Girl Lost (24 page)

I shrug. “He was gone when I woke up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” I ask blankly. “About him coming here and making me think we were something serious and then disappearing while I slept? Or maybe this?” I toss the note at him, and Micah plucks it from me and scans it. I see the disbelief stutter across his features, followed quickly by anger.

“What the fuck kind of game is he playing?” Micah snarls. “Does he think fucking with your sanity is a game?”

I sigh and retrieve the letter. “I don’t think he is playing,” I say softly, thinking over everything he’s said.

Everything that hasn’t made sense, seen through the lens of
reality
.

It can’t be real. I can believe a lot of things, but I can’t believe that. I can’t believe that I have sacrificed so much of my life—

I shut that line of thought down, because it hurts too much to think about. I stare at the note and say the one thing I never expected to say.

“I want to see the
Second Star
.”

The ship creaks alarmingly, and I sway. I still won’t look at the corner, with the red stains and hacked up wood. I’m terrified to even be on the deck, but he coaxed me here.

The Boy is very persuasive, and the lure of escape pulled me from the cabin and the wrecked bridge to the deck to watch the horizon. His eyes gleam in the predawn light, and I shiver. My eyes are locked firmly on the water, at the little fish swarming around our boat.

“How do you know it’s safe?”

“I would never take you somewhere that isn’t safe, pixie,” he says, his voice outraged disbelief. I slide a glance at him and then refocus on the water.

“You can’t
know
it’s safe.”

“I know it’s safer than here, and it doesn’t hold the memories you’re fighting. I know you need to get off this boat or you’ll jump.”

I inhale softly at his words, leaning forward, tipping toward the shifting water. It is almost hypnotic.

His grip closes over my arm, and he pulls me back until I’m nestled against his chest, one arm slung companionably over my shoulders. I inhale his scent. Why does he always smell like wild spaces and the wind?

“Look, pixie,” he coaxes. The wind shifts, lifts a little stronger, almost as if it’s following his direction. I look up.

I see the mist, first. A bank of fog like on the river back home, obscuring the dangers and beauty hidden inside.

Then sunlight hits the water, and the fog lights up, a golden cloud of fire and mist. I gasp, and the Boy laughs, a full, deep noise that shakes his body. The fog burns away, revealing a tiny island. A mountain arches above the wild jungle growth, and a wide curve of sand dips in, providing a natural harbor.

It looks, impossibly, perfect, a fairy tale dream come to life.

“What is this?” I say, my voice soft with wonder.

I feel his smile against my hair, curving into the smirk I know so well.

“It’s home, pixie.”

The boat has been in dry dock for seven years. Since Aunt J had it tugged home and I was summarily stuffed into Brecken Ridge.

The murders were never solved. And because of that, despite the exorbitant expense of storing a boat for years, Aunt J refused to have it destroyed.

I stare at the warehouse, and Micah shifts anxiously. “Do you want me to go with you?”

I shake my head immediately. Something about this feels sacred, and having my brother on that nightmare boat is such an anathema I can’t quite comprehend it.

“Stay here,” I say hoarsely and push out of the car.

The warehouse is big and largely empty—one of Barrie Enterprises’ many empty holdings. The company hasn’t failed in Father’s absence but it has faltered in a way that is slightly alarming. More of our warehouses sit empty than I think Aunt J is admitting.

But that is a worry for another day—I step into the darkness and stare across the vast space to see the
Second Star
.

A beacon of my childhood should not be so tarnished.

The ship rests uneasily, its hull dirty from the ocean and salt. Rust streaks the sides, like still bleeding wounds. I shudder, shaking the thought, and climb the stairs, stepping cautiously onto the deck.

Some things will never change. It still smells like the ocean and copper pennies. The oak deck is dusty—it doesn’t gleam at a high polish in the sunlight. But it feels familiar and reassuring as I slip off my shoes and pad barefoot across it.

I shy away from the corner and head for the cabin. It’s where he found me, and still feels safe.

The team that hauled the yacht home cleaned the cabin, stripping it of the plush pillow-top mattress and pillows, the blankets that I had made into a nest. It bothers me, that all of that is gone—even knowing it would be a disgusting, rodent infested mess, it bothers me.

I sink onto the bed frame, and I can hear them—Daddy and Mother, their voices soft and warm as they talk over wine while I dozed after a long day of sailing. That had been the safest I had ever felt. Basking in the love of my parents, drifting on the waves and the knowledge that they loved me.

Why did it have to change?

I bite my lip as my mind circles to that morning, the sound of screams and my father’s fury. The roar of gunfire and the dull, meaty sound of a machete.

“Stop,” I whisper, rocking forward. Memories crowd me, and I shiver.

Hello, little girl. Are you lost?

I scream and bolt. This was a bad idea, such a bad idea. The boat pitches slightly, and I stumble into the wall. There’s an echoing crack, and every rational thought vanishes. I scream again, scrambling for the deck. Even knowing the danger is there, even knowing it’s a death sentence, I can’t help but race for it.

“Gwen!”

I shriek at the voice and pitch forward as the boat shakes.

My knees hit bloodstains, splinters digging into my palms. Bad. Bad, this is so bad. I need something, need to get away, and they’re here, I can’t get away, I need to run. Won’t let them hurt me like they did Mama. I jerk toward the side of the boat, and I hear a grunt, and two arms wrap around my waist, yanking me back.

“What the hell, Gwen?” he yells. I jerk and look at him, and the world drops away.

Daddy. Whole and perfect and wonderful and so impossible I can’t stop the sob, broken and agonized. He reaches for me, worry and confusion in his eyes, and says, softly, “Gwen?”

“You’re dead,” I whisper, tears standing in my eyes. “Why won’t you leave me alone?
Why can’t I move on?”

He makes a pained noise and steps away. “Gwen. It’s me. Micah.”

I stare at him, the fear receding, slowly. I still see Daddy—and something twists in my stomach as I realize I probably always will—but its Micah staring at me with so much worry in his eyes.

“Micah?” I whisper.

He nods, and I collapse, sobbing, as he scoops me up and carries me away from the boat.

“Micah?” I whisper through my silent tears.

“What, sweetie?”

“I remember something.”

It seems that if you have a mental breakdown in the middle of your family yacht, your well-meaning family gets a little nervous about letting you do anything.

Which makes returning to school problematic, to say the least.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Aunt J says again.

I close my eyes as the limo eases away from our private jet. I don’t want to think about all the objections they’d raised, about the hurried trip to Pembrooke.

“I know you aren’t. And after finals, we can discuss what happens next. But right now, I need to finish the semester.”

I need to talk to Belle.

“Remember what we talked about,” she says sternly.

“Enough, Jane. The girl knows—she doesn’t want to come home. She’ll do what we’ve said.”

I glance at Grayson, angry. He knows I hate when he talks around me like that. He shrugs, unapologetic. After the incident in the boatyard, he’s taking no chances with my sanity.

The car glides to a stop, and I shift to open the door. I’m out almost before the wheels stop moving, my heart pounding. I’m desperate to run, to find Belle and demand some answers.

“Wait, darling.”

I stop, grinding my teeth as I swing back to stare at Grayson.

“I’m worried about you, Gwen. That breakdown—you need to be monitored right now. In a safe place.”

“A place like Pembrooke?”

“I didn’t say or suggest that,” he says calmly. “Jane did. And it’s not a bad suggestion, but not the one I would jump to, no. I don’t think Peter is good for you—not if you’re this fragile.”

I scoff. “Peter has nothing to do with it. I went to the scene of a childhood trauma, where I listened to my parents get murdered. What kind of reaction do you think
is
appropriate?”

“Why did you go there?”

I haven’t shown him the note. And Micah hasn’t spoken of it. I don’t know why he respected that particular request, but he did, and I’ve managed to keep it under wraps from both Grayson and Aunt J.

“It was time,” I say simply. “Now if you don’t mind? It’s cold and I’d like to get inside before dark.”

Hurt flutters in Grayson’s eyes, and I feel a pinprick of guilt. But the need for answers is driving me too hard, the fear and emotion from the yacht too present. I shake the guilt and lean in to hug him quickly.

“I’ll call for check in tonight. Try to get Aunt J to remember I am an adult? If I want to go off the deep end, it’s my choice.”

“Your choice affects a billion-dollar cooperation, Gwen. And you know it.”

I force a weak smile, and turn away.

Duck into my dorm hall because I know they’re watching.

Let them watch. It doesn’t matter—nothing matters except answers.

I bang on the door of the AGZ house. Again. I’ve been at it for almost ten minutes, and only determined irritation has kept me from cussing as I storm away.

Well, there has been some cussing. Mostly at Peter and Belle and anyone else I can think of to blame.

Okay, so there’s been lots of cussing.

“Gwendolyn, what the hell are you doing?”

I twist to stare at James. “Where is the frat? They can’t all be still off campus.”

He looks startled. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“They withdrew. All of them. The day before Thanksgiving break.”

Dots of black dance in my vision, like inverse stars.

Why are your stars different?

He didn’t do this. He didn’t disappear after all this time, this chase, only to leave me with more questions than ever.

“That bastard,” I breath, furious.

James frowns and climbs the steps to stand in front of me. “Gwen, you don’t look so hot. What’s going on?”

“Peter is a lying bastard,” I say, baring my teeth in a grimace
.

James smiles, a lazy smile edged in danger. “So what are you going to do about it?”

I smile. “I’m done being the prey.”

James stares at me. I pull out my phone and toggle up Peter’s name quickly.

Me: Answers. I want them now. Meet me at the AGZ house in the morning.

I start to tuck the phone away, and James plucks it deftly from my fingers. Glances at the message.

“What happened over break, Gwendolyn?” he asks seriously. I take my phone back, and he stares, waiting.

“Peter thinks the island was real. He says he can prove it.”

James frowns, his cloudy blue eyes going distant for a moment. Then he nods. “Okay. Go home. I’ll see you and Orchid later, ok?”

He leans in, almost absently, and kisses my forehead before he jogs down the steps, abandoning me to the day.

Orchid is in our room, unpacking her bag. She glances up when I enter, her eyes brightening a little. The smile dims just a touch when she realizes it’s only me, but then she grins. “How was it?”

I’m not ready to dump all over her good mood, so I shake my head briefly and nod at her. “You first.”