I look up and see the black coat, the glint of silver hair. Her hands in her coat pockets.
My stomach drops. “Penelope.” I don’t bother asking where she came from or why she’s here. I aim the gun at her.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she says.
My throat clenches. I think of Wendy Osterberg, the real one, sailing off the Kingston-Rhinebeck Bridge. I pump the action again.
But then “Barracuda” erupts out of the phone in my back pocket.
I ignore it. “The collective isn’t what I thought it was,” I tell her slowly, the song playing under me, like something out of a cheap movie. “I want out.”
Penelope’s shoulders are relaxed. There’s a half smile on her face. She looks remarkably unfrightened. My finger tightens against the trigger. “I said I want out.”
“I’d really answer that phone if I were you.”
My breath catches.
“Really.”
With my free hand, I slip my phone out of my back pocket. I hold it to my ear. “Luke?” Penelope’s smile widens.
“Cam. Thank God. Are you okay?”
The gun weighs against my shaking arm, my stare glued to Penelope. “Sure I am. Why?”
“You told me to come up.” He sounds tense, his voice shaky like I’ve never heard before, and I’m worried about him. About his heart. It makes it hard to focus on what’s happening right now, and I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t. . . . “You . . . you said it was an emergency.”
“Take a breath, Luke. Please.”
Penelope starts to laugh, and I want to pull the trigger.
“Your email. You told me to come right up. Were you high? You said it was life-and-death.”
My own heart is racing now. They hacked my email. “Where are you?”
“In your house. I drove up as soon as I could.”
“How did you—”
“Your friend from The Bachelor Reddit let me in.”
“What?”
“Wendy. You want to talk to her? She’s right here. She’s been trying to calm me down, but she was scared too.”
I open my mouth, but my voice is gone.
Luke says, “Are you there?”
I force myself to speak, to sound calm. “Sure, I’ll talk to Wendy.”
Penelope nods at me. “Good move,” she says quietly.
A voice pours into my ear, full of saccharine concern, that sick fuck. That fake Wendy Osterberg. “Are you okay, honey? I was so worried when I got your email. Thank God, you’re all right.”
“Don’t hurt him. Please don’t—”
“Yeah, Camille. Don’t worry. We’re right here waiting for you, and we care about you. Luke, honey. You okay? Hope you don’t mind, Camille. I gave him some of the orange juice in your refrigerator. His sugar drops when he gets panicky, but you already knew that about him, right?”
I can’t speak. I stare at Penelope. The pistol now clutched in her hand. I don’t drink orange juice. I don’t ever buy it.
“Hurry back, okay?” says the voice in my ear. “See you soon. Drive safely, please.”
She ends the call.
“Drop the gun,” Penelope says. “Or we will kill your friend.”
I do. She follows me out of Unicorn River and we hike back out together, her gun at my back.