Page 119 of Mirror Image

It was agonizing and slow, branches clawing at me, stumps grabbing me, mud pulling me into its thick, clinging embrace. I lost a hiking boot and sock—not that I could feel my toes. More than once, I slipped, falling hard against the mangroves or a felled tree trunk. The bugs feasted on me every step of the way, clinging to me, buzzing around me, draining me alive. The Nightmare wanted to keep me, to claim me as it had my twin. And by the time I collapsed near dawn, I was almost ready to let it.

Almost.

I’m not sure how long I lay there like that on the tiny sliver of shore. The dramatic events that followed were reduced to a series of snippets strung together in my mind, like a movie trailer packed with the highlights of a film you have yet to see. The ranger, the swamp rescue team, the floating raft, the helicopter. Again and again my conscious mind skimmed the surface of reality and time, only to drag me down to its murky depths once more.

The first time I woke, I sat bolt upright, gasping for air, swatting at bugs that weren’t there, my own scream still ringing in the tiny hospital room. I spotted Sam standing in the corner, watching me silently. I was just reaching for her, calling out to her, when two nurses came bursting into the room. One tried to soothe me while the other injected something into my IV. Sam’s name was on my lips as I floated away once more.

But then she was there with me in the cold, dark abyss, holding my hand as she pulled me toward the surface of consciousness until we were close enough for the light and the sound to permeate my stupor, if not bring me fully awake.

There was a familiar touch of my mother’s hand on my face.

“But why does she need to be sedated?” she asked from somewhere far away.

“When she was awake earlier, she was quite delirious, and it was impossible for the medical team to interact with her and treat her. She’ll be transported later today, and I’ve given orders for her to remain sedated at least until we’ve got her settled in at Miami Killian, where I can oversee her care.”

The man’s voice niggled away at me. I knew him but couldn’t place him.

“Julian, I don’t know what we would have done without you,” my mother declared.

Julian. The third voice was Julian Braithwaite. Of course. “Uncle” Julian.

“Yes, we are,” my father agreed. But as he continued, his tone turned hesitant. “But . . . again, do you really think it’s necessary to start the conservatorship process? I mean, as it is, she hasn’t spoken to us in nearly two years. I don’t see how keeping her locked up in the hospital against her will is going to make that situation any better . . .”

“As I said before, Doug, Mary is going to need time and support as she deals with everything that’s happened. And not just this horrible tragedy. I’ve read Samantha Kinski’s file. She was a very troubled young woman, and you said it yourselves, everything changed when she came into your lives. Goodness only knows what kind of lies she’s told Mary over the last five years. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the driving force behind your estrangement from your daughter. No, trust me on this. We cannot risk her taking off and disappearing once more. Mary needs us. She just doesn’t know it.”

“Oh, dear Jesus, I hate to do this to her,” Mom cried.

“It will be fine, Terry, I promise. Just leave it with me, and I will take care of everything.”

Powerless to move or speak, all I could do was listen until the darkness that tethered me between the two worlds pulled me back down.

The next time I broke the surface fully, I found myself in the posh VIP suite at Miami Killian, and Uncle Jules was right there at my side. There was no sign of my parents . . . or my sister.

He smiled sweetly, patted my arm, and promised to help me through this “difficult time.”

But I already knew who Julian Braithwaite was—what he was. And that was exactly what he was afraid of. So I smiled sweetly, pretending to adore him as I always had even as I started to formulate my plan. It was complex, and it wouldn’t be easy to pull off, but I had to try. I’d made a vow to my sister as she lay dying in my arms out there in the Everglades, and I couldn’t allow anything—or anyone—to jeopardize that.

These people were not going to let Mary go so easily.

So I had to stop being Mary.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Jenn

One week later

Penn Station at rush hour feels like it’s vibrating—announcements ricocheting off low ceilings, rolling suitcases clattering over tile, the smell of stale pretzels and diesel braided together. The air is warmer down here on the Amtrak concourse—heavy and metallic, like someone forgot to switch on the ventilation ten years ago. Track 8 flashes on the board beside the words Lake Shore Limited—Chicago.

We join the crowd shuffling down the escalator, pressed shoulder to shoulder until we spill onto the platform. It’s even stuffier here—thick, warm air clinging to the concrete as the engines idle, humming with that restless, itching-to-depart energy long-distance trains always have.

Sam—Mary—keeps her hood up, chin tucked. Her backpack looks too small for a person about to become someone else.

“You’ll text when you get to Chicago?” I ask, tugging the hem of the outerwear straight, like some fussy parent.

She nods. “Yeah. And when I get on the next train. The . . . uh . . .”

“Empire Builder,” I remind her gently. “To the St. Paul station.”