Once I saw the kid in me, I started seeing kids in other people—all dressed as adults, playacting at being grown-up. But I saw through the performances now, to the frightened children beneath. And when you think of someone as a child, it’s impossible for you to feel hatred. Compassion arises, and—

  You’re such a hypocrite, Elliot. Such a damn liar.

  That’s what Lana would say, right now—if she were looking over my shoulder, reading this. She’d laugh—and call me out on my bullshit:

  What about Jason? Lana would say. Where’s your compassion for him?

  Good point. Where is my compassion for Jason?

  Have I been unfair? Misrepresenting him? Twisting the truth, deliberately making him unlikable?

  Possibly. I suspect my empathy for Jason will forever be limited. I can’t see beyond his terrible actions. I can’t see into the heart of the man—all the things he endured as a kid; the bad things, the indignities; the cruelties that made him believe the only way to succeed in life was to be selfish, ruthless, a liar, and a cheat.

  That’s what Jason thought being a man was. But Jason wasn’t a man.

  He was just a kid, playing make-believe.

  And kids shouldn’t play with guns.

  13

  Bang, bang, bang.

  I woke up with a fright. What the hell was that noise?

  It sounded like gunfire. What time was it? I checked my watch. Ten A.M.

  Another gunshot.

  I sat up in bed, alarmed. Then I heard Jason outside, swearing with annoyance, as he missed yet another bird.

  It was Jason, hunting, that’s all.

  I sank back in bed with a groan. Jesus, I thought. What a way to wake up.

  And so, we come to the day of the murder.

  What can I say about that terrible day? Truthfully, if I had known how it would end, and the horrors it would bring, I would never have got out of bed.

  As it was, I must confess that I slept soundly, troubled by no bad dreams, no premonitions of what lay in wait.

  I always slept well on Aura. The island was so quiet. So peaceful. No drunks or garbage trucks to disturb your sleep. No, it took Jason, with a gun, to do that.

  I got out of bed, the cold stone slabs on the floor waking up my feet. I made my way to the window and threw open the curtains. Sunlight flooded in. I looked out at the clear blue sky, the orderly rows of tall green pine trees, and the blue-and-silver olive trees, pink spring flowers, and clouds of yellow butterflies. I listened for a moment to a chorus of cicadas and birdsong; breathing in the heavy scents of earth, sand, and sea. It was glorious. I couldn’t help but smile.

  I decided to do a little work before going downstairs. I always felt inspired when I was on the island. So I sat at the desk and opened my notebook. I sketched out some ideas for a drama I was working on.

  Then I had a quick shower and went downstairs. The strong smell of coffee beckoned me to the kitchen, where a fresh pot was on the stove. I poured myself a cup.

  No sign of the others. I wondered where they were.

  Then, looking out of the window, I noticed Leo and Lana outside. They were hard at work in the garden.

  Aided by Nikos, Leo was digging up a plot of earth in an old flower bed. Nikos was doing most of the work, exerting himself. His vest was drenched with sweat. Lana was crouched nearby, picking cherry tomatoes, collecting them in a wicker basket.

  I poured myself another cup of coffee. Then I went to join them.

  * * *

  I left the house and made my way down the uneven stone steps to the lower level. As I walked past the walled orchard, I glanced inside, at the rows of peach and apple trees. They had white and pink blossoms on their branches, and tiny yellow flowers growing among the roots.

  Spring, it seemed, yet to arrive in England, was in full bloom on Aura.

  “Good morning,” I said, as I reached Leo and Lana.

  “Elliot, darling. Here”—Lana popped a cherry tomato into my mouth—“something sweet to start the day off.”

  “Am I not sweet enough?” I chuckled, my mouth full.

  “Almost. Not quite.”

  “Mmm.” The tomato was indeed sweet and delicious. I took another from Lana’s basket. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re planting a new vegetable garden. Our new project.”

  “What’s wrong with the old one?”

  “This is for Leo. He needs his own plot.” Lana smiled at me with a hint of amusement. “He’s vegan now, you know.”

  “Ah.” I smiled back. “You did mention it, yes.”

  “We’re going to grow everything.” Leo gestured enthusiastically at the dug-up earth.

  “Almost everything.” Lana smiled.

  “Kale and cauliflower, broccoli, spinach, carrots, and radishes … what else?”

  “Potatoes,” Lana said. “So we can stop stealing Nikos’s. They were so delicious last night, by the way. Thank you.”

  She directed this at Nikos with a smile. He waved away the compliment, embarrassed.

  “Room for a little marijuana?” I asked.

  “No.” Leo shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Lana winked at me. “We’ll see.”

  I glanced in the direction of the summerhouse. “Where’s madam?”

  “Still asleep.”

  “And Jason?”

  Before Lana could reply, the answer came—a loud gunshot. And then another shot—from just behind the house.

  I jumped out of my skin. “Jesus.”

  “Sorry,” Lana said. “It’s Jason.”

  “Shooting people?”

  “Just pigeons, so far.”

  “It’s murder.” Leo pulled a face. “It’s an act of violence. It’s disgusting and offensive. It’s gross.”

  Lana’s voice took on a patient but strained quality, making me think they’d had this discussion before. “Well, darling, I know that—but he enjoys it—and we do eat everything he kills, so it doesn’t go to waste.”

  “I don’t eat it. I’d rather starve.”

  Wisely, Lana changed the subject. She touched Leo’s arm and gave him a pleading look. “Leo, can you perform a miracle and raise the dead? Remind Kate the picnic was all her idea, will you? Agathi has put so much work into it. She’s been cooking all morning.”

  Leo sighed. He stabbed his spade in the earth. He didn’t look thrilled about the assignment. “Niko, we’ll finish up later, all right?”

  Nikos nodded.

  While Lana showed me where the bulbs were going to go, I glanced at Nikos, over her shoulder. He took a break from digging for a moment. He caught his breath and wiped his brow.

  How old was Nikos then? I wonder. He must have been only in his late forties but his once jet-black hair was streaked with white, his face tanned and deeply lined.

  He was an odd man. He only spoke directly to Agathi and Lana or occasionally to Leo. He never spoke to me, even though I had been to the island several times. He seemed wary of me, somehow, as if I were untamed.

  As I looked at him, I noticed something strange. He was staring at Lana with the oddest expression. It was quite intense, and completely unselfconscious.

  He was looking at her with adoration, fascination—with a faint half smile on his lips. He looked younger, somehow, almost boyish.

  Gosh, I thought, as I watched him gaze at her. He’s in love with her.

  I don’t know why I was surprised. It made perfect sense, on reflection. Put yourself in his place—imagine being stranded on a tiny island all year round, deprived of any company, male or female, only to have a goddess wash up on your shore every few months. Of course he was in love with her.

  We all were. All of us—Otto, Agathi; me, Jason. Half the world. Even Kate, at one time, was entirely besotted. And now, Nikos was, too. He stood no chance against Lana’s charms, poor bastard. He was bewitched, like the rest of us.

  But spells don’t last forever, you know. One day, the spell breaks, the enchantment ends; the illusion is over.

  And nothing is left but thin air.

  14

  Kate woke up to someone banging on the door.

  She rubbed her eyes, disoriented. It took her a second to work out where she was—on the island, in the summerhouse. Her head was throbbing. Another bang at the door made her groan.

  “Stop it, for Christ’s sake,” she cried out. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Leo. Wake up.”

  “Go away.”

  “It’s after eleven. Get up—you’re late for the picnic.”

  “What picnic?”

  Leo laughed. “Don’t you remember? It was your idea. Mum says hurry up.”

  Kate had no idea what he was talking about.

  And then, vaguely, hazily, it started coming back to her—a recollection of overexcited drunken plans, hatched last night, to have a picnic on the beach. The thought of food right now made her feel physically sick.

  Leo banged again.

  Kate lost her temper. “Give me a fucking minute!”

  “How many minutes do you need?”

  “Five hundred thousand.”

  “You can have five. Then we’re going without you.”

  “Go, now. Please leave.”

  Leo sighed heavily. His footsteps retreated.

  Swearing under her breath, Kate sat up, wearily swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Her head was heavy and she felt woozy. Christ, she felt rough. The latter part of the evening was a total blur. Had she said anything she shouldn’t? Done something stupid? It would be just like her to betray herself in a drunken slip. That mustn’t happen. She must keep focused.

  Idiot, she thought, be more careful.

  She had a quick shower to wake herself up. Her head was aching—but she didn’t have any aspirin. So she took half a Xanax instead. There was nothing to wash it down with, except the dregs of a bottle of champagne from last night. Feeling rather sordid, she popped a cigarette in her mouth. Then she grabbed her sunglasses, and, as a sudden afterthought, the script for Agamemnon.

  Thus armed, Kate left the summerhouse.

  * * *

  As she walked to the beach, Kate passed Nikos’s cottage.

  The cottage was very much in harmony with its surroundings. Built from stone and wood, it had a tall green cactus growing outside the front door, partly covering one wall. Huge, thorny cactus leaves spread out along the path. Ivy was growing up another wall, a tangle of leaves and stems. An old rope hammock was suspended between two gnarled, bent olive trees.

  Kate slowed down as she walked by and peered at the cottage. Something had attracted her attention. What was it?

  The smell, or that sound? What was that noise?

  A loud buzzing, like a beehive—but the smell wasn’t honey. It was a disgusting, creeping stench—suddenly so revolting that Kate’s hand flew to cover her nose. It stank of flesh gone bad; rotting meat, putrefying in the sun.

  Then she saw the source—both of the sound and the stink.

  A black cloud of wasps, buzzing around a stump of wood. On the wood, the remains of a bloodied carcass of a small animal. A rabbit, perhaps. It was crawling with ants and wasps, fighting over it, devouring it.

  Kate felt sick to look at it. She was about to walk off when she noticed a figure at the window, staring at her.

  Nikos was standing there. He was shirtless. He was looking right at Kate. Expressionless, his blue eyes fixed on her.

  Kate felt an involuntary shiver. She kept walking and didn’t look back.

  15

  Leo advised us to give up waiting for Kate, so we made our way to the beach without her. Lana walked slightly ahead, laden with towels. Leo and I followed, carrying the heavy picnic hamper, each of us holding a handle.

  Of the several beaches on Aura, this was my favorite. It was the smallest; Agathi called it to diamandi—“the diamond”—and it was a jewel, a perfect beach in miniature.

  The sand was soft, thick, and white, like sugar. Pine trees grew almost all the way to the water’s edge, dropping a fine carpet of green needles on the sand, which crunched under your feet. The sea was crystal clear where it was shallow; farther off, it became green, aquamarine, turquoise; and, finally, a deep, dark blue.

  Years ago, Otto had a wooden raft built a little way out—a raised platform, bobbing in the waves, accessible by a rope ladder. I would often swim out to the raft, keeping my head above water, a book clenched between my teeth; climb up, lie in the sun, and read.

  That morning, we parked the picnic hamper in the shade of a tree, then Lana and I went for a swim. The water temperature was fairly bracing, but not too chilly for the time of year. Lana swam to the raft, and I followed her.

  Alone on the beach, Leo opened the lid of the hamper and investigated its contents.

  It was indeed a feast, prepared by Agathi—baked vegetables stuffed with rice and mincemeat, stuffed vine leaves, different kinds of local cheeses, smoked salmon sandwiches, sweet melons, and cherries.

  Apart from fruit, there wasn’t much vegan fare for Leo. He searched dispiritedly through the hamper—until, at the bottom, he found it. Wrapped in cling film, labeled L, was a small stack of tomato and cucumber sandwiches on brown bread, with no butter.

  Not very appetizing, he thought. Obviously a passive-aggressive attack by Agathi on his dietary requirements. But better than nothing, so he took a sandwich.

  Then Leo sat in the shade of a pine tree. He ate his lunch while reading his book—An Actor Prepares. He was finding it dull, admittedly. Stanislavski was a lot more heavy going than Leo expected—but he was determined to persevere.

  Lana didn’t know this yet, but Leo had just sent off his applications to drama schools in the U.K. and the United States. He hoped she wouldn’t mind—but truthfully, given their talk the other day in London, he wasn’t so sure. He planned to speak to her about it further this weekend. If I ever get the chance, he thought, with Kate and Elliot here, monopolizing her every second.

  A distant gunshot suddenly distracted him. Then another.

  Leo scowled. Those poor birds, shot for that psycho’s amusement. It angered Leo so much, he was afraid he’d do something drastic.

  Maybe he should.

  Maybe it was time to make a stand—make a deliberate point. Nothing excessive—something subtle, but effective. But what?

  The answer came to him at once.

  The guns.

  What if Jason found his guns missing—and no one knew where they were? He’d blow a fuse. He’d lose his mind.

  Yes, Leo thought, smiling, that’s it. When we get back to the house, I’ll hide the guns somewhere he’ll never find them. That’ll serve him right.

  Pleased with his decision, Leo finished his sandwich. Then he padded through the sand, back to the hamper, in search of cherries.

  16

  Jason was alone at the ruin. He had gone there with a rifle, to practice his aim.

  His target was a tin can. It was balanced on one of the ruined columns and, so far, had remained unscathed.

  He was relieved to be alone. The mindless chatter of Lana’s friends irritated him at the best of times. And now, when he had so much on his mind, it was almost unbearable.

  Just then, a small bird, a wood pigeon, settled on one of the broken columns. It seemed oblivious of Jason standing there. He gripped the gun in his hands. Okay, he said to himself. Focus.

  He carefully took aim, and—

  “Jason.”

  Distracted, he fired—but his aim was off. The bird flew away, unhurt. He turned around, furious.

  “I have a gun in my hand, for Christ’s sake! Do not creep up on me like that.”

  Kate smiled. “You won’t shoot me, love.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” Jason glanced over her shoulder. “Where are the others?”

  “We just left the beach. They’re back at the house, showering. No one saw me—if that’s what you mean.”

  “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

  “Lana invited me.” Kate shrugged.

  “You should have said no.”

  “I didn’t want to say no. I wanted to see her.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Is she?”

  “Yes. You seem to forget that at times.” Kate sat down on a low slab of marble, then lit a cigarette. “We need to talk.”

  “What about?”

  “Lana.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Lana.”

  “She knows, Jason.”

  “What?” He stared at Kate for a second. “You told her?”

  Kate shook her head. “No. But she knows. I can tell.”

  Jason studied Kate’s face for a second. To his relief, he decided he didn’t believe her. She was being dramatic, as usual. “You’re imagining it.”

  “I’m not.”

  There was silence for a second. Jason looked away, playing with the gun in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice had a different tone—suspicion.

  “You better not say anything, Kate. I mean it.”

  “Is that a threat?” Kate dropped her cigarette and ground it into the earth with her foot. “Darling, how romantic.”

  Jason looked into her brilliant, hurt dark eyes—they had a slight shine to them, indicating she’d been drinking. But she wasn’t drunk—not the way she had been last night.

  He could also see his own face reflected in Kate’s eyes. His unhappy face. For a second, did Jason consider abandoning his defenses? Did he nearly fall to his knees, bury his head in Kate’s lap—and unburden himself, telling her the truth about the terrible trouble he was in? How his juggling act with other people’s money had collapsed, all the balls tumbling through his fingers—how he needed a massive financial injection, money he didn’t have, but crucially Lana did; and, without it, he would almost certainly be going to jail?