“She’s been dead for six years.” The poor man looks terrified. “It’s not my imagination, Gerry. Sam claims he saw his father, and I overheard one of the bodyguards say he’d seen his brother who died last month. There’s something on this island. Maybe there’s a gas leak, but—”

“There is no gas leak,” Hawaiian Shirt says firmly. “Don’t let the ghost stories get to you. Take some Ambien or something.”

“Guy was an army medic in Afghanistan,” he grumbles to me when the man leaves. “Went through all that bad business there and came back with an impressive psych eval, but here’s where he hallucinates? He wasn’t on good terms with his mom when she died—toxic relationship, from what I’ve heard. Still, not like him to get this jittery.”

He winces. “Heard screaming again last night. That alone would scare the crap out of someone, but I’m not the one who decides when we get to leave. I—”

And then he straightens, eyes going wide. “Hey. Is this Dreamer haunting only bad people?”

Excitedly he fishes out the photocopies of the journals from his satchel, thumbs through them rapidly. “Here’s the early Key journal entries”—He knows your dreams. He knows your fears. He has seen mine. He has seen my father, and now he has seen my wife. I have haunted her through the years and now she haunts me. He sees me. I am not worthy. I am afraid. The Eye is upon me, and I am afraid.

“He went downhill from there. Your god knew that Alex had killed his wife. It deliberately targets people like him, doesn’t it?”

I look him in the eye. “I said he would never harm innocents.”

He pales a little, then laughs half-heartedly. “If he’s gunning for villains, then the whole slot of producers on this show alone would—that’s just too—maybe there’s something on this island making people hallucinate things. Wouldn’t hurt to talk to the science team to make sure before we consider anything else.”

***

I spot Goatee and the girl again. She is behind another series of trees near the water, her face the only visible part of her, and he is on the path leading to the small pier, staring at her. The can of beer slips from his fingers and stains the sand a dark brown.

As if on a whim, he rushes toward her, his fists bared. I race after him.

The girl waits, serene and sad as she has always appeared. But when Goatee reaches her, his fury has turned to despair. His hands unfurl, and he reaches out toward the girl. “Tabitha,” he says brokenly. “I—”

The girl gazes at him silently. Her lips move, but I don’t hear what she says.

She pitches forward.

Her head drops into his hands.

With a loud cry, Goatee lets go and leaps back. But nothing falls to the ground.

He spins around. There is nothing in the space around him.

“Did you see that?” he cries out at me desperately. “Did you see her?”