“I’m sorry,” he lied, trying to save himself another beating.
Markie cursed. “You belong in the freezer with Chris, dude.”
“Don’t say that. I panicked, is all.”
“Enough,” Chase said. “This isn’t helping.”
Chase was still dressed in his dark clothes—his night run clothes. He paced at the foot of the bed, rubbing his knuckles.
Ty wished he had his target pistol, and not just because he wanted to shoot them. The gun calmed him down. He only felt truly at peace at the firing range, standing behind the cinder-block partition on a cold winter morning, pistol in his hands. When he fired at targets, he had no anxiety. His hands didn’t shake and his skin didn’t feel too heavy. He didn’t need pills. His fear and anger were compressed into the barrel of the gun and fired right out of him, at least for a while.
If he could just live on the firing range, life would be okay. But he always had to return to the narrow hallways and the cramped dorm rooms of Jester Hall. The crowds pressed in on him. Even the auditorium classes were too small. He couldn’t concentrate on lessons. He watched the ceiling, sure it was going to cave in and bury him alive. He would long for home—the ranch back in Del Rio, where he’d never had any problem with small places and crowds. But he couldn’t go back home. His father would never allow it. And so he’d found other ways to cope. And that had led him to Chase and Markie.
“What do we do now?” Markie asked.
Chase picked up an empty tequila bottle from the dresser. “We try again.”
“Gonna be hard,” Markie said.
“We’ve got no choice. Unless you want to end up like Chris.”
Markie’s face paled. “Bastard deserved it, after the shit he tried to pull.”
On that, at least, Ty agreed. Chris was better off dead. It was his fault they might not make it off the island alive. God, Ty wished he had taken the boat. He should’ve been faster. He shouldn’t have listened to Navarre.
“We’ll stay low for a while,” Chase decided. “But be ready. We see an opportunity, we go.”
Ty’s stomach churned. He resented Navarre for keeping him here. He wanted to kill the guy. But at the same time…he seemed smart. He wasn’t afraid of Markie or Chase. If there was a way to stop them, or make it so Ty didn’t have to share their fate, Navarre might know how.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Ty muttered.
Chase looked at him with disgust. “Not in my room, you’re not.”
“I got my medicine next door,” Ty said meekly. “I’ll go throw up there.”
“Not now,” Chase insisted. “We’re going downstairs. The fucking detective wants another group meeting. And you are gonna behave yourself.”
Ty nodded miserably. He slid off the bed and hobbled toward the door. He would have to wait. He would be looking for an opportunity, but not the kind Chase meant.
Out in the hallway, he took a deep breath, trying to gather his courage. The walls closed in on him, but he concentrated. He could make it down the hall. It was just like the barrel of a gun. He was aiming at his target. And his target was to get free of Chase and Markie, to get off this island in one piece. If other people died, that wasn’t his problem.
He took a tentative step, then another. Chase and Markie walked on either side of him, but Ty promised himself he’d be rid of them by tomorrow, one way or another.
23
On my way downstairs, I thought about Alex. I wondered how he would react to Chris Stowall’s death. The booming and groaning of the storm outside made me think of the last fireworks display I’d ever seen Alex do.
It had not exactly been a celebration.
That July fourth, my mother had asked Garrett to watch me, which was never a good sign. She wasn’t feeling well. She couldn’t handle the company of others that night. At sunset, Garrett took me down to the beach, where Alex was setting up his display.
His tubes and wires looked like a miniature power plant. He’d set everything up on a length of wooden flats and was busy running around, checking his fuses one more time.
The other hotel guests—there were never that many—brought picnic blankets and barbecue prepared by Alex’s dad. Even Delilah, the old maid, had come down to watch the show. Alex’s fireworks displays were some of the only times I ever saw her smile.
My brother was in an unusually good mood that night. New guests had arrived the day before, and they had a teenage daughter. Garrett had big plans to get to know her tonight. He’d combed his unruly hair, which made him look even geekier than usual, and put on fresh jeans and his Pat McGee’s Surf Shop T-shirt.
“You help Alex out, okay?” Garrett told me. “I’m just gonna, you know, get a soda or something.”
He went off in search of the new girl. I suppose I should’ve been relieved that he was preoccupied and happy, but I knew it just meant he’d be in a foul mood tomorrow or the next day—whenever his romantic prospects fell apart, as they inevitably would.
Alex was too busy working to pay attention to me. The sky was turning purple and the guests were starting to cheer and call for the show. Behind us, the hotel at sunset looked like a perfect haunted house.
I didn’t hear Mr. Eli come up behind us until he spoke. “Are you ready, Alex?”
It was the first time I’d ever seen Mr. Eli outside. He wore his maroon bathrobe as always. The cuffs of his pajama pants were neatly folded up to keep them out of the sand. His feet were bare, so pale they were almost luminous in the dusk. I wondered if the old man was a vampire, coming out only after dark, but I suspected that a real vampire wouldn’t look so sickly and weak.
Alex brushed his hands on his pants and stood up. “Ready, sir. About ten minutes until full dark.”