Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“So the place got locked down because Clayton escaped?” Munawar asks.
Good question. “I have no idea. Maybe there was a cougar. Maybe Clayton took the opportunity to run.”
“So where do you think he’s being kept?” Lauren asks. “Do we need to, you know, stage an intervention?”
I think about the shadowy figures running around with guns. I think about Kincaid’s warnings about how dangerous Madrona is. I think about lawsuits that would ruin every single one of us.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know enough. Kincaid is bound by NDAs. He can’t talk about what’s happening.”
“But did he confirm it was Clayton that you saw?” she asks warily. “That he’s still here?”
I mull that over. Did he?
“He said he wasn’t sure if Clayton was still alive,” I say slowly. “He confirmed he didn’t kill him.”
“Well, that’s helpful.”
“But no, he didn’t exactly say he was still here. I know what I saw though. I know it was him.”
Now, I’m starting to see skepticism in some of their faces, even Lauren’s.
Oh fuck, they don’t believe me, do they?
“Maybe something did happen to Clayton, but they aren’t allowed to talk about it,” Christina suggests. “Doesn’t mean he’s still here.”
“You know who really wouldn’t believe you about all of this?” Patrick says with a laugh. “Clayton.”
A few people laugh along with him, but I don’t. Because this was exactly the thing Clayton kept talking about. It was what he was trying to warn me about.
“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re okay,” Lauren says, nudging me with her shoulder as everyone else goes back to their spots by the fire, already bored with me. “You really had me worried.”
“Kincaid told me he came by and talked to you all, told you where I was.”
Her smile tightens. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t worry. I still meant what I said. He’s taking advantage of you.”
Anger burns through me, swift as a forest fire. “Why are you being so negative? You always joked about us getting together.”
“It was always a joke, Sydney. He’s in a position of power. He’s your damn psychologist.” She lowers her voice, looking around. “You’re his patient. And you’re having mental health issues, we all know that. He knows exactly how your brain works, how to wield it, how to manipulate it. It’s a systematic abuse of power, and it’s gross.”
I don’t even know what to say to that because most of what she said is correct. But he’s not using me. I know he’s not.
I just grumble and push past her, going to my room to get out of my wet clothes.
I close the door and get changed into my red sweater and jeans, then sit down on the bed and try to do a few breathing exercises. Now that I’m away from the boat and Kincaid, away from Everly, away from the classes, which have been canceled because of the storm, I can finally think.
And when I think, I feel the need to take out those boxes I’ve shoved in the back of my head.
No, I think as I mentally reach for them. Stay focused on the now.
But because Kincaid isn’t in front of me, forcing my attention on him, I can’t.
I start pulling them out and unwrapping them.
The first box is one so recently wrapped, given to me by Lauren just moments ago.
Is Kincaid manipulating me somehow? With his deep knowledge of who I am and my lack of knowing who he is, is he able to make it so that he gets what he wants while having it seem like it’s my idea? He’s already established he’s a liar. Is he a gaslighter, too?
He had blood on his shoes, I think, another box unraveling. He had blood on his shoes. Whose blood was that? Clayton’s? Did he shoot him out of the tree? He is someone who knows how to use a rifle. We’re in Canada; it’s not a common skill here.
What are they doing to Clayton? His chest looked cut open. His face was full of blood. Did they cut his head open too? Michael had said they wanted to take a look at my brain, see what my “problem” is. See if we can fix her, he said. But Kincaid insisted that they would just attach electrodes. What if that wasn’t it? What if Kincaid knew that?
Another box opened.
Then another one.
What if Madrona brought me here because they knew I had nothing? Then, as a fail-safe, they decided I needed to lose my scholarship. That’s what had been bugging me earlier, on the tip of my tongue. What if they’re the ones who called the dean, told some lies, took my scholarship away? I shouldn’t have lost it because of a viral video that I was clearly set up for.
Oh my god, what if they went as far as to tell Professor Edwards’ daughter, putting it all in motion?