One by One

by Freida McFadden

I can tell you my secret right now: At the end of this week, only one of us will make it home alive.

He looks up and purses his lips. “If it were in the drawer, why would I be asking you about it?” Hmm. Maybe this is why I hate my husband. Because he’s become a huge jerk.

But she’s not married. So she gets to do whatever she wants without another person criticizing her every move.

Noah has never been a fan of bright colors. He tends to stick with the grayscale. One time he bought a green shirt. That was his midlife crisis.

She worries about everything, including things no child has any business worrying about. Like when there was talk of a teacher strike last year, she was worried I wouldn’t have a job and we wouldn’t be able to afford food. What seven-year-old worries about that?

Then again, there’s another reason why I want to go on this trip. And anyway, the reservation is nonrefundable.

Fine, whatever. As long as he doesn’t ask me to go with him. If the two of us go out on a boat into the middle of the lake, I have a bad feeling only one of us will come back alive.

Heat causes molecules to disperse, so each breath takes in less oxygen.

Why oh why did we have to take the road less traveled? What a mistake. Stupid Robert Frost.

Belladonna berries look very much like blueberries. They’re shiny black, about half an inch in size, and they’re sweet. The berries are highly toxic. They cause delirium and hallucinations, and they disrupt the body’s ability to regulate its sweating, heart rate, and breathing. Eventually, seizures and cardiovascular failure will occur. Early humans made poisonous arrows using belladonna. In an adult, fifteen to twenty berries are enough to kill you. A child could die from two or three.

Thanks to my mom, I know everything there is to know about poison berries.

Noah has his phone in his hand. My eyes light up when I notice he has a single bar. But then he shakes his head. “No service,” he says.

My mouth falls open. I can’t believe other people are agreeing to this. Especially Warner, the guy who was sleeping with Lindsay and apparently so in love with her that he was going to pop the question this week. He should be showing a little more grief for the woman he almost married. He should be sobbing into his hands. Not spouting bullshit about how Lindsay would’ve wanted us to abandon her body here in the middle of the woods.

“She’s O-positive.” I blink at him in surprise. “Oh. How did you know that?” He smiles crookedly. “I remember the doctor saying it when you were pregnant with Aidan.” I feel a sudden, surprising rush of affection for my husband. Of all the things he’s forgotten over the years, including my birthday last year, I didn’t expect him to remember my blood type. I suppose if I got into a terrible accident, he would have my back.

“That’s why mosquitoes bite you so often,” Warner says. “Mosquitoes love type O blood.”

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should live another day I pray the Lord to guide my way. Amen.

“The night Michelle disappeared,” Noah says, “Warner saw him go into the forest with Michelle.”

“Two people can’t keep a secret,” she says. “Not unless one of them is dead. It’s just a fact. I always work alone.”