When Malcolm steps forward, Clare tightens her grip on her gun. She thinks of the scene weeks ago, months now even, when Malcolm first burst through the door of her motel room, knocking the gun from her hands and tying her to the chair. He’d come for her, and in that moment Clare had felt so certain that she would die. Now, she walks backwards until she edges close to the incoming waves, out of his reach. He matches his steps to hers, holding the distance between them.
“What is this, Malcolm? What are you doing here?”
“Clare—”
“Have you been here all along?” she hollers at him. “In Lune Bay? Watching me? Stalking me?”
“No,” Malcolm says.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Clare,” Malcolm says. “Please. I just got here. I can’t—”
“Shut up!” Clare yells.
Clare casts a quick glance up and down the empty beach. She lifts the gun and points it to Malcolm’s chest. She stares down the barrel, perfecting her aim, right at his heart. Malcolm lifts his hands in the air, but nonetheless, he steps forward. Clare hates the way she feels as she watches him. She hates the magnitude of the relief, how badly she wants to step forward too, to move closer to him.
“Please, Clare. I just want to talk to you. Please put the gun down.”
“Talk to me?” she says. “You left!”
“I know I did. I can explain. It’s not safe for you here, do you understand that? I need you to leave Lune Bay. Now. I want you to leave with me.”
“With you?” Clare laughs bitterly. “Oh my God. Fuck you.”
All Clare can do is hold the gun in place, grip it to force a steadiness to her hand. In her life she’s so rarely been graced with certainty about anything, but Clare knows if she fires, she will not miss. The bullet will pierce his heart.
“Shoot, then,” Malcolm says, louder. “Why don’t you shoot me, Clare? If that’s how this ends.”
“How what ends?” Clare yells.
He takes a small step closer. Clare holds her stance.
“If you give me the chance, Clare, I will tell you everything.”
“Fuck you,” Clare says again. “You had your chance. You had weeks’ worth of chances. You told me nothing.”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“You abandoned me!” Clare shouts, at once ashamed for saying it.
“Abandoned?” Malcolm scoffs. “I was trying to protect you. I told you that.”
“But you’re here now? What’s changed? Is it any safer? No.”
“I told you to stop looking for me!” Malcolm yells too. “I told you to back down. Christ, Clare. Put the goddamn gun down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
A long moment passes, Clare considering. Finally she lowers her gun, her gaze locked on Malcolm’s.
“I want to get you out of here,” he says. “Get you to safety. Once I know you’re safe, I can come back to Lune Bay and turn myself in. Speak to Germain. But only once I know you’re safe.”
“Turn yourself in for what?” Clare asks.
“Give me the chance to explain,” Malcolm says. “We can sit. Talk. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Zoe’s alive, you know.”
“I know,” Malcolm says, edging even closer. “I told you that. This is all a game to her, Clare. That’s what you don’t get. There isn’t some big reveal. This is all just a game.”
“It’s not a game,” Clare says. “There’s so much that you don’t get. Everything’s changed, Malcolm. This isn’t about you.”
Malcolm rubs at his forehead. He looks right at Clare, then strides to close the space between them. Clare allows it. It startles her to see him up close, the circles under his eyes, the worry on his face. He lifts his hand, as if to reach out and touch Clare, but thinks better of it and retracts.
“You want to hear something completely nuts?” Clare says. “Zoe and Jason might be together.”
Malcolm’s face twists with genuine shock. “No,” he says. “That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible anymore. Do you see that? That’s what I mean. You don’t understand. I’ve been here working, figuring this all out. This isn’t about you anymore, Malcolm. I’m not doing this for you, or because of you, anymore. This is about me now.”
“Let me get you out of here,” he says. “Please. I can bring you somewhere safe.”
“I’m not leaving, Malcolm. Do you get that? I’m not leaving.”
“You can’t stay. Listen—”
“No,” Clare says. “You listen. Do you know how many days I’ve been running, Malcolm? Because I’ve counted. Since I left Jason, I’ve counted in days.” Her voice rises. “Do you know what that’s like? To count your life in days? It’s been over two hundred and fifty days of running. And I’m done. I’m done, Malcolm. I’m not leaving. I’m going to see this through, no matter what. I need this to end.”
Clare’s phone rings in her pocket. She looks down at the gun as if she’d forgotten it was in her hand. Clare tucks it back into her belt, then extracts her phone from her pocket to silence the call.
“That’s Somers,” she says. “I was supposed to meet her at the hotel ten minutes ago.”
“You can’t leave, Clare. We need to talk.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, Malcolm. If you want to talk, we can talk. Later. I have things to do. Do you understand that?”
When her phone rings again, Clare lifts a finger to stop Malcolm from saying more. She swipes to retrieve the call. Somers.
“Sorry,” Clare says. “I got held up. I’m fifteen minutes out.”
“It sounds like you’re outside. Is that the ocean I hear?”
“I stopped for gas,” Clare says. “I’m on my way.”
Clare can’t bear the way Malcolm is watching her as she speaks.
“Okay,” Somers says. “You sound a little off.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Clare says, ending the call.
Behind Malcolm, Clare spots a couple on the path. They wave at her in friendly greeting. Clare watches them start up the beach arm in arm, the wind kicking up the woman’s hair, the man laughing at something she’s said to him. Clare takes a step forward and
