“I can fix it,” she said, taking the suit from me.  I watched her face closely as I passed her the rest of the yellow hair.  “This was in it,” I added.  “No one here has blonde hair, Evie.”

She didn’t hesitate when she said, “It’s just hair, Kat.  There’s no telling what’s in that water.”  Nothing gaver her away.

“I guess,” I said, disappointed.

I didn’t want it to be true that someone tried to drown me, and that the hair caught in the zipper might belong to my almost killer.  But I also didn’t want it to be true that my mind was somehow broken.  If I was honest with myself, who would want me dead?  I’m nobody.  It didn’t make sense.  But a deeper internal drive had me searching in spite of that fact.

“How are you feeling today?  She asked.  Does your lip still hurt?”

Oddly enough, I didn’t feel a thing.  I could still see the cut a little, but it didn’t hurt and it wasn’t swollen like I thought it would be.  I lightly ran my finger over the rough line.  “I’m good, thanks.”

The two weeks following the incident were relatively quiet.  Matt was the only one that really talked about it.  He kept repeating how lucky I was that I let go of the tube when I did.  “Your reflexes were like a cat,” he said, before making a roaring sound.  “You were almost a permanent fixture for those wave rockets.”

Miles and Constance looked like they just wanted him to shut up about it already.  Now that time had passed, there was nothing in their expressions to suggest that something was amiss.  But on that boat, I thought I recognized fear and an edge of panic on their faces when the officer asked me what happened.  It was as if they were wishing for me to not tell.  I suppose that was imagined too.

On the rare occasion Alex graced us with his presence, his silent treatment became customary.  At least he didn’t glare at me anymore.  If anything, his eyes took on a more curious feature-concern and uncertainty.  He spent most of his time away from the house, with Chloe I assumed.  Other times, I would watch him from across the living room as he sat at the table, furiously scribbling in a brown leather journal.

After Alex returned from a three-day boating excursion, things started getting strange again.

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