and she wondered if the back of the lodge had somehow collapsed. But there was enough light for her to see the stone floor of the hall and part of the back wall. She looked longer, and it was clear that the trees were props, their bases crossed pieces of plywood. There were enough of these fake trees to compose a fake forest. And in the dark interior of the lodge, it looked like a forest at night. There was one other object that Abigail could just make out. At first she thought it was some sort of jungle gym, but then she realized it was a cage, constructed of metal bars sculpted to look like twisting branches. She thought of the ring she’d found in Bruce’s bag, the “green man” ring. Its band had been made to look like intertwined branches, just like the bars of the cage. She didn’t know what she was looking at, but it terrified her just the same. Breathing in the air from the lodge, she could detect a faint piney smell and realized the trees were real, just cut down and displayed inside like Christmas trees. There was something theatrical about it, and that thought triggered a realization that came and went, a fleeting certainty that everything here on this island, every person, every tree, was part of a play, and she was the one unwilling participant.
She turned and took in the view. There was the pond, its heart shape no longer evident. The sky was now creased with a few darkening clouds, and a gust of wind rippled the yellowing grass of the sloping lawn. She envisioned them coming for her, men emerging at separate points from the woods, all converging. She walked quickly toward the nearest bunk and found its door open. She stepped inside, the air stale and acrid. Something fluttered in the rafters and Abigail looked up to see the blur of a bird leaving through a hole in the roof. The floor was warped from rain and pocked with bird shit. There were no furnishings left except for the frames of about ten iron cots. She thought about all the girls who’d slept here when the camp had been active, tried to conjure them in her mind, their faces and their voices, but she couldn’t do it any more than she could imagine the boys who used to inhabit her own luxury bunk on the other side of the island.
The air inside the bunk tickled her throat and she stepped back outside, shutting the door behind her just as she saw Bruce coming toward her across the lawn.
She considered running, but there was no point. Instead, she forced herself to smile at him and wave. Pretend that you were never in Eric’s bunk, she told herself. Pretend you didn’t hear his words.
Fucking whore.
Spoiled bitch.
“I knew you’d be here,” he said, when he was close enough to speak. He stopped and put his hands on his hips, as though the hike had exhausted him.
“I went exploring,” Abigail said. “I was curious about this place.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me anymore,” Bruce said. “I know you were in that man’s bunk. Scott or Eric or whatever his real name is. It doesn’t matter. We can talk about that later. I know all about him.”
“What do you know?”
“Come back with me and I’ll tell you,” he said.
“You can tell me now.”
“Okay. Whatever you want. I looked him up when it became clear that the two of you have some sort of relationship. I did some research.”
“How did you look him up from here?” Abigail said.
“Chip did it, actually. Did you know your friend gave a false name when he registered for his stay, not something that’s easy to do? His real name is Eric Newman. He’s a murderer, or do you know that already?”
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t convicted because they couldn’t prove it, but it was pretty clear that the investigating officers believed he was guilty.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He killed his wife on their honeymoon. They were at a resort and guests there reported that they’d been fighting. Apparently, he thought his wife was flirting with a male waiter. She drowned when they were snorkeling in shallow water. There were no witnesses, so there was no way to get a conviction. All the autopsy could prove was that she died from drowning.”
“So maybe she did,” Abigail said, not knowing how else to respond.