I’m shaking my head, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, trying to digest the fact that she even knew Donovan.
“Don’t I look even a little bit familiar to you?” she asks.
I study her a moment, remembering how earlier Amber said she looked familiar.
“I was a sophomore last year at Hillcrest,” she continues. “Donovan was kicked out the year before, when I was a freshman. Ring any bells?”
I feel my mouth drop open.
“I’m almost surprised you don’t recognize me,” she says. “I guess a little makeover goes a long way—either that or you and your self-absorbed friends are too preoccupied to notice anything that goes on outside your pathetic little circle.”
“Clara,” I say, ignoring her twisted logic, “let’s get you some help. You aren’t safe here.” I go to peer over my shoulder, wondering where Jacob is, but notice her fingers grip tighter around the letter opener. Facing me now, she brings it up to her middle, the tip red with blood. She cradles her stomach so closely, almost as if she’s holding herself in.
“Don’t you get it?” she whispers. “Nobody’s after me. Nobody’s stalking me. Just like nobody was stalking Drea. Donovan loved Drea. Maybe if he didn’t get locked up, if you didn’t twist everything all around, he could have loved me, too. He could have seen how much I loved him.”
“Clara,” I say, “you don’t understa—”
“No, you don’t.” She brings the letter opener up to her forearm now, grazing along her skin with the blade, as though slicing at the tiny arm hairs. “You should’ve heard how stupid you sounded—all that crap about me being in danger. It’s just like Donovan said, you don’t know how to mind your own business. I came here because I knew where you guys were vacationing. I heard you all bragging about it in the cafeteria last year—‘Aren’t we so special to get a beachfront cottage’,” she mimics. “Someone needed to teach you a lesson—you and your so-called predictions. And now I have.”
“Wait,” I say, hearing the metal pipe as it rolls somewhere behind me, wondering how far back it is, if I might be able to grab it. “You made this all up? You aren’t getting stalked?”
She shakes her head and lets out a laugh. “I’m not even here with my parents—they think I’m at a friend’s summer camp.” She looks down at the scratches on her arm, the ones she said were from the doll, and runs the blade over them. It’s then that it hits me—how comfortable she is with the action. How it’s obvious that she’s the one who cuts herself.
I glance at her sarong, the tie flapping in the breeze, imagining all the cuts she must have beneath it, remembering hearing once that people who cut themselves often pick places on their body where nobody else can see. “You cut your stomach,” I say, more of a statement than a question. I take a step closer, noticing how distant her eyes look.
Clara ignores me, leaning back against the railing for support. Her feet are unsteady with the swaying of the boat—and with how weak she seems. “I hope I’ve made you and all of your friends’ lives miserable,” she whispers, “just like you’ve made mine and Donovan’s.” She goes to say something else, but the boat starts to rock a bit more, causing her to lose balance. She falls back against the railing—hard.
“Clara, be careful!” I shout.
She goes to gain better footing, but the boat rocks even harder and her body launches backward against the railing again, her feet flailing upward.
I grab her arm, yanking her forward to keep from flipping off the boat.
“Let go of me!” she shouts.
I move to steady her, placing my palm over the handle of the letter opener. I look at her, silently asking her permission to take it.
“I said, stay back!” she shouts, lunging at me with the blade. She plunges it deep into my forearm.
I hear myself wail. I go to pull the blade out. At the same moment, Clara grabs the pipe that’s been rolling around the deck; it’s about the length of a baseball bat. She comes at me with it, as though possessed by her own rage.
The letter opener finally free of my arm, I point it at her to protect myself.
“Clara—no!” It’s Jacob. I turn to look. At the same moment, Clara strikes down on my shoulder with the pipe. The letter opener goes flying from my grip. I hear myself cry out from the sting of her blow. My whole arm is throbbing. Blood is trickling down over my fingers from the blade’s puncture wound.
“Back against the railing!” She holds the pipe high, as though to strike down at my head.
I do what she says, plotting the whole time about how I can protect myself—push her back and off balance, kick her in the stomach, wait for the boat to rock and dive into her middle . . . I scan the deck for the letter opener. It’s just inches from her feet.
Jacob begins walking toward us as Clara smacks down on my other shoulder with the pipe. “Stay back!” she shouts at him. “Or I’ll make Stacey pay.”
Jacob stops. My arms and shoulders throb with pain. I dive down for the letter opener, just as Clara stomps her heels down onto my hands. I try to pull away, but she grinds harder into my knuckles and holds me there. I lift my head, ready to bite at her ankle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jacob coming toward me again.
“Against the railing,” she shouts at him. “Every step you take just makes it worse for your girlfriend.” She plunges the pipe down into my neck, cutting off my breath, my cheek flat against the deck now. “Of course, you weren’t exactly calling her your girlfriend a little while ago,” she continues. “That’s what you were calling me.” She releases her hold on my hands to gain a better stance, and then kicks the letter opener away.
I go to push Clara back, but I can barely breathe. I feel my arms flail out, my fingers searching, reaching. I can see Clara struggling with the pipe, trying to hold me in place and keep her balance, but still, it’s like there’s this fire blazing inside her, feeding her adrenaline, keeping her strong.
“Let’s make a deal,” she breathes. “For every step your cheating boyfriend takes backward, I’ll release the hold on your neck. Deal?”
I blink in agreement.
Jacob hesitates, but then I see him comply. He takes a step back and I’m able to swallow. He continues to take steps backward, toward the railing, as Clara’s pipe-grip on my neck gives and I’m able to breathe. Lying on my side, I gasp a few times, keeping my eye on the letter opener, now just a few feet away. Clara follows my gaze, allowing me to sit up and push her—hard. I plunge my palms into her middle and she goes reeling. The pipe shoots from her grip. I lunge to grab the letter opener.
At the same moment, I hear it. The railing gives way and Jacob falls backward.
I stop breathing.
His scream is like a long, sour wail that cuts right through my heart. I cry out his name and scramble to my feet, running across the deck to where he fell. I look down into the ocean, half expecting to see him, but there’s just blackness, the inky black water splashing up against the sides of the boat. And we’re moving so fast, the boat speeding away. “No!” I cry out. “Stop!”
I go to grab a life preserver, almost tripping over the pipe that continues to roll around the deck. That’s when I notice that it’s actually the pin they use to keep this section of railing closed, that this is actually the gate where we boarded the boat, and somebody didn’t put both pins back in.
I throw the preserver into the ocean and lean over the side of the boat. “Jacob!” I scream, over and over again, toward the water, readying myself to dive in. There’s a patch of blood at the side of the boat, like maybe he hit his head.
I look back at Clara, wondering if I still need to protect myself against her attacks, but she’s lying facedown in a puddle of her own blood. I approach her, noticing how her sarong has opened slightly, how there are dried cuts up and down her thighs. She’s whimpering now, cradling her stomach wound. Her eyes are drooping, the fight inside her finally dead. I go to touch one of her hands, noticing how cold it feels, how her lips look
blue.
I run as fast as I can to find one of the few crew members. And when I do, I can’t seem to get the words out fast enough—how Jacob fell in, how the boat needs to stop and turn back.
And how Clara is minutes from death.
thirty-eight
Everything that happens next is a blur. The boat stops. The Coast Guard arrives. Rescue boats speed out. Clara is flown away in a medical helicopter.
The police come. Frat boys get arrested. Another boat ferries most of the passengers away.
And I just sit here, emotionally welded to the deck, just feet from where Jacob fell in, waiting for him to surface. I feel like if I leave this spot, he might not be able to find his way back up.
Blurs of people approach me. They want me to go to the hospital as well, I think. They want me to move away from the scene of the accident. They want me to talk to someone, tell them everything that happened, put on a warm coat, have something cold to drink, get my arm bandaged up.
But I won’t. Because that means leaving this spot, leaving Jacob. And I can’t.
Amber and Drea are all arms and hugs around me. They’re crying too, whispering that everything will be okay, that the rescue team will find him.
I hope they’re right. I hope this is a horrible dream, that in a few short hours I will wake up out of this nightmarish state, even though I know it isn’t.
And I know I won’t.
I think I see blurs of PJ and Chad. I think they sit behind me for a while. Maybe one of them pats my back. Maybe one of them whispers that they’re being forced onto the ferry. Maybe Amber tells them to go.
Maybe not.
“Stacey,” some lady mouths. And then there’s more mouthing, but I really don’t have time to focus on all that. I have to watch the water.
I have to be alert for Jacob.
Time passes. The sun rises. Somehow my arm has been bandaged up. Somehow blankets have been placed over my shoulders. And there’s a mug of something in front of me, a package of crackers as well. Amber and Drea are still here, I think. Every once in a while, one of them will wipe my forehead, hold my hand, kiss my cheek, mouth something at me.
Or maybe those are angels.
I’m busy watching the rescuers. More of them come and go, speeding back and forth in rescue boats that light up giant patches of sea. Some of them turn to look at me on their way back. They shake their heads and curse silently to themselves.
Some of them can’t look at me at all.
“Stacey,” a little voice says in my ear. “Time to go.”
I shake my head, swearing that I’ll never leave, that Jacob and I will never be apart.
But they take me anyway—hands and arms and fingers, pulling at me, making me go, taking me away, mouthing things at me despite my pleas to stay and wait for Jacob. “He’ll find me!” I shout, so loud inside my head; I’m not sure if they can hear it, too. “I need to be here for him.”
I fight all of it, kicking and screaming and weighing myself down by dragging my feet along the deck. Until I can’t fight anymore. Until I feel dead inside.
Until my body gives out and my life falls to pieces.
epilogue
News clipping from the Cape Cod Gazette
Fundraiser Frat Cruise Turned Booze-fest Bust Leaves One Teen Critically Injured, Another Missing
SANDYHAVEN—One teen is missing, another was rushed to Morley General Hospital during what was supposed to be a charity event sponsored by Pinewood University’s Delta Pi fraternity.
The young man missing is Jacob LeBlanc, 18, of Vail, Colorado. According to authorities, LeBlanc had been trying to resolve a scuffle between two female passengers when the boat deck’s railing gave way and LeBlanc fell overboard at around 12:05 AM Friday morning.
According to Officer James Riley of the Sandyhaven Police, a pin holding the railing together was either taken out or became loose, allowing the barrier to become unhinged.
The Coast Guard arrived shortly after LeBlanc’s fall. No body has been recovered.
The teen flown to Morley General and involved in the incident is said to be in stable condition. Earlier in the evening, the 15-year-old female, whose name has not been released, stabbed herself in the stomach, according to Riley, and had to receive an emergency blood transfusion.
Riley says authorities have been unable to determine if the stabbing was accidental or a suicide attempt.
The exact cause of the incident is unknown. One source says the 15-year-old may have been pretending to be the victim of a stalking as a way to get close to LeBlanc and his girlfriend, Stacey Brown, 18, who was also involved in the scuffle. Brown was treated for minor injuries at the scene.
The source says the girl had been leaving gifts and mysterious notes for herself, claiming that they were from an anonymous stalker. Parents of the 15-year-old declined to comment, but a friend of the family says the teen’s parents thought she had been vacationing at a friend’s summer rental.
Brown also refused to comment.
A criminal investigation is underway, and police say the search for LeBlanc will continue for another 72 hours.
“It just isn’t right,” Riley said. “He [LeBlanc] and his girlfriend were set to start college in just a couple weeks. Now his parents are planning his funeral.”
Transcript from therapy session with Dr. Atwood
[Begin tape]
Dr. Atwood: How are you feeling today?
SB: Numb.
Dr. Atwood: Understandable. Do you want to talk about it?
SB: Not really.
Dr. Atwood: I want you to know that what you’re feeling is completely normal. It’s good to give yourself time to grieve. It’s healthy. We need that.
[Long pause]
Dr. Atwood: Do you want to talk about what happened after the accident?
SB: Not really.
Dr. Atwood: What would you like to talk about?
SB: Nothing.
Dr. Atwood: Have you tried drafting that letter we talked about?
SB: No.
Dr. Atwood: I really think it might help you,
Stacey.
SB: [shrugging]
Dr. Atwood: I was thinking . . . it might also be helpful to write a letter to Clara.
SB: No!
Dr. Atwood: I know the idea of it might seem overwhelming right now, but it might give you an outlet for some of your anger. Even if you don’t send it, it’ll give you a place to explore your feelings toward her, toward her actions.
SB: I hate her.
Dr. Atwood: Tell me why.
SB: You know why.
Dr. Atwood: It’s good for you to get it out. Tell me, why do you dislike Clara so much?
SB: Because she’s responsible.
Dr. Atwood: For what?
SB: For what happened.
Dr. Atwood: What specifically?
SB: All of it.
Dr. Atwood: What do you think her plan was?
SB: To cause problems.
Dr. Atwood: Problems for whom?
SB: Everybody.
Dr. Atwood: Including you and Jacob?
SB: [nodding]
Dr. Atwood: Why do you think Clara would want to cause problems between you and Jacob?
SB: Because of Donovan.
Dr. Atwood: The boy who was sent to the juvenile detention center?
SB: [nodding again]
Dr. Atwood: She blames you for that?
ME: [more nodding]
Dr. Atwood: She must have been very angry.
SB: I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
Entries from Jacob’s journal
Monday, August 23rd
Moon: last quarter
l had another nightmare. lt was even more intense than the last one. l dreamt that l was choking. My lungs were filling up with water and l couldn’t breathe. l woke up in a cold sweat with a horrible stabbing feeling in my chest. l fear l’m going to drown. l want to tell Stacey about it, but it seems she’s having nigh
tmares about some girl who’s renting down here as well. She seems really stressed about it. l figure if l just stay out of the ocean, away from water, l should be okay. Except Stacey keeps asking me to go for a swim. l feel like a jerk keeping secrets from her, but l know it’s for the best. lf she had any idea that l was going to drown, that my life was at stake, she’d drop everything. That’s just the way she is. l don’t want to add that stress to her right now.
Tonight, after everybody goes to sleep, l’m going to the beach to do a prophecy spell with saltwater, sunflower seeds, and dried thyme. l hope it tells me what l need to know. Am l really going to drown? What’s going to cause it? ls it purely accidental or is someone else behind it?
And then l need to stop it from happening.
Tuesday, August 24th
03 - Silver Is For Secrets Page 19