The Only One Left

by Riley Sager

My nightgown, stained red. My hands, warm and sticky with blood. The knife, still in my grip.

The life I’d had mere hours ago was now gone forever. As were my parents.

You want to know if I’m as evil as everyone says I am. The answer is no. And yes.

The schoolyard rhyme, forgotten since childhood, worms its way back into my memory. At seventeen, Lenora Hope Hung her sister with a rope

Mr. Gurlain obviously still thinks I’m guilty

Interesting

“She was never convicted of any crime,” Mr. Gurlain says. “Since she was never proven guilty, then we have no choice but to believe she’s innocent. I thought you of all people would appreciate that.”

I’m still being punished for breaking protocol and tarnishing the agency’s sterling reputation.

Mr. Gurlain chose me because Lenora Hope is the one patient nobody—not even the police—will mind if I kill.

“Miss McDeere,”

Lol i thought kit was a guy this whole time

Poor Miss Hope was left unattended all night, during which time something terrible could have occurred. As you well know, considering what happened to the last person in your care.”

What Mrs. Baker doesn’t say, but what’s abundantly clear from the slanted floor, is that Hope’s End has been eroding with it. Someday—maybe soon, maybe a century from now—both cliff and mansion will break apart and slide into the ocean.

Kit,” I say. “Kit McDeere.” Lenora’s eyes suddenly lock onto my own.

She must know her relatives

But I did so desperately want someone to notice me, to see me, to understand me.

My father built Hope’s End as a tribute to himself. He claimed otherwise, of course. A peculiar trait among most self-important men is the need to try to hide their self-importance.

That’s how it feels to be in this house, this room, this body. Like I’ve been locked inside during one of my father’s games and there’s no one on the other side of the door holding the key that can set me free.

Soon she’s typed nine more words, each one broken by a thwack of the space bar. my body is dead but my mind is alive

“That’s the biggest thing we have in common,” I finally say. “That everyone thinks I also killed my mother.”

Plot twist!

Even though I would have cared for my mother for free, my parents insisted on hiring me through Gurlain Home Health Aides.

Since I’d left a drug known for its overdose potential within her reach, one could also argue that I was negligent in her care and therefore responsible for her death.

Instead, I peeked into her bedroom and found my mother with her head on her pillow, her eyes closed, her hands folded over her chest. Finally, she was at peace.

Lenora looks up at me, apprehension dulling her green eyes. My stomach clenches as I realize what it means. Even she thinks I’m guilty. I guess that makes us even.

Although that night, my mother murmured it in a way that made me unsure if she was addressing me or the brown bottle of liquid resting on the pillow next to her. Laudanum.

“Go to Paris and fall in love, then write all about it. I know how much you love to write. Write down all your thoughts and hopes and dreams as you go on grand adventures. Promise me you’ll do that, my darling. Promise me you won’t remain here.”

“Evangeline Hope,” Jessie says, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “It’s assumed she was stabbed in the foyer, tried to escape up the steps, and was stabbed again on the landing, where she bled out.”

“The billiard room,” she announces with an enthusiasm usually reserved for tour guides who really, really love their job. “Where Winston Hope met his end.”

“I have a hunch it was Winston Hope himself. The murders took place the night of October 29, 1929. Black Tuesday. The stock market crashed, a bunch of rich guys lost millions, and the Great Depression began.

The planchette keeps jerking forward, its tapered point stabbing at the word. Then it flies off the board entirely before skittering across the floor.

Ew they didn’t shut off the connection

“Totally made-up,” Jessie admits as she picks up the Ouija board and retrieves the planchette. “I was just messing with you.”

Thank god it isnt a supernatural plot

The fact: Mary left in a hurry. The question: What drove her away?

Please, Kit-Kat. Please. I’ll only take one. I promise.

“None of the help was here that night. Including Mrs. Baker. She’d left Mr. Hope’s employ earlier that day.” An interesting tidbit. Especially since Mrs. Baker mentioned yesterday how she’d left Hope’s End after the murders.

Perhaps sister was alone w peter

Lenora offering to tell me everything. Finding Mary’s belongings. The wind and the waves and the creaking floorboards. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that I left that page in the typewriter.

“They couldn’t. Ricardo Mayhew was gone. After that night, he was never seen again.”

The name jars my memory. Lenora mentioned her in passing. Berniece was the kitchen maid who wished her a half-hearted happy birthday.

Was the dad having an affair wirh Berenice and the husband got angry?

She was trying to protect someone. Why she did it also seems clear. Eight months before the murders, Lenora had fallen in love with Ricardo Mayhew.

virginia

Ghost or fake death

And even before I begin to scream, I know with dreadful certainty that I’m looking at the body of Mary Milton.

Plot twst! Secnd mystery

But right now I can only focus on my mother, another woman driven to suicide, and how Detective Vick refused to believe she acted alone.

A note was found in a pocket of Miss Milton’s uniform, indicating that she intended to kill herself.”

Oo fake?

At least she also got her wish. All these years later, she’s still here, roaming the halls. And she’s never going to leave. As long as Hope’s End still stands, my sister will remain.

My deepest, darkest secrets. Things I’ve never told anyone before. Only you, Mary. Only you.

Mary knew too much

“Do you think what happened to Mary is because of what you told her?” Two taps from Lenora confirm my worst fear.

“Mary’s suicide note. That’s what it said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not the person you thought I was.’

Lenoras words

Other than me and Lenora, only four people fit that description—Mrs. Baker, Archie, Carter, and Jessie. Why one of them would feel the need to kill Mary over something Lenora typed is beyond me.

A month before her family was slaughtered, Lenora Hope had been pregnant.

Those five months or so were the happiest I’d ever been. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel alone. I always had someone with me--a constant companion right there in my belly.

I can think of only one other way for the Walkman to have stopped playing. Lenora turned it off herself. With a hand she can’t use.

No one came in?

I open my eyes to a bedroom glowing red and Lenora’s alarm buzzing on the nightstand. I look to the adjoining door. It’s closed.

Someone shut the door!

Because the mystery typist is also the person who killed her.

I ignore it, holding the snow globe steady, waiting for the right moment to drop it. I tell myself I’m doing nothing wrong. That Lenora can catch it if she really wants to.

What if she can’t and ur just tormenting an old lady