In all the panic, I drop my flashlight. Which sucks because this cemetery is full of seriously sharp branches determined to gouge out my eyes and rip out my hair. It takes me ten minutes to fight my way through the undergrowth, but I make it. There are slashes of light ahead, so I walk toward them.
Voices reach me before I see anyone. Arguing voices. I skulk in the darkness and listen. It’s Matthew and Beatrix.
“Don’t give me that rubbish,” Beatrix says. “You’re the one who should be feeling guilty, not me.”
“Pretty sure it was you cozying up to Grayson in a dark tunnel, but whatever you say,” Matthew snaps back.
Beatrix and Grayson? I didn’t see that coming.
“I was scared, and he was being nice. You, in comparison, haven’t even asked if I’m OK.”
“He’s Rose’s ex! The one she used to complain about. Remember that creepy as fuck song he wrote for her? How did it go?”
“Matthew, stop it—”
“Rose, I love you. You are my life. I’m so pathetic; I can’t let you go,” he croons. “Grayson is serious serial killer material.”
“I’m not talking to you when you’re in this mood.” There’s the sound of breaking twigs as she moves through the trees.
Matthew shouts after her. “And yet again, you’re walking away from me. Perfect, just perfect.”
“I’m covered head to toe in blood, Matthew. I need to change my clothes.”
“And why are you covered in blood, Beatrix?” he cries. “No, let’s talk about that. Because you were pretty damn angry with me when I was being accused of murder. But when it’s you, I’m supposed to accept that it’s all lies?”
“I didn’t kill Rose!”
“Neither did I!”
They go quiet for a long moment. An owl hoots in the distance. I think about leaving them to their bitter little tiff. It’s not very nice to be spying on them, but like a car crash, I can’t look away. They’re as bad as Mom and Dad right before they split. I always thought Matthew and Beatrix were the perfect couple.
“You seriously think it was me?” Matthew finally says.
“You do nothing but lie to me,” Beatrix snaps. “Who were you meeting in that hotel when you were photographed in your underwear? How am I supposed to trust you when you refuse to tell me the truth?”
“Nothing happened!”
“Then tell me who you were with. Was it Erin Love? Because I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“Erin? Don’t be ridiculous.”
He starts to move again. Their voices get quieter as they storm through the cemetery, sniping at each other. I try to follow them, but it’s kind of difficult without a flashlight. I trip over something big and hard, yelping as my toenail bends back. I steady myself on a tree. Matthew and Beatrix have gone quiet.
“What was that?” Beatrix says.
“I don’t know. Probably that bloody amateur reporter again. And now you’ve given her even more material to screw us with.”
“Me? You’re the one who…” When she speaks again, her voice is small. “And, yet again, I’m expected to grin and accept it. One of these days, I won’t be able to hide your mistakes from the world, Matthew, and everyone will find out about the things you’ve done.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Beatrix starts crying. Her noisy sniffles are all I hear for a good few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” Matthew says more gently. “Let’s not argue.”
“Promise me,” Beatrix sobs. “Promise me that when Emma goes through her old photos from that party, she’s not going to find pictures of you with Erin Love.”
Matthew doesn’t answer right away. “I’m getting sick of Emma’s photos,” he says at last. “She’s too nosy for her own good.”
Their footsteps move off. I go in the opposite direction before they catch me listening in on them because that would be hard to explain. I catch a brief glimpse of another flashlight nearby, so I head for it. But it vanishes into the darkness, and I start to doubt it was ever there.
I stumble onward with the light from the moon and my bracelet’s faint glow to guide me. This part of the cemetery is so overgrown that it’s become a jungle, with tombstones that tower over me and gnarly trees that look like evil monsters. I keep jumping at rustling sounds in the undergrowth. It’s probably nocturnal rodents, but I can’t help but think I hear footsteps creeping up behind me.
I stop. The footsteps stop too. Maybe I was imagining them. I pick up the pace. A branch cracks. I spin around, but it’s too dark to see anything but threatening trees surrounding me in all directions. I try to find the path again, but I’ve lost my bearings. I feel for a gap, but there are spiky hedges and low branches everywhere.
Another branch breaks, and this time when I freeze, the footsteps don’t stop. Someone is heading right for me. Crunch, crack, rustle—they’re moving fast now, breaking into a run. I can hear their labored breathing as they fight their way toward me. Brief flashes of their flashlight cut apart the darkness.
I try to force a path through the hedge, but the old knotty wood refuses to yield. I drop to the ground and attempt to use my bracelet to light my way. I think I’ve found the path again, so I crawl as fast as I can. It ends in a tall statue of an angel. I pull myself up and run, but ivy tangles around my feet. Everywhere I turn, there are more tombstones and more trees. I can’t see a way out.
I trip over a rock and fall heavily. The footsteps are right on me now. The flashlight’s weak beam skims across the dozens upon dozens of ancient headstones crammed in together like rows of teeth. All I can do is lie there between them, whimpering and bruised, waiting for whoever it is to find me.
Then there’s a sound like stone scraping on stone, and a scream, and a loud cracking noise. Something falls right next to me, smashing old headstones, shaking the ground beneath me. Pebbles skitter—one strikes me on the leg—and then everything falls silent. Even the creatures in the bushes have stopped moving around.
I push myself onto my knees. There’s a flashlight lying beyond the closest row of graves, and its beam shines past me, striking ivy-covered stone. I can’t hear breathing anymore. I can’t hear anything but my own heart thundering in my ears. I know that if I look beyond the graves, I’ll see something I don’t want to see. So I don’t look. I just kneel there, waiting.
I’m not sure how long I’m there for. Eventually, I hear crunching footsteps, followed by Matthew’s voice. “Oh my god. Someone, help,” he yells.
“Matthew?” I stand up, trying to look only at him. Even still, I can’t help but see pieces of smashed stone on the ground. One of the stone angels has fallen from its tomb and lies broken. A wing. A face. A pale arm speckled with blood.
Matthew yelps and jumps away from me. “Charlotte, what are you…? What happened?”
He’s joined by Grayson running toward the sound of our voices. He skids to a halt. He claps a hand over his mouth and turns away. Erin and Amber are close behind him; they’re finally joined by Beatrix. She’s changed into Anton merch from her van—a green hoodie and rainbow baseball cap. Everyone stands in a semicircle with their flashlights lighting the fallen tombstone.
“It’s Emma,” Matthew eventually says.
I make myself look but only for a second. It’s enough time to see a trench coat soaked with dark blood. I look away again. “Is…is she dead?” I say, which has to be the stupidest question in the history of questions. Of course she’s dead.
Grayson stoops next to the body. He touches his fingers gently to her neck, then snatches them away. His expression says it all.
“Someone murdered her. I heard them push over the statue.” I catch a glimpse of Emma again, and saliva floods my mouth. “We need to call the police.”
Grayson nods and stands. He pats his pockets. “I have a phone. Somewhere.”
Beatrix places a hand on his arm, stilling him. “No police, remember? Or Anton dies.”
“Anton,” I say quietly. Beatrix is right. We can’t call anyone.
We silently stand there, staring down at Emma’s crumpled body for what feels like forever. I watch the others. Grayson, his dark eyes wide and worried. Erin, looking young and scared for the first time. Amber, as expressionless and unreadable as stone. Matthew, fidgeting like he wants to run and keep on running. Beatrix, tears clearing tracks down her grubby cheeks.
I’m hit by a thought. Someone killed Emma, and that someone has to be in this cemetery.
What if Emma’s killer is one of us?