“Kate. Do you think he’s crazy? I do.”

  “Of course he is. Mad as a hatter.” Kate poured them a couple of whiskeys. “I warned you, years ago, remember? I told you not to trust him. I knew there was something weird about him. You should never have let him get close to you. That was your mistake.”

  Lana didn’t say anything for a moment, then said quietly, “I think I’m a little afraid of him.”

  Kate frowned. “That’s exactly why we can’t let him win. Do you understand? We have to act. Have you told Jason?”

  “No. I’ve only told you.”

  “You must tell him.”

  “Not yet.”

  “What about Elliot?” Kate gave her a curious look. “Are you going to confront him?”

  “No.” Lana shook her head. “He mustn’t find out we know. Don’t underestimate him, Kate. He’s dangerous.”

  “I know he is. Then what do we do?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Lana fixed her eyes on Kate and didn’t speak for a second. When she did, her voice was without emotion, simply stating a matter of fact.

  “We must destroy him.” Lana said. “Or he’ll kill Jason.”

  They stared at each other.

  Kate slowly nodded. “But how?”

  They sat in silence for a moment, mulling it over, as they sipped their whiskeys.

  Suddenly, Kate looked up, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve got it. We beat him at his own game.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We play along. We follow his script. Then, as soon as he thinks it’s all going according to plan … we turn the tables on him. We write him a different ending. One he wasn’t expecting. One that will be the end of him.”

  Lana thought about this. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

  Kate raised her glass, to make a toast. “To revenge.”

  “No.” Lana raised her glass. “To justice.”

  “Yes. Justice.”

  The two women solemnly drank to the success of their production.

  * * *

  The curtain went up immediately. That afternoon, in fact, when, tired and hungover, I made my way to Lana’s house.

  “Love,” I said, “I came over to check on you. I was worried when I woke up and you were gone. And you’ve not been answering your phone. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” said Lana. “I was going to wake you, but you looked so peaceful.”

  “I feel rough as hell now. We drank far too much last night.… Talking of which—how about hair of the dog?”

  Lana nodded. “Why not?”

  We went into the kitchen, and I opened a bottle of champagne. Then I gently began to remind Lana what we had spoken about last night. I encouraged her to go ahead with our plan, to lure Kate and Jason to the island.

  “That’s if you still want to proceed,” I said, casually.

  I waited. I noticed Lana was finding it hard to look at me. But I put it down to her hangover.

  She forced a smile in my direction. “Nothing could stop me.”

  “Good.”

  Then, at my suggestion, Lana reached for her phone. She rang up Kate, who was at the Old Vic.

  Kate answered the phone quickly. “Hey. You okay?”

  “I will be. I’ve worked out what we all need is some sunshine. Will you come?”

  “What?” Kate sounded mystified.

  “To the island—for Easter?”

  Lana went on, in a cheery tone, before Kate could respond: “Don’t say no. It’ll be just us. You, me, Jason, and Leo. And Agathi, of course.… I’m not sure if I’ll ask Elliot—he’s been annoying me lately.”

  This alerted Kate that Lana wasn’t alone; that I was in the room with her.

  Kate understood. She smiled and played along. She nodded.

  “I’m booking my flight right now.”

  4

  They didn’t tell the others about the plan until they were on the island.

  Lana kept putting off telling Agathi—she felt sure Agathi would refuse to participate. In the end, Lana was wrong about that—Agathi proved an all-too-willing participant in the evening’s festivities.

  Lana told Leo about it on the second day, at the picnic on the beach. She suggested they have a walk together.

  “Darling,” said Lana in a low voice as they strolled along the water’s edge, arm in arm. “There’s something you should know. There’s going to be a murder tonight.”

  Leo listened, amazed, as his mother explained the practicalities of the plot. To his credit, Leo felt a flicker of uncertainty—an uneasy feeling that what Lana was suggesting was morally wrong; and that there would be some terrible price to pay. But he quickly banished the thought. As a budding actor, he knew he couldn’t turn her down. He’d never get offered a part like this again. The fact that Leo detested me helped him overcome his scruples. He figured I had it coming. Perhaps he was right.

  Telling Jason, however, was rather trickier.

  Lana attempted to talk to him that afternoon after the beach. She snuck off to find Jason at the ruin, where he was hunting. But Jason wasn’t alone. Kate was with him.

  As Lana watched them kissing, she flew into a rage. It took a while to calm herself down. Then she confronted Kate—on the speedboat, on the way to Yialos.

  “You said it was over,” said Lana in a low voice. “You and him.”

  “What? It is over.”

  “Why did you kiss him?”

  “At the ruin? Elliot was watching us—I could see him there, hiding. I had to play along. I had no choice.”

  “Well, you were very convincing. Congratulations.”

  Kate accepted the rebuke with a shrug. “Fine, I deserve that.” She gave Lana a wary look. “When are you going to tell Jason? You need to warn him.”

  Lana shook her head. “I’m not going to tell him.”

  “What?” Kate stared at her, astonished. “If he doesn’t know, it won’t work. I’ll never be able to talk him into it.”

  “Oh, you can be very persuasive when you want. Think of it as an acting challenge.”

  “You can’t do this to Jason. You can’t put him through that.”

  “That’s his punishment.”

  “That’s so fucked-up.” Kate pulled a face. “And I have to watch it?”

  “Yes.” Lana nodded. “That’s yours.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Lana stood outside the summerhouse window. She watched Kate perform inside—all for an audience of one.

  “Jason didn’t mean to shoot Lana,” I said. “He meant to shoot you.”

  Kate shook her head. “You’re sick … you’re fucking sick.”

  Kate ran through the gamut of emotions in this scene—paranoid, fearful, angry. It was a bravura performance—if a little over the top, in Lana’s opinion.

  Kate’s overdoing it, she thought. But he seems convinced—how smug he is. How vain. If he had any self-awareness at all, he’d see through her. But he thinks he’s so clever, he thinks he’s some kind of god. But he’ll learn. He’ll be humbled.

  Inside the summerhouse, I took out the gun, pressing it into Kate’s hands. Then I sent her out to meet Jason at the jetty.

  Lana lurked in the darkness, waiting. She stepped onto the path in front of Kate. Their eyes met, and they exchanged guns.

  “Break a leg,” Lana said.

  Kate didn’t say anything. She stared at Lana for a second. Then she turned and walked away.

  Lana followed me down to the beach. She positioned herself in the dark—a little way behind where I was standing. She sent Nikos over to accost me—to march me, at gunpoint, to the jetty; where I was humiliated, brutalized, and beaten.

  Lana watched all this, her blue eyes glowing in the dark, like a vengeful goddess, cruel, pitiless. As I, her victim, was forced onto my knees; begging for mercy, screaming her name … until a gunshot silenced me.

  And Lana’s revenge was complete.

  5

  I promised you a murder, didn’t I? Bet you never thought it would be mine.

  Well, sorry to disappoint you—I wasn’t dead. I just thought I was. I really believed my last moment on earth had come. That gunshot made me pass out. Scared to death, you might say.

  I was nudged awake by a prodding foot.

  “Wake him up,” Kate said.

  Nikos’s foot nudged me again, harder this time. I opened my eyes, and the world came into focus. I was lying on the ground, on my side. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and gingerly touched the side of my head—feeling for any sign of a bullet wound.

  “Relax,” said Kate. “They’re blanks.” She threw the gun to the ground. “It’s a prop gun.”

  Ah, I thought. Of course.

  Kate was an actress, not a murderer. I should have known.

  Judging by the look on his face, Jason was even more surprised than I was that I was still breathing.

  “What the fuck—?” Jason stared at Kate, incredulous. “What is going on?”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. She wouldn’t let me.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  Kate was about to reply, then fell silent—as she glimpsed Lana on the beach. Jason followed Kate’s gaze, and he stared, open-mouthed, aghast, as Lana walked across the sand to the jetty. She was holding Leo’s hand. Behind them, the sun was rising, and the sky was streaked with red.

  Lana and Leo climbed up the jetty steps. They joined the others.

  “Lana?” Jason said. “What the fuck—? What is this—?”

  Lana ignored Jason, as if he hadn’t spoken. She took hold of Kate’s hand and clasped it. They stared at each other for a second.

  Then they turned and faced me.

  They were standing in a line—all of them—like actors in a curtain call. Lana, Kate, Agathi, Nikos, Leo. Only Jason stood to one side, out of place, confused. Even I had a better understanding of what had happened than he did.

  In fact, I understood all too well.

  I got to my feet, with some difficulty. I clapped, sarcastically, three times. I tried to speak—but my mouth filled with blood. I spat the blood on the ground. I tried again—it wasn’t easy with a broken jaw. All I could manage was one word:

  “Why?”

  In response, Lana produced my notebook. “You shouldn’t leave this lying around.” She threw it at me, hard, hitting me in the chest.

  “I thought you were different,” she said. “I thought you were my friend. You’re no one’s friend. You’re nothing.”

  I didn’t recognize Lana. She sounded like a different person. Hard, ruthless. She looked at me with hatred—there’s no other word to describe that look.

  “Lana, please—”

  “Stay away from me,” she said. “Stay away from my family. If I see you again, ever, you’re going to jail.”

  She turned to Agathi: “Get him the fuck off the island.”

  Then Lana turned to go. And Jason reached out, to touch her. She batted away his hand, like it revolted her. Without looking back, she went down the steps. She walked alone across the sand.

  There was a momentary pause. Then the mood abruptly changed. Leo broke the silence with a sudden peal of laughter—high-pitched, childish laughter.

  He was pointing at me and laughing. “Look. He pissed himself. What a freak.”

  Kate laughed and took Leo’s arm. She gave it a squeeze. “Come on, love. Let’s go.”

  They walked over to the steps. “Your acting was amazing,” Leo said. “You were so real. I want to be an actor, too.”

  “I know. Your mother told me. I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Will you teach me?”

  “I can certainly give you a few tips.” Kate smiled. “Of course, the most important thing is to have a good audience.”

  She threw me one last look of triumph. Then she turned and walked down the steps. Leo followed. And so did the others.

  They made their way, in a procession, across the sand. Kate and Leo were first, and a little behind them, Nikos supported Agathi with his arm. Jason trailed behind them, his head bent forward, his fists clenched in anger.

  I could hear Kate and Leo talking as they walked away.

  “I don’t know about you,” Kate was saying, “but I think this calls for a celebratory drink. How about a very expensive bottle of bubbly?”

  “Good idea. Maybe I’ll even have a glass.”

  “Oh, Leo.” Kate kissed his cheek. “There is hope for you, after all.”

  As they walked farther off, their voices faded—but I could still hear Leo’s childish laughter.

  It echoed in my head.

  * * *

  If I had any sense, I’d stop now. I’d pay for your drinks and hastily stagger out of this bar—leaving you with a cautionary tale; and no forwarding address. I’d get out of town quick—before I said something I shouldn’t.

  But I must go on—I have no choice. This has been looming over me from the start, casting its shadow on me, ever since I first sat down to tell you this story.

  You see, my portrait is not complete. Not yet. It needs a few details filled in. A few final brushstrokes here and there, to finish it.

  Strange, I used that word—portrait.

  I suppose it is a portrait. But of whom?

  Initially, I thought it was a portrait of Lana. But now, I’m beginning to suspect it’s of me. Which is a frightening thought. It’s not something I wish to look at, this hideous rendering of myself.

  But we must confront it together one last time, you and I—to finish this tale.

  I warn you, it’s not a pretty sight.

  6

  It was dawn. I was alone on the jetty.

  I was in a lot of pain. I didn’t know what hurt the most—my aching lower back, where Nikos hit me with the gun; my cracked ribs; or my throbbing jaw. I winced as I lurched down the steps, onto the beach.

  I didn’t know where I was going—I had nowhere to go. So I just hobbled along the sand, beside the surf.

  As I walked, I tried to make sense of what had taken place.

  Suffice to say, my plan hadn’t worked out as I had hoped. In my version, Lana and I would be together now, at the house, waiting for the police to arrive. I would be comforting her—explaining that Jason’s death was an unfortunate, even tragic, accident.

  I had no idea things would get so out of hand, I would say to Lana, fighting tears. That Kate would actually take a gun and use it. I’d tell Lana I would never get over the terrible sight I had witnessed—of Kate repeatedly shooting Jason on the beach, in a wild drunken rage.

  That would be my story, and I’d stick to it.

  Kate might tell a different tale to mine—but it would be my word against hers. That would be all that was left now—words, recollections, accusations, suggestions, all blowing in the wind. Nothing real. Nothing tangible. The police and, more important, Lana would believe me over Kate—who had, after all, just murdered Lana’s husband in cold blood.

  “I feel so guilty,” I would say. “It’s all my fault—”

  “No,” Lana would reply. “It’s mine. I never should have agreed to this crazy idea.”

  “I talked you into it—I’ll never forgive myself, never—”

  And so on—we would comfort each other, each taking the blame. We would be distraught; but we would recover. We would be united, she and I—united in our guilt. We’d live happily ever after.

  That’s how it was supposed to end.

  Except Lana saw my notebook.

  Which was unfortunate—it read badly, I can see that. Words written in anger, ideas taken out of context, private fantasies not meant to be seen—certainly not by Lana.

  If only she had woken me up, right then, when she found it. If she had confronted me, I could have explained it all. I could have made her understand. But she didn’t give me that chance.

  Why not? Surely she had discovered equally terrible things about Kate over the past few days? Yet Lana found it within herself to forgive her. Why not me?

  I imagine it was Kate who came up with the idea. Like me, she was always having bright ideas. How they must have enjoyed scripting it, then rehearsing their performances. How they must have laughed at me, the whole time—watching me make a fool of myself on the island. Allowing me to presume I was the author of this play—when I was just its audience.

  How could Lana do this to me? I didn’t understand how she could be so cruel. This punishment far exceeded my crime. I had been humiliated, terrified, stripped of all dignity, all humanity—reduced to nothing but snot and tears: to a kid sniveling in the dirt.

  So much for friendship. So much for love.

  As I walked, I felt increasingly angry. I felt as if I were back at school. Bullied. Abused. Except this time, there was no hope of escape. No future happiness with Lana to look forward to. I was trapped here, for eternity.

  Without realizing it, I found myself back at the ruin. I was standing in the circle of broken columns.

  The ruin was eerie and desolate in the dawn light. Along with the dawn had come the wasps.

  Wasps were everywhere, suddenly, swarming in the air around me, like a black mist. Wasps, crawling all over the marble columns, crawling on the ground. They were crawling over my hand, as I thrust it into the rosemary bush. Wasps crawled over the gun, as I pulled it out.

  I was about to walk away, when I saw something that made me freeze.

  They say the wind drives you mad. And that must be what happened to me—I must have been driven momentarily insane. For I was witnessing something that couldn’t possibly be real.

  There, in front of me, gusts of wind were rushing together from all directions—swirling together, forming a giant spiral of wind.

  A whirlwind—twisting and turning in the air.

  Around it, the air was perfectly still. No hint of a breeze. Not a leaf moving. All the violence and rage of the gale was concentrated here, in this whirling mass.