Wet soil slurped around her ankles. Emily pressed her weight onto the shovel, scooping up dirt and flinging it onto a growing mound. The rain continued to fall, slapping against her raincoat and filling the deepening trench.
The more Emily dug, the more her arms ached. She concentrated on the rhythm of her movements: the thrust of the blade into the earth, the force of her foot against metal, the pressure of gravity as she swung soil onto the mound.
She now stood in a hole approximately three feet deep. Brown, murky water splashed against her shins. The ground beneath was a thick sludge that sucked on her shoes and threatened to swallow her whole. Resting for a moment, Emily leaned over and repositioned the torch.
Above the rain, she heard a loud snap. Snatching up the torch, she shined the light into the trees. The noise came again. Someone was moving in a circle around her, getting closer. She held her breath, trying to make her body quiet and still. The thump of her heart and the blood pulsing in her ears made it impossible.
At the peripheries of the light, she saw something dart through the bushes. Then, as she snatched up the shovel and brandished it in front of her, the bushes parted. Two glittering black eyes stared at her. Emily slowly lowered the shovel. Frozen to the spot, the deer regarded Emily with a frightened look. Rain glanced off its svelte body. Its ears twitched. Just for a moment, the horrors of the day were forgotten. Emily stared at the deer in wonder, longing to extend a hand and feel its warm skin against hers. The deer bowed its head, turned, and bolted off into the darkness.
Relaxing her aching shoulders, Emily felt the sudden urge to laugh. Instead, she replaced the torch between the tree roots, took up the shovel in both hands, and resumed digging.
Minutes passed. The rain refused to ease off. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deepen the hole without it filling with muddy rainwater. It wasn’t just spilling in from the surface, it was seeping through the earth itself. Emily stopped digging and spent the next minute scooping up water and throwing it out. It was a hopeless task; like Sisyphus from Greek mythology, doomed in an endless cycle of pushing a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down.
Giving up, she pushed the shovel back into the mud and dug faster. Her muscles complained. Doubt and frustration plagued her. It was the flowers that had brought her here. The flowers and the tattoo. But perhaps she had confused their meaning. Perhaps she was out here digging up nothing but dirt and rock while someone else was drawing their last breaths.
She had her answer a minute later. The shovel struck something that didn’t feel like earth or stone. A tree root, she wondered, as she cautiously poked around with the edge of the shovel. She stared into the dark pool that sloshed about her knees. She grabbed the torch and pointed it downwards. The water was too murky to penetrate.
Repulsion crawled up Emily’s spine as she realised what she would have to do. Tossing the shovel onto the ground, she set the torch on the edge of the pit. Then, taking, a deep, calming breath, she sank down into the icy water. It rushed through her jeans, biting her legs and making her bones ache. Emily clenched her teeth and peered into the murk. Then, she thrust her hands under the water.
The earth was already taking back what the shovel had found. She clawed at the wet soil, raking it back. Her fingers brushed against something soft and sinewy. Emily cried out. Her back slammed into the side of the earth. Trembling with both cold and fear, she took in another breath, balanced herself, and plunged her hands into the water once more.
She dug back the earth and found what she’d been looking for. Ignoring the bile rising in her throat, she ran her fingers along its round contours, tracing the forehead, the nose, the hollows of the eyes.
Her hand moved lower, scooping earth away from the neck, the shoulders, the left arm. Her fingers moved down and rested upon the hand. Gently gripping the wrist, Emily freed the arm and lifted it out of the water.
Nausea choked her. She stared at the limb in horror, almost letting go. Without the protection of a coffin, nature had gone to work on the body, sucking it dry of nutrients, withering it like a dead tree. But even though decomposition was occurring at an accelerated rate, the skin still clung to the bones like old leather.
Terror devoured Emily’s insides. She fought it, pushing it to the corners of her mind. Scooping up a handful of water, she poured it over the arm, then gently wiped away the remaining dirt.
The tattoo was faded, barely there, but she could see the arrows pointing outwards in the shape of a star. It was the same symbol carved into the tree above her. The same symbol drawn in Sam’s blood. Horror swarmed over Emily’s skin like flies. She let go of the limb and watched it sink beneath the muddy pool.
Franklyn Hobbes had never left Meadow Pines. He was dead. Murdered. Buried in a shallow grave. And Melody had been there the night he’d been killed.
Hoisting herself out of the pit, Emily pulled her knees up to her chest and shuffled backwards until she the felt tree trunk press up against her spine. The cold dug into her ribs and nipped at her skin.
Two options presented themselves. Either Pamela had told the truth—or what she believed to be the truth—or she had lied to cover up Franklyn’s murder. If she was being honest, how could Melody’s presence be explained? Franklyn had visited Meadow Pines twice. Melody had not been in the photograph taken on his first visit. Yet, there were images of Franklyn on Melody’s tablet, as well as photographs of flowers left on his grave.
Emily’s thoughts turned to Pamela. By the time Franklyn Hobbes had returned to experience his psychotic breakdown, Meadow Pines had been facing financial trouble. Pamela had said it herself—involving the police would have led to public knowledge and an irreparably damaged reputation. She had covered up Franklyn’s attack on Marcia. But what if she had also covered up the truth of what had happened afterwards?
Emily’s mind spun a dizzying web of scenarios and possibilities. Unearthing Franklyn’s body had only resulted in unearthing more questions. As she mentally played out the events of the last two days, her eyes wandered back to the shallow grave. Whatever had happened that night, it was clear that Melody was at the centre of it all. Why else would Pamela cover up her presence? Why else would there be pictures of Franklyn and his grave stored on her tablet? And there was something else. Following Franklyn’s disappearance, Melody’s face had appeared in Pamela’s photograph album with such frequency that one would be forgiven for thinking she’d taken up residence at Meadow Pines.
As much as she didn’t want to believe it, Emily could only reach one conclusion: Melody had killed Franklyn Hobbes and Pamela had covered it up.
Perhaps Melody had acted in self-defence. Perhaps not. A threat to Meadow Pines would be a threat to her only real escape from desperate loneliness. What had happened in Melody’s life for her to have ended up in the wastelands of society, unwanted and unloved? Emily felt a rush of empathy, of sadness. She tried to think of an alternative explanation for the evidence that she’d uncovered that would relinquish Melody of guilt, but no matter how many paths she followed, they all ended at the same destination.
Melody killed Franklyn Hobbes. Did that mean she had also killed the others?
Emily stood. She looked down at her wet and soiled clothing, at her shivering hands. Had Oscar shown Franklyn’s picture to Melody? Had she flown into a blind panic and killed him before he could find out what she’d done? But what about Sam and Marcia? Why had she hurt the people that she claimed were her friends?
Emily’s head spun. She could feel the beginnings of a headache. Every question she asked was like a blooming flower, the petals unfurling to reveal yet more mysteries. Emily didn’t have the answers. But she knew someone who just might.
Picking up the torch, she cast one final look at Franklyn’s grave, pulled up the hood of her raincoat, and started back towards the house.
She had just reached the meadow when a shrill scream soared high over the treetops. Emily stopped dead in her tracks. Like a dying star, the scream faded, leaving only the fizz of drizzle on grass. Blood pulsing in her ears, Emily turned away from the house and headed north, back into the forest. Ten minutes later, she came to a stop behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. The rain had finally relented. Above the canopy, clouds were dispersing. In the near distance, Emily saw moonlight glancing off the lake like shattered shards of mirror.
Switching off the torch, she tucked it into her coat pocket and moved up to the next tree. She cocked her head and listened. There had been no more screaming. Now, she heard the lake lapping softly against the shore and somewhere overhead, the low hoot of an owl. She moved closer. A light cut through the trees, yellow and bright.
Emily was running out of forest. Fifty metres to the west, she could see the jetty jutting out over the lake. A lantern sat at the end, illuminating the surrounding water and the small rowboat that jostled and pulled on its tethers. There was something else on the jetty, long and crumpled like a pile of cloth. Emily squinted in the dark. The pile of cloth moved. It moaned and squirmed.
“Marcia!” Emily breathed. She was still alive. Adrenaline racing through her veins, Emily moved towards her. She kept low and to the shadows, wincing at the crunches and snaps of the forest floor beneath her feet. She edged closer, suddenly aware of the danger she was putting herself in. The only weapons she possessed were the torch and her bare hands.
The jetty was five feet in front of her. Marcia lay on her side, turned away from Emily. Coils of rope bound her arms to her torso and tied her ankles together. Her clothing was muddy and torn. Marcia shifted her head. Streaks of drying blood caked her hair.
Emily looked back into the forest and across the shore of the lake. Then, pulse racing, she stepped out from the trees. Fear gripped her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She moved quickly, stealing glances over her shoulder as she made her way to the end of the jetty. Her eyes moved to the boat. As she came closer, Marcia thrashed violently. Her moans became frightened sobs. She rolled onto her front and began choking on the gag in her mouth. Emily rushed to her side.
“It’s going to be all right. You’re safe now. I’m going to help you.” She put her hands on Marcia’s shoulder and felt her flinch. “I’m not going to hurt you. I have to turn you over so I can untie you.”
With one hand on Marcia’s shoulder and one on her hip, Emily rolled her over onto her back. Light from the lantern spilled across her face.
Emily stopped breathing. For a second, confusion fogged her mind. Then, she fell back onto her haunches. She’d been mistaken. Lying on the jetty, tied and gagged and peering up with terrified eyes, was Melody.
It took another five seconds before Emily came to her senses. Springing forwards, she pulled the gag from Melody’s mouth.
“Help me!” Melody cried. “Please, help me!”
Her eyes moved over Emily’s shoulder, growing wide with terror.
Emily spun around in time to see a shadowy figure, then a large chunk of wood swinging towards her head.