"It was you in the forest that night, then!" I say. "You dropped the earring."
Jorie grips the knife firmly as I look around for anything I can use to protect myself.
"I meant to get rid of it. I'd slid it into my pocket and forgot it was there. I was too busy trying to get close to you. Staying the night at your house let me see when Beau would be home, the right hours to kill so that it looked as though he had done it. Too bad I hadn't anticipated the group of people he had over from the pool staying as late as they did that night, otherwise that murder would have been all the more convincing, all the blame would have been on Beau. Framing someone is a tricky thing."
Tree bark bites into my arms, and I can't help but wonder aloud, "Why?"
"If you'd paid better attention, you'd know exactly why."
But I don't. For all the effort I put into thinking about why Jorie would do such a thing, I still don't understand.
"Do you love him? Is that it?"
She laughs. "Don't be stupid. Of course I don't."
"Then why? What could you possibly get by framing Beau for the murders of innocent girls?"
"Do you remember asking me about the girl who disappeared?"
"Ericka?"
There's a flash of pain in Jorie's eyes. "Yes, Ericka. My best friend."
Understanding dawns and churns my stomach with fear.
Jorie has a vendetta.
"We did everything together outside of school. She left because of him."
At this, Jorie's voice drops dangerously low.
"He broke her heart, her spirit, her life. She left town, and then she left this world. Swallowed enough pills to go to sleep and never wake up. The pain he caused her eclipsed all the years and memories we made together. She used to have fun, laugh at life, spin circles in the rain. She almost always wore a smile until Beau. He broke her spirit. Do you know what it's like to lose your best friend?"
"I have an idea," I bite out.
"No, you don't. I told you the things you wanted to hear, and you played right into my hand. What I had with Ericka was something different. I couldn't stand the thought of her leaving town. Then the call came that she had died. I thought about killing Beau myself, a swift and sweet revenge. But then he'd just get off easy. I couldn't let that happen. He needed to suffer."
"So you tried to frame him," I say. "Well, you did a lousy job."
She reaches out whiplike and hits me in the face.
I wince but hold her stare.
"You're a coward, that's what you are. You're deranged. You didn't have to hurt those girls. They never did anything to you!"
"I cannot let Ericka's death be in vain."
"You could have honored her death. You could have kept her memory alive in a positive light. Why kill innocent girls?"
"Why not? Why should they be allowed to live when Ericka died? Why should you?"
Her eyes are wide to the point of exaggeration, and an off-kilter gleam shines through them.
"You know, Willow, I think for once in his life, Beau might actually care about someone. Now, he'll have to swallow the understanding of what his world will be without you. He'll have to lose what he loves best. Maybe that is the ultimate revenge."
She smiles wickedly and takes two steps forward, dead leaves crunching. She drops the knife just out of reach.
"Better make this look just like the others," she says. "This time Beau will take the blame. I'll make sure of it."
She laughs darkly. I try hard to ignore the stab of hurt in my chest from Jorie's betrayal. I search for any glimpse of the girl I called my friend.
But she's gone. Replaced by a killer.
I breathe as deeply as I can and scream, and scream, and scream, hoping anyone remotely close can hear me. A boater, a fisherman, someone to help.
Icy terror floods my veins as Jorie's cold hands close around my throat, cutting short my cry for help. I try to breathe, try to fight.
"Goodbye, Willow," she whispers.
40
Beau
"Willow!"
I find her laid out on the swampy soil. Body fixed to the earth. Jorie crouched above her, hands around her throat.
"Don't come any closer," Jorie warns.
She lets go of Willow and grabs a knife from the ground. There's something decidedly ominous about her tone. A wind whips around us.
I ignore Jorie's warning and move toward them.
"Don't!" she yells.
My eyes dart to Willow, willing her to stand. I don't know if she's conscious or if she's even breathing at all.
"Let her go," I say.
"I can't do that."
I eye the knife in Jorie's hand. I didn't bring a weapon. There was no time. A decision I now regret, considering that the station and its officers are a half hour out. Willow needs help now.
"Why?" I ask.
I don't actually care why she did it. What I need is for her to keep talking. What I need is for her to be distracted. I hope she can't see the way I shake with nerves. If only I could touch Willow, feel the warmth of her skin and her soft breaths, to know if she's okay.
A pinecone hits the side of a tree to Jorie's left with a thwack.
She turns, and I waste no time. I run at her head-on. But she's quick, slashing out at my stomach. I crumple to the ground, nearly retching from the pain. I don't have time to look at the wound. I need only to get back up.
"Don't fight me, Beau," she says. "Don't make me kill you, too."
A bitter laugh escapes me. It's too late for that. She'll kill me anyway now that I know too much. I stand, clutching my middle, feeling warm, wet blood on my skin.
There's movement behind Jorie, and I try not to alert her. Blending into the tree beside Willow is Charlotte. She grabs Willow's hands and pulls, but the binding doesn't budge. Willow's eyes are closed, and I fear she's unconscious. Or worse. Charlotte searches the ground, finds a rock, and begins sawing at the ties.
Jorie spins around. It's too late for Charlotte to hide.
Jorie cackles. "Did you honestly think you could bring your sister and hope for an ambush?"
I try again to get to Willow, but Jorie rises on the balls of her feet, her movements swift and calculated, swiping the knife at me once more, sending me sprawling backward. This time, she just barely misses.
"Quit fighting me, Beau." A simple command, full of menace.
"The police are on their way," I say. "They know you killed the girls. I told them so when the pieces clicked. You made a mistake, Jorie. There was a wad of gum left at the last murder scene and analysis came back that the saliva belonged to a female."
"You're lying," she says, but I see the fear in her eyes.
"I'm not. How else do you think we figured it out?"
For all the times I've lied, I'm actually telling the truth.
"Is Willow alive?" I call to Charlotte.
I can't tell from where I'm standing, and not knowing is slowly killing me.
Charlotte nods once, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I inhale another shaky breath and contemplate my next move. Jorie is alone. Willow is unconscious. It's two against one, but I'm injured. I won't be as fast or calculating.
With each drop of blood that leaves my body, I feel more of my strength escape. I shudder and struggle to hold myself upright. The pain to my stomach is quick, sharp, and unrelenting, but I attempt to block it out. I have to get to Willow. The thought of losing her is more agonizing than any wound. I don't want my arms to be empty of her. I don't want to never feel her warmth.
I focus on Charlotte's assurance. Willow is alive. We still have a chance. I will never let Jorie win.
"You're done. Give it up."
"No." She sneers. "If you're telling the truth and the cops are coming, then I'm going to make damn sure you suffer the way I have." For the very briefest second, her lip wobbles, and I swear I see a flash of hurt dart across her features. "The way Ericka did."
Finally, I understand. Ericka, the girl who disappeared. Jorie must have known her. Cared for her.
"So you've come to return the favor?" I say as Charlotte creeps steadily closer to Jorie's back. "You want to break my heart the way I broke hers, is that it?"
It hurts to admit some of the blame.
"I want you to know the pain of losing the person you care about most in this world! It's time to kill Willow the way you killed my best friend!"
"I didn't kill her. She left."
"Right, but after she left, she killed herself, so you might as well have forced the pills down her throat. You are the reason she's dead. You, Beau! And you'll be the reason Willow dies, too."
She's crazy, but she's right. I am partially to blame. My actions led Ericka to feel desperate. Maybe if I had been kinder or cared more about how much the breakup affected her, she could have felt differently. I'll never know now, and the guilt of that weighs heavily.
Charlotte moves from behind a tree. I focus on Jorie and not on my sister.
Just another second …
Charlotte tackles Jorie from behind, a tangle of limbs. I try to run to them, but black eats away at my vision, darkness swallowing the trees. I glance down to find the front of my clothes coated in blood.