EPILOGUE

NEIL

I run my tongue along my lips, savoring the salt that the sea air has deposited there.

“You go and get some sleep. It’s going to be a long ride to the mainland,” I say, stroking her hair. Brooke reaches up on her toes and gives me a small kiss before heading back inside the ferry cabin. A small spark shoots through me as I watch her. Not happiness, exactly, but something close. Victory.

Even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome, everything wrapped up so tight and perfect, all leaking holes dammed. The police bought it, hook, line, and sinker, and so did the doctors. So did Brooke.

I had told Doug and Greta to take the lead that night at Frangipani. I knew I had to be extra cautious in the wake of Brooke’s Instagram post. I’d hold back, I told them, until they needed me. But things got out of hand fast, too fast. They underestimated Brooke—we all did—and who would have thought Cass had it in her to take a bullet for someone? As soon as I saw that, I knew the tide had turned. And while all the others were consumed with Cass, bleeding out in front of us, I spotted lights from the courtyard, and I knew what that meant. It was time for the rats to leave the ship. I’d come prepared, of course, bringing one of the scuba knives we kept at the shop. It was a risk, stabbing Logan. But I did what I had to do, just like always.

And just like always, it worked out.

I didn’t correct Cass or Brooke that night when they spouted their conclusions about the deaths. I nodded when they accused Logan of killing Jacinta. And I made sure to look over at Doug when Brooke asked about who killed Daniel. That didn’t take much persuasion.

It was almost too easy. Logan kissing Jacinta while Cass looked on. This shit could write itself! How pathetic. The bastard was about to be engaged, but as soon as he saw Jacinta, he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. I mean, yeah, she was gorgeous, but Logan’s always been weak. She told me about the kiss later that day, how Logan had asked her to lunch, how he tried to slide his tongue into her mouth, how she was too shocked to act at first but then came to her senses and pushed him away.

She told me all that during our dinner date that night, both of us laughing over how stupid Logan was, how he couldn’t tell that Jacinta only had eyes for me.

And then, after a few hours of drinking at Frangipani, I promised her the most romantic sunrise of her life if she’d go for a predawn hike with me. By then, she was eating out of my hand. And once we were up on Khrum Yai, the sun just barely breaking over the water, I pushed her.

I know I’m not supposed to shit where I eat, but I had been good for so long.

And it was all just so damn easy. All it took was one quick shove, and that was that, finally feeding the impulse that vibrated through me. I watched as her body flipped over the cliff, as her bones cracked against the jagged rocks below. It really was beautiful.

Then that little bitch came to the island asking questions. Lucy. I made it clear to the others how bad this was for all of us. It didn’t take much persuading. Hell, Greta even handled Lucy on her own. I couldn’t help but beam with pride when I saw her down at the beach, Lucy’s cooling body beside her.

Logan took a bit more work. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, he told me. Pussy. So I told him what I knew. That he had kissed Jacinta less than twelve hours before her body was found and he had no alibi for the time of her death. I reminded him how it would look to the police, a spurned man getting revenge.

It was the opportunity I needed. After that, Logan felt indebted to me, and I used it. I had him do my dirty work: I loaned him Doug’s black sweatshirt to break into Lucy’s hotel room to get us any information we could use to help cover this up. He botched that, of course. And in exchange for keeping Cass out of everything, he promised to keep tabs on her. To plant the idea that she might be the one behind the murders so she would stay quiet. And when I realized Brooke was poking around, asking questions even when she promised me she wouldn’t, I had him break into her room too. He protested, of course, to all of it. But all it took was a gentle reminder of what I held over him.

Of course, I was the one to take care of Daniel. I wanted to. The shithead had tried to blackmail us, so I set up a little meeting, using a burner phone that I later stuck under Doug’s mattress. I met him in that alley. As we started talking, he glanced down at his phone. I used that moment of distraction to my advantage. Just as he returned his phone to his pocket, I pulled out the knife I had brought from the dive shop, the same one I later used on Logan, and dragged it across his throat. Made it look just like that guy’s murder on Koh Samui, the one who crossed the Thai Mafia. A nice touch if I do say so myself.

But then I heard footsteps coming from behind me. I took off, thankfully remembering the slight curve at the end of the alley that leads to a bigger road near Kumvit, where I changed my shirt before heading back out onto the street and dumping the bloody one in a kebab shop waste bin. I didn’t dare go back to the alley to grab Daniel’s phone, lest someone see me over his corpse. Instead, I risked it, hoping that without Daniel’s guiding hand, the police wouldn’t realize the incriminating evidence he had on his videos from the Full Moon Party. Not a big risk, really, given how bloody incompetent they are. So I booked it back to the dive shop, just as all the others were arriving.

I never imagined Brooke would be stealthy enough to steal Daniel’s phone from his front pocket. But hey, that’s my girl.

And she bought all of it, including the sob story about my rough childhood in Bristol. The basis of it was true, even if I did lie about trying to off myself—I could tell just by glancing at her bracelets what they were hiding, and what better way for her to trust me? I did leave out some of the more lurid details of my upbringing though. My parents’ double murder, which the police tried so badly to tie to me but never could. The home I was transferred to after, where the other kids just happened to start sporting new injuries after my arrival. A broken arm here, a black eye there. Until I got out of that dump.

I forced the tears to come the night everything happened at Frangipani, but I really didn’t have to try much. The doctors back at that home in Bristol told me I was incapable of feeling emotions, but they were wrong. That night, I was happy. The tears of triumph dropped one by one, just when I needed them. I made Greta come over to the stretcher before the police packed me up into the ambulance. I kept the tears flowing so it looked like we were having a sentimental conversation. I’d already made her look guilty enough by planting my passport in her house, and I told her that if she ever decided to come clean and speak of my role in any of the murders, if she ever questioned any of it, I would track down Alice back in Sweden: the only person Greta ever seemed capable of loving. And I would kill her.

And she knew I was right.

I didn’t have to worry about Doug. The police wouldn’t believe a word that came out of that degenerate’s mouth anyway. And the rest of them were dead. Easy as pie.

I’ll miss it here, on this island. It’s been good to me. A haven of sorts, where I could really be myself. Where I didn’t have to hide my urges. But I’m optimistic. Brooke and I have a load of countries ahead of us. Countless unsuspecting women who don’t know better and corrupt police who are easily dissuaded from investigating. And now I have the picture-perfect boyfriend facade to hide behind.

So goodbye for now, Koh Sang. But hello, world of opportunities.