Page 64 of Buried in the Woods Below

I instinctively cover myself with my arms. “No, I don’t. You’ve gotta go.”

His smile flatlines. “Seriously? I traveled all this way to visit you.”

“I texted you not to come.”

“What? I never got anything.”

He pulls out his phone and shows it to me. There’s a text from him telling me he’s on his way and no response from me. I slap my forehead and rub my eyes. This island.

“Regardless. Even if I had received the message, I wouldn’t have expected you to show up at one a.m., creeping through the yard.”

“Is everything okay, Charlotte?”

It’s a simple question, but from the way he looks at me, I can tell it carries a layered implication.

“Yeah. It’s fine. Actually, no, it’s not. This creepy guy from work came after me in the woods today. And now you’re here. I…”

His dark eyes soften, I catch a whiff of his hair product, and for a moment we’re right back at Maguire’s. God, I miss it so much. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I figured you saw my text and didn’t have a chance to respond.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Who is this dude who messed with you?” I notice a little East LA in the way he says it.

“It’s this guy Vivek from work. But you don’t need to worry about it. It won’t happen again.”

He chews on his cheek, and his pectoral muscles flex. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay. You just let me know.”

“Thanks.”

“Because I can—”

I raise my hand to stop him. “Good night, Carlos.”

He opens his mouth for a second, then closes it, his eyes penetrating, searching for the words I haven’t said.

“Good night, Charlotte.”

He retreats around the side of the house toward the dock, taking one last look at me as he walks away. I tiptoe inside, shut the door, snap the lock, and return to Eric’s office to watch Carlos leave. The pontoon boat roars to life, and he returns from whence he came.

I sink into the soft leather of Eric’s desk chair and spin around, rocking slightly, my gaze drifting from one macabre doll to the next. The air feels thick and smells of antiques.

What was Carlos thinking coming here? I can hardly believe it happened.

But that sound earlier. That girl I saw. That wasn’t him. It was someone else. Something else. Was I dreaming? Was I hallucinating? What’s in those bootlegs? This island is like a funhouse mirror; everything is distorted, uncertain. Now that I’m awake and half sober, it all seems so surreal. I feel like every hour I spend here, a piece of my sanity slips away.

Time passes. The tension in my shoulders eases. My eyelids grow heavy.

Then my gaze lands on Eric’s fortune-telling machine in the corner.

Grandma.

The soothsayer.

Her eyes peer back at me knowingly, as if she has a secret to share, something the dolls won’t tell me. I smile and approach the machine, delirious with fatigue. “All right, Grandma, can you give me a happier fortune this time?”