Every Vow You Break

by Peter Swanson

  “Sure, Chip Ramsay,” Abigail said back, copying his tone of voice. “I’m guilty as charged.”

  Chip reached out and gently tapped the shoulder of the pilot, who pulled his mask back over his head, then came around behind Abigail and placed his hands on her left shoulder. Eric came around to stand behind Abigail on her other side.

  “And you, Jill Greenly, do you plead guilty, also, to infidelity and wantonness?”

  Abigail looked over at Jill, who was quietly crying. She watched Jill slowly lift her head and nod, and then Carl was behind her, also wearing a mask that covered the top half of his face, leaving his mustache visible. The masks looked homemade, probably constructed with papier-mâché, then painted green; she had a sudden surreal vision of these men crafting them. Or had they simply found them in the camp’s old theater department, some leftover from a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream? Abigail turned back to Bruce, no longer being held back by Eric, and she tried to read his expression. He was excited, his eyes gleaming and his body rocking back and forth like a little boy who needs to pee. But there was also fear in his face, his jaw clenched, his neck rigid.

  Jesus, are they really going to kill us?

  A flush of cold desperation surged through her body. “Bruce,” she said. “Make this stop.”

  His expression changed, his brow lowering, and for a moment she thought he might put an end to what was happening. Maybe it really was just a performance, designed to scare them, a form of theater as punishment. Then Chip raised his arms again and pronounced, “We sentence you both as whores, and assert our privileges as men to decree punishment in the form of death for both of you.”

  Jill raised her head and yelled, “Alec!” over and over, her voice growing louder and more hysterical. Carl, from behind her, grabbed at her mouth and covered it. Porter charged in and helped to hold Jill. At the same time, the pilot and Eric grabbed hold of Abigail’s shoulders and arms and held her in place.

  “Bruce, Alec,” Chip said, and both men turned to him. “Are you each prepared to deliver the punishment?”

  CHAPTER 27

  We are,” Bruce said, but Alec only nodded. His face was flushed, and Abigail realized that she hadn’t heard him say a word since they’d been out here. Chip reached into the front pockets of his vest and pulled a short knife from each. Abigail tried to wrench herself free from Eric and the pilot, but they held on to her tighter, pulling her up off the chair, each gripping an arm. Bruce took one of the knives from Chip and Alec took the other. Abigail struggled, flailing her legs, but the men were too strong. She could feel Eric’s hot breath on her neck, and the pilot was digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her upper arm.

  Looking toward Jill, Abigail saw that she was being held upright by Carl and Porter now as well. But she wasn’t struggling. She looked like she was already dead, slumped between them like a rag doll.

  Bruce was coming toward her and all Abigail could see was the knife in his hand. I’m about to die, she thought, and terror flooded her body again. She was cold, and felt all alone, more alone than she’d ever felt before in her life. She looked up from the knife to Bruce’s face, which was still rigid, his teeth bared. She heard Jill groan, but didn’t turn. Bruce pressed the tip of the knife against her chest, then pushed.

  She felt pressure, but not much else. It doesn’t hurt, she thought. There’s that, at least.

  Bruce pulled the knife out, and it made a strange, mechanical click. She still felt nothing. Just dizziness and the cold, terrible awareness that she was dying. He pushed the knife in again, laughing, and turned back to look at Chip, now standing alone, a look of triumph on his red face. Abigail looked down at her chest, and there was no blood. She still felt nothing, and then she looked at the knife, its blade bloodless as well.

  Bruce was following her eyes, and he put his finger on top of the blade, pushed down, and the blade retracted into its sheath. It was a fake knife, something used in theaters. There’d been several of them at Boxgrove in the props department.

  “Just kidding,” Bruce said, and took a step backward.

  Abigail felt her body go limp, collapsing so that she was only being held up by the pilot. Eric had let go of her and stepped away.

  There was no real relief, just a wave of helplessness, coupled with rage. Bruce turned his back to her, did a half bow as Chip applauded.

  “Fuck you,” Abigail said, and it took everything from her to say those words, but the men didn’t respond. The pilot let go of her and she sat back down in the chair. Her body felt as though it had been wrung out. All of her muscles burned. She looked over at Jill, now sitting back in her chair, too. Carl had taken off his mask and he’d just fist-bumped with Alec and then with Porter. Alec, still holding the knife, was swaying in place, his face hard to read. Carl and Porter walked back to Chip as Alec continued to stand over Jill.

  “You really thought I was going to kill you?” Bruce said, and his voice was too loud, as though adrenaline was still flowing through his body.

  Abigail said nothing. Her throat ached, and she could feel a sob rising through her, but she didn’t let it come out. The men, regrouped now, were comparing notes, laughing. She watched them, wondering what was going to happen next. Would she be expected to get on a plane with Bruce, leave the island? What would stop her from telling this story to the police, or to a reporter? Although at the moment she didn’t care about all that; she just wanted to get away, to go home, to forget everything that had happened.

  “Alec?” It was Porter’s voice. He was stretched to his full height, looking through the fire to where Alec still stood with Jill. The other men had begun to look, and Abigail turned her head, knowing, from the tone of Porter’s voice, that she was about to see something she didn’t want to see.

  Alec held a jagged rock in his hand and was slowly battering Jill with it. Or maybe he wasn’t doing it slowly, but it looked that way, his arm raising and lowering while the world froze around him. Everyone was silent; there was just the sound of the rock thunking into the side of Jill’s head, as he propped it with his other hand. Then he untangled his hand from her hair and brought the rock down in a long sweeping motion, hitting her on the jaw and knocking her off the chair and onto the ground. He dropped to a knee and hit her three more times with the rock, bringing it down harder each time. No one moved, but even if someone had, it would have been too late. The final strike had produced a sickening crack, and one of Jill’s legs was spasming.

  Porter came around the fire and grabbed Alec from behind, lifting him up and away from Jill. All the men followed, forming a semicircle around Jill’s body. Her leg had stopped twitching, but Abigail got a clear look at her destroyed head in the light from the fire.

  “Jesus,” Chip said, his voice with a hint of actual fear in it. Bruce was staring down, a hand over his mouth. The pilot pushed his mask off his head and it fell to the ground beside Jill.

  Abigail stood up on weak legs. She thought everyone would look at her, but they didn’t.

  A voice in her head said:

  Run.

  You’re a witness, and you need to run.

  Chip grabbed Alec’s face and held it. “What the fuck, Alec? What did you do?”

  Run.

  Abigail took two steps away from the chair. The men were only looking at one another.

  They have to kill you now, she thought. Whatever chance you thought you had that they’d let you off this island is now gone. You’re a witness to a murder.

  Run.

  But instead of running, she simply walked, putting one foot in front of the other, down the path that led out of the woods. She turned a corner, the path now dark because the fire was obscured by trees, then began to run, tripping on a root but managing to stay upright, her toe zinging with pain. The building that housed the pool and spa loomed suddenly in her vision on her right, its structure visible in the moonlight. She slowed a little; she hadn’t thought this far ahead, did not know immediately in what direc
tion she should go. What exactly was she doing? Should she try to find someone—a staff member—and tell them what had happened? No, she told herself. Even if some of the staff didn’t know what went on in the woods late at night, that didn’t mean they would suddenly take her side. Very rich men owned this place and did what they wanted on it. She needed to get off the island. It was her only chance.

  She stopped completely for a moment. For right now she needed to hide, to get somewhere where they wouldn’t find her. And then she could figure out what to do next.

  Should she run into the deep woods down near where the bunks ended? Or toward the pond and around it to where the old girls’ camp was? Or should she double back around the lodge, try to hide in the building with the swimming pool, or in the lodge itself?

  She ran across the front of the lodge, wondering if it was empty, if everyone on the island who hadn’t been to the ceremony was asleep in their beds. She was still wearing her Fitbit and checked the time. It was just past one in the morning. She thought she heard a voice behind her but didn’t dare look back, and when she got to the lodge’s farthermost side she cut right, deciding that doubling back was the best option. It would keep her away from the open lawn where they could see her, and maybe the move was unexpected enough that she’d get away with it.

  She was also already winded, her lungs burning and her limbs weak. At the back of the main lodge she stopped for a moment, listening to the night and not hearing anything. Deciding to take the risk, she moved quietly up the back wooden steps and tried the rear door of the lodge. It swung open and she stepped inside into the dark.

  CHAPTER 28

  She stood as still as possible at the side of the lodge’s great hall. It was dark, except for a light from the balcony level that cast down, painting the wooden floor with a few yellow bars. Abigail thought that it was a light kept on all the time. At least during the nighttime hours. The lodge was silent, no voices, no sound of movement. She told herself that if someone entered through the front doors, she could slip quietly back through the hallway she’d come in and make her way down through the tunnel that led to the swimming pool. From there she could exit back out into the night and enter the woods.

  But for right now she thought that she was alone in the lodge, and that she might be alone here for a little while. They’ll be looking for me outside, she thought. Scouring the woods. Maybe this was all part of the plan—to kill one woman and let the other escape so that they could hunt her. But Abigail didn’t think so. She’d watched Alec murder Jill, and she’d watched the reaction of the other men. It was not supposed to have happened. They’d find a way to cover it up, of course, but that meant Abigail was a witness. They would need to find her.

  The panic began to rise from her stomach up to her throat, and she told herself to breathe, told herself that she was still alive.

  Not only that, but she had done something smart, hadn’t she, by turning around and hiding in the lodge? She’d fooled them, temporarily.

  She wondered what to do next. The thought of running exhausted her. Whatever drugs they’d given her were still in her system, weighing her down, making her thoughts fuzzy. Also, as she kept reminding herself, there was nowhere to run to. She was on an island, and she didn’t trust anyone on it. Not the other guests, nor the detective, nor the staff members. Maybe she trusted Mellie, who’d at least tried to warn her, but that didn’t mean Mellie could do anything to help. So maybe the best move was to hunker down and hide, use time to her advantage. If they couldn’t find her they’d panic. Maybe they’d make a mistake. Still, she knew that if she wanted to do that—to go to ground, so to speak—she needed food.

  Without thinking too hard about it, she walked through the dining room, then pushed through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. It was dark except for under-lighting below the cabinets, just enough so that she could make out the gleaming configuration of high-end kitchen equipment. On the back wall she saw two large refrigeration units and moved in that direction.

  Inside the first one she spotted a hunk of cheese wrapped in cellophane, plus a bag of apples. She added the cheese to the apple bag and took it with her, grabbing the largest butcher knife she could find on her way back through. She had food and a weapon and realized that she also needed water. Deciding she didn’t want to stay inside the lodge any longer than she had to, she went to one of the massive stainless-steel sinks, turned on the faucet, and drank directly from it, filling herself with as much water as she could.

  She walked back the way she had come, going through the hall, then along the adjacent hallway, pausing as she realized that the office, with the phones and computers, was right above her. Was it worth checking? Clearly they had done something to make her think that the phone system was down earlier, but maybe it would be up now. Maybe she’d be able to make a call. Steeling herself, she took the stairs, every creak almost stopping her heart, but on the second-floor balcony she found that the door to the office was locked. She turned to go back the way she had come, then froze as she watched a door down the hall swing open, a wedge of light spreading across the floor. The person who emerged was dressed in a long white robe and turned in the opposite direction from Abigail, sliding the door shut behind them, then swinging the adjacent door open and disappearing again. The light wasn’t great, but Abigail felt pretty sure the figure had long hair, which didn’t mean much, but whoever it was also had very narrow shoulders. If it was a woman, then it had to be Mellie. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced it was Mellie. It made sense that as an employee she would sleep in the lodge, and the room next to hers was most likely a bathroom.

  Abigail couldn’t decide what to do, and then suddenly she heard the muffled sound of a toilet being flushed, and the person was back in the hallway. Moving as quietly as possible, she ran forward, quickly seeing that it really was Mellie, who was now watching Abigail approach.

  “Shh,” Abigail said, holding a finger in front of her lips as she got to Mellie, who looked confused and half-asleep.

  “Ab—” Mellie started.

  “They killed Jill,” Abigail whispered, interrupting. “Her husband just beat her to death with a rock. I saw the whole thing.”

  Mellie was pale in the dim light, her eyes wide. “I can’t help you,” she said, stammering a little. “You need to get away from here.”

  “I can’t. That’s what I’m telling you. I was a witness to a murder.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mellie said, taking a step backward. “No one here can help you.”

  “Listen to what I’m telling you. I’ve been drugged and beat up. It was some sort of elaborate joke, but then Alec Greenly really did kill his wife. I saw the whole thing.”

  Mellie was shaking her head, her eyes darting, as though the two women were being watched. “I believe you,” she said, her voice now a whisper as well. “Everyone who works here knows the things they do. But listen to me: no one here will help you.”

  “I’m not asking about someone else, I’m asking about you.”

  Mellie was shaking her head again, and her chin had begun to quiver. “There’s nothing …”

  She stopped speaking because the front door of the lodge had swung inward, and the beam of a flashlight was slicing across the great hall. Mellie gripped Abigail’s arm and pulled her into a narrow bedroom, dark except for the moonlight coming through a large screened window. “Go out the window onto the roof. It’s only about a five-foot drop to the ground.” She was raising the screen, carefully, so as not to make any noise.

  “Can’t I hide here?” Abigail whispered.

  “I can’t. No. Please leave. I won’t tell them you were here, but that’s all I can do.”

  Abigail thought she heard footsteps on the stairs that led up to the second level, and she swung a leg through the window, sliding out onto a slightly angled metal roof. She carefully worked her way down to the edge and saw that Mellie was right, it was only a short drop. She gripped the edge of the gutter
and lowered herself down as she heard the screen sliding back into place. It was quiet outside, lighter than it had been in the lodge. The moon, not covered by clouds, allowed her to see fifty yards toward the tennis courts, surrounded by woods, and to her left was the road that led away from the camp and toward the airfield. She skirted the building, moving to her left, until she got to its edge, then ran low and fast across the road and into the woods on the other side.

  The ground here began to slope down toward the pond, but instead of heading in that direction she picked her way through the trees toward the back side of the row of bunks. She heard a shout behind her, probably the man who had nearly discovered her in the lodge, but she didn’t think he’d have any idea which direction she’d gone. As she moved through the woods, she saw the beam of another flashlight sweep across the surface of the pond. She kept going until she reached the back of the first bunk, wondering if all of them were unlocked, imagined that they were. Her plan was to get inside one of them, so long as they were empty, and to hide either underneath a bed or in a closet. Eat her food, try to get some sleep. If she could survive through the next day, then she’d have another night at her disposal, and she had already formed a plan, weak as it was, for how she might actually get off the island. But she needed to make it to tomorrow night for that to happen. She needed a hole to hide in.

  She recognized the back deck of her own bunk, decided to try the bunk directly next to it, then changed her mind.

  No one would think she’d return to her own bunk, would they?

  CHAPTER 29

  Maybe her own bunk was the best place to be. And then she remembered the closet, the one that Bruce was using, and the extra space toward the side, the alcove with the shelving. She climbed the three steps to the deck and opened the door. It was dark, but she knew the layout. Even so, she stood for a moment, getting used to the blackness, listening to make sure she was alone. Before hiding she thought it would be a good idea to use the bathroom, and maybe to get some water. She peed first, the sound of it thunderous in her own ears, then forced herself to flush. Afterward, she stood in the bathroom, waiting to see if the sound had given her away. But no one came. No alarm went off. No spotlight flooded the bunk.