I try to slam the door shut, but Oliver grabs it with his hand. I kick him, but he just grabs my leg and drags me out of the car. As I land painfully on the asphalt, he continues dragging me into the grass, down toward the lake. I scream, reaching out for something to grasp, but there’s nothing.
But surely Lauren or Christopher will hear me. Surely, they'll rush out of the mansion to help. But will they do so in time?
A light flicks on in the house, then another one. They’re awake! They’re coming to find me!
I take a deep breath to scream again, but Oliver drops me hard, causing the air to leave my lungs in a pained grunt. Then he’s on me, hauling me to my feet, a hand covering my mouth.
The front door of the house opens, and Christopher walks out. I try to scream, but Oliver's hand muffles the sound. Christopher peers around, looking confused, and then makes his way to the driveway. Lauren emerges a few moments later and follows, a hand to the side of her head as if she's fighting off a headache.
My heart surges with hope. They'll find Vaughn, and when Vaughn wakes up, he'll tell them what's going on. They'll all come looking for me and stop Oliver!
When Vaughn wakes up.
And what if he doesn’t wake up for, say, an hour—even fifteen minutes? What if he doesn’t wake up at all?
Step by step, Oliver continues to drag me toward the lake. There’s no escaping his grip. The water laps at the shoreline, shining dimly under the moonlight, the water calm and still and unruffled.
I fight him every step of the way, but each desperate attempt to escape only seems to solidify his hold on me. He's stronger than I expected him to be, his grip unyielding, his face set in a cold, cruel mask devoid of any sympathy.
We reach the water, and he doesn't hesitate. One moment we're at the edge, the next we're plunging in. The water is cool, wrapping around my ankles and calves, then rising, rising up to my thighs, my hips, my chest…
He’s going to drown me right here, within sight of the house. Nobody can see us—the moon may be out, but the night is gray and murky, revealing only the vaguest outline of shapes. I’m on my own.
Oliver sets a hand on my shoulder and tries to force me under, but I grab hold of him and fight back with all the strength I can muster. We grapple, a frantic, desperate struggle in the chilling water. The mansion is only yards away but it feels like miles—a world untouchable, filled with light and warmth while we battle in the cold darkness.
With a swift jerk of my body, I manage to slip his grip and dart backward. But the water is treacherous—each step I take is slow, clumsy, like moving through a wall of molasses. And Oliver recovers quicker than I'd hoped. He lunges toward me, his fingers finding my arm, pulling me back toward him.
As he hauls me closer, his grip is like iron. Desperate, I swing my free arm wildly, trying to hit him, hurt him—anything to make him let go. But all I manage to do is splash water into both of our faces. He growls, a low and throaty sound. He raises his other hand, making a fist—
And then there’s a splash. We both turn to see a figure rushing toward us. At first I think it’s Christopher, but then I realize I don’t recognize this man. He’s skinnier, a mop of unruly hair matted against his forehead, his eyes dark with rage.
The man crashes into Oliver, sending both of them under the water. I stumble back, gasping and rubbing at my stinging eyes. By the time I regain my vision, the two of them are locked in a brutal struggle. The man has Oliver in a chokehold, but Oliver fights back fiercely, his elbow jabbing into the man’s ribs.
“Back off, Keller!” Oliver says. “My fight’s not with you!”
Keller? I think, baffled. Who’s Keller? Then I remember: Keller Walpole, the homeless man who’s been living in the area—and who was spying on me through the window. His sister was murdered by Oliver; he must’ve heard us and figured it out.
“You never should’ve hurt Tracy,” Keller says. His voice is rough, like he’s not used to speaking often. “She was your sister!"
As I watch, half submerged and shivering, Keller strikes out, his fist colliding with Oliver's jaw. The sickening crunch echoes across the silent water. Oliver’s head snaps back and he staggers for a moment, looking dazed. Then he spits a mouthful of blood and snarls, lunging at Keller once again. The two of them grapple, creating a maelstrom in the otherwise still lake.
Oliver drives his knee into Keller’s stomach. Then, as Keller bends forward in pain, Oliver shoves Keller’s head down into the water.
“I was never one of you!" Oliver shouts. “No matter how much I tried, I never belonged anywhere! I saw the way everyone looked at me!”
I could just go. If I run now, I can reach the house before Oliver can stop me. I can tell Christopher and Lauren what’s happening, and they’ll call the police. I’ll be safe.
But then I look at Keller’s thrashing form in the water. I can’t just leave him here, not when he ran in to help me. Not when Oliver is drowning him right before my eyes in his obsessive rage.
I need to do something. I rush forward, my heart pounding, and as I get near Oliver, I reach down and grasp the nearest thing I can find—a smooth, heavy stone hidden under the water. Without thinking, I swing it with all the might I can muster, smashing it into the side of Oliver's head.
He howls in pain, releasing Keller. Keller bursts up from the water's surface, gasping and coughing. His wild gaze finds mine, and for a moment we hold eye contact—both of us drenched, vulnerable, fighting for survival against a common enemy. There's gratitude there, swiftly followed by determination. We're both in this now, whether we like it or not.
Oliver grasps his bleeding head and glares at me with a degree of hatred I've never seen before. His perfect veneer is gone, replaced by a beastly snarl. He lunges at me again, murder in his eyes. But Keller is fast; he tackles Oliver back into the water, their bodies disappearing beneath the swirling, muddy surface.
I stand there, gasping, chest heaving, clutching the stone so tight my knuckles turn white. My mind is whirling, trying to process everything that's happened. My whole body feels cold and heavy from the lake water, but adrenaline is keeping me on my feet.
Suddenly, Keller's head breaks through the surface again and he takes a deep breath of air. Oliver pops up, too, but Keller shoves him back under, holding him there, leaning all his weight on Oliver’s body.
Seconds pass. Oliver thrashes, but he’s trapped like a bug pinned to a corkboard. His movements weaken and slow.
A trail of air bubbles reaches the surface of the water. Despite everything Oliver has done, I can’t just let him die like this. It’s not right.
"Keller!" I yell, my voice echoing across the quiet expanse of the lake. "Keller, don't! That's not who you are!"
I see a flicker of conflict in Keller's eyes. Part of him wants to keep Oliver submerged until he stops struggling—to finish what he started. But another part...another part knows I'm right.
“Don’t be like him,” I say, my voice dropping as I plead with him. “Don’t be like him.”
Seconds pass. Keller clenches his jaw, his face twitching with emotion—anger, confusion, sorrow. A few more bubbles escape the water.
Then, with a grunt of frustration, Keller yanks Oliver up by the collar so he's gasping for air above the surface of the water. Oliver’s coughing and wheezing, his body limp from exhaustion.
Keller drags him toward the shore, where a figure is rushing toward us—Lauren. Behind her, back toward the house, Vaughn is leaning against his car while Christopher paces, talking on his cell phone.
When Lauren sees Keller pulling Oliver, she stops and simply stares. Words gather on her tongue, then die there. All she can do is stare in horror and confusion, like a little girl lost in a foreign and unfriendly place.