‘He might come back.’ I unlock the cabinet again and return the empty folder.

I’m sure I heard Booker drive off, but as I’m dragging Ellis towards the front door there’s a lit-up part of my cerebral cortex that is absolutely delighting in the possibility of getting caught. ‘Ah,’ Booker would say, ‘I see you inspect lighthouses and stations.’ How fun.

I’m almost disappointed when there’s nobody outside – just the sizzle of the saltwater lapping against spheres of frosted cerulean glass, and residual laughter haunting the now-faraway bonfire.

The blanket of night trembles in time with the ocean.

‘Do you see him anywhere?’ Ellis asks.

‘No. We should still get out of here, though. Are you going back to the bonfire?’

‘N-no, let’s just – I kind of want to go home.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘I’ll take you.’

‘I have lots of questions, though.’

‘You and me both, bud.’

‘You picked the lock.’

‘Astute observation.’

‘How?’

I think of him the day I arrived, all stubborn action wanting to be taken seriously, but wanting to help – and not understanding when I asked if it was fine to be left at the hotel alone. With the apparent blind trust he has towards everyone else for no apparent reason, I decide now that letting him in won’t hurt. I don’t like the thought of having to lie to him – which is a new concern for me. Lying was always natural. But his wide eyes in the glow of torchlight make me want to tell him everything.

‘I used – you wouldn’t believe it – a lock pick,’ I say, and pat him on the arm.

‘What were you going to do with the stuff in the folder? Why were you looking in the first place? How did you know –’

‘Let’s walk and talk,’ I say, directing our momentum out of the parking lot, away from exposure. We start on the trek, headed to the island’s north, towards the neck.

Ellis, despite having a much longer stride then me, is scurrying at my side like a puppy, trying to keep up. ‘What were you looking for?’

The decisions present themselves for choosing. I could say anything. I could tell the truth. I could say, Yes, I’ve been obsessed with your grandma for maybe six years and her music gives me a strange inexplicable endorphin rush and I’ve come to right every wrong in the world, that is, to dig up her bones. I don’t think this would be wise. Small lies to obtain a bigger, universally beneficial truth.