Page 75 of The Unknown

As she repeats the pattern, I look toward the mainland. While I can see lights there, they appear so small, so faint. Not a good predictor of success. Still, Heather is right. This is indeed better than doing nothing.

“Do you see any boats?” she says before flicking the light nine more times.

Three short, three long, three short.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

I do another scan of the horizon, this time focusing on the expanse of water between us and the distant shore. There’s nothing. Another bad sign.

“No,” I say.

“Well, just because we don’t see any doesn’t mean they’re not out there. Walk along the shore to the dock. Visibility is better there.”

While I’m not thrilled about being alone in the dark while a deranged actress is potentially stalking the island, Heather’s suggestion makes sense. Because it juts out into the water, the end of the dock will give me a better view of other directions. If I see a boat, I can shout to Heather to aim it their way.

“How long should I stand there?”

Heather sets her jaw. “For as long as it takes.”

I set off along the shore, stumbling over the unwieldy combination of rocks, mud, silt, and water. The moon, angled on the opposite side of the island, is no help at all. Instead of guiding me, it casts shadows of trees across the ground, making the trek even darker. All I have to see by is Heather’s flashlight, the pattern repeating at my back.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

At one point, I take a wrong step, hitting not solid ground but the mud right next to it. My sneaker sinks into the muck all the way up to my ankle. I yank my foot out, the mud sucking at my foot.

Even without the mud, this feels worse than my walk to Susie’s cottage. At least then I could see better. At least then I had a plunger. There’s nothing in my hands as I replay Susie’s video in my head, shivering at the memory of those dark woods, her terrified look, the tumble of the camera before everything went black.

What did Susie see in that moment? Lindy? Azra? Something else entirely?

Molly.

The name jabs into my brain like an ice pick. I shake it away. No, it wasn’t her. That is a road I refuse to go down.

Still, the idea that it’s my sister who’s doing all this makes me turn to Heather for reassurance. Either she’s moved up the shore or I’ve traveled farther than I thought, because she’s now a small figure at the water’s edge, barely visible. I mostly see the flashlight, still signaling.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

Resisting the urge to head back, I push on, finally making it to the dock, where visibility is slightly better. There’s a light here—a boxy solar one strapped to the wood, signaling the dock’s presence to passing boaters.

Not that any boats are out at this hour. When I reach the end of the dock, I scan the lake, seeing nothing but Heather’s flashlight, now just a blinking speck.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

The water is calm, quiet, mirror-black. It makes me think of our backyard pool. How dark it seemed on summer nights. The kind of water that threatens to trap you in its depths.

I look Heather’s way again, comforted by the light.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

It makes me feel a bit like Gatsby, staring at that green light, pining for Daisy.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

It occurs to me that I’m now also a Daisy. Worlds removed from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s silly, insipid beauty.

One two three. One…two…three. One two three.

I hope my Daisy will be just as memorable, though. I think, with Ronan’s help, that’s possible.