Because the others didn’t just survive. Survival is passive. It implies clean hands and a clear conscience. It implies innocence. It assumes that survival is something they earned, or were destined for, or just happened upon. That they deserved life more.
And that would be a lie.
Survival is something they stole.
Because Chelsea and Kennedy and the others created the tragedy they survived. They’re killers. And I can’t wait any longer.
She opens the door into the house and I hold my breath and walk in behind her, leaning back against the door and locking it behind me.Please, Chelsea, be quiet.I realize, though, with a sinking feeling, that Chelsea has to come down sooner or later. I haven’t thought any of this through. I’ve just poisoned four people with a drug I know nothing about. My eyes go to the cellar door.
Mila follows my gaze curiously. “What’s down there?”
“Paintings. I made portraits of everyone.” It slips out on its own. “It was a surprise.”
She hesitates. “That’s so nice. It’s too nice.”
“It was before.” I pause. “Maybe you should carry them up. It’s the least you can do.”
She draws closer, reluctantly. “Now?”
“No. A year ago, before you slept with my boyfriend and watched my brother drown.” I watch her bite back a sharp response.He was never your boyfriend.No. He sure as hell wasn’t.
She approaches the door cautiously. “I just want you to know, Emily. None of this is who I am.” The living room is lit up with candles, and the effect is dazzling. It’s like Christmas in summertime.
“But it is. You did it.”
“We had no choice.” Mila places a hand on the lock. Slowly her fingers twist the metal. A soft click. A draw of the doorknob.
I stare down into the darkness, remembering. This is where we found the rabbit. I had nightmares for months afterward. It was the first time death forced its way into my life, and Ryan was the one to make me look away. I would have stared for hours. I was helpless not to. It was like the whole world stopped. It stuck in my head during sleepless nights, during summer swims, over breakfasts and during class. It never really went away. It’s never left me. I had some hope that Ryan was still out there, some hope that death was not all that there was. But it’s never left my side. And now I don’t think I’m going to fight it anymore.
“You had a choice.” I go to Mila slowly. Breathe in and out. Imagine Ryan by my side. But he isn’t here to hold my hand, to make me look away.
Mila flicks the light on and peers down. There’s nothing down there, and she hesitates. “I don’t see any paintings.”
“They’re there.”
She turns to me, a deeply unsettled look on her face. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” she says.
I pause at her side. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”
I take a deep breath and shove her down the stairs.
She lies motionless at the bottom. I don’t look away. There’s no going back now. If it weren’t for her, Ryan would still be alive.
And as I stare down at the broken body at the bottom of the stairs, my heart pounding, I have a moment of clarity. This house. The house is poisoning me. The house has to go. And everyone in it.