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The front door creaked open and Linda peered out. For a moment, we stood almost a foot apart. From this close, I could see the lines that decorated her face.

Who let her inside our house?

I recoiled, stepping as far away from her as I could without falling off the porch. The sounds of a raging argument spilled from behind the door. I heard Mum sobbing in the background. Linda smiled. It looked painful for her. I opened my mouth but she stepped back inside and turned around, cutting me off.

"Annalise is back!" She sang.

The words soared over the din - like a thousand buzzing bees - and a man came crashing out of the living room. It was Mulroy. His fedora sat crumpled on his head, his face drawn and tired. Like he'd been waiting for me for a while. I wanted to shrink back into the shadows, let the darkness swallow me whole.

Or not. I still wasn't dry from passing out the last time. The briny water was a souvenir from the lake.

Mulroy didn't speak to me as he led me inside my own home. Linda slammed the door shut behind me, offering to take my coat. I shook my head, hoping to God she wouldn't insist. My tongue was a brick in my mouth, heavy from panic.

In the kitchen, two familiar police officers sat at the dining table across from Mum. It was like a police investigation, with a light over the table illuminating a circle around her. One of the officers, a frumpy looking woman with straw hair, spotted me before Mulroy opened his mouth. She stood up.

They were the police that wanted to question me a few weeks ago.

"Annalise Madigan, I'm Officer Una and this is my colleague, O'Malley. We've been having trouble as of late with your mother," Una said.

She nodded to the bald man and brought out a small flipbook. Like a detective on an old show.

Mulroy gestured for me to sit beside Mum, and I slipped into the hard leather. She didn't turn to look at me. I wasn't sure I wanted her to. I didn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

From our kitchen, the living room was visible through an arch that opened into the hallway. The Committee of Friends sat on our couches, staring at us over mugs of tea. Linda nibbled at a custard cream, her eyes wild and bright. What voodoo magic did they have to do to get permission into our house?

And where have they put Oliver?

"What troubles are we talking about?" I asked. I was beyond caring about social niceties.

Una turned to O'Malley, who only shrugged and waved a hand for her to go on.

"We need a witness report from you. They're a few simple questions and your mother here refuses it. There's only one option left, honestly, and it's not a good one."

She sighed, glancing away. Her eyes focused outside of the window on their side of the table, into the darkness.

My head felt tight like I'd stuffed cotton balls into it. Every time I went under, I came up feeling like a corpse, and now the smell of briny water surrounded me.

"They want to take you into custody," Mum said.

Her voice cut through reality, shattering it. She had to be joking.

"For 24 hours, they say. I won't allow it. What kind of mamaheuvo would take a victim child into custody? I know our rights, mija, and this is bullshit," she said.

In the living room, the Committee was silent. I reached out and grabbed Mum's hand, squeezing tight. She didn't squeeze back.

"Ms. Madigan, we're unsure if Annalise is truly a victim but-"

Mulroy stepped forward, then. I kept quiet. I didn't know what to say. My heart thudded in my chest, the insistent ticks of a clock. One that told me my time was running out. Something was coming for me.

I shook my head, pushing the feeling away. It didn't matter. Not now, when everything was going to shit.

"That's my job," Mulroy said.

His voice was footsteps crunching on a gravel path. Worn and grey.

"Fiona and I are investigating her involvement, and without giving details away we are certain somebody else is to blame. Her innocence is not the issue here."

He grunted once, cementing his words of reason into the Officers' heads. I didn't know if he was lying or not. If they'd found another suspect, they sure as hell hadn't told me. Una frowned and turned back to O'Malley.

"If Annalise is unable to come in for questionin', then there's one person left for us to investigate, so," O'Malley said.

He gestured to Mum, who sat up straight. Her hand jostled mine, and I loosened my grip to let go of her when her fingers clamped around my palm.

"Ms. Madigan, you'll need to come with us, so. We need another report, and this time a spoken one. The Chief Superintendent didn't think your written one was enough."

What?

"You never told me you gave one," I said, turning to face her.

She only pursed her lips, her head bent like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. I supposed it was. Dealing with me, and the baggage that I came with these days, couldn't have been easy.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say something? All this time I've been back and the only people that tell me what's going on are my principal and a bloody detective."

Somebody cackled in the living room. Una rolled her eyes towards the ceiling but didn't move an inch off her fat rolls to stop it. I gritted my teeth and tried not to imagine pulling Linda's hair out one strand at a time.

"I will go," Mum said. Her grip tightened on my hand when I opened my mouth to protest.

I leaned over the table, slamming a hand onto the marble. My palm stung. I relished the pain.

"Then what will I do? I have a brother to take care of," I hissed.

O'Malley stood up, like a panther in flight through the jungle. "Your brother'll go with one of the kind ladies from the Committee, sure. I believe Heather Beauchamp volunteered to take him in for the 24 hours. Nothin' to worry about, lassie."

Una nodded. "Please understand that we're only trying to do our jobs. You folks are lucky things work differently here in Black Hill. Anywhere else and this wouldn't fly. You'd be back at the station, giving everything you got. Annalise, I'd count my lucky stars if I were you."

With that, she popped her head out and waved for Arthur's mother to come in.

Heather sashayed out of the living room. She wore a striped fifties dress, with a blood-red bow in her dark hair and matching matte lipstick. She was all done up like a doll, at 4 am in the morning.

She stared into my eyes as she spoke.

"Oliver is in good hands, Annalise. He's back home with Colette and little Henri." She smiled, sharp-toothed and wicked. Lipstick stained her pearly canines. "We took the liberty of getting him settled in while you were on your little excursion."

I dropped my head and stared at my jeans. In all the commotion, I'd hoped they would forget about it.

Somebody rested a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up into Mulroy's face. He grunted again.

"We'll talk about that later. For now, go get some rest. You're old enough to stay here alone, but Fiona and I'll be checking in on you every hour. Don't do anything stupid, you hear?"

I nodded.

They all knew I had no choice.

🌊

The Picker released an opening article on Black Hill's culture and the lake. After a few hours of Mum going into custody, tourists and conspiracy theorists came to town. They signed in at the Evergreen and trailed the path to the lake. Obviously, it was still an active crime scene, so the police shut it down and sent everybody away.

So they, with their sun hats - completely useless in a wet, cold town - and rosary beads marched through our estate. Some ended up where the Committee of Friends lived all in a neat row, hoping to get a picture of the mothers. Others trailed the shopping district, even at 9 am in the morning.

I stared at them through Mulroy's tinted car windows and drew my hood further over my face. 

The red book sat at home, hidden underneath my bed. The officers had done a thorough search of the house before leaving, even though I know they didn't have a search warrant. Una was right. The wheel spun backward in Black Hill. 

Grey thunderclouds rolled over the sky. It would rain later, but for now, the air was warm. It reminded me of Spain in the winter. Reminded me of my grandma and chasing Oliver through the orange trees in her garden. We'd smell of sharp citrus fruit all throughout dinner. She hadn't called since I broke up with Felix.

Since he died.

Wiping my eyes, I looked up as we pulled in front of Créme Milque. Mulroy nodded at me in the driver's mirror, and I got out, slamming the car door behind me. Oliver stood under the charming blue and white awning. He looked so small for his age, bundled in his large winter coat.

"Are you not warm, primo?" I smiled when he jumped. "You're always spacing off, idiota. Come here."

I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled his hood over his head as a tourist couple walked past. The man wore shorts and didn't seem to notice the breeze.

"Stop it, you're making them notice us," Oliver said. He pushed me into one of the delicate white chairs outside of the shop and plopped down beside me. "Look, I was playing spaceship with Henri and then I thought of the lake and how it's trying to make you sleep all the time."

I startled at the mention of sleep. It felt like ages since I'd had a good night's rest. The cotton ball feeling had multiplied, and my heart strained to beat in my chest. Maybe I was dying.

"Anna, you're not listening."

"Or you're just stalling," I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me before he continued.

"Okay, then I drew these. I don't know why, but it felt like Dias or Papa was guiding my hand and-"

He shoved crumpled sheets of sketchbook paper over the table to me. I frowned. Usually, he was so careful with his art. He'd never let the corners bend or rub his expensive paper over a dirty surface. Not that dirt existed in Black Hill. It felt like shimmering gold coated every surface.

Except for the beach underneath the cliffs and the McMahon woman's shop.

I didn't dare glance over to it, in case she was there. Staring with her one crusted blue eye, reminding me of Arthur and the loss of him.

I took the drawings and looked through them. Each one made my stomach flip more than the last. Rows and rows of sharp, shining teeth. Teeth that I could see in my head, now. Teeth that followed logs, pregnant with blood. My head pounded like something was growing behind my eyelids. But I couldn't reach it, it slipped away when I tried to grab it.

"I know you're trying to help, primo, but I don't need it," I said. "I have a nice friend helping me, and even Mulroy and Fiona are doing what they can. No offense, Oliver, but I don't see how these can do anything."

Oliver pursed his lips. He wouldn't cry. He rarely ever did that, only when something bad got to him. His eyes were fountains the day Papa left, and the day I came back from the base without Felix.

"That's the lake," he said. I leaned back into my chair at the look in his eyes. They were empty, like that day we went to the crime scene. "It's coming, Anna. I'm scared."

Oh, Oliver.

I reached across the table and gripped both his hands in mine, and dropped my head. My little brother was going crazy, some hippie group accused my friends of cultism, and I missed them. For the first time in a while, I let tears stream down my cheeks. 

I needed to fix it. I needed to fix everything.