Chapter 2
Patricia's POV
My legs gave out. I hit the floor hard.
Dead? They were actually dead?
"No... no, that can't be right..." I mumbled, shaking my head. "I didn't mean it... God, I was just angry..."
Last night I'd screamed at them to die. Today they were at the bottom of the ocean.
Guilt slammed into me. I doubled over and puked into the trash can until nothing was left but bile.
"It's my fault..." I dug my nails into my scalp, tears streaming. "What I said... oh God, it's all my fault..."
They were terrible. They made my life hell.
But they were still my parents. My sister.
If I hadn't run out that night—if I hadn't screamed those words—would they still be alive?
Diane pulled me close, saying over and over, "Sweetie, it's not your fault. This was an accident..."
But how could I believe that? I'd wished them dead.
The next two weeks blurred together.
The house felt huge and suffocating. Their stuff everywhere. Helena's knitting on the couch. Vincent's loafers by the door. Avery's room still thick with her perfume.
I locked myself away. Couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes—the yacht exploding. Their screams in freezing water.
Diane came every day, practically forcing soup down my throat. She'd hold my skeletal frame, crying. "Patty, honey, listen to me. There were storm warnings everywhere. They CHOSE to go out. That's on them, not you. You can't keep doing this."
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to. But I couldn't.
The police couldn't recover bodies. Just debris and witness statements. They issued death certificates anyway.
Funeral in three days. No caskets. Just empty clothes and framed photos.
Night before the funeral, I forced myself to sort through Avery's things.
I needed a good photo of her—one where she was really smiling. She'd always cared so much about looking perfect.
Her room was trashed. Clothes everywhere, closet gutted. Most of her designer bags were gone, along with those new outfits. Must've packed them for the yacht trip, I figured. The thought made my chest ache.
I knelt by her bed, reaching for the storage bin, and knocked over a stack of art books.
Thud.
An old iPad in a scratched pink case slid out and hit the carpet.
Her high school tablet. I'd saved three months of tips to buy it for her sixteenth birthday. She'd used it constantly for maybe six months, then upgraded and forgot about it.
Something made me pick it up. I pressed the power button.
The screen flickered on. Old device. No Face ID. No passcode. Auto-connected to the Wi-Fi. Notifications exploded across the screen.
Instagram. Not her main account. Some private backup I'd never seen, with barely a dozen followers.
My hands started shaking.
I opened it.
Latest post. Three hours ago. Location: Nassau, Paradise Island Resort, Bahamas.
Brilliant sunshine. Turquoise water. Avery front and center in a tiny bikini and designer sunglasses, champagne raised, grinning wide.
Behind her—Vincent and Helena lounging on beach chairs. Helena throwing up a peace sign.
All three tan and glowing. Perfect. Not a scratch.
My lungs stopped working.
I tapped the caption:
"Best escape plan EVER �� Finally ditched that boring bitch of a sister! Bet she's bawling her eyes out at our 'funeral' tomorrow lmaooo ���� Hope she spends the rest of her pathetic life feeling guilty!!! Dad says once we're done partying we'll come back and she'll be SO broken she'll hand over that Harvard spot ����️ #LivingMyBestLife"
Comments underneath:
"OMG you guys are SAVAGE. But wait how'd you even fake the explosion??"
Avery: "Easy lol, paid off the boat rental guy. Tossed some ripped clothes and fake blood in the water for 'evidence.' Storm was insane so cops didn't even bother with a real search �� Best part? Heard Patricia literally PASSED OUT at the police station. TWICE ������"
Helena: "So proud of my brilliant girl ❤️✨"
Vincent: "She'll bounce back. Always does. That's what she's good for."
I stared at the glowing screen. My whole body trembled.
So that's what this was.
Two weeks. Two solid weeks I'd spent puking until I tasted blood. Begging cops to keep searching. Crying myself to sleep every night, convinced I'd murdered my own family.
And the whole time? They were on a beach. Laughing. Planning how to bleed me dry when they got bored.
A sound escaped me. Laughter. Quiet at first, then louder. It came out harsh and wrong, nothing like real laughter. Tears streamed down but I couldn't stop.
"Oh my God... oh my GOD..."
If Diane walked in, she'd think I'd snapped. Maybe I had. But I didn't feel crazy. I felt... clear. The crushing guilt that'd been suffocating me just... evaporated. What took its place was cold and sharp and perfectly focused.
I took a long breath. Steadied myself.
Then I got to work.
Screenshots. Every photo. Every caption. Every disgusting comment. Saved them all. Uploaded copies to encrypted cloud storage.
Done.
I powered down the iPad, wiped it clean, and slid it back between the art books exactly where I'd found it.
Like I'd never touched it.
I stood and walked to Avery's full-length mirror. The girl staring back looked dead—hollow cheeks, dark shadows carved under her eyes, black dress hanging off bones.
I leaned close.
"You wanna play dead?" I whispered. "Okay. We'll play."
I turned and left. My footsteps were soft, but my thoughts were razor-sharp:
As of right now, you're not pretending anymore.
You're dead.
All three of you.
For real this time.
