Because of the snow, it takes hours for the police to get to us. Thankfully, the snow does eventually stop falling and a plow is able to make a path to the house for the police and an ambulance to come. It’s way too late for Victoria though. An ambulance isn’t going to be able to help her.
I gave the police a statement. The power was out because of the storm and we couldn’t see anything, so Victoria and I accidentally stumbled down the stairs when I was taking her to the bathroom. I survived the fall—she didn’t. Adam and I agreed it was best to keep the story simple.
The police believed our story. I had been terrified they would be skeptical and ask a lot of questions and maybe ask me to come down to the station for further questioning, but they didn’t do that. Maybe part of it was because Victoria was so ill beforehand. Maybe they thought her life wasn’t worth much. But I disagree with that.
After the police were done with me, a paramedic named Drew examined me on the sofa. He acted like I was badly hurt, which I wasn’t really, given I fell down the whole flight of stairs, and he’s being very annoying about insisting I come with him to the hospital.
“You have a concussion, at the least,” he says. “No, I don’t.”
He gives me a look. “You fell down a flight of stairs. You need to get a CAT scan of your head.”
My head is still aching. There’s a huge lump developing on my forehead, but I don’t want to go to the hospital. “I’m okay.”
“Come on,” Drew says. “It’s hard enough to see what happened to Vicky. I don’t want to leave here without having you fully evaluated.”
I look up at him, surprised at how casually he used her nickname. Then I look over at Adam, who is still talking to the police. They look like they’re wrapping things up and he walks them over to the open front door.
“Did you know Victoria before?” I ask him.
“Sure.” He shakes his head sadly. “I used to see her all the time when I worked back in the city. I used to sometimes do shifts with this guy named
Mack and he would always bring patients to Mercy Hospital—that’s where she worked. I would tease Mack that it was because he had a crush on her and wanted an excuse to see her.”
What?
“Mack?” My tongue feels numb. “You worked with another paramedic named Mack?”
“Well, sort of.” Drew toys with the stethoscope around his neck. “His name was actually Glen MacNeil, but everybody called him Mack. Why? Did you know him?”
I feel dizzy. I don’t know if it’s from what he’s telling me or from the concussion. Maybe I really should go to the hospital. “This guy, MacNeil… Do you still keep in touch with him?”
Drew frowns. “That’s the thing. Not that long after Vicky left, Mack just kind of… disappeared. Nobody knew what happened to him. And then right after, Vicky had the accident. A lot of bad luck right at once.” He pauses. “Hey, are you okay, Miss Robinson? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
He squints at me. “I really think I should take you to the hospital.” “No. Please.” The last thing I want right now is to be in the hospital. I
don’t want to think about anything that just happened. I don’t want a bunch of doctors and nurses asking me questions. I can’t take that right now.
Drew argues with me for a few more minutes, but then Adam comes back into the house. He looks as tired as I feel. He furrows his brow when he sees us together. “What’s going on?”
“She had a bad bump on the head.” Drew is appealing to Adam now. “She needs to go to the hospital, but she’s refusing to go.”
Adam frowns. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” I insist. I look him in the eyes. “I swear. I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
Adam looks at me thoughtfully. “I think she’s okay. I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.”
I wonder if I’m making a mistake. I wonder if this is my only chance to escape this place, and I’m giving it up. The truth is, I’m not sure what to believe anymore.
Drew looks between the two of us then lets out a sigh. “Fine. But if she starts getting lethargic or anything else worrisome, call 911.”
I walk Drew to the door, just to make sure he leaves. The snow has nearly stopped, but the visibility is horrible outside. I’m probably safer here than driving around, even in an ambulance. It’s not like an ambulance is immune to accidents.
“God, there’s a lot of snow out here,” he says.
He’s right. As far as I can see, there’s nothing but snow, aside from the lone path that’s been plowed for the ambulance and the police car to get to us. There’s a path to get out now, but not for me—the Honda I’ve been using is completely buried.
“Even your shed is buried,” he comments.
“Yeah,” I say, noticing the white mound that used to be the shed where we keep the gardening supplies. I can still see the door, but not much else.
Drew gives me one last long look. “You swear you’re going to be okay?”
“I swear,” I lie.
And then he leaves. He gets in the ambulance and I watch him drive
off.
I should go back inside the house now. It’s absolutely freezing outside
and I don’t want to get frostbite, although the house isn’t much better. All I want to do is lie down and sleep for the next twenty-four hours. My bed is calling to me.
But I can’t seem to move. Something is tugging at my memory.
Something Drew said to me.
The shed.
My heart is suddenly pounding in my chest. I can hear Victoria’s voice in my ear:
Glen Head.
She kept saying it over and over. Except her voice was so slurred. I assumed that she was talking about the village in Oyster Bay, because I had recently seen it on a map. But now I realize what she was actually saying.
Glen shed.
Mack’s real name wasn’t Mack. It was Glen MacNeil. He disappeared almost a year ago and nobody was able to find him. And repeatedly, Victoria kept saying Glen shed.
I’ve got to get out to that shed. I need to know if I’m going crazy or if everything Victoria said was true.
I go back into the house. I don’t see Adam—he must have gone upstairs. Thank God, because I don’t know how I’m going to explain to him that I’m going outside in this mess of a storm. I put on my boots, a hat, and my coat, but I don’t think it’s going to be enough. But what else can I do?
It’s got to be twenty degrees out. The wind slaps me in the face. It’s only about thirty feet to the shed, but it feels like thirty miles. With each step, my legs sink deeper into the white powder. The snow comes up to the top of my thigh. It feels like it will take me an hour to walk these thirty feet, but I push myself to keep going.
Come on, Sylvia. You can do this. Just a little further.
By the time I reach the door of the shed, I am badly out of breath. The wood is coated in snow, but I can still see the splintered area where the bullet pierced the wall. Thank God it looks like the door opens into the house rather than out. I reach for the handle on the door, but it won’t budge. It must be frozen.
I put both hands on the handle and push down with all my strength. Finally, it gives and I’m able to push the door open. I practically fall into the shed and a couple of gallons of snow come in after me. There’s no chance of closing the door again. I’m not even going to try.
I’ve never bothered to go in here before. Adam told me the shed was used to store gardening supplies and hinted that it might not be safe. Maybe something will fall on me. I had no desire to see a couple of hoes or rakes, so I left the shed alone.
For the most part, he described the shed accurately. It looks like it’s entirely gardening supplies. Rakes, a weedwhacker, something that looks like a lawnmower. It’s a pretty innocent shed. Nothing remarkable. Certainly no dead bodies in here.
Maybe Victoria wasn’t talking about the shed after all. Or if she was, maybe she was crazy and not making any sense. That’s what I’d like to believe at this point. Considering she’s dead and all. Because if everything in the diary was true after all, I should have let her kill Adam.
And then I see the trap door on the ground. Why would a shed have a trap door?
There’s a padlock on it. I kick at it with my foot and it makes a loud clang. I bend down to get a closer look at the lock to figure out if there’s a way to open it and…
Oh my God.
The smell coming from beneath the trap door is unbelievable. I couldn’t detect it when I was standing, but with my nose close to the ground, it’s unmistakable. It’s the smell of decay. And Adam must know about it because he has been in the shed. He raked all the leaves, after all.
It’s true. It’s all true. Somebody’s body is in this shed and it’s rotting as we speak.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I straighten up, twisting my head around, which sets off a jab of pain in my temple. God, my head hurts—I should have gone to the hospital. But instead, I stayed here, like a fool. Because I wanted to know the truth.
Anyway, I don’t need to look to see who’s standing behind me. Only one other human being is out here tonight.
It’s Adam.
