Jessie Humphries: Killing Ruby Rose

My mind raced to take it all in: First, Mathews wasn’t the traitor I thought he was—and maybe I could even trust him. Second, there was no end to my mom’s betrayal. And third, I had to get to Grissom Island before Mathews.

“Don’t move in until I call you,” I said before hanging up.

I ran to my bathroom to wash the blood off my hands, and then to Gladys to change into black clothes and shoes. Everything was already laid out—gun, holster, and all—just in case. I didn’t bother with the window this time—just ran downstairs, opened the sliding back door, and bolted for the wall. I didn’t even care if the obviously incompetent guards saw me. As soon as I made it to my neighbor’s Ducati, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

When I was a kid, my third-grade class took a field trip to Grissom Island. I remembered learning three things that day:

1. Grissom Island was one of four man-made islands on the Long Beach coast named after fallen astronauts.

2. The islands were built to hide some of the nation’s largest and most productive oil-drilling rigs.

3. From shore, they all looked like something you might see at Disneyland. Grissom Island was definitely eye candy—encased in an elaborate facade decked with swaying palm trees, huge waterfalls, and castle-like towers…all built to mask the dirty rigs.

I’d once asked my dad if princesses lived on the islands, and he said, smiling, “Only when they’re on vacation.”

I doubted he was smiling the day he went there and got blown to pieces.

Shaking off the image, I pulled into the harbor parking lot nearest the island. The sleek digital clock on the Ducati’s dash read 4:46 a.m. It had only taken me twenty minutes at 100+ miles per hour to get here—even against the wicked wind trying to blow me back. The sun wouldn’t show up for another ninety minutes or so, but the harbor security likely would. I had to move if I didn’t want to be seen.

In thirty seconds flat, I parked the bike, removed the helmet, and took cover behind a building marked “Shoreline Yacht Club.” I reached into The Cleave for my phone and pulled up the waiting messages.

One from Mathews read:

Don’t do this. Call me immediately.

The next from Sammy read:

On my way.

I shook my head, not believing what I’d done. Halfway to Long Beach, I’d stopped and sent him a text.

I’m coming thru on our agreement. If u want the story of ur life, u and ur cameras better get to Grissom Island asap. Tell Sgt Mathews I told u to come. I need this on film.

Even seeing his name on the screen made me want to jump into the harbor and wash myself off. But he was my insurance. Like Liam pointed out all those weeks ago, the police would never believe me if I didn’t have any proof. This time I planned to give them footage they couldn’t ignore. It was a long shot—not just because Mathews might not let Sammy and his camera tag along, but because I could bet my life that Silver wouldn’t strike a pose for me. But I had to try if it gave me a way to exonerate Liam.

I skipped to the last text, from the unknown number:

Find Boat Slip K-11—Gate K is wedged open. Take the orange kayak to southern rim. Meet us in the large white building at the heart of the island.

Great. I took a long hard look at the obstacle course before me.

The coastline was in darkness. But not Grissom Island. The decorative pink, yellow, and blue lighting lit up the sea. The sound of the crashing waterfalls consumed the area. If I hadn’t known better, I could’ve mistaken this place for Fantasy Island. Too bad I knew exactly what it was—a veneer. A good place to hide secrets. Or even better, a great place to dig them up and bury them again.

A sliver of lightning cut through the sky, momentarily highlighting the entire scene and pointing out how isolated this place really was. It was basically in the middle of the ocean. Not only was getting on the island undetected going to be difficult, but the place was an underground maze. Even if Silver had taken out the island’s private security team and I could make it ashore, I was essentially walking into a dark and potentially explosive trap.

Getting off the island would be another mess. That was assuming any of us would be getting off alive.

Worst of all, a thunderstorm was coming. The shape of the encroaching fog looked like a monster about to swallow this place whole. The thought of traveling over those turbulent waters on a kayak—in the dark—required courage enough.

Someone was going to die on Grissom, I was sure of it.

Maybe my mom.

Maybe Violet—the last man standing on my list.

Maybe me.

Silver had outsmarted me at every turn. The chances of this time being any different were low. I accepted my odds. But I still had a brain. Only half a soul, perhaps, but definitely a fully functioning mind.

And hope. I still had shreds of that, too.

I spotted Gate K—about fifty feet away.

All of a sudden I felt like praying. I didn’t even know how—I’d never done it before. But I figured it certainly couldn’t hurt.

I muttered some “please helps” into the phone I clutched, like maybe the cell had God’s number on speed dial and like maybe I deserved the help (which I wasn’t sure I did). I may not have been raised religious, but I’d heard of the Ten Commandments, and I was pretty sure the whole Thou shalt not kill thing was still high on that list. My mom’s cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and stared at the angrily blinking red light, wondering if Silver had found out I called Sergeant Mathews and was now sending me a picture of my mom’s corpse.

I tasted the bile rising inside me.

Pulling myself together, I turned on Mom’s phone to see who the message was from. Mathews. It read:

DON’T GO IN. My team is eight min out.

My phone vibrated again. Another message from Mathews:

WE will take him out. I promise Ruby. I want justice for your dad just as much as you do. PLEASE don’t go in. Respond.

Maybe he thought bombarding me on both phones would delay me.

But it wouldn’t. I had to get inside, and now. I didn’t doubt Silver’s ability to kill and disappear. Just like with that girl on Ninth Street, if I didn’t do something, my mom would die. How could I live with myself if I stayed out here and did nothing?

I typed:

I’m already in. DO NOT move in until I contact you. I have a plan.

Who did I think I was? Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d be ordering the SWAT Sergeant around. If I just waited a few minutes, they could escort me in. Or we could come up with a plan together. After all, they’d have the schematics of the island. And ten guns had to be better than one.

Except ten guns hadn’t been enough to save my dad. I couldn’t put my mom’s life in their hands when I knew with certainty what the result would be.

I wouldn’t kill her by disobeying Silver’s instructions.

I pulled my gun out of the holster inside my black hoodie and tried the gate. Just like he’d said, the heavy door was wedged open by what looked like a shoe. And not just any shoe. One of the $900 Christian Louboutin “Love Me” 100 mm heels my mom was wearing last night before she took them off to run away from me. This sicko was taunting me again. There was absolutely no need to bring such a perfectly beautiful pair of shoes into this!

I went through the gate and re-wedged the shoe behind me. Slip K-11 was hard to miss. It was the only slip without a million-dollar yacht. Waiting for me was more like a hundred-dollar piece of crap—a plastic kayak. I bit my lip as I descended the ladder, climbed into the unsteady craft, and began paddling toward the island with quick strokes across my body like my dad taught me.