Chapter 3

By dawn, the storm hadn't weakened at all.

Seawater had swallowed the lighthouse's bottom floor, and every time a wave crashed into the structure, clouds of dust shook loose from the walls.

I gathered Gemma's things and put them back into her purse: the crystal heels, the shawl, the draft of her suicide note, and the spare phone containing the messages.

At the very bottom of the purse was a photo of Gemma with the Fosters.

Gemma sat in the middle wearing a crown. Dad was cutting the cake for her. Mom was leaning down to fix her hair. Nolan stood behind her, smiling down at her.

The photo had been taken seven days after I returned to the Foster family.

That day had been my birthday too. The butler, Conrad O'Connor, told me my parents had something come up and couldn't celebrate with me.

I waited in the dining room until late that night, then soaked a bowl of oatmeal in water and ate it by myself.

Only later did I find out that Gemma was afraid my birthday would remind her that she wasn't their biological daughter, so the whole family had taken her away to the family estate to cheer her up.

Maybe they hadn't deliberately forgotten me. Compared to Gemma being upset, my birthday simply wasn't important.

I found a pen and paper in her purse and carefully made a list of everything I needed to return.

The bank card the Fosters had given me was on my nightstand. I hadn't spent a cent on it.

The clothes Mom bought me still had their tags attached.

The car Dad gave me was underwater beneath the lighthouse and probably couldn't be driven anymore. If I needed to pay them back for it, they could sell the little house Grandma Jo had left me.

I stopped writing. There didn't seem to be anything else to return.

I'd lived with the Fosters for three months, but everything I had there wouldn't even fill a suitcase.

The spare phone suddenly lit up. Gemma had sent me a voice message.

She sounded perfectly alert, without the slightest trace of the weakness you'd expect after such a fright. "Why aren't you back yet? I was only trying to scare you. I didn't actually tell you to stay there all night."

I replied, "Nolan told me not to come back."

A few seconds later, she called me directly. "He was just speaking out of anger. Can't you tell?"

"I don't understand."

She went silent for a moment, as though she'd finally remembered what I was like. "Carly, you're not seriously still at the lighthouse, are you?"

"Yes."

"What is wrong with you?"

"I have an illness."

My answer left her speechless.

Someone nearby called for her to come over.

She lowered her voice and warned me, "You can't show anyone in the family what's on that spare phone. What happened last night was just a prank between Nolan and me. If you tell them and get Nolan in trouble with Mom and Dad, I'll never forgive you."

I agreed. "Okay. I won't tell anyone."

Gemma audibly let out a breath of relief. Before hanging up, she added casually, "You should stay away for a few more days. No one in this family wants to see you anyway."

The call ended.

I put the spare phone into her purse and carefully zipped it shut.

A deafening crash suddenly came from downstairs. The entire lighthouse tilted toward the ocean for a moment.

Then the emergency speaker on the wall came to life.

"Due to storm conditions, the foundation of the South Bay lighthouse is becoming unstable. Anyone trapped inside should fire an emergency flare immediately."

The glass cabinet was right in front of me.

Dragging my injured leg, I crawled over and picked up the emergency hammer beside it. All I had to do was swing it. Then I might have a chance to leave here alive.

I raised the hammer.

Suddenly, I remembered my first day back with the Fosters.

Mom had held my hand, her eyes red, and said, "Carly, this is your home now."

I'd taken those words literally too. So I tried not to take anything from Gemma, not to cause trouble, and not to upset her.

I thought that as long as I behaved, I'd always be allowed to stay.

But Gemma had just told me herself that no one in that house wanted to see me.

Slowly, I lowered the hammer and rested my forehead against the cold glass.

The roar of a helicopter came from the distance. A bright searchlight cut through the rain, sweeping back and forth across the black ocean.

If I fired a flare, they would find me.

I smashed the glass and took one from the cabinet. The cold metal pressed into my palm.

Countless voices crowded my mind.

The doctor had told me never to take medicine again.

Mom had told me not to come home and upset Gemma.

Nolan had told me that even if I died out here, I wasn't allowed to call them for help.

And Gemma had said no one in that family wanted to see me.

Everyone had given me clear instructions.

Only my own voice was quiet. So quiet I could barely hear it. It seemed to be asking whether I was allowed to live, too.

But no one had ever taught me how to listen to my own voice.

The lighthouse shook violently again. A huge crack split the wall. Seawater and sand poured through it, rising to my waist in an instant.

I held the flare in my hand but never pulled the firing cord.

When the water reached my chest, a familiar, agonizing pain tore through my heart.

I curled in on myself. My vision slowly faded into darkness.

Through the haze, I felt as though I were back in that kitchen when I was seven.

I'd been starving for three days. My foster mother tossed half a moldy dinner roll onto the table. I asked her whether I could eat now that I'd finished all my work.

She didn't answer. No one answered me now either.

The freezing water rose over my mouth and nose.

I slowly closed my eyes. This time, I no longer had to wait for anyone to take those words back.