The Search Party

when Dylan had caught up with her, or Sadie had realized he was there, they’d argued. Perhaps at first Sadie had tried to reason with Dylan, to explain why she needed to go away. Maybe she’d even mentioned Mason, which would have explained why Dylan was so angry with Mason at the end. But whatever she’d said, it hadn’t worked. Dylan had insisted she come home; Sadie had refused. Maybe she’d even shouted at him, lashed out in an attempt to get him to leave. And if Luke had had conflicting emotions about his sister, how much worse must it have been for Dylan? He loved her, unquestionably, but how he must have hated her on occasion, too—not least when he saw his parents adoring her the way they had never adored him. And then for her to tell him she was abandoning him—leaving him and never coming back . . . It was no wonder that when Sadie turned away, Dylan had felt such rage. And it was his rage—his sheer emotional turmoil—that had prompted him to pick up the rock.

Perhaps he never really meant the rock to hit her. Or, if he had, maybe he’d been aiming for her back. Certainly it was unlikely he understood how much damage a blow to the back of the head could cause. It would only have been after Sadie had fallen that Dylan would have realized what he’d done.

Except . . . Luke. Everything Luke did from that point on was designed to protect his little brother. He took Dylan back to his bed, telling him all the while it would be OK. And then he went into the woods himself, following whatever directions he’d been able to coax from his brother. When he found Sadie where she had fallen, at first he would have tried to help her. For some reason he had removed her jacket, perhaps to prop up her head. But when he realized he was already too late, he came to understand what he had to do. He concealed her body, in the best nearby hiding place he knew. He covered the hollow with branches, completely masking it from sight. Ideally he would have taken Sadie to the river, but there was no way he could have carried her that far—not by himself, and not while his brother lay waiting for him at home. But after Sadie was hidden, he realized he’d forgotten about her jacket. Perhaps he was reluctant to disturb the camouflage he’d constructed around the hollow, or perhaps he simply couldn’t face going back, but either way, he decided to toss the coat into the river, going via the stream to get cleaned up on the way. At some point, Sadie’s new phone had slipped from one of her jacket pockets, without Luke even noticing it had been there.

And then it was done. When Luke got home, there was only one task left: to convince Dylan that, when he’d got to the place Dylan had said he and Sadie argued, their sister had been OK.

She’d only been stunned, Luke told Dylan. You didn’t hurt her, Dylan. You didn’t. I spoke to her and tried to convince her to come home, but . . . but she left anyway. The way she was planning to all along. But she’ll come back. You’ll see. One day, someday, she’ll come home. I promise.

How desperately Dylan would have wanted to believe him. And perhaps, at first, he did. Except then people started saying Sadie had been murdered, and the entire town was looking for her body. But rather than blaming Dylan, they blamed Mason. Which meant . . . what? Dylan simply didn’t know. By the end—by the point the search party had set off—he would have been no clearer on what had actually happened than Fleet had been at that stage himself. It was no wonder Dylan had followed Luke and his friends, the same way he’d followed Sadie. He would have been as desperate to know the truth as anyone.

It’s the parents I feel most sorry for, Burton had said to Fleet, after Dylan’s body had been found. But in Fleet’s mind that was entirely back to front. Mr. and Mrs. Saunders wouldn’t have wished for anything that had happened, certainly. And perhaps they couldn’t have anticipated that their overwhelming love for their daughter would shape such radically different personalities in their sons. So yes, they deserved some sympathy—but not as much as their children did. Indeed, out of anyone, it was Sadie’s parents Fleet held most responsible for everything that had happened. The same way he would have held himself responsible if he had been standing in their place.

“I hope they look after him,” said Holly. “Luke, I mean. In hospital. I hope he gets the care he needs.”

And that was almost the most tragic thing of all, as far as Fleet was concerned. Yes, he had pulled Luke from the river, but what sort of life was waiting for him now? What sort of love?

Fleet shook his head, and tossed his cigarette into the gutter. He glanced Holly’s way, and smiled at her sadly.

“We said we’d talk,” he said. “About what happens now.”

Holly reached and took his hand. Her touch was warm and soft, and Fleet couldn’t begin to comprehend how much he would miss it.

“I think I know what happens now,” Holly said. “I think we both do.”

“Listen, Holly,” said Fleet. “I want you to know—”

“Rob, please. There’s no need.”

“Yes, there is. I want you to know that I didn’t come back here to try to justify the way I was feeling. About having children, I mean. It was the opposite. I came back because I thought it might help. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. That thing about confronting your demons.” He thought of his mother, of the inscription on the bench. “And actually, if anything, it’s helped.”

There was a brief flash of hope in Holly’s eyes, and for Fleet it was like a dagger to his heart.

“But it hasn’t healed, Sprig,”