Chapter Text
There is something wrong with Lottie.
Time slips away from her. What seem like minutes, watching the pines sway in a gentle breeze, instead turn out to be hours, night sweeping in in the blink of an eye. Entire days are lost to her, sometimes, with only an abstract impression of events to mark their passing.
It isn't just time that behaves oddly here; her thoughts are often jumbled, fixating on nothing and everything at once. The way ideas coalesce, so bright and perfect that she's confused when the others see things differently. Other times her thoughts are so indistinct and foggy that she can't force her own focus, no matter how much she wants to.
Most worryingly, it's her own memories that give Lottie the most trouble. The days split around her, fracturing, eroding, and Lottie can barely grasp onto the very edges of what she remembers, desperately holding on to make sense of what's happening; an unplaceable grief spread throughout the group, but no recent tragedies. The impression of anger, broken bones and blood, but nobody is hurt. The cabin is wrong. The cabin is right. People are angry, sad, happy, terrified, bored.
Something isn't right—hasn't been since they crashed—but the others can't feel it. Or, if they do feel it then she can’t remember the conversation. Lottie has asked and asked again, only for them to forget.
She has tried writing things down, her pages blank the next time she looks. She has stitched that triangular symbol into her clothing to try and shield herself, and even offered her own blood to appease whatever is doing this to her. But despite it all, still the days break, crashing and splitting against each other, leaving her floundering in their wake.
Lottie can see the toll it takes on them, some more than others, even if they can't see it themselves. The way Van turns in on herself more and more, the only gaps left reserved for Tai. How Nat has become so distant, until given the opportunity to lash out. Shauna, hardening, quiet, a dangerous look in her eyes. And Jackie, uncaring, indifferent, cold, so different from their old captain.
It's Jackie that Lottie keeps coming back to; she ignores everyone around her, not taking chores, barely speaking, and she leaves frequently. One day, she doesn't come back for a week. Everyone is worried until they aren't, including Lottie herself. The only thing she can place, can hold onto, is that Jackie is back. She isn't sure why that's surprising, because Jackie never left.
Sometimes she talks to Jackie and can't remember what they spoke about—it happens with her more than the others. The days slip, her thoughts slip, her memories slip, washed away. Jackie gets more and more glum. She stops speaking entirely. Lottie can feel her mind coming loose, eroding away a little by little with the current, even as she tries as hard as she can to hold on.
Jackie leaves the cabin one day and never comes back—again. Jackie storms back in just after dawn and sits in her usual spot at the back of the cabin, away from everyone else. It's an odd thing to see happen, since Jackie had never left. Lottie knows there's something wrong, that speaking to Jackie will be futile, just like every other time, but she has to try. If she doesn't then she may as well give up on it all. So she approaches Jackie, sulking in the corner.
Jackie barely looks at her as she approaches. “Hey, Lottie,” she sighs. “Kinda busy here.” She looks away again, returning to her work, picking at a loose thread on her varsity jacket.
“Hi, Jackie,” Lottie replies, sitting down on the wooden floor next to her and hugging her knees.
Jackie sighs. “What is it this time?” she asks, tired resignation entering her voice.
“This time?” Lottie is confused. She can't remember talking to Jackie in months. Nothing since the crash. “Something is wrong with me. I’m forgetting things. Can you tell me what we talked about last time?”
Jackie pushes back her hair, fingers threading through light-brown locks. “Do we have to do this again? I'm tired of this conversation.” She mutters under her breath, “I'm tired of all of it.”
“Please?” Lottie asks, shifting around so she faces her, her eyes fixed on Jackie's, imploring. She needs this. Needs to know what Jackie knows. It might fix her, put a halt to that unravelling thread. Stop the days from breaking. Put her back together again. It's blind hope, but it feels right, and nothing has felt right in such a long time.
Groaning, Jackie stops playing with the—now very loose—thread. Her head falls back against the cabin wall, making a loud thunk—it looks sore but Jackie doesn't react at all. “Fine,” she relents, “but this is the last time. I don’t want to keep doing this.”
Lottie nods, entranced. Jackie knows. Jackie has answers. “Thank you.”
Jackie shakes her head, disregarding the thanks. “You won't remember this next time. You never do.” She begins, her speech almost practised, “Something is keeping me here. I don't know what, but I can't get out.” A bored look on her face, a stilted cadence to her voice, a long suffering explanation given out for the dozenth time. “Every time I d–”
Jackie cuts herself off, boredom giving way to annoyance. Letting out a loud huff, she continues, “Whatever. I'm too tired for this today. You'll ask stuff and it won't matter. Come with me, I'll just show you.” Jackie stands abruptly and holds out a hand for her to take.
Lottie doesn't hesitate and lets herself be pulled up, silently following along, not letting go. She needs this, needs to know what Jackie means. What's keeping them all here? What is washing away her memories?
They make their way out of the clearing, passing the others as they perform their tasks. More than one of them gives Jackie an annoyed look, and Mari shouts after them, “At least bring back water!” as she throws a bucket towards them. Jackie ignores her and Lottie lets herself be pulled along.
Jackie silently leads her through the woods towards the lake. Autumn has taken hold of the woods, leafy detritus crunching underfoot, and there's a chill in the air. Lottie doesn't pry, doesn't say a word, still gripping Jackie's hand in her own. She can be patient, especially for this.
They arrive at the shore shortly, and as always, Lottie is brought back to a dozen memories—ones that stay with her always. Laura Lee's belief in her, their friendship, the connection they had together, and then the rest melts away, that inferno, scorching her, leaving nothing in her but hollow grief.
Jackie releases her grip and turns to face Lottie. “Wait here,” she says, pressing a palm to Lottie's chest. “Don't come after me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lottie nods, confused, and with that confirmation, Jackie walks through the lake’s shallows—still fully clothed—and begins swimming.
Lottie watches Jackie from the shore as she gets further and further away. It crosses her mind that the lake must be cold, that she's been swimming too long, and she wonders what exactly she's being shown here. In the distance she sees Jackie dive, her head dipping below the surface.
She waits, but Jackie doesn't come back up.
She waits, and a horror spreads through her.
She waits, and Jackie finally resurfaces, barely moving, bobbing with the shallow waves, face down.
Lottie feels the break, like always, things not flowing as they should, only, something is different this time. She isn't quite caught in its wake today. It flows around her and Lottie is herself for once, or, at least, she is what's left of herself. The morning rolls on, stars fading, the sky getting lighter by degrees as the minutes pass. As she sits by the window, sleep eluding her, all that she can focus on is what happened yesterday.
The harrowing events of Jackie's death turn over and over in her mind, and for a brief moment she wishes she could forget, but she doesn't, not this time. She remembers swimming out in that freezing autumn water and pulling Jackie to shore with a strength she thought she no longer possessed. Long bouts of CPR performed on a stony beach, ribs cracking under the pressure, only stopping when she can no longer go on. She doesn't know how long she sat there next to the corpse, clothes soaking, the chill wind biting into her.
All Lottie remembers afterwards is that she was dry when she got back, not a result of the usual erosion, she was just in shock, she thinks. She told them what happened, about what Jackie said, about what Jackie then did. She felt dull when she said it all, felt nothing when they dragged Jackie back, felt barely anything when they had to hold Shauna back from her, enraged that she hadn't stopped Jackie. Everything is peaceful right now, though she dreads what will come when everyone wakes. Nobody is screaming at her, overcome with grief and rage, nobody is demanding answers from her, and there isn't anyone crying over a newly dug grave.
She thinks about the dead girl who once sat beside her in French. Killing time with Jackie instead of paying attention to their French lessons. It had been fun, some of the few times she really felt seen by the girl, only for Jackie to forget about her outside of class, drifting back to Shauna and her usual crowd like she always did.
They weren't really friends, but Lottie would have liked to have been. Every one of them, she thinks, would have liked that closeness to Jackie. Lottie had found herself jealous on more than one occasion of the easy way Jackie would ingratiate herself to people; the effortless way she had with people back in school, liked by almost everyone. She was someone who mattered back in their old life.
Something outside catches Lottie's eye, moving around in the twilight before dawn. It approaches the cabin, and Lottie can't tell if this one is real. So many times when she sees things out there they turn out to be nothing at all, and the ghost of a friend is a troubling one to have visit her. Still, the change she felt and Jackie's last words come back to her in this moment, I’ll See you tomorrow. An odd hope starts to fill her.
The ghost approaches the cabin, briefly glancing towards Lottie, her face unreadable. Then, pushing open the cabin door with a creak, Jackie steps inside. She stretches, still wearing the clothes she drowned in yesterday—Lottie remembers the weight of that waterlogged varsity dragging her down as she tried to rescue her.
Jackie looks around, hair perfect, her gold heart necklace back around her neck, catching the firelight. Shauna had removed it from the body before they buried her. Lottie gapes up at Jackie, and Jackie looks back. At first her eyes are dull, but slowly realisation dawns on her. “Do you remember?” she asks, hope in her voice, her huge eyes widening.
Lottie launches out of her chair, rushes over, and pulls the dead girl into a hug. Cradling Jackie's head to her breast, Lottie whispers into the top of her hair, “Is this real?”
Jackie, coming out of her shock, wraps her own arms around Lottie in return. Letting out a wet sounding chuckle, she says, “It better be.”
Lottie, still in disbelief, asks, “Am I crazy?” She knows she is, but this feels real. The tide didn't get her, didn't erode away another piece of her.
“Yeah,” Jackie pulls back, smiling, eyes wet, “we both are.” Among the tears, Lottie notices a light has returned to Jackie’s eyes—something she only now realises had been missing before. “I need to tell you everything. I–” A shoe gets thrown and bounces off the back of Jackie’s head. She barely registers it.
“Shut up, Jackie!” Van calls out grumpily, turning over in her bedding on the floor. “Go back to sleep.”