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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

She stumbled out of bed and headed back into the bathroom. The tile floor was like ice against her bare feet. Against the wall sat an old claw-foot tub. She leaned over and secured the plug, twisted the faucets, then sat on a stool and waited. But just like the pills, the bath filled excruciatingly slowly. When it was barely a third full, Amy undressed and hopped in, laying her body flat with her head arched against the rim. As the water rose against the flesh of her skin, she became restful, and her thoughts began to drift and wander.

Soon her eyes began to feel weak and heavy. Amy dragged her gaze around the room, which had become cloaked in a strange haze. It seemed the walls were shifting in and out of focus, the ceiling arching and bowing, the room bending out of shape. Her mind soon followed, shrouded in the same thick fog.

Where am I?

Amy tried to search her memory, but her concentration was slipping. She couldn’t grab hold of a thought. She had no recollection of where she was, how she’d come to be there, nor could she recall the tablets she had digested a short time ago, which were now invading her bloodstream. She drew a long breath, watched her chest rise and fall through drowsy eyes, but the movement seemed to last forever. Everything became distorted. Her stomach was starting to hurt.

A small fragment of awareness told Amy that she needed to get out of the tub, but the water rising around her body felt thick and gelatinous, almost like glue encasing her limbs. She was drained of energy and couldn’t move. Her heartrate was so slow she could mark entire breaths between the beats. Soon she couldn’t even remember her own name. In a fog of complete delirium, only one discernible thought remained:

Please . . . I just want to go to sleep.

9

9

Ryan gawked at the dazzling array of bottles on the wall, dumbfounded. Alcohol wasn’t his thing. His only goal was to ingest something so potent that it might dim the sound of Tom Tippenworth’s voice, if such a feat was even possible.

Three days.

The words were reverberating in his head, the grim news still sinking in. The sentence had been handed down. In three days, his father would learn the truth, every shameful last detail.