Meredith
Present Day
As the adrenaline peaked and the fog clouding all thought except a single-minded hunger to get her hands on the red-haired girl subsided, Meredith paused to look around, only to realize she was lost. The shoreline had disappeared as insidiously as the red-haired girl. One moment it was there, the only thing orienting Meredith in the vast blueness, and then it was gone. Her first instinct was to turn around and start paddling back the way she’d come, but a fog had settled over the water, the gray of the horizon bleeding into the gray of the fog. She couldn’t tell which way “back” was. How far out had she gone? She managed to keep the panic at bay until she realized she’d gone so far she couldn’t see the lighthouse anymore. Not that it mattered. She’d stopped setting the light. Without her mother’s constant nagging, and with more immediate things to worry about, it’d slipped her mind.
“Hello? Girl?” she shouted, her voice lost in the water. She had to be out here somewhere too. There were no other boats around. Nothing. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke you’re playing, but it’s over now, okay?” Silence. “Hello?”
She couldn’t have rowed that far, could she? It’d only seemed like seconds, but the way her arms burned from exertion told her otherwise.
Frustrated tears squeezed out of the corners of Meredith’s eyes. She noticed the baby blanket in the corner of the boat and wiped her face. The ghost of a scent—of sourness and softness and vanilla, of her mother—startled her. She didn’t even recognize it, which wasn’t all that weird, but she thought she’d seen all her baby stuff that survived the Great Toddler Purge. Her stepdad had been diligent about keeping things—stuffed animals with their button eyes missing, photos, clothes, blankets—insisting that one day she’d want them for herself. If he’d known about this blanket, it would’ve found its way into a waterproof bin in the closet.
It was barely big enough to wrap around her shoulders, but the longer she sat bobbing in the middle of this pathetic rowboat, the colder she got, so she pulled it tight around her body, and after pulling the oars in so they wouldn’t fall overboard, she tucked her hands into her shirt.
For someone who spent her entire life next to the ocean, she knew surprisingly little about it. She tried to reason that the waves would eventually tug her back to shore, but the waves seemed to come and go from every direction at once. Sometimes it felt like she’d been sitting in the same spot forever, and at others, she could swear she’d been pulled a hundred feet in one direction. She tried to watch the clouds, but they were moving too. There was no way to tell one direction from the other. It took everything she had not to break down. She’d get hungry soon. And thirsty. Worse, it would get dark. She tried not to think about it, but the more she argued with herself, the more she obsessed over her dry tongue and scratchy throat. Her empty stomach.
Someone will find me, she thought.
Time passed, and in the soft pink light of the gloaming, mysterious things bumped the bottom of the boat. Huge, dark shapes curled under the water, which she saw out of the corner of her eye and refused to look at directly. Like the monsters under her bed, if she didn’t acknowledge them, they didn’t exist—or so she told herself. The boat rocked angrily, and freezing water splashed over the side, soaking her clothes.
She told herself she had to move. Sitting like this would only pull her farther out to sea. But if she tried to row anymore, she’d just exhaust herself further. She’d get thirsty and hungry faster. She took deep, measured breaths. Getting hysterical wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Alice.
But there was a good chance she was going to die out here. The thought filled her with such heavy sadness. She thought of her daughter out there somewhere, waiting for Meredith to come and rescue her. She’d failed. As a mother. As a person. Maybe her mother had been right about her all these years: Meredith was useless. Worthless.
Exhaustion hit her like a train, driving her into the bottom of the boat, her feet tucked under one of the benches and her face shielded under the other. It was like lying in a coffin. She covered her face with the blanket, and eventually, she fell asleep.
What felt like seconds later, the boat jerked. Seawater soaked the blanket, and as she woke up choking on it, she was sure she would drown. Her muscles cramped as she extracted herself from under the benches only to soar with relief when she saw, against the clinging rays of dusk, the motorboat. Someone had looped a rope around the prow of her boat and slowly tugged her along.
Then she focused on the driver.
A girl with a deep brown braid turned and waved. “Morning!” She laughed at herself and turned her focus back to the steering wheel.
Gripping the sides of the rowboat—the girl pulled it so fast Meredith worried it would fall apart beneath her—she swore with each dip and sail over the roughening waves. Wind and spray pummeled her face, which she tried to shield with her shoulder without taking her eyes off the girl for too long. The girl wore the same dress as the one the red-haired girl had worn the day of the funeral—it was dry, Meredith noticed—and her hair came away from her braid a little bit at a time. The girl had one bare foot perched on the motorboat’s chair, removing it only when she made a sharp turn that nearly capsized Meredith’s tiny rowboat.
“Sorry ’bout that,” the girl shouted over the roar of the engine. “I almost always miss that turn.”
They were in the middle of the ocean. What turn? Every bit of blue looked the same as the other bit, and it constantly changed. Navigating this would’ve been like trying to drive through a one-way grid whose streets constantly switched direction.
Meredith thought about jumping from her boat to the girl’s but dismissed the idea just as fast. For now, she was at the girl’s mercy.
We have to stop sometime, Meredith thought, considering the engine’s finite fuel supply.
Another sharp turn and the girl picked up speed. Meredith wrapped her legs tight around the bench and prepared for the inevitable.
A spot of green in the distance grew and grew as the girl sped toward it. Land. Meredith let out a long-held breath, but her anxiety compounded, realizing they weren’t heading for the peninsula.
Maybe she’ll help me, she thought, eyeing the girl in the boat.
She immediately dismissed the idea. It wasn’t a coincidence that this girl was wearing the same kind of dress the red-haired girl had, just as it wasn’t a coincidence that she’d happened across Meredith out in the middle of nowhere.
They headed toward a tiny island, small enough you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Meredith went to work on a plan. Once they stopped, she would overpower the girl and steal the boat. It was a fairly new model, she figured, and would probably have some kind of navigation. If nothing else, it would have a radio. She could call for help, be home before the sun went down.
But what if people were waiting for the girl? What if they had weapons?
What if they had Alice? She couldn’t leave without her.
Once they finally reached the island, the girl negotiated the boat next to a dock that looked like it’d been hastily cobbled together with driftwood. Meredith’s rowboat dangled behind like a buoy, too far away to reach the dock but close enough that she could swim it if she wanted to (she didn’t). The girl cut the engine and climbed out onto the dock. Her feet made wet slap-slap noises on the wood.
The beach where they’d docked was maybe a thousand feet across before it curved out of sight. Trees and bushes obscured the rest of the island, but in the near distance, peeking out above the trees, Meredith spotted a shoddy likeness of the Cape Disappointment lighthouse made of the same wood as the dock. Sheets of plastic rippled in the wind where windows should have been. A pair of brightly colored dresses dried on the rail, one of which she recognized as being the one the red-haired girl had been wearing when Meredith had chased her into the water.
The girl paused at the end of the dock where it fell off into the wilderness and stared curiously at Meredith. “You coming or what?” she shouted.
Meredith didn’t say anything, only watched as the girl disappeared into the trees.
Once the girl slipped out of sight, Meredith shakily slid the oars into their rowlocks and rowed, heart pounding, to the dock. Her arms shook as she pulled herself up and rolled onto the wood. Something sharp jabbed her in the calf, but she ignored it and bolted for the girl’s boat. The keys were gone, so there was no chance of stealing it. Looking around for some kind of weapon, she spotted a phone on the floor of the boat.
Please, please, please… She jabbed the power button only to realize what she’d already suspected. Dead. She pocketed it anyway.
Back at her rowboat, she grabbed one of the oars and hefted it, with some difficulty, over her shoulder as she made her way slowly down the dock. She’d spent too long with her legs tucked up under her and her neck bent at an odd angle, so her whole body ached and her muscles screamed in protest when she moved. Trees rustled with the breeze, conjuring up all sorts of mental monsters that made her skin prickle and her stomach turn. But she kept moving, one foot in front of the other, her hands going numb with how tightly she gripped the oar.
She followed a winding road made of broken shells and pieces of concrete. The oar was heavy, but she didn’t dare drop it an inch. The trees on either side of the road with their thick crowns and low branches were perfect places to hide. She imagined the girls waiting in the branches for just the right moment to pounce. Were they part of some kidnapping ring? Pirates? Everything she saw only brought more questions. Soon she came upon a split in the road. The right fork would most likely bring her to the makeshift lighthouse—she could still see it above the trees—so she followed the left, heart skipping with each rustle in the brush.
Once the saltwater haze cleared, she smelled a heady mixture of shit and sweetness. It was a farm smell, something she was only vaguely familiar with thanks to elementary school field trips. Animals and crops. Caramel apples. It made her think of Alice and their one and only trip to the zoo, where an irritated chimpanzee had thrown dirt at her over the high fencing. With renewed purpose, she pushed on until the road abruptly stopped. A small house sat in the middle of a clearing, its walls more expertly assembled than the dock and a screen door that banged with a sudden, sharp breeze. A section of grassy area had been gated off where a dirty gray goat grazed lazily. A pair of fat chickens pecked at the ground nearby, clucking contentedly to themselves. On the opposite side of the house, a generator whirred.
Meredith had found her way to Grandmother’s house. Now, where was the wolf?
The screen door banged open, and the dark-haired girl stepped out wearing yet another dress, this one long-sleeved with grass stains along the hem and wrists. Her hair was wrapped up tight on the top of her head.
As Meredith took an angry step forward, a second girl stuck her head beneath the first girl’s arm. Red hair shone. The girl was real. Somehow, the fact didn’t comfort her.
“She’s here, Mama,” the dark-haired girl called over her shoulder before smiling at Meredith.
Mama. That meant there were at least three of them. Meredith didn’t like her chances; the oar on her shoulder suddenly felt less substantial.
The red-haired girl eyed the oar. “Nuh-uh.”
Before Meredith could react, the red-haired girl lunged, grabbing for the oar, but Meredith hung on even as the wood scraped through her palms like sandpaper. The motion propelled her forward, and her foot caught on a dip between the wood slats of the porch. She dropped the oar to try to catch herself, but as the red-haired girl jerked it away, Meredith’s arms extended, and her chin hit the floor with a crunch she felt all the way to her feet. The taste of blood filled her mouth. The red-haired girl smacked her in the back of the head with the wide part of the oar, driving Meredith’s face in the wood again.
“Stop!” the other girl screeched.
“Amenable my ass,” the red-haired girl muttered. “I don’t care what Mom says, we need to protect ourselves.”
Pain engulfed Meredith’s head and neck, made worse when the red-haired girl straddled her back, crushing her lungs. Meredith gasped, tried to reach behind her to scratch or gouge, but getting hit in the head had made her sluggish. The red-haired girl easily grabbed Meredith’s wrists and wrenched them up, backward, so hard the backs of Meredith’s arms nearly met her head.
With the last of her strength, Meredith bucked, kicking her legs, not caring what they hit, but the red-haired girl only laughed.
“Ride ’em, pony,” she said.
She held Meredith’s hands together with her elbow, only releasing them after she’d wrapped them four or five times with rope that scratched Meredith’s skin. Finally, the red-haired girl climbed off her and tugged the rope. Meredith cried out as pain shot up her arms and down her back.
“Hush now. You don’t want to scare the poor thing.”
Alice?
The thought of her daughter filled her with a second wind. She quickly rolled toward the rail, and though she managed to get the rope out of the red-haired girl’s hands, she’d also tangled herself in it. Before she could get her feet under her, the red-haired girl had hold of the rope again.
Meredith fell against the rail, half leaning over the stairs, chest heaving.
The red-haired girl didn’t even look out of breath. “You done?”
Meredith hesitated. If she got herself killed out here, any chance of getting Alice out of here—if she was here—would be gone.
She nodded.
“Good.” The red-haired girl looped her arm through Meredith’s and gingerly helped her stand. Meredith hoped she’d take the rope off too. The red-haired girl watched her glance at the rope. “No way. This is staying on.”
“Get in here!” a voice boomed from inside. “You’re letting in the bugs.”
Each girl looped an arm through Meredith’s and pulled her, limping, inside.
Candlelit lanterns provided most of the dim light of the room. A single bright bulb flashed from atop a lamp stand, flickering with the whir and dribble of the generator. The floor was an unpolished wood, covered in most places by oriental rugs with frayed edges. Blankets in a dozen colors and patterns covered almost every surface, draped over furniture that looked snatched out of the 1970s with its dark wood frames and itchy floral cushions, tossed haphazardly in corners and piled on shelves, all embroidered with intricate designs.
The piles avalanched from the front room into a small kitchen, where an older woman with sunbaked skin and gray-speckled hair stood over a pair of steaming mugs. Wrinkles dug trenches in her cheeks and forehead, and her jowls jiggled with a slight tremor that affected her head and hands. She squeezed a bottle of honey over one of the mugs and then looked up at Meredith as she stirred. “Do you take honey? I personally can’t stand tea without it.”
“I’m not thirsty,” Meredith said.
The woman grinned like a cat that’d cornered a mouse. “Of course you are, dear. Water, water everywhere and nary a drop to drink, yes? You were out there for hours, poor thing.” She gestured to the couch, barely visible beneath the blankets. “Sit.”
“Hours?” Meredith asked. Brighter light poured in through the windows, and she realized she’d slept all night. It was dawn, not dusk. “You were watching me?”
“I didn’t have to. My girl may have lost you in the fog, but you weren’t hard to find once it lifted. We kept an eye on you from my lighthouse. I was hoping something interesting would happen. Imagine my disappointment when all you did was sleep.”
With their arms still hooked around Meredith’s, the girls escorted her to the couch and refused to relinquish their grip until she’d sat.
The woman shuffled along behind and sat the two mugs on a coffee table after nudging the blankets there onto the floor. A dollop of honey dripped down the side of the one put in front of her, which the dark-haired girl swiped up with a flick of her finger.
The red-haired girl slapped her hand.
“Girls!” the old woman snapped. “We have company.” She sipped from her own mug and shuddered before turning to Meredith. “You’ll have to forgive Calamity and Tempest. Spirited girls.”
“I don’t have to do anything, least of all forgive.” She turned to the red-haired girl. “You’ve been stalking me. Why?”
The old woman chuckled. “A room full of spirited girls. In my day, that kind of behavior would not have been tolerated.” She pointed a slender finger at the red-haired girl. “Tempest was watching you because, like me, she’s curious.” She sipped from her mug. “And because I told her to.”
“Why?”
The dark-haired girl, Calamity, said, “Because of Alice.”
Tempest pinched her sister’s arm and Calamity yelped.
“Girls.” The old woman used the word as an incantation, like if she said it enough they’d become quiet, demure things instead of the storms their names suggested.
“Alice?” Meredith started to stand only for Tempest to shove her back into the couch. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” the old woman said. “Still sleeping most likely.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Lazy.”
White-hot fury shot up Meredith’s body. She pulled on the rope, hoping the red-haired girl, Tempest, wasn’t paying attention. But she held tight, yanking her back for her trouble. “If you’ve done anything to her, I swear to God—”
“I told you. She’s fine.”
“Supersweet,” Calamity added. “She drew me.” She pointed to a childish rendering in crayon of a dark-haired girl with stick arms and legs. Meredith recognized the sunglasses-wearing sun Alice put in almost every picture she drew.
Her skin prickled, eyes fixed on the old woman and her maddening smile. “Why?”
“We’ll talk all about that. There’s plenty of time.” She put the mug to her lips but stopped short. “Oh! I’m so rude. Forgive me. We haven’t been properly introduced.” She extended her hand, then dropped it, chuckling as her eyes moved over the ropes. “Call me Gina.”
“People will come looking for me,” Meredith said more convincingly than she felt.
“What people? Your mother?” Her tight smile fell away, and her expression darkened. “Not likely.” She stood and squeezed Meredith’s shoulders just hard enough to be forceful, on the razor edge of pain. “I want you to know that I’m truly sorry about Judith. We had our differences, of course, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to see her dead.”
Meredith didn’t rise to the bait, no matter how tempting. “I want my daughter.”
“You should get cleaned up.” She sniffed. “Smells like you might have pissed yourself.”
She nodded at Tempest, who yanked the rope, forcing Meredith to her feet, and pulled her toward the back of the house with Calamity trudging behind. Meredith counted three doors off the hallway; which one hid Alice? Tempest opened the first and pushed Meredith inside. “If you gotta do your business, the outhouse is by the garden. I’ll take you over after.” Meredith realized the bathroom wasn’t really a bathroom at all, just a room with a wash basin, a few towels, and more blankets. No window either. Tempest slipped one of Meredith’s hands free, expertly tightening the rope around the other. “Two minutes,” Tempest said, shutting the door just enough so the rope could slip through. She pulled tight on it, as though to remind Meredith of what she could do.
A small mirror hung from the wall above the basin, cloudy at the edges. Meredith looked like hell, her eyes bloodshot and the fear and confusion boiling inside her written in the lines on her face. An ugly bruise had developed on her chin, and a deep scratch traced a line down her cheek, patchy with dried blood. Keenly aware of the shadows of the sisters’ feet just outside the door, she splashed a little of the tepid water on her face. It didn’t make her feel any better, just damp.
She tried to come up with a plan, but without knowing where in the house they were keeping Alice, she was at a loss. Or was Alice even in the house? She thought of the lighthouse. Could they be keeping her there? She decided it was best to play along, to conserve what little strength she had for when she found Alice and it came time to fight.
“Time’s up!” Tempest pounded on the door. “Out, out. Let’s go.”
The door flew open before Meredith had a chance to touch it.
“Feel better?” Calamity asked.
Tempest shushed her. “Come on. Mom wants us to show you around.”
“The garden?” Calamity asked.
Tempest tweaked Calamity’s ear. “Shut up.” Then she turned to Meredith. “You’re not allowed in the garden.”
Meredith had no interest in any garden or anything else on the island. “I want to see Alice. I need to know she’s okay.”
“Mom already told you the little brat’s fine,” Tempest said. Again, she tied Meredith’s hands behind her back, the knot tighter than before. She led her down the hall and through the kitchen, where Gina hummed over a simmering pot that smelled like onions.
Gina flashed a sharp look at Meredith, all teeth and warning. “If you pull a stunt like you did on my porch,” she tossed lazily over her shoulder, “Alice will pay for it.”
Calamity practically exploded out the door, skipping into a cartwheel the second her bare feet touched the grass. Tempest scowled and pulled the rope, crunching the bones in Meredith’s wrists.
Meredith winced, every nerve on fire as she considered Gina’s threat. “Watch it.”
“You watch it,” Tempest snapped, rewinding the length of rope around her forearm.
Now that she was able to study her up close, Meredith realized why Tempest had so easily overpowered her. Meredith had retained some of her strength from her swimming days, but Tempest was built like a boxer, ropy muscles hidden beneath a thin cotton dress.
Maybe it was Tempest who’d beat the hell out of Art. He was an old man and would have been no match against someone with as much strength and aggression as Tempest. Meredith imagined Calamity at the front door, all goofy smiles and aw, shucks while Tempest snuck up behind him, fists raised. Was it Calamity or Tempest who’d carried Alice out of the house? Had they tied her up the way they tied Meredith? Were there bruises all down her body from being thrown around like an animal?
“This is our goat!” Calamity leaped over the fence with all the grace of a newborn colt and stumbled into a broken trot. “His name’s Graybeard.” Meredith was surprised, and a little disappointed, that the goat didn’t immediately kick her. She ground her teeth, growing more and more frustrated with her own body. She tried putting more weight on her left ankle, but pain rocketed up her leg. She sucked in a breath.
“I didn’t pick it,” Tempest said defensively.
They couldn’t have been more than a year apart in age, but Tempest looked at Calamity like a petulant child that needed beating. It seemed to go beyond sibling jealousy. If they’d grown up on this island alone, it was a wonder they hadn’t killed each other yet.
“The chickens are Grace and William,” Calamity added, still nuzzling the goat. “After Mama’s other kids.”
Grace and William. The names made an instant connection in Meredith’s head. Grace and William Bruun. But Calamity said they were Gina’s other children. The woman was old, but not great-great-great-grandmother old. Meredith judged her to be in her eighties, if she was being generous. It was impossible—some kind of weird coincidence.
“Shut up, Cally.” Tempest poked a sharp finger in Meredith’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They followed the trail around the house, with Tempest pointing out the water pump and the outhouse (and reminding Calamity that it was her turn to till the hole). While the girls bickered, Meredith peered into the woods surrounding the house, looking for trails or clues to the island’s size. It was an impossible task, and she gave up quickly. The trees were dense, and she didn’t hear many birds, which meant it was too far from larger land to consider as a permanent home. There was an entire archipelago off the mainland, and at first, she considered she might be on one of those islands, but they could be seen from the lighthouse, green mounds in the distance. Wherever they were hiding her daughter, they weren’t going to make her easy to find.
She got an idea.
During one of the sisters’ brief silences, Meredith asked, “Can I see the lighthouse?”
Even if Alice wasn’t hidden in the lighthouse, she could at least try to get her bearings from the top. Knowledge was power. The more she knew about the island, the better chance she and Alice had to escape it.
Calamity brightened. “The lighthouse! Yeah!”
But Tempest was a harder nut. “Mom wouldn’t like that.”
Meredith looked hard at the girl. “So?” she said, taking a chance.
Tempest’s jaw worked, like she was chewing over the idea. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. But if Mom gets mad, I’m telling her it was your idea.”
So Tempest wasn’t as blindly devoted to her mother’s whims as she pretended to be. Meredith thought she could maybe use that to her advantage. “Fair enough.”
They walked in a straight line, with Meredith sandwiched between Calamity at the front—whistling and swinging her arms higher and higher with each step—and Tempest scowling at her back. It was hard not to take sides. Calamity was as disastrous as her name implied, but when she wasn’t throwing rocks or taunting her from the water, Calamity was kind of sweet. Meredith imagined that was what pissed Tempest off the most. Meredith didn’t have personal experience with big-sister syndrome, but she saw it in the kids she taught at the Y. Of the two of them, Tempest was in charge. She was the one Meredith needed to make friends with if she was going to find Alice and get off this island anytime soon. The problem, though, was that Tempest seemed to have to fight harder for Gina’s affection, which meant her desire for it was fiercer. That didn’t mean she was immune to rebellion. In fact, if she had a chance of turning either of them against Gina, if it came to that, Meredith set her bets on Tempest.
The trail to the lighthouse was more worn than the rest. Twin divots ran along the edges, probably from a wheelbarrow. Meredith tried to reconcile the image of an old woman and two girls carting wood and other materials back and forth and then building the thing itself. That kind of thing took time. Strength. Effort. They’d had help.
Up close, the lighthouse looked only slightly more stable than it had from the boat. The same concrete blocks that made up the trails formed the base, but these were reinforced with heavy wooden beams. Farther up, though, more wood than bricks had been used in the construction. It was shorter than the cape’s lighthouse, but not by much. It was a miracle a storm hadn’t taken it out by now.
Calamity went straight for the door without waiting for Tempest’s approval. Meredith noticed there wasn’t a lock. Inside, the place was empty. Hard-packed dirt mixed with crumbled concrete made up the floor, and the stairs wound upward without a rail. Meredith leaned against the wall, stomach flip-flopping with each step as they ascended. Calamity, of course, bounded up like her feet were made of springs.
“Does she ever slow down?” Meredith asked.
Tempest snorted. “No.”
“That’s got to be hard.”
“It’s hard on my mom.”
“But not on you.” Meredith glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve got her handled.”
Tempest seemed to be forcing eye contact. Her jaw worked hard enough to pop. “I know what you’re doing.”
Meredith’s face went hot. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You think I’m stupid, that you can just manipulate me to get me to do what you want, but it ain’t gonna happen.”
“Is that what you told my daughter when she begged you not to take her?”
“What makes you think she could talk?”
Calamity stuck her head out from the light room. “Slow pokes! Come on!”
Tempest shot Meredith one last glare before shoving her onward. Distracted by Tempest’s comment and what it could mean, Meredith overstepped and slipped on the stair. With her hands tied she couldn’t break her own fall, and for a terrifying instant, she was falling backward, only a few feet from smashing her head open on the concrete. Tempest snatched her by the shirt and pulled her upright, her look of fear almost identical to what Meredith felt.
“Careful,” Tempest snapped.
She held tighter to Meredith for the rest of the climb.
The light room wasn’t more than ten feet across, and the plastic sheets gave off a hot, chemical stink. The lens at the center of the room was ancient; Meredith could tell by the style and size—too small to light farther than forty or fifty feet out. A sheet, badly dyed red, hung over the lamp. Were they trying to recreate the cape’s red light? Why? As far as Meredith knew it was unique to the cape, mostly because the red light didn’t do much lighting at all. It might have warned passing ships of land, but if they got too close, there was nothing to illuminate the treacherous rocks below. But it wasn’t the light Meredith was interested in. She needed to see outside. To try to figure out where they were and how to get home, her escape plan constantly evolving in the back of her mind.
Her breath caught as Tempest led her around the perimeter. Blue, so much blue, and no land to speak of anywhere.
Calamity slipped her arm around Meredith’s shoulders. She barely felt it. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
She felt sick. Her stomach rolled, and she had to turn away to keep from vomiting. There was nowhere to go. She was trapped. Breathing deeply through her nose, eyes squeezed shut, she leaned against the pedestal holding the lens. She tried to comfort herself with the idea that it was a small island. If she had to search it from edge to edge to find Alice, she could. Once the spinning slowed, she opened her eyes and noticed a framed photograph, perched on a shelf behind the lens. It was a simple frame, but the shelf was decorated with dried roses. A strip of cloth was bound by black ribbon and nestled beside the photo.
She recognized the woman in it. She’d seen the photo before, in a box of her mother’s things. A young Regina Holm stood dutifully, proudly, next to a girl with pinned up dark hair, seated with a blanket draped over her legs.
Calamity had followed her to the lens and peered over her shoulder.
“Are you related to her?” Meredith asked, pointing at the photograph.
Tempest snorted. “Are you stupid?”
Calamity laughed. “Silly. That’s Mama.”