Mel turned sharply at the sound and saw instantly what she had done. Cassidy jerked her body back, launching her backpack forward and into Mel at the same time. With a grunt of surprise, he let go of her arm, and she dove for the knife, her fingers scrabbling over the wood in the dark. Had it fallen through one of the stairs? Instantly, Mel was on her, his body weight crushing her, his hands searching the platform for the knife too. She writhed and bucked and fought with all her strength. Then the knife was in her hands and she jabbed it back in his direction, slicing the air.
Breathing heavily, Mel grabbed at the knife—easing the pressure on her left side just enough that she could roll. Her right hand came around hard. Mel cried out, and Cassidy scrambled backwards, unable to breathe. What had she hit? His side? His neck? Her backpack blocked her descent, so she jumped up and swung her legs over the railing. She tried to remember how high this location was off the forest floor—ten feet? six?—and was about to let go when Mel grabbed her and dragged her back over the railing. She fought, kicking and swishing the air with the knife, but he grabbed her wrist and slammed it down. Pain exploded in the back of her hand. She struggled to get it free, but he slammed it down again, and this time, she felt something pop. A cry escaped her lips as white-hot agony shot through her hand and fingers. She lost all feeling except for pain, and knew she had lost the knife.
Mel was on top of her, breathing fast, his weight crushing her hips. He pinned her arms to her sides with his knees. A fresh bolt of pain shot through her hand at the movement. “I was going to wait,” he said, struggling to remove something from his pocket. “But I can see that we’re going to need to do this now.”
Cassidy began to cry silent tears that tickled down the side of her temples and into her hair. This couldn’t be happening. How could she have let this happen? Clever Cassidy and her curiosity. Why had she let herself come to this place? Why hadn’t she checked into her room at Casa Pacifica?
Because she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone among all those happy people, the college kids with their carefree life and full social calendars, kids with their whole happy lives ahead of them.
But she was more alone now than she had ever felt.
Cassidy felt limp, resigned. A drop of blood hit her chest—from his shoulder, she realized. So she had stabbed him there, she thought, but how deep? Could she overpower him somehow? Get the knife back?
Then he unfolded the small case. Something flashed in the moonlight: a vial. Tiny, thin needles with red caps.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, bucking and kicking.
“I’m doing you a favor,” he said, his voice calm. “It’s the best way to go, trust me.”
“No!” she said, her whole body electrified with the purpose of stopping him. He shifted his body to pin down her chest, blocking the view of her arm. She could feel his fingers stroking her inner arm. “Please!” she cried out, and arched her body with every last shred of strength, but only the hot prick of the needle answered.
Then, a rush of euphoria whooshed her off the stairs and into the air. She was floating, soaring, a feeling of peace and joy and light filling every corner of her being. Higher and higher she glided. Everything was beautiful, and perfect, and would go on being perfect, forever. She flew over the trees and the ocean, watching surfers ride waves from above, and a pod of dolphins swimming, and beyond, to an island where tropical flowers swayed in a sea breeze, making a shhuusssshing sound that was wonderful. She wondered if she was breathing, or if maybe she didn’t need to breathe anymore, ever again. Maybe she had become part of the air. Why had she never done this before? All of her sadness vanished. All of her worry, frustration, fear: gone. This was marvelous!
She felt a hand stroke her face, putting her further at ease. She remembered her father stroking her forehead at night to help her fall asleep, or to soothe her when she was sick. The sensation of joy sweetened even further, as if her father’s warmth was inside her, lifting her higher into the clouds. She had the sensation of being carried, the arms holding her strong and sure. Was her father carrying her? It didn’t matter where. What mattered was this feeling of joy and light and euphoria. She wanted the bright, lovely happiness to go on forever and ever, so she could forget everything from before. With a mild sense of annoyance, she realized that the sensation was fading. Instantly she wanted more of whatever it was so she could go back into the clouds and fly, so her heart could be filled with peace again.
The sensation faded further, and a gray fog enveloped her. She was in the back of a car. A strange, frustrated edge crowded into her brain. Where was she? There was an image of a plane on a tarmac, but she couldn’t place where it was or why it had appeared in her mind. Her body felt heavy, like a lead dummy. Her limbs felt like giant tree branches; she was a tree growing through Mel’s house. She started to cry but her hands couldn’t wipe the tears away. Why couldn’t she move? She began to shiver. She felt more tired than she had ever felt. Sleep tugged at her, drew her down. She closed her eyes, but Pete was there. He was angry with her. She could see his wrinkled brow, his shoulders hunched as he leaned on their kitchen counter. What had she done to upset him?
Far away, there was shouting. Was
