“You should try that with the buttons,” I say, running my tongue over my lips.
He grins, lazy and confident. “Naw. I’ll let you have the honor.”
A step closer, another. My hand lands on his chest. My mouth tips up to his.
I smell something odd, something acrid and primordial, and step back.
“What the hell is that?” he says, pulling away.
“I don’t know. It smells terrible. Like burning hair. Is something on fire?”
“Shh,” he says, straining, listening. All I hear is the air-conditioner. But no, there it is. A thump. A creak. The unmistakable sound of footsteps.
Someone is in the house. Someone is upstairs in our house.
Jack bolts from my side, takes the stairs two at a time. I follow, just in time to see the door to the attic is open.
“Get Gideon and Malcolm,” Jack shouts over his shoulder, throwing himself headlong into the darkness. But I am frozen. My mind can’t process what’s happening. I am cold with terror, the adrenaline rush forcing away my reason. I can’t think. I can’t move.
A masked man bursts from the darkness above and launches himself down the stairs. I am in his way, and he knocks me to the ground in his haste. I smash backward into the wall, banging my head hard against the chair rail. Jack is there a heartbeat later, calling for the Crows as he throws himself at the intruder, arms out, a perfect flying tackle. They go down hard on the landing, scuffling, locked in a deadly battle. Jack is the bigger man, he has the leverage he needs to get an arm on the man’s windpipe, but the intruder is quick, kicking out at Jack’s stomach until he connects and Jack is knocked off.
This gives the intruder the upper hand. He flips Jack onto his back, punching wildly while reaching behind to his waistband. My mind registers the gun, and the peril Jack is in, and without another thought, I kick the man’s arm just as his fingers close around the gun’s grip. It spins away, clattering against the baseboards. We lunge for it at the same time. I am closer. I get there first.
The shot is deafening.
The intruder falls to the floor at my feet, moaning, squirming. Blood pours from his side. So much blood. The man bleeds and bleeds and bleeds until he is still. I watch, fascinated, as a small trickle of crimson runs toward my bare foot.
Then Malcolm and Gideon are hoisting me to my feet, and the roaring in my head overwhelms me.
3
The Long Night
When I look back on that night, I still can’t be entirely sure of the sequence.
Everything happened at once, with a blurred intensity so strong that, under the influence of alcohol and terror and a blinding concussion, all I know for sure is that my life was irrevocably changed. A split second, a reaction, a protective urge, and my entire axis shifted. If it weren’t for Jack, I don’t know what might have happened to me. What if I had come home alone to this monster in my house? The tables would be turned, I’m sure.
It would be me who was dead.
* * *
I remember shouting.
Muffled curses.
A yelp of pain.
The crash of the front door.
The pounding of feet on stairs.
The acrid scent of burning wire.
The adrenaline rush of stark fear.
The vision of a hand wrapped around the grip of a gun—is it mine? Is it Jack’s? Gideon’s? Malcolm’s?
The gunshot.
The hard finality of the crash when the body of the intruder landed at my feet, knocking me backward into the wall with such force I sustain a concussion.
A Crow ripping off the intruder’s mask, but I can’t look. I can’t look.
Jack screaming at them.
The haziness begins there.
There are flashes, moments that feel like dreams, like movies. It doesn’t feel like it’s happening to me. It doesn’t feel like something I’ve done.
Who is he? Who is this man who’s broken into my home and tried to kill me?
* * *
When the police ask me later what I saw, what I knew, what happened, and why, I reply with the truth I’ve been given.
Malcolm shot the intruder.
Malcolm shot the intruder.
Jack had me repeat it, again, and again, and again, before the police and EMTs arrived. There needed to be a consensus among us. It was the only safe way to proceed.
Me: Malcolm shot the intruder.
Jack: Malcolm stepped to the landing and shot the intruder.
Malcolm: Yes, sir, I shot the intruder.
* * *
I don’t remember.
Three words, so simple, yet so duplicitous.
What is memory, anyway?
Echoes of reality twisted and molded into what we want to believe. What we want to remember. Our brains allow us grace to cope with trauma. They give us space to heal, to come to terms with our actions, our fears.
Couple extreme trauma with alcohol and the events blur.
How can I remember with exact precision my lassitude at the party, the stale macarons, the hard crystal flute against my lips, the floral tang of the champagne, getting into the car and divesting myself of my shoes, Jack’s kisses, light along my jawline, the gaping maw of the attic’s blackness, and not remember the exact moment I killed a man?
WEDNESDAY
“If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own Village, she must seek them abroad.”
—Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
Welcome to Italy! We are so honored you could join us for our getaway wedding! We have scheduled plenty of downtime so you can get a little vacation while you’re here. You’ll find a book we chose just for you in your welcome package, something to inspire you to find a hammock and chill.
The Villa has a boat launch for you to catch the hydrofoil back to the mainland if you want to visit some of the other small cities in the area. But stick around! The island’s occupation dates to Roman times, which you will be able to see on guided tours of the Villa, the towns, and the incredible ruins. It was also once a
famous artists’ colony. Both Hemingway and Picasso spent time here.
Conservation of the island is ongoing, so we ask that you keep to the paths and follow all the signs. There are some dangerous areas that are totally off-limits, but they are well marked. Irony alert: the internet signal isn’t the strongest, but we hope you find the break
restful instead of infuriating.
And now for fun, some spooky history... The island is haunted! Legend has it there is a Gray Lady who appears to only the purest of heart. Which means we