“And why are you bringing it up now?” I ask.

“The more time that went by, the more I started to recall details from that night. There was one point where I went to get a towel, and when I came back, she’d kind of fallen asleep, but then she was definitely awake again. To tell you the truth I was pretty drunk too. I was focused on my own performance.”

“So what’s bothering you, Rick? I feel like there’s a detail you are holding back.”

“A few months later I saw her out at a bar.”

“What bar?” I ask.

“Lillian’s. She wouldn’t even look at me. She was crying on her friend’s shoulder. I felt terrible, but also confused. Why didn’t she confront me?”

“Why didn’t you say something to her?” I ask.

“What was I supposed to say? It was so awkward.”

“Always better to say nothing,” Joe says.

“At the time I brushed it off, but I don’t think I’ve ever let it go.”

“Do you think you’re a bad person, Rick?”

“I didn’t hold her down and force myself on her or anything like that. I’m not that kind of man. But I should have talked to her. Apologized for the misunderstanding. Instead, I was more scared of what could happen to me than what actually happened to her. I regret that.”

“I think you have your answer,” I say. “I’ve said this in many of the private readings, but it’s never too late for an apology.”

“She doesn’t want to hear from me,” Rick argues.

“No, she doesn’t,” I say. “And she is under no obligation to hear you out, nor does she have any responsibility to absolve you of your actions. But you have a moral obligation to apologize, to be open to doing anything that might make this right.”

I walk the men through their grounding ritual and ask the Universe to help them heal, but my mind jitters and jumps. Rick said this incident happened ten years ago. At the bar where Andi worked. Could she have known Rick too? No, that doesn’t make sense. Also, he said the girl’s sister messaged him, and I’m Andi’s only sister.

I’m getting paranoid. It’s getting closer to my moment and I’m seeing monsters in every shadow. That’s to be expected, but I have to stay the course. I know who is responsible for what happened to my sister.

After saying good night to the guests, I walk back to my cottage. I hear a rustle in the grass and freeze. It’s probably a deer or raccoon. I wait and let my eyes adjust to the dark.

In the silence, I spot a person walking around my cottage. They look neither small nor large, but I distinctly see a baseball cap. A flash of light sweeps the window. On closer inspection, I’m not sure if they’re inside or outside.

“Hey,” I say.

Their light shuts off. If they heard me, they must be outside the cottage. I dial Eric, knowing how unreliable 911 is in this cell-tower dead zone, but I don’t hit the green call button yet. I let my thumb hover and watch.

“Who’s there?” I call out.

Whether it’s because of my second attempt to engage them or the fact that I’m inching closer, unafraid, they take off. I hear the soft rustling of someone pushing tree branches out of their way as they run through the evergreens at the edge of the property. I try to track their rapid footfalls, but I can’t tell if they’re running toward the main house or away from it and toward the front gate. Whoever they are, they’re fast. A runner.

I scramble into the cottage to check the security cameras, but by the time I get there, everything is dark. I would have been alerted if someone had approached the gate, so it must have been an inside job. But if it was a guest looking for me, there’d be no point in scurrying away, even if coming to the cottage is against the rules. The intrusion makes no sense and that sets me on edge.

I kick off my fancy shoes and shove my feet into sneakers to investigate in person, but before I’m out the door, my phone screeches with an alert from CNN.

Tropical Storm Clementine takes an unexpected turn, sets its destructive rampage on coastal Georgia overnight.

All I can do is track the storm’s progress, but what about the threat that’s already here?

Overstimulated and jittery, I flip off the lights in my cottage and watch the main house in the dark. I observe as laptops and televisions flicker and power down as guests move from room to room, settling into sleep for the night. When the house is completely dark, I take to my bed.

All along I’ve been under the impression I gathered this group for my personal reasons, but what if they arrived with their own agenda in place? To execute a plan that involves me, on the day a psychic told me I’m supposed to die? It’s entirely possible, but I’ll have to figure out why.

Coincidences that big aren’t coincidences at all.

SUNDAY

THE LAST DAY

AIMEE

I rise early out of sheer force of habit. I can’t shake my sleep patterns when I’m away from the girls. I don’t imagine what they’re eating, or worry whether they’re brushing their teeth, but the baby’s phantom cries wake me with a start at 5 a.m. I’ve never been away from them long enough to test whether my internal clock would adjust, or how many days it would take.

I turn onto my side and pull the goose-down comforter to my chin, my knees into my body. My eyes adjust to the dark and I take in the strange room. Adam is fully clothed beside me on top of the powder-blue sheets. I open my phone and gaze at the picture of us that I posted yesterday. It really is too adorable. And it has twenty thousand likes already. Let the love shine through.

Farah texted with an invitation to sip coffee and watch the sun rise. As nice as that sounds, it’s not where I am this morning. I need to expend the energy roiling in me to make sure today is all about forward momentum. I need to run.

I dress in layers. My phone tells me it’s sixty-four degrees and clear. It makes it hard to register the tropical storm alert for the area, so I ignore it. Outside, I stretch with wide steps as I make my way up the pebbled driveway. I jog in place to build warmth while I wait for the gate to open, but nothing happens. I jump up and down, but it doesn’t move.

“Screw it.”

I decide to climb over the fence rather than go back to the house for the remote. I land on the other side ready to take off, but instead I pause. In the silence I hear water lapping behind me and the sound of birds trilling at first morning light. The sky is the deep purple of early dawn. It feels as bruised as I do. In my reading, I held back because I still don’t trust Rini, but the memories of ten years ago haunted me all night long.

I used to follow them around. I wore a dark wig and fake blue contacts. Yes, I had too much time on my hands, but so did they. Out gallivanting during the day. Skipping out on life’s responsibilities like they were optional. I tailed them to brunch dates and watched them make out on park benches. I followed them back to her apartment. I only let myself cry once.

Her name was Miranda and he called her Mira. Get it? Spanish for “look,” as in Look at this college coed who wants me even though I’m almost thirty. I wasn’t aware he was the kind of man who would make up a nickname. He’d never once called me Aim or Ames. I was just Aimee to him. That hurt.

I waited days for them to have a fight. A bad one. One afternoon she ran away from him in tears, while he stormed off righteously. I had no idea what the fight was about, but I knew that even Adam the adulterer thought he had the moral high ground. He’d probably say, in his estimation, that this girl was being irrational. I could assume this because I’d been her a few years ago, and that was his favorite line to use on me. I was too emotional. What he meant was I had emotions that made him uncomfortable. Anger. Frustration. Rage. Adam couldn’t handle anything that wasn’t love and unconditional support.

That afternoon, Adam disappeared into a cab and I buzzed her apartment. This was the confrontation I’d been psyching myself up for. I wasn’t there to hurt her. She meant nothing to me. She was a pawn in my game. I needed her so I could betray Adam right back. I knocked on the door timidly, signaling that I came in peace. Or at least I came to start a war against him, not her.

She was surprised to see someone other than Adam. She opened the door a crack, but she didn’t recognize me. Clearly, she hadn’t even had the decency to stalk me on Facebook. I had to push my way into her apartment. My heart raced from the physicality.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. “Hear me out.”

She was visibly upset, both from her fight with Adam and my intrusion. Her arms were crossed and she gripped her opposite elbows. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for her phone or a weapon.

“What do you want?” she asked.

I took a seat to appear less threatening, a ferocious dog rolling over and showing their belly. I spoke quickly.

“I want us to band together. I know Adam—Professor Flynn—the same way you do.”

The lie came out of nowhere, but I knew it was perfect. If I screamed at her, it might push them closer together. But if I could win her over by pretending to be on her side, then we had a common enemy, and she was more likely to listen to me. Besides, why should she think she’s special when I knew I wasn’t? I continued.