Truth or Dare (44 page)

Pain exploded in every inch of her body, knives slicing through her. But then she slid into the water, and all feelings ceased. There was no longer cold or heat or pain or fear. There was only water, everywhere.

It was soaking her clothes and in her ears and burning her eyes. It wrapped around her like a cocoon, like arms, like chains. It was pulling her down.

Memories collided in her head like firecrackers, lighting up the darkness. Sailor nosing at her cheek. Tenley grabbing her hand on the carousel. Tim kissing her on the surfboard. And the discovery, at last: a train made of painted steel, a one-eared teddy bear, and a woman’s mascara-streaked face, framed by bloodred walls.

A wave surged at her, and she could swear she heard Tim’s voice, so clear it was as if he were right there.
You have to just let go, Caitlin. Let the waves take over.
Her body softened and her fist unclenched, a gold chain sliding out of its grip. Another image flickered—a memory, elusive, breaking apart on the waves. But then the blackness swept it away, and all that was left was water.

It was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

Let go
, she thought again. And at last, she did. She slipped beneath the water, letting the waves take her to where she needed to go.

Sunday, 10
AM

TENLEY SANK INTO THE COUCH IN HER LIVING ROOM.
Sahara had left the TV on as usual, and Michelle Lou, Echo Bay’s obnoxious local newscaster, was standing on Great Harbor Beach, surrounded by mountains of flowers and stuffed animals and photos and cards.

“I’m here live,” Michelle told the camera, “at the impromptu memorial that has sprung up in the days since Monday night’s horrific boating accident. As you can tell by the outpouring of love here, Echo Bay has been rocked to its core by the tragic drownings of two of its most beautiful and promising young women, Caitlin Thomas and Patricia Sutton.”

As she spoke, a photo took over the screen. It was of Caitlin and Tricia together at the beach, laughing as the wind tossed back their hair. Tenley dug her nails into her palm, unable to look away. She didn’t recognize the photo; it must have been taken before she moved back. It was so strange to see the two of them together, looking so
happy
. She tried to block out Tricia, focusing only on Caitlin. She looked beautiful: her head thrown back, her smile wide and genuine, the sun illuminating her hair. It was the way Tenley wanted to remember Caitlin: pure and happy, unencumbered by dares and nightmares.

“Yesterday I had an exclusive interview with the two surviving victims of this terrible accident,” Michelle Lou went on. “We’ll go to that now, so you can hear their horror story for yourselves.” The scene switched to the news set, where Tenley and Sydney were sitting across from Michelle.

In her living room, Tenley squirmed as she stared at the screen. She felt as if she were watching someone else, but it was unmistakably her. She was wearing the black sheath dress she’d bought especially for the occasion, and her hair was pulled back into a low, loose bun. She’d spent almost an hour meticulously covering the angry red burn on her arm with makeup, and it had worked. It was barely visible on camera.

Concentrating on those kinds of details had been the only way Tenley could get through this past week. She’d spent hours shopping for just the right black dresses, researching appropriate mourning hairstyles, finding the exact shade of makeup to cover up her burns. If she filled her mind with clothes and makeup and hair, then there could be no room left for anything else, no room left for that image: Caitlin, crumpling against the Phantom Rock as if she were nothing but a rag doll.

Just the thought of it made grief seize her, climb all the way into her throat. This week had been like one big flashback to when her dad died. After his death, Tenley’s whole world had frozen up, everything that meant something to her suddenly buried under ice—frigid to the touch. She, too, had been frozen, unable to move forward without him. It had taken her a long, long time to thaw, and there were some parts of
her that never had, that stayed buried under snow and icicles and glaciers, forever untouchable. But Caitlin’s death must have finally melted them, because right now every centimeter of Tenley ached, in a way she’d forgotten was possible.

She forced herself to focus on the interview. Sydney had clearly not been of the same distract-herself-with-details mind-set. Her long, dark hair was greasy and unbrushed, her shaggy bangs swept messily across her forehead, and she looked as though she’d thrown on the first outfit she saw: torn jeans and a navy-blue sweater that had clearly been around the block a few times. There was a bruise on her cheek that she hadn’t bothered to cover up, and across her hand was a wide burn, red and raw and puckered.

“Thanks for being with us today, girls,” Michelle Lou said on the screen, sweeping her penetrating gaze from Tenley to Sydney. “I know you must be so relieved that the case has now officially been declared an accident.” She paused, and the TV Tenley and Sydney exchanged a subtle look.

“We are,” TV Tenley said quickly. “As we’ve told everyone, it was all a terrible accident. We were just out for a little joy ride to celebrate the end of the Fall Festival. None of us knew that Tricia had brought fireworks on board. But we thought it would be fun when she started setting them off. Until, of course, one malfunctioned, and the boat caught fire.”

The screen switched to an image of golden fireworks, raining down over the ocean like falling stars. “Someone caught this image on camera that night,” Michelle Lou’s voice said in the background. Tenley dug her nails deeper into her palm, drawing a tiny drop of blood. The picture showed the final explosion that had gone off—the fireworks that Tenley had wrestled out of Tricia’s hands. “If you look closely,”
Michelle Lou went on, “people say you can see the ghosts of the three Lost Girls in the tendrils of smoke, almost as if they’re celebrating the addition of two more to their ranks.” The camera paused for a final second on the image before returning to Tenley and Sydney.

“Tell me,” Michelle said, leaning in close to the girls. “What do you think of what people are saying, that this was the Lost Girls Curse at work again—two beautiful young women stolen by the ocean in the prime of their lives? Does the fact that your friends died by the Phantom Rock, the
very
spot of the first Lost Girl’s death, make you wonder if this wasn’t so much an accident… but fate?”

This time, it was Sydney who answered. “No,” she said flatly, the camera zooming in on her turquoise-blue eyes. “This was a terrible accident, and nothing more.” Tenley cringed, remembering just how much she’d hated Michelle Lou at that moment.

“Well,” Michelle said, clearly a little thrown by Sydney’s response, “that’s one way to look at it. But there are some who are saying that Echo Bay now has two new Lost Girls.”

Tenley turned off the TV and flopped facedown on the couch. They could call it an accident or a curse or fate all they wanted, but she would always know the truth. Tricia had taken them out there to kill them. And Tenley had almost been the first to go. It was Caitlin who had stopped her. She’d pushed Tricia off Tenley just in time, saving her life. And then only seconds later, she’d lost her own.

Tenley closed her eyes. When the cops had first asked her and Sydney to talk about what happened, Sydney had wanted to tell them everything: about Tricia, about the dares. But Tenley had stopped her. She knew once they started talking, there would be no turning back. Now that deaths were involved, the cops would want to know every single detail, including what the dares had said. Suddenly their deepest
secrets—
Cait’s
deepest secrets—would become evidence, pawed over by cop after cop, maybe even leaked to the public. Tenley was pretty sure Michelle Lou would have had a field day with it. She refused to let that happen.

Sydney had been quick to agree. More than anything it wouldn’t be fair to Caitlin. She should be remembered as an angel, and nothing less. And what difference would it make now anyway? Tricia was dead. There was no changing the past. So they’d come up with the accident story, and cop after cop, interview after interview, friend after friend, they’d stuck to it. Sydney had insisted on clearing Joey’s name first, telling the cops the whole thing had been a misunderstanding, one big practical joke. With no one to press charges, the whole case had been dropped—and not one person had questioned Tenley and Sydney’s story.

Emerson was the only other person who knew the truth about Tricia. And no one—not even Sydney—knew exactly what had happened at the very end. When the boat slammed into the Phantom Rock, Sydney had fallen, sliding to the other side of the deck. Which left Tenley as the only person alive who’d seen Caitlin and Tricia go overboard. She’d told Sydney and Emerson that the force of the jolt had thrown them both. But of course she knew what really happened.

“You ready, Ten Ten?” Tenley could smell her mom’s flowery perfume as she came up behind her. She opened her eyes again. Caitlin’s burial had taken place earlier in the week, a private event for immediate family only. But today was her memorial service, and everyone was invited. Tenley took a deep breath. She would never be ready for this. But she didn’t have a choice.

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling a little. She stood up to find her mom dressed modestly for her, in a short, cap-sleeved black dress that
showed off only a touch of cleavage. Her mom waited for Tenley to go first, before following her outside. Lanson and Guinness were waiting out by the car.

“You look nice, Tiny,” Guinness said, but Tenley just ignored him, climbing into the backseat of the car. Her mom surprised her by giving Guinness the front seat and getting into the back with Tenley.

She and her mom had barely had a chance to talk this past week. Tenley had still been in the hospital when her mom returned from China early Tuesday morning. Although Tenley hadn’t been hurt out on the boat, she had inhaled a lot of smoke—plus she and Sydney had swum halfway back to shore in the icy, early-morning water before a rescue boat showed up. The hospital had insisted she needed surveillance for the next twenty-four hours, so she’d been forced to stay until her mom could be reached. When her mom had finally arrived, fresh off the plane, it had been in true Trudy fashion: full face of makeup and full mouth of insults, demanding to know what was going on.

The next several days had been a flurry of interviews and shopping and doctor visits and trips to the police station. Her mom had been by her side during most of it, putting on a pretty smile for the cameras, but not once had they actually
talked
. But as they drove down Ocean Drive toward the Seaside Cemetery, her mom reached out and placed a hand over Tenley’s. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but it’s going to get better,” she said softly. “I promise.” For a second Tenley could swear she heard a trace of grief break through her spoiled-rich-wife façade, and it made her wonder if she, too, was thinking of Tenley’s dad.

“Thanks,” Tenley said. They were quiet for the rest of the drive, but her mom kept her hand on top of Tenley’s, their fingers laced loosely together.

Tenley had known Caitlin’s memorial was being held outside to
accommodate the large crowd that was expected, but as they pulled into the oceanside cemetery, she couldn’t believe just how many people were there. It was everyone: all of Winslow—students, teachers, Ms. Howard—a group from the animal shelter, the staff of the Seaborne Gallery, some friends Tenley didn’t recognize, probably from Caitlin’s summer camp, and even some local store owners from the places Caitlin loved: Sandy and Matt from Pat-a-Pancake, and Marvin from Bean Encounters, passing out free coffee. The place was packed, most of the chairs already filled, and more people were pouring in by the minute.

It was just like Caitlin to be this popular even in death. She’d always been like that: one of those rare people who was liked by everyone. Or almost everyone. Tenley had skipped Tricia’s memorial yesterday, claiming to still feel sick from the smoke, but she’d heard there’d been a lot of people there. She doubted it was anything like this, though.

“Tenley!” Sydney called over from the front of the seating area. She was standing with that dorky goldendoodle boy, Calum. Tenley couldn’t believe it had been only two weeks ago that she’d kissed him during truth or dare. It felt more like a lifetime ago. Sydney gave Tenley a hesitant wave to join her as Tenley’s family began to look for seats.

“Go ahead, sit with your friend,” her mom said, nodding toward Sydney. Tenley was about to say that Sydney wasn’t exactly her friend, but she stopped short. Right now, Sydney was probably the closest thing she had to one. More tears brimmed in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. Besides, she’d rather sit with Sydney than Guinness anyway.

As she made her way toward Sydney, she could feel the sympathetic smiles and pitying looks people were sending in her direction, but she kept her head down, avoiding eye contact. “How many?” Sydney asked
when she reached her. It was a game they’d started playing this week, in the midst of all the interviewing and questioning. They kept track of how many people managed to stop them to sympathize. The lower the score the better. But right now, Tenley couldn’t find it in her to respond. The service hadn’t even started yet, and already she felt as though her insides were being sent through Lanson’s shredder; and she knew once they came out the other side, she would never be whole again.

A woman who looked like a clone of Sydney, only older, joined them. As Sydney hugged her, Calum turned to face Tenley. “This… this is awful,” he said softly.

“I didn’t realize you were friends with Cait,” Tenley replied, a little more sharply than she’d intended.

“I wasn’t.” Calum locked eyes with Tenley and Tenley took a step back, surprised by the ferocity she saw there. It made him seem like a whole different guy from the one who’d worn a
SUPERHERO-IN-TRAINING
shirt to her party. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I understand a lot more than you realize, Tenley.”