I tried to remember everything she said, and a part of it flashed back into my mind.

I’m having my dream wedding. I’m tying the knot at this beautiful hotel where my parents got married. Where I spent so much of my childhood playing down by the beach.

An idea flashed in my mind. It was barely an idea actually, more of an inkling. The guard had said she’d never left the hotel. Dead or alive, she’s got to still be here.

33

AMAYA

The Day of the Wedding

Getting down to the beach wasn’t so difficult now that most of the security had moved over to guard the entrance of the ballroom. I had to be careful, of course, and I did duck behind a large pillar once, but on the whole, I managed to get to the shore without too much incident.

I pulled out my phone, but the battery had died. I had no way of checking the time. I kept my eyes half-closed anyway. I didn’t want to see any unlucky signs.

I crept down the path that led past the beach huts where the bachelorette party had taken place. Then farther down, beyond the kitchens. There was no one around. Ghosts like me were free to roam around this abandoned beach unhindered.

I could see it, farther down. The small line of changing rooms that no one used anymore after the new ones were built during hotel renovations. They were mostly defunct, and I had no idea why they weren’t torn down. I didn’t know if Kaavi was in there or not. But if she hadn’t left the premises and every inch of the main building had been checked, this was probably the only option left.

And I was right. There were two trails of footsteps imprinted onto the sand. Someone had come down here not too long ago.

I would have liked to have some cover. To have something that hid me from where I needed to get to. But there was just me and the open stretch of beach. I paused and took a deep breath. I had only counted to three when I heard a shout.

There was little choice left. I put my head down and ran over, my heels kicking the sand out behind me while the wind and the waves graciously muffled any sound I was making.

Slowing down as I reached the line of changing rooms, I surveyed my options. All the cubicle doors were closed. I reached out and tried the handle of the one closest to me. It was locked, and the knob was slimy—some sort of moss having grown on it during years of neglect. But I could hear voices now. Crying, maybe, or some sort of a whimper.

Making sure I was quiet, I slunk down past the doors. There was still moss on each of the handles, except for when I got to the very last one. The voices were louder now. Someone was inside.