it as a sign of your guilt. It will get rid of any suspicion they may have of me.

I’ve already staked out a place in the middle of nowhere, a turnoff where the pavement turns into a dirt road and then to nothing. I’ll try to make it quick. Painless.”

His fingers tighten on the wheel, and I picture them around my throat, pressing.

“Josh, you don’t need to do this,” I fumble, grasping on to anything that will save me. “I understand why you did everything else. You were just trying to cover your tracks with Hari, and what happened with Phoebe, that was…a terrible accident—”

But it’s the wrong thing to say. Any remorse slips away as his neck tightens, that vein bulging yet again, and his eyes dart towards me.

“It was not an accident ,” he spits. “She deserved it. The things she did to me, to you, to her apparent friends. She deserved it.”

I can tell this is the mantra he’s adopted in the years since he killed her. A way to justify his actions. If only I can unpack this, to make him see he’s wrong.

“She made mistakes,” I say slowly, wading in.

“She did things she regretted, deeply.” My mind touches on the image of her wrapped around Declan, but it’s quickly replaced by the scene from later that night: Phoebe, so small against the pitch-black sky as she explained how she had no other choice than to run away. “Jimmy hurt her. She had to—”

“Don’t you dare say his name.” Josh’s words are icy, and he jerks suddenly, the car jumping over the center of the empty road. “You always tried to defend her. Even after everyone else could see what she really was.”

And it’s that comment that shifts the panic into something else. Something sturdier, more forceful.

Josh’s comment is a variation on the same thing I’ve been told over and over this week.

By Adrien, who was so certain that Phoebe’s death wasn’t worth investigating.

From Randy, who could only see Phoebe as a haughty, arrogant teenager.

And even from Declan, who so easily deflected his responsibility to Phoebe. She came on to me.

No more. I will not let this person, this man, excuse his actions because of something a vulnerable, traumatized girl did years ago. Phoebe was flawed, sure. But she was my friend.

Suddenly, I’m back in our dorm room at Hamilton that very first day.

I was terrified, so far from home, and drowning in homesickness.

Overcome by the anxiety of having to meet a whole new group of people, I was nearly trembling as we got ready.

I remember how astutely Phoebe picked up on it, how she urged me to take a seat on her bed as she softly spread blush across my cheeks and darkened my lips.

How she asked me questions the entire time she worked, making me feel not only more beautiful, but more interesting.

Despite everything she did, all the mistakes she made, I loved her. And this man who stripped her of her life has the gall to talk about her like she deserved it.

Anger floods through me, infiltrating my every thought. I think of what Phoebe would have done in this situation. What she did do, all those years ago.

In an instant, everything becomes clear. Before I can think better of it, I snatch my hand out, grabbing the steering wheel.

Josh’s shock is written clearly on his face, and his fingers momentarily release their clutch. I use that opportunity to yank the wheel as hard as I possibly can, sending the car veering off the road.

It’s the weightlessness I feel first, the lack of gravity as the tires leave the ground, as the car flips.

Then comes the sound. The breaking glass, the devastating crunch of metal and bone. The pain flashing through my body like the vibrations of a pulsing speaker.

And everything goes silent.