“You have to make him think he has won.”
I looked at Marlow to see a little girl. A little girl from the woods staring back at me with hollow eyes.
“Only then have you truly trapped him.”
CHAPTER 59
THE INTERVIEW
2021
[Studio]
JODI LEE: The truth about your mother?
MARLOW FIN: In the summer of 1995, a woman was drowned in front of her daughter near Covet Falls. That woman was my mother. That little girl . . .
That little girl was me.
JODI LEE: You’re saying there is a body in Covet Falls?
MARLOW FIN: Patrick Baek murdered my mother. And then he murdered my sister when he found out she had learned the truth. [Sobs]
JODI LEE: Marlow . . . Marlow. Take a deep breath. What do you remember from that night? Do you remember . . . do you remember your father hurting Isla?
MARLOW FIN: Yes . . . yes.
He thought he had drowned me, but I was still alive. Somehow, I had survived. I woke up in the water down the shore. I had drifted before I came to. When I stood up, I could see him in the distance, stabbing her. She was crying. She kept asking, Why? Why, Dad?
JODI LEE: Dear God . . .
MARLOW FIN: I must have passed out because that’s the last thing I remember. I think I went into shock. When I came to, I was dazed. I was so confused as to where I was and how I even got there. I looked around and went to the shed.
There was blood in the corner. I bent down and got some on my dress. I couldn’t remember anything . . . I couldn’t remember how I got there. I sat by the lake with blood on my dress.
JODI LEE: Marlow . . . I have to ask. Where do you think he put her body?
MARLOW FIN: Where do you think?
CHAPTER 60
ISLA
The Day after the Interview
The scar on my forearm feels satiny as I trace my finger over it. I twist it back and forth in the mirror, watching it shine and change colors, a chameleon that lives on my arm.
I look up and see the square reflection of the television.
I see them both.
She is hounded by a mob of reporters as she leaves her hotel; the flashes and shouting buzz around her like insects. This is nothing new for her. She disappears into the waiting car faster than she had appeared, a vision of dark sunglasses and a trench coat wrapped tightly around her.
He is being led by another man into the police station. His gait falters; he is unsteady and unsure of what to do in this new microscope he has been thrust under. He does not look up once, blinded by the sea of reporters begging for just one acknowledgment. One look for the shot that would grace every front page and every feature story online.
I walk to the television and shut it off. It won’t be coming with me.
There is only one item left to pack.
I wrap it in a dish towel. If I focus hard enough, I can smell a hint of the lake, maybe even brine and flesh. But maybe I am imagining that. The towel goes in a large, padded manila envelope, addressed carefully in black ink and stamped accordingly. Ready for the day it may get sent.
I am not sentimental today. I pick up the last bag and shut the apartment door quickly behind me. It is dark, but the sun has already begun to flush the edges of the sky. I slip into my car and the engine starting sends trills of exhilaration throughout my body. The road is nearly deserted at this hour, but I welcome the solace.
I always welcome it.
Where I am going, no one knows who I am. No one knows who Sawyer is. Who Marlow really is. We were never meant to be in the same world, she and I. Two beings setting each other on fire.
Maybe there I can be satisfied with only my thoughts.
My foot gets excited and pushes hard on the gas pedal. I ease up as I see a brown patrol car out of the corner of my eye. I hold my breath and keep driving. I must not be worth the time. I find myself zoning out, the lines in the road a hypnotic pulse to each empty thought.
I stop to eat. I reach for him in my pocket. I have not allowed myself to touch it or look at it in a while. He is worn but still there as I set him atop the dashboard. I think about the last time he held it. The last time he thought of me when he looked at it.
He didn’t feel anything. He felt no pain.
My phone is slippery and bothersome as I dial her number. Each ring and I am closer to her voice. Somewhere she is waiting for mine.
I reach for my scar once more, remembering how it felt when it was open.
