THE WIND FLOGGED CAGE’S EARS as he sprinted through the woods with Mae. As soon as she’d told him about Fern and Lance, he’d known where to go. The dock. The dock. Lance would take the girl to the place on the beach where Ro died, he was sure of it. Adrenaline spurred him forward and he heard Mae right behind him, trying to keep up.
It’ll be okay, that was what he wanted to tell her, but how did you ever know? He hadn’t known he’d be too scared to meet her this morning after almost getting caught last night. But he hadn’t been able to leave Blue Gate without seeing her either, so he’d watched the burial from a distance. And when he saw her running his way, he knew he’d stayed for a reason.
He picked up speed, heading toward the dock. The wind funneled through the trees with a moan, a drawn-out cry. A gust swirled around them, thrashing them, and he pushed himself harder. Christ, what was Lance going to do?
One, two, three, Cage chanted as he ran, four, five, almost there, six, seven, almost there—and just as he made it to the beach, cold pellets of rain began to fall. The bay was choppier than he’d ever seen it. No seagulls, no boats, no people, no girl.
He ran out onto the sand, launched himself over the dunes, Mae right behind him. The summer storm was in full force now, the rain pouring down on them, onto the waves—pockmarking the water and swirling it into whitewash. Where were they, where?
Then, ahead, something hunched on the dock. Something dark. Mae saw it too and gasped, and then they were both sprinting faster, running out onto the planks, and the dark hunch was Lance. He was twisting, looking over his shoulder, and in his arms was something limp—Fern?
Mae yelled, and he threw the girl over the edge as Cage lunged forward, his fist already rearing back on instinct. It slammed into Lance’s head and down he went, crumpling to the dock.
“There she is!” Mae shouted.
He turned, scanned the waves, only whitewash and dark water and rain. She’d drown if they didn’t find her, it could already be too late, and then he saw something gold—there!—and he dived in. The water was a shock, and he kicked out hard. When he broke the surface, there was something ahead.
It was her.
He swam as fast as he could, swallowed a mouthful of ocean, and spit it out and kept going. There she was again, her blond hair in the choppy water, sinking down, down. He sped up his stroke and his shoulders burned and the rain stung and just as he almost reached her, her body jerked away. His first thought was current—she’d gotten caught in a current.
Cage took a huge breath and went under, looking for her, reaching for her, but the water was dark and churning. Then, just ahead, another glint of gold hair and he grabbed it and felt nothing but water. He kicked forward and reached out again and suddenly remembered Ro, the blood he hadn’t wanted to see, and then his screaming lungs drew him out of the memory, his ribs about to burst, his legs kicking up just as something fleshy moved past him—the girl! It was her, Fern, and her eyes were closed and he needed to breathe. He reached out with the last of his strength, flinging his hand toward her in one desperate grasp, everything inside him needing air, and then his fingers tangled in hair and he grabbed hold and kicked.
He broke the surface and gasped in a deep breath, yanking her up. He had her now, but her eyes were still shut and her lips had gone blue and he hurried to lift her against his side. With his arm tucked underneath her, he craned his neck, tried to gauge how far he was from shore. Mae was still standing on the dock, Lance lying beside her. Cage kicked harder, faster, choking in the whitewash, the swell from the storm lifting him up and spitting him out. His ribs smacked hard against the pilings as he grabbed the edge of a plank with his free hand and hoisted the girl up. He went under and then managed to grab the dock again and pull himself after her.
His knees hit the planks and a cough racked his body and then he turned. Mae was bent over Fern, rolling her onto her back and starting chest compressions—one two three four—and next to them was Lance, still passed out, one of his arms hanging over the edge of the dock. Cage felt like kicking him into the water, but first there was Fern.
Mae worked fast, pinching the girl’s nose, breathing into her mouth, and then waiting. Live, Cage thought, desperate to see her chest rise. There was nothing, and he knew they were too late, but he didn’t want to believe it.
“Live!” he shouted as Mae leaned down to breathe into the girl’s mouth again, and suddenly Fern began to cough. Now her chest was rising and falling on its own, but her eyes stayed shut—something else was wrong.
Mae stood, pulled a phone from her pocket. “There’s no signal,” she said, her voice lost in the wind as she pounded at the screen, huddling over it to keep the rain out.
Cage’s body tensed but there was no choice, no time to think—they needed help and they had to get away from Lance.
“The house.” He bent down, heaved Fern into his arms, and started forward, half stumbling over the wet planks, Mae behind him. They hit the woods, just a little farther now.
“Fern,” Cage said, looking down at her as he ran. “Fern?” She coughed up more water, but her eyes stayed shut. He kept on, the extra weight slowing him down, the weakness still from when he’d gotten sick. “It’ll be okay,” he said, because he wanted it to be true. “It’ll be okay.”
His legs were burning and the girl was heavy, and he looked down and saw her, he was carrying Ro, her body in his arms, the sticky wetness of her hair.
“It’s okay,” someone whispered, “it’s okay,” and then Cage blinked and he was holding the girl. He ran forward, branches scratching against his face, the wind and rain flaying him. All of a sudden he remembered that day on the boat, and he could see it now, how Ro was standing across from him, on the other side of the deck, and how there was a jingling sound, like glass breaking, or like…keys? Then she was stepping back and slipping, and—
“Cage!”
It was Mae, she was ahead of him now, she’d passed him in the yard. Behind her the tall house rose up like some bluish thing in the sky, and everything inside him shrank back.
“No,” Fern moaned in his arms, but her eyes were still shut, so he kept going forward, straight for the house, for Mae, for help. He ran faster and the wind pushed against him, and then he heard footsteps behind him, something jingling, but there was no time to see what it was because Mae was running inside the house now and he had to follow her. He stumbled and looked down at Fern, at her little round face, and she was enough to propel him through the yard, past the fountain and the beech trees flailing in the rain and Sonny’s blue truck in the driveway.
He could feel the girl’s chest rising and falling, quick and shallow, and then he remembered holding Ro on the beach and the last thing she’d said to him. A breath came out of her mouth that she never got to finish, a long drawn-out Caaaaaaaaaaa…and that was it. He’d pulled her against him, but she was already gone—
“Dad, stop!”
Cage jerked his head up and saw Mae standing by the open door. He hesitated a split second, and then time snapped back full speed and his legs wrenched into motion as he charged onto the porch and burst through the doorway.
Her dad was there, pointing a rifle at him, and Mae stepped in front of it, just like she’d done before. “Get out of the way!” Sonny shouted, but she wasn’t moving and neither was Cage.
He heard the sound of dripping and realized it was him—the rain was running down his clothes and onto the wooden floor, the water puddling under his feet, and he could feel it everywhere, in his bones, his head, his mouth, but now he had to talk, he had to.
He held out Fern. “She needs help, sir.”
Sonny’s rifle was still trained his way, Mae blocking its path. “Give her to Mae.”
“Dad, put the gun down!” she yelled. “He didn’t do it!”
“Give her to Mae,” Sonny repeated. “Now.”
Mae shook her head. “I called the ambulance, it’s on the way. Set the gun down.”
“Move!” Sonny shouted. Cage could tell he was losing it, and had to do something.
“Here,” Cage said, holding out the girl. “She’s breathing fine, just hasn’t woken up.”
Mae stepped toward him, her arms open. He handed Fern over and then raised his hands. Sonny’s trigger finger tightened.
“But Cage saved her,” Mae pleaded, trying to step in front of the gun again. “Lance was—”
A gust of air hit Cage’s back as the door swung open behind him. Someone was standing just out of sight. He couldn’t turn to look, not with Sonny staring down a rifle at him. Cage tried to keep calm, but his heart felt like it was emptying rounds in his chest and he knew he was trapped.
Mae was shaking her head, tears in her eyes. “Dad, he—”
“He did it, Mr. Cole.” A lower voice now, interrupting Mae. “He killed Ro, and he tried to hurt Fern too.”
It was Lance behind him; he must have followed them back to the house. There was no time to explain now, no chance of being heard. He was cornered, no way out.
“Dad, please listen to me!” Mae begged. “Lance did this!”
Sonny kept the rifle raised. “Don’t move,” he said. “Either of you.”
“Mr. Cole,” Lance started again. Cage heard the creak of a floorboard as he closed in on his back. “Whatever he tol—”
“You got to help her,” Cage said, his fists tightening. He glanced at Mae’s arms. Fern seemed to be asleep on her shoulder, her ribs stuttering under her thin T-shirt.
“He’s dangerous, Mr. Cole,” Lance said, sounding so sure of himself.
“No, Dad,” Mae said, “he’s—”
“But I saw it.” An edge in Lance’s voice now. “I saw what he did to Ro.”
Anger was welling up in Cage, threatening to escape. He wanted to spin around and flatten Lance, pound his lying mouth, show him what to be afraid of. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out. One, two, three, four, and then on five it hit him.
“Sir, it’s true,” Cage said, “he did see it.” Mae sucked in a breath beside him, but he kept going. Sonny’s face hardened, and he aimed the barrel at his chest.
“Lance was there, watching her from the trees, like he always was.” As he said it, it all clicked into place. The jingle of keys the moment before Ro fell, the sound of Lance’s keys. He’d been there all along. “He saw that I didn’t kill her, that it was an accident.”
“Liar,” Lance said, taking another step forward. “You ran.”
“Hold still, both of you!” Sonny’s grip strained around the rifle.
“Listen to Cage, Dad,” Mae pleaded. “He’s innocent, I know it.”
“You’re just confused, Mae,” Lance said. “He’s tricked you. Just like he tricked Ro into falling for him. This is all his fault.”
“Enough,” Sonny said, his dark gaze boring into Cage. “Now talk. You.”
“I know it was wrong to run,” Cage said, looking Sonny in the eye, his teeth clenched to keep from shouting, “but I got scared and—”
The screech of sirens drowned him out. Doors slammed in the driveway, and then footsteps were pounding up the stairs. Sonny kept the gun on him as the shove came at his back, knocking him to his knees. Next came a pull on his wrists, the snap of flex cuffs. Someone behind him hauled him to his feet and pushed him through the open door.
Cage shut his eyes. Rain hit his face, wind whipped against him—it was slow going toward the cruiser in the driveway. Every muscle in his body ached and the wind tunneled around his ears. He was thrown into a cop car, the door slamming shut, the lock clicking. He turned and watched Childers hustle back to the porch, where the ambulance crew had Fern on a stretcher.
Behind her, red lights flashed across the windows of the house, across its painted walls. Rain thrashed down on it, water ran down its sides, and it looked to Cage like a sinking ship. This house that maybe—way back when—one of his ancestors had come from, and now he wasn’t welcome here. Not before, not ever.
A shadow fell across the window, and he glanced over. It was Lance, leaning against the vehicle, rain soaking him. Cage snapped up straight in his seat. The adrenaline was back, and he strained against the cuffs, the hard plastic digging into his skin.
“You know the truth.”
“Some of it,” Lance drawled out, his voice muffled through the glass and the rain. His gaze was on the ambulance loading up, the cops talking to Sonny and Mae on the porch. There was the sound of a bolt clicking as Lance opened the driver’s-side door.
“I know it’s your fault,” Lance said, and Cage could hear him clearly now. “She’s dead because you couldn’t save her.”
“Come back here.” The rage was hot inside him, and Cage kicked the seats, jolting them forward. “Come back here and settle this.”
Lance shook his head. “She would have been safer with me,” he said, turning away and jogging over to the ambulance.
Cage yelled when he saw him get into the back. He threw himself against the door and the grate and yelled again, but no one turned to look at him. No one saw Lance get in behind Fern, no one was watching but him.
Ro, help her, he thought, shouting out again as the ambulance drove away. And then the side door was opening, and the wind hit him in the face. Mae was reaching for him, dragging him across the wet seat and out of the car, into the rain, his wrists still cuffed behind his back.
“You’ve got to go,” she said, grabbing his elbow, shoving a small knife in his hand. “Go!”
He spun toward the house, but the porch was empty. The door was wide open, but no one was there, like some magic veil had been pulled down, like Ro had played one final trick. Mae tugged at his arm, but he shook his head, his legs locking up.
“Lance went with Fern,” he said, but she didn’t hear him, she was still yanking him away from the house, begging him to run, and then came the blast that thundered in his ears and he was falling, the gravel rising up in front of him, and Mae was falling too.