Beneath the Marigolds

by Emily C. Whitson

  “Yeah, I snagged it when I was outside,” I say. “I’m going to go upstairs and change.”

  As I head for the stairs, one of the handlers calls after me.

  “Your outfit has to be approved by Stephanie.”

  I ignore him as I disappear out of his sight.

  56

  Ann

  I lock my door behind me when I get to my room. When I pull out my phone, it’s lined with several texts from Ned. The most recent, sent six hours ago, is frantic: He’s worried, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t heard from me. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t believe I forgot to check in with him all day. I’m about to tell him everything is fine when his first message stops me: Been digging more into the investors—

  I hear a knock at the door before I can finish reading.

  “Ann?” It’s Christina. My temperature boils at the thought of talking to her. I can’t believe she put me through all this. Just for some entertainment.

  “Just a minute,” I yell.

  I open Ned’s full message and read it. Then, I read it again. And again. This doesn’t make sense; Ned lists my ex-boyfriend as one of the investors. What are the odds he’s involved in this?

  Christina rattles the doorknob and knocks again, more loudly.

  “Ann,” she yells. I hear a key go into the lock.

  Footsteps approach. I see Christina’s heels in the corner of my eye, but I’m in too much shock to hide my phone.

  “Ann?” Christina asks.

  I lift my head to meet her gaze. Her icy eyes are panicked, and I suddenly realize why Christina looks so familiar. I have met her before. A long time ago. We were children, but in her adult features I finally recognize the eight-year-old girl from the creek.

  57

  Reese

  The commotion sounded like it was coming from the front of the house. I ran as quickly as I could, but my head was still fuzzy, so my movements were slower than normal. The voices transformed to whisper-shouts, and some instinctual part of me told me to approach with caution. I followed the noise until I was standing in front of a closed room at the end of the left hallway.

  “She’s not going to wake up,” a candy-coated voice hissed. I knew that voice, but I couldn’t place it. “You sedated her didn’t you?”

  “That was twelve hours ago.” I recognized this voice too: Christina. But there was an unfamiliar edge to it. She was scared. “She could wake up any minute.”

  “Stop picking that up,” the sugary voice continued, laced with venom. “We have employees who clean.”

  Who was that woman? I knew her. I knew her. But the voice was out of context, and my brain was still veiled in a thick fog.

  “I don’t know what else to do.” Christina’s voice was shaking. “I can’t go back to the mansion, and I can’t stay here either, just hiding, just waiting, just . . . alone with these awful thoughts.”

  I glanced around. So we weren’t at the mansion. I knew there was something different about this place. But it looked so similar. So Christina built a second, replica mansion? Why?

  “You have to go back to the mansion. You have to continue as normal.”

  The voice finally registered with me. I slapped my hand over my mouth before I could gasp. It was Honey. Why was she here? Was she the boss the handlers referred to? Why wouldn’t she have told me that beforehand?

  A memory floated to the forefront of my mind.

  “You’d be perfect for the retreat,” Honey had said when I ran into her at my local grocery store—a grocery store twenty-five miles from where Honey lived. She had explained she was running errands in the neighborhood, and she went out of her way to talk to me. I didn’t think too much of it at the time because I was perfect for the retreat. I was a hopeless romantic, a woman desperate for a love she hadn’t yet managed to grasp.

  Now, I wondered if there had been another reason Honey had sought me out.

  “And you don’t think it’ll be odd when no one sees Lamb after the retreat ends?” Christina asked. “You don’t think Reese will come forward and say she never saw Lamb again after fucking sharks encircled them?”

  I stopped breathing when I realized what Christina was saying. Lamb never got back on the boat. Oh my God. Lamb never got back on the boat.

  “Why’d you make them go so far out at sea, anyway?” Christina continued. “The scuba instructor told you that area was dangerous. Your need for drama and excitement is outweighing your common sense. And now, if we cover the whole thing up, then . . .”

  She didn’t have to finish her sentence.

  “And then what?” Honey asked, her voice rising. “No one would come within a hundred-foot radius of Last Chance. We’ve invested everything in this retreat. Everything. There’s nothing left in our trust. I’ve put a second mortgage on my house. We can’t afford for this to be a failure.”

  “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” Christina whispered. “Starting over, I mean. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to not have everything handed to you?”

  “I like my life just the way it is.” Honey’s voice dripped with anything but honey.

  There was a moment of silence. My breathing was still hitched. And Lamb was dead. He was dead.

  “No,” Honey said. “Don’t you think people will find it odd that you’ve been around two fatal accidents? One is a coincidence, but two? Two are suspicious.”

  “Bear was your ‘accident,’ in case you’ve forgotten,” Christina said in a clipped voice.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re the one Daddy shipped off to boarding school. You’re the one people associate with his death. And if Lamb’s accident comes to light, it’s on you as well. You’re hosting the retreat, after all.”

  Daddy? Honey and Christina—sisters? That explained their similar appearance—in visage, in attire, even in home furnishings. I thought Honey was an only child. I tried to remember what Ann had told me, but I tended to tune out when Ann discussed her. Wait, was that what Christina had been talking about when she mentioned her family abandoning her? Boarding school? Why did her family send her away? Who was Bear? And what did she do? I felt lightheaded. I needed to lie down before I passed out again.

  “Sometimes, Honey . . .” Christina’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I don’t even recognize you.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Honey said. “We’re going to tell everyone Lamb left. The only people who know what really happened are you, me, Henry, and the scuba instructor. We’re obviously not going to share what happened with anyone, and I already took care of Henry and the instructor. The instructor has even agreed to board a flight in Lamb’s name. They have a similar build and similar skin coloring. I think he can pass as Lamb using his ID. Then, when Lamb goes missing, we’re not responsible. He left the retreat, and we don’t know what happened after that.”

  Christina didn’t respond.

  I rested my forehead against the door. In my state, I hadn’t noticed it wasn’t fully closed. It shifted farther inward at my touch, emitting a heart-stopping screech.

  58

  Ann

  “Where is she?”

  Christina’s shoulders fall. She knows that I know.

  I’m fuming. I can feel the heat, the anger, radiating off me like a sunburn. Do I not know anyone anymore? How could Honey do this? Invest in this charade? My oldest friend. How could she sit by, while I withered away from Reese’s disappearance, and not comfort me with the truth? How could she listen to me recount my panic attacks, my sleepless nights, and stay silent? Jesus Christ, how could she put me through this entire production? Honey can be selfish, yes, but so can everyone. I never thought she was capable of this level of torture.

  “Downstairs,” Christina says. “I’ll take you to her.”

  We don’t speak as she leads me down the Cinderella steps and toward the front left hallway. Two guests are lingering there, whispering between soft kisses. Christina tells them to go to the living room, now, and they sho
ot us questioning looks. I remain a few paces back. My fingers are twitching with fury, and I’m afraid if I get too close to her, I might strangle her. When I look at Kris—Christina’s name back when we were kids—all I can see is Bear. I imagine his limp body, spread across the stones of the creek, rivulets of water washing away his blood. I imagine Kris, with red hands and crocodile tears, lying to the police.

  When the guests are out of sight, we head to a crew member’s room, the farthest one at the end of the hall. It looks similar to all the other bedrooms in the house, with one exception: Inside, there’s another door.

  “How’d you get Honey to agree to all this?” I ask as Kris moves toward the exit. It is surprisingly easy to no longer think of her as Christina.

  “What?” she asks. Her hand hovers over the door handle.

  “How’d you get Honey to agree to this . . . this production?” I wave my arms around the room, as if illuminating the hidden cameras.

  “This was Honey’s idea,” she whispers.

  “I don’t believe you,” I reply. “I didn’t believe you back then, and I don’t believe you now.”

  Her hand falls to her side. Her eyes close, her chest expands.

  “Oh, you think I killed Bear?” she asks. Her expression is pained.

  “Of course I do.”

  “I didn’t—” Kris squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Ann, have you ever done something insane for a person you loved?”

  “What?” I spit.

  “I just . . . I wanted to protect her that day, keep her safe.”

  “Protect who?”

  “Honey, of course. Everything is always for Honey.”

  “Oh stop it. Bear’s blood was on your hands.”

  She smiles, but her eyes are dull. “Yes, no one ever believes me. Not now, not back then. But I was stupid enough to believe her when she said this retreat would be my chance to start over. To forge a new path, make a new name for myself. To finally have some control.” She laughs, but her heart isn’t in it. “I was never in control. Not even when I found Honey in that creek with Bear.”

  My feet are glued to the floor as my mind processes the information. Honey was the one in the creek with Bear?

  Kris opens the door to reveal a dark staircase and lowers herself inside.

  “She’s down here.”

  59

  Ann

  At the bottom of the steps is a stage. The stage of a theater. To my right, two red velvet curtains are drawn. To my left are hundreds of seats. I walk toward the center of the stage, using my hand to block the blinding lights. When my eyes adjust, I see Honey in the center of the empty audience. She stands, her movements slow and mechanical.

  “Ann,” Honey says. “I was hoping to surprise you.”

  “She knows, Honey.” Kris sighs.

  It’s hard to read Honey’s expression from this distance. She doesn’t blink, she doesn’t move. “Kris, can you give us a minute?”

  Kris obliges and walks back up the steps. I stare at her backside for far too long; I’m afraid when I look at Honey, the anger and the hurt and the confusion and the thousand things I want to yell at her might combust inside of me, killing me from the inside out.

  “Do you want to come sit with me?” Her voice is soft, soothing. As always.

  “What is this place?”

  “It’s where we can monitor guests’ activities.”

  She fiddles with a handheld device—a remote, most likely—and the curtains behind me part. I turn to find an enormous television screen at least two stories high, with hundreds of little boxes. In each box is a different scene: of a participant, of a room, of a spot outside. The quality isn’t great, but smaller cameras do tend to have lower resolution. Maybe they’re going for an authentic, documentary look. I turn back to Honey, my eyes scanning the hundreds of theater seats.

  “And what are all these seats for?” I ask.

  “Well, you’ve seen how many employees we have.” She laughs.

  My anger bubbles out of me like boiling water; I can’t contain it any longer. “Stop lying to me!” I scream, my voice echoing off the walls.

  I notice a couple chairs at the edge of the stage. I hurry toward them and drag one to center stage. I lift the chair above my head and hurl it at her. She flinches, but she’s too far away for the chair to hit her. I storm offstage to grab the other chair, and I carry it toward the television screen.

  “Ann, stop. I’ll tell you everything, just wait!”

  She screams as I ram the chair’s legs into the television screen. The glass fractures in four different places, and four different scenes disappear. I move to another spot, smash out those boxes. I keep moving, the remnants of the television screen collecting at my feet, on my hair, in my eyes. Shards cut into my skin, but I keep going, and going, and going, until I can no longer reach an undamaged spot on the screen. I throw the second chair toward Honey now that I’m done with it. I notice she’s sat down, her hands rubbing her forehead.

  “Stop lying to me, Honey,” I scream again. “Just stop it.”

  “Okay,” she says after a beat. “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with what this theater is for.”

  “The show hasn’t found distribution yet,” she says evenly. “I’m hoping, when we’re done filming and editing, that I’ll be able to invite interested networks for a screening. And, if a network picks it up, we hope to premiere the first episode here for the crew and anyone else who wants to watch.”

  “Why didn’t you just have people sign up for the show? Plenty of people want to be on reality television.”

  “I wanted to bring a level of authenticity to reality TV. These days, everything’s scripted. I wanted the emotions to be real.”

  “But it’s not real, is it Honey? Ten of the participants are actors.”

  She sighs. “Yes, well there are certain laws we couldn’t get around. Plus, the actors bring a level of drama that would be hard to manufacture in four weeks with twenty guests who are just getting to know one another. The actors help to . . . speed things up.”

  “And what sort of drama do they manufacture?” I think I know the answer to this, but I want her to say it. “What sort of drama did you manufacture with me?”

  “Come on, Ann.”

  “Tell me,” I hiss.

  “Nick . . . You don’t react to most dates, but I thought you’d react to him.”

  “Because he looks like my ex?”

  “Like my husband.” She glowers at me as she emphasizes that word. “Christina stumbled across him at a restaurant in L.A., couldn’t believe the resemblance. We thought he’d be perfect for you.” She laughs, looks down at her feet. “And then Reese punched him in the face. That was an added bonus. We didn’t anticipate that.”

  I’m vibrating with anger. Honey’s moral compass hasn’t always pointed north, but I never thought she’d stoop to such levels.

  “What was the drama you manufactured for Reese?”

  “We um . . .” She rubs her eyebrow. “We told Lamb to pretend to mess around with Trixie. Since Reese has been—”

  “Cheated on by almost every boyfriend she’s ever had,” I finished for her, as I processed that Lamb was in on it too. “So you tried to make her feel worthless? To humiliate her?”

  “You’re making it sound worse than it is. It’s just some harmless drama for entertainment purposes.”

  “Bringing Luca here. Was that harmless?”

  “He wouldn’t have hurt her again; we have the handlers here—”

  “And that stunt with Dermot this afternoon?” I interrupt her. “Was that harmless?”

  “He’s fine,” she says with big hand gestures. “We just had him pretend to pass out for a while.”

  I pull at my hair. I want to rip it out of my skull. “Oh my God, Honey! That’s not harmless. Sally was terrified. I was terrified.”

  “He’s fine,” she repeats. “Now they’re enjoying some nice one-on-one time. I think Dermot r
eally likes her. They might actually have a shot after all this.”

  “You’re delusional.” I can feel my voice starting to get hoarse from all the screaming. “Once Sally finds out this shit is all made up, she’s not going to stay with Dermot.”

  “You’d be surprised what people do for love.”

  I rub at the skin on my forehead, my cheeks, my neck. How does Honey not see the flaws here? She’s not stupid. She should be able to see her plan is punctured with holes.

  “How’d you decide who to invite to the retreat?”

  Honey brushes the velvet seat next to her, seemingly mesmerized. Finally:

  “We had to do a lot of research. We needed people who were attractive, obviously. People who would look good on camera.”

  I huff, but she seems unbothered by the interruption.

  “They had to be articulate and interesting. Generally likeable, so viewers would keep watching. Fairly gullible. And more than anything, they had to be desperate to settle down. Between all the actors and employees we hired, we found enough people who fit the criteria. And then we sent out the ads in the mail, like the one Reese got. I figured that would be harder to trace back to me. We also sent out brochures to surrounding apartments and houses of the people we targeted, so it wouldn’t look suspicious. Not everyone we wanted responded, but enough did.”

  Attractive. Interesting. Likeable. Naïve. Reese was perfect for the retreat. I don’t realize I’ve said this aloud until Honey nods.

  “So perfect. So obsessed with finding her miracle man. So we said we would let her come free of charge in return for promotion after the retreat ended. We knew she couldn’t afford it, so we had to make up something so the complimentary spot seemed legitimate.”

  My shoulders slump. “Was any of it real?”

  “Yes,” she says without hesitation. Like she actually believes it. “The participants’ emotions were real. Even the actors’ backstories were real. Mostly. We fudged a few details for dramatic emphasis, but creative license, you know?”