Tased and Confused
Emerson inches closer, brandishing the stun gun end of his phone. I raise my palms before me as he approaches.
He stops a few feet away and stoops down, reaching for an object at his feet. The visor. Eleanor’s visor. Reese must have dropped it when she hit her head.
Emerson slips his phone in his pocket and picks up the visor with both hands. He contemplates it in silence, cradling it gently between his fingers. Then, with a burst of sudden violence, he cracks the frame against his thigh. The plastic snaps, exposing the wiring within. He yanks at a few metallic strands and then heaves the destroyed device off to his left.
My whole body trembles as I watch it fly over the edge of the cliff. It careens downward, bouncing off the rocks, before it disappears from view into the fog-cloaked lake.
“Why?” I start to say, but the question dies in my throat. I know exactly why he did that. The visor’s outer casing may be waterproof, but the inner circuitry will corrode once it’s exposed to the elements. Any data it contained—any proof of my innocence and Emerson’s guilt…
Gone. Wiped away.
He controls the corporate server where any records would be stored. That visor was my only hope. And now it’s lost forever.
I sway on my feet as Emerson lifts his remorseless eyes to me again. Why do I get the sense that those glasses aren’t the only evidence he intends to toss over the edge? Once I make that video confession, there’s no telling what he might do—what lengths he might travel to make sure I’m not around to contradict my recorded statement.
I have to get out of here. Now. While his Taser-phone is still lodged in his pocket. This might be my only chance. If I can dodge past him to the safety of the trees…
I lunge forward, but I’m too slow. Emerson lurches sideways to block my path. He grabs me by the wrist and wrenches my arm behind my back.
I let out a yelp as his grip on my arm tightens. I try to turn my head, but something stops me—the hard rubber case of Emerson’s cell phone, no longer tucked away. He presses it firmly against my temple.
“Don’t be stupid,” his voice growls in my ear. “Do what I say, and we can put this whole unpleasant experience behind us.”
No. I don’t believe you.
I think the words, but I don’t say them out loud. “OK,” I whisper instead. “I’ll do it. I’ll make the video. Just let me go!”
I can’t tell if he heard me. The stun gun maintains its steady pressure against my head as he turns me around and marches me in front of him, closer and closer to the precipice.
“Stop!” The police tape slaps against my shins, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I know what I’ll see if I look down. Angry water, crashing against sharp rocks. “Please!” I rear back, unable to take another step without tripping. “Please stop. Please!”
He releases my arm. “Turn around and face me. We’ll take the video here.”
I do as he says. He aims the camera lens at my face, ready to record my statement. “What do you want me to say again?” I hug my arms around my body to stop from shaking, but I don’t listen to his answer. I don’t intend to say a word. I’m only playing for time.
His eyes go to his cell phone screen. “Hold on. You’re out of focus.”
The rain is letting up. The storm has moved out over the lake, but it left the surface of the clifftop soaking wet. I glance down and a sour taste fills the back of my throat. A mere six inches of slick rock separate my heels from the ledge.
How do I get out of this? How?
I can’t risk another attempt to push past Emerson. There’s no telling where I might skid if we collide.
He raises his eyes, meeting mine. “Go ahead,” he orders. “We’re recording. Tell the camera what you told me.”
“W-what?”
“Tell us who reset the parameter. Don’t be scared. Was it you?”
I still don’t have a plan, and I’m running out of time. I stare into Emerson’s camera lens and open my mouth to speak, but I close it again before uttering a word. A flash of movement catches my peripheral vision from the trees behind Emerson’s back.
This isn’t over. Not yet.
* * *
“No one’s going anywhere until this storm passes.”
Dr. Carlyle presses his lips into a stern line. I rise from Nora’s desk and face him. Doesn’t he see the SOS signal on the surveillance feed?
“We can’t just sit here,” I argue. “We have to do something—”
I break off, following his movements. Dr. Carlyle draws a cell phone from his pocket.
“Good,” I say, although he hardly seems to register my words. “Call someone. Call 911!”
He nods once, then holds the phone to his ear and turns away.
I strain to hear Dr. Carlyle’s side of the conversation. He has his hand cupped over his mouth as he murmurs information into the phone. Other sounds drown out his voice. The dorm room window clatters in its frame as the full fury of the thunderstorm passes overhead. Outside, trees sway violently, with a few loose branches flying free in the gusting wind. The thought of anyone at The Overlook in this weather makes my stomach churn.
“They can’t be up there,” I whisper to myself. They must have taken cover as the storm blew in.
Nora has enough sense of self-preservation not to stand on an exposed clifftop in a thunderstorm. But Reese…
A ribbon of lightning crackles through the sky, followed by a thunderclap loud enough to make me flinch.
Nora’s laptop still sits open on her desk. Dr. Carlyle has his eyes glued to it as he talks. I watch the live feeds over his shoulder. “There!” I cry, pointing toward a flash of movement in one corner of the screen.
Dr. Carlyle clicks to maximize the window, but my heart sinks again as the image expands. Three figures climb the stone steps of the library and take shelter inside the large glass doors. Their faces come into view as they turn toward the camera.
Miranda, Samirah, and Ms. Peterson.
Dr. Carlyle removes his glasses and wipes away the gathering steam on the lapel of his jacket. He minimizes the window once again. “False alarm. Not them.” His muffled voice drones into his phone. “…still two students unaccounted for…Nora Weinberg…Reese Kemp… Yes, that’s right. And one adult who may be with them…”
One adult.
Emerson.
The tightness in my chest relaxes its grip. That InstaQuest I saw on his phone before he left—a distress signal, like the SOS scrawled in mud. It must have come from Reese. I can only hope he reached the girls before the storm kicked up.
But why did Emerson take off without a word? It would only have taken him a second to show Dr. Carlyle the message he received. I close my eyes, struggling to remember the fleeting instants before he ditched us. His jaw fell open as his eyes flashed to his phone. And then he muttered softly. “What the…”
He paused before the next word. All the blood seemed to drain from his face, and I had to strain to make out what he said.
What the…hell?
That’s what I thought I heard, but maybe I was wrong. For a moment, I go completely still.
Not hell.
L. The letter L…
No wonder he went deathly pale—like someone who just saw a ghost. That InstaQuest didn’t come from Reese. It must have come from Eleanor’s account.
But how?
And why? Why him? Of all people to receive that prompt and take off like a shot. Why Emerson?
A hand grips me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Maddox? Are you all right?”
I look up, startled. My eyes go to Dr. Carlyle’s face and then to the laptop screen. “What? Did you find them? Are they—”
“No.” He releases my arm. “I’m going out with the search team. They have another way to access the location from the main road.”
“Let’s go!”
“Maddox, no. I’m going. You need to wait here.”
I give my head a violent shake. My chest heaves up and down. I know what he’s going to tell me. It isn’t safe. I’m just a kid. I’ve done enough to make this mess already…
Instead, he removes his glasses. He slowly meets my eyes, and my words of protest die on my lips. Something in his look silences me. I feel exposed, unmasked, like he can see straight through me.
What does he see? The real me? And who is that exactly? The kid he always viewed with bemused indulgence? Or the boy who was weak, who lied to cover up other people’s secrets. The boy who broke his trust.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak—waiting for his final verdict to come down.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please let me help.”
The moment seems to last forever. Then, at last, he nods.
“OK, son.” He pats me on the shoulder, and his glasses resume their usual perch on the bridge of his nose. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”