In my heart, I know where I’ll find him.
I cross the lawn, flashlight in my hand, with the damp grass tickling my ankles. The hedge maze looms before me. I don’t hesitate. It’s instantly another world. The firs have become so unruly that it’s hard to see the numerous paths. I try to picture the route Anton took when he led me to the summer house. But it’s too dark, and within seconds, I’m lost.
“Anton?” I call. “It’s me, Charlotte. Where are you?”
I hear the rustling of creatures unused to human presence. The hedge’s spiky needles scratch my face and exposed roots snake out of the mud to grab at my feet. I want to conjure the remembered magic of this place, but the fairy lights that once lit the paths are nothing more than frayed wires after all this time, and the moonlight makes twisted monsters of the shadows.
I hear footsteps somewhere nearby. Light, tentative footsteps. I spin around. “Anton?”
There’s no reply. I walk on, listening carefully. The footsteps come again. I speed up. Left, right, right, left. I think I’ll be trapped here forever, running along these narrow passageways, searching for something that doesn’t exist anymore. But then, all of a sudden, I burst out into the open area at the center of the maze.
The summer house stands surrounded by tall grass. It’s bigger than the house I share with my mother and Roger, with an octagonal shape and two stories, each encased by huge panes of glass. There’s a covered patio area at the front that doubles as a balcony terrace on the second floor. But where before the wood was once fresh and clean, the boards are now warped and green with algae. The windows are clouded with dirt.
There’s no sign of life. I slip through the open door. “Hello?” I call.
It smells musty, of damp furniture and moldy carpets. Rain and dead leaves have blown in, and everything is coated in a layer of grime and abandonment. I sit on the red lips sofa where we slept. The fabric squelches, and my seat instantly feels wet.
This place has been at the center of my daydreams for so long. My fantasies have brought me here a million times, wrapping me up in the comforting memories of falling asleep with Anton at my side. But it’s nothing like I remember. Everything’s coming crashing down around me. As if my entire relationship with Anton has been built on shaky foundations. On a lie.
There’s a noise upstairs. Like creaking floorboards. A muffled shuffling sound. I get up with a wet sucking noise as the sofa releases me. I tentatively creep up the stairs. The upper level of the house is empty apart from a beanbag, a large metal fridge that stands with the door open, and dozens of bottles scattered across the floor.
I’m about to go back down when suddenly there’s a cry, and a person launches themself out from behind the fridge door. It’s Anton, a bottle clutched in his hand like a weapon.
With a yelp, I dive aside, flattening myself on the floor. Anton stumbles and flies headfirst down the stairs. He bounces off every step, his limbs flailing like a rag doll. He lands in a disordered pile, and the bottle rolls from his hand.
“Anton, oh my goodness,” I cry, racing downstairs. If I’ve killed him after everything, I don’t know what I’ll do.
He’s alive. He hauls himself into a sitting position and sits slumped. God, I hope he doesn’t have a head injury. I can’t see any blood or obvious wounds, but his gaze is unfocused.
“Anton?” I say. “Are you all right?”
He burps loudly, and I catch the whiff of alcohol. He’s not injured. He’s drunk.
“Who are you?” he slurs. His purple-streaked hair sticks up in every direction, and there’s a graze on his stubbled jaw.
“It’s me. Charlotte,” I say. He blinks at me. “Matthew’s stepsister?”
“Oh right. Charlotte.” He laughs, but it could also be a sob.
“What are you doing here?” I say. “I thought you’d been kidnapped.”
He shushes me dramatically. “I escaped, and now I’m hiding from the ghost who ruined my entire life. I figured no one would find me here, but you’re here, so…”
“Of course I’m here.” I laugh. “This is where we had our moment.”
He frowns in thought. “We did?”
My heart sinks. He’s drunk, I tell myself. That’s why he doesn’t seem to remember me. He’s been through a lot, but at heart, he’s still my perfect, lovely Anton. Then I’m hit by an awful smell. I can’t believe I’m saying this…but I think he’s farted.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispers, leaning close to my face and breathing fumes over me. “I’ve had a lot of moments in this house.”
My cheeks burn hot, and my blood turns to sand. “Oh. Right.” I pull myself together; the important thing is that Anton is alive. “You know, maybe we should get out of here and find the others. Everyone will be glad you’re safe.”
“Safe?” He makes a disgusted face. “My game’s ruined, and my reputation is in pieces. All thanks to Rose. You’d think she’d be content with fucking up my life once, but she couldn’t stay dead, could she?”
“I’m sure everything will work out OK,” I say, brushing a strand of purple hair away from his forehead.
He gawks at me like I’m the one burping and farting noxious gases all over the place. I get to my feet and shield my nose, hoping to protect at least some of my affection for him against the stinky onslaught.
“Unless you’re the one who killed Rose,” I joke, forcing a laugh.
He doesn’t join in. “That bitch deserved to die,” he snarls. “Fuck her. You hear that, Rose? Fuck you.”
I back up nervously. This isn’t right. My daydreams have collided with reality, and as hard as I try to hold on to the fantasy, it doesn’t fit. Anton isn’t who I thought he was. I’ve been deluding myself. I don’t know him at all.
Suddenly, I’m wondering what he’s really been doing for this entire game. Was the kidnapping part even real or part of a ruse to cover up the fact that he’s a murderer? “Where were you when Rose died?” I whisper.
His angry expression snaps into a smile. A nasty smile. “Wasn’t I with you? Having a moment. Pretty sure that’s what went on the police report.”
“No,” I say, my voice shaky and overly prim. “You were here with me until twelve at the latest.”
“Are you sure about that, Charlotte?” Beneath the drunken slurring, his voice has the same viciousness as it did in that video where he threatened Rose. I made you! And I can end you just as easily.
I back away as he rises to his feet. He’s taller than the boy in my fantasies, and his chest is broader. Not a boy. A grown man. I don’t think I’d fit in his arms. I’d be smothered.
He staggers toward me. “I think I was with you all night long. Where else would I have been? Smashing Rose’s brains out in the swimming pool?”
I reach the door; then I squeeze outside and run.
“I’m joking,” Anton yells after me. “Probably. Come back!”
I ignore him and race into the maze. Sobs threaten to burst out of me. What have I done? Anton’s been my everything for so long, and I don’t know who I am anymore. I run and run, making no attempt to navigate the maze. I let it swallow me up with its dead ends and twisting pathways. I want to lose myself forever.
I trip on a root and fall heavily. Pain ripples through my jarred knees and shoulder. I lie on the cold ground, hiccuping so hard I can’t breathe. I figure I’ll stay here and let the bushes grow over me until I’m part of them. There’s nothing left for me anymore. Everything is gone.
Suddenly, I can see my relationship with Anton from the outside, and I’m so, so embarrassed for myself. He never liked me. I’d see him at the parties Matthew invited me to, and I’d take every smile and smirk as a hint that he shared my feelings. But all along he was laughing at me. And when he took me to the summer house that night, it wasn’t because he was finally ready to be with me. It was probably to annoy Matthew.
Matthew was never trying to get in the way of true love when he refused to pass my messages on to Anton. He was trying to stop me from making a fool out of myself. I’m a joke to Anton and nothing more.
Well, I was something more. I was his alibi.
All my daydreams shatter like glass. They fall around me, mocking me with glimpses of my own desperation and obsession. The Anton in my fantasies wasn’t real, and I think, deep down, I knew. That’s why none of my stories end with a happily ever after. I’m always gladly dying to save him because that means I never have to face up to the reality of getting to know the real him.
The tears flood out of me, and I can’t stop them, so I lie there with my cheek against the dirt, salty tears and snot running into my mouth.
And it’s not only Anton I’m crying over. It’s my dad, leaving to start a new family and forgetting me. It’s my mom, so wrapped up in planning her wedding to Roger that she has no time for me. It’s Matthew, leaving to live with Anton—just when I’d started to come around to the idea of having a brother.
Everyone leaves me. No one wants me.
I don’t know how long I cry for. Long enough that my stomach muscles ache from twisting themselves into knots, and my throat burns from the racking breaths.
But eventually the real world comes rushing back with a piercing scream. My tears stop. I sit up.
The scream came from somewhere nearby. A neighboring path in the maze, so close but unreachable through these thick hedges. I hear footsteps, stumbling and slow. Labored gurgles reach me from the opposite side of the bushes.
“No, please,” someone gasps.
Oh no. No, no, no. I claw at the branches. I try to pull them apart to get to the person on the other side. “Stop,” I yell. “Stop!”
There’s another scream, short and knife sharp. The hedge shakes like someone’s fallen against it. There’s a heavy thud and then silence. I shine my flashlight into the bare branches at the base of the hedge. There’s something there, but I can’t quite see. I shift position, and that’s when I see her hair.
Bright orange hair soaked with blood.