Page 95 of Summer's Edge

Page List


Font:  

“He was, but…” She hedges. “It’s possible to sail the boat—I just haven’t in a long time.”

“You did last year,” I point out.

She makes a pained expression. “Please don’t make me.”

“What if that’s the only way to reach him? We have to recreate the conditions as perfectly as possible.” I’m making all of this up. I want to see them squirm. I want to burn it out of them like a bug under a magnifying glass. I’m going to telltale-heart the truth out of them.

“Fine.” Kennedy folds her napkin. “I can do it after we clear up. For whoever wants to go.”

“I don’t want to,” Chase says. “But if that’s what you need, Em.” He looks at me, pleading in his eyes.

No mercy.

“That’s what I need.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

I look at Mila, not expecting much.

“Me? God, no. I’m not stepping foot back on that thing. It’s cursed. You should have sunk it.”

“Maybe it’s not cursed. Maybe you’re cursed,” I say.

Mila flinches. “Fine. I’ll go, and nothing bad will happen.” She pauses. “You’ll feel better?”

“So much.” A light breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders, and I twirl it into a bun and wrap an elastic around it. The air is beginning to cool nicely. “So we’re agreed? Kennedy, Chase, and Mila out on the lake. Chelsea and I will make one last attempt to reach Ryan.”

There are a series of nods around the table, and we clean up without much conversation. Kennedy changes and goes down to the dock while Chase and Mila have another whispered fight in the guest room. I go from room to room,inspecting, feeling the air, picking up objects and putting them down, repositioning the candles. This time I light them all. It will take some time for them to burn all the way down, and everyone will be gone for a while. I do have to be careful, though. The place is so old and the wood so dry that if there was an accident, the house wouldn’t stand a chance for very long. Nearly everything in it is made of wood. There are old books everywhere, artwork on the walls, and my painting supplies, which are highly combustible. And if that weren’t enough, Mr. Hartford keeps extra cans of gasoline in the cellar for the boat. But I am careful. I set each candle firmly in place. And to keep them from blowing over, I close all of the windows tightly, fastening them with a wrench. They’re not opening anytime soon.


Tags: Dana Mele Horror