Page 131 of Secrets in the Deep

A sound from down the hall had her spinning around. What was that? Heavy breathing? A moan? Some distant voices.

It was a whole bunch of sounds mixed together.

Fear almost rooted her to the spot.

She forced one foot forward. Then another. Slowly, she crossed the hall toward the room past the stairs.

Another camera pointed down at her from the top corner in the hall.

He was watching her. He wanted her to see what was in this room. And maybe that meant she should stop. She should find another way.

But she couldn’t seem to pull herself back.

She paused at a closed door. The sounds were louder now. Breathing and wind and the thump of footsteps—all coming from the other side.

With shaking fingers, she touched the knob.

One. Two.

On three, she shoved. The door flew open.

Flat screens. Half a dozen of them on desks. All playing footage.

Of Preston being chased in the woods. Of Faye being knocked unconscious in the bathroom. Her mother, in her bedroom at the inn. There was even body cam of Emily being attacked at Polly’s house.

For a second, she just stood there, barely able to get air in and out of her lungs as she watched every attack that had taken place in Deep River since she’d arrived.

Finally, she stepped into the room, forcing her eyes off the screen. To the pile of paper stacked in the center of the table.

“Winter Waters,” Emily read quietly, her throat feeling raw and dry. “Revised draft with new ending.”

A sticky note poked out of the top, marking a page.

It took her five breaths before she gained the courage to open the script. But she didn’t need to read that page—there was a handwritten note at the top.

Changes:

The killer who was arrested is revealed to be innocent—she was framed.

Finale changed to a haunted, deserted mansion.

Heroine forced to endure a life-or-death confrontation inside the house. She doesn’t make it.

Her heart stopped.

The creak of a floorboard had Emily’s gaze shooting to the doorway.

Then all the blood drained from her head as someone stepped inside.

Pale blue mask.

Black cloak.

Knife.

She stumbled back. “Roscoe, what are you doing?”

He stepped forward, knife raised and glinting in the candlelight.