His beautiful brown eyes are filled with blood.
Burst capillaries splinter his cheeks. The hair around his temple is matted. His features, slack. Blood, frozen to his face.
I can’t breathe, I can’t scream. I can’t tear my eyes away from the horror – my friend, dead, with part of his head missing.
I stare at the brain pulp and the blood, the mush and the splintered bone – the gaping hole where he’s been shot. The bile shoots up into my throat. Then I turn away and retch.
I’m trembling as I go into shock. There’s no fight left in me. I try clenching and unclenching my fists but nothing can move, except my eyes.
Don’t look, don’t look. But I look.
I return to Rez, staring at his shattered skull, still unable to connect with the horror. I can’t cry. I’m numb, just like when Ben died. Pain and grief, sitting on my chest like a brick.
A single bullet to the temple – like an execution. Ariel did this? It seems too cold-blooded even for her. I think back to Rez’s final message and I play out the scene. Someone was watching him when he took the drone out and they must have panicked when Rez connected the dots. Someone who had a gun.
I laugh at the absurdity of it, delirium taking hold of me. How do they expect to get away with this? I’m a famous presenter, it’s not like people won’t notice I’m gone. How will they hide our bodies? Then I think about the kind of money involved and how they’ve managed to keep this experiment a secret until now and I collapse in defeat.
Rez came here because of me and my obsession with Ariel killed him. My brother wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t paid for the therapy. I think about Rez’s elderly mother, eagerly waiting for his return. The thought of it makes bile rise in my throat.
Why does everyone I care about die?
You won’t make it out alive.
I nod and smile to myself.
‘You’re going to freeze to death,’ Ariel’s voice rotates in my head and I slump down with relief. I’m exhausted from fighting.
I feel sleepy.
‘That’s OK,’ I murmur. ‘It’s for the best.’ I shut my eyes.
I settle back onto the ice but I don’t feel cold. Strange, the hypothermia, it’s almost become snuggly, a tender hug. An electric blanket warming my back and it feels nice to let go. It’s peaceful now I’ve found a place to rest my head.
I feel myself drifting; the distant sound of the lake soothes me like a lullaby.
I wake up on a bench in the snow with a view across the mountains.
An oasis of calm, ringed in by tall, ancient pines. The smell of fresh needles rides the air, like menthol in a spa, and I lean back and inhale.
A kestrel caws in the distance and there’s the crunch of snow as someone approaches.
‘Hey, sis.’ Ben grins and takes a seat beside me.
He’s not dressed for the weather, but then neither am I. I’m still in my black oversized hoodie and he’s wearing the same jeans, T-shirt and buttery leather jacket he had on the last time I saw him alive.
The sky is pale blue and the alpine sun burns brightly, warming the back of my neck. It’s so quiet and peaceful here. I close my eyes and let the sunshine soak into my skin and I take his hand in mine. Just the way I’ve imagined, every day since he left me.
His skin feels rough but warm, just the way I remember.
‘I’m dying, aren’t I?’ I say quietly.
‘It’s not as bad as everyone makes out, hey?’
I make a snorting noise in the back of my throat. Typical Ben, making light of a desperate situation. I playfully punch his arm but then the giggle dies as grief and shame find their way in.
I swallow hard. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Come on, we don’t need to do this. Don’t stress it, sis.’
‘But I wasn’t there for you.’
‘When were you not there? You’re the only person I can count on.’
‘I let you down.’
‘I could never be mad at you, silly.’ He looks at me, his eyes finding mine. ‘It’s me and you against them, remember. Now, how about we do something fun.’ He smiles. A big Ben grin. His eyes creasing with happiness.
The light blazes iridescent white, washing out the view. The thick canopy of pines loosens its grip on us. The trees fade from view, leaving us alone on the bench in a column of light.
Ben yawns and stretches, leisurely rising to his feet. He moves, stepping one foot outside the circumference of light, then he turns and looks back at me. ‘You coming?’