Final Girl Michelle Schusterman (the gingerbread man read aloud TXT) 📖

I regretted bringing this up at all, because Oscar was starting to look genuinely concerned. “Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”

“It’s not all of a sudden.” I tried to keep my tone light. “Just, you know, crazy people don’t usually know they’re crazy, right? Emily probably didn’t.” I cringed. “Sorry.”

He waved dismissively. “Whatever. Look, Kat. You’re not crazy. I’m not just saying that to be supportive—you’re not. Neither was Emily.”

I gaped at him. “What? Of course she was.”

“She’s obsessive,” Oscar said. “And she’s dangerous. And she’s in a psychiatric hospital, so maybe she had . . . I don’t know, maybe she was sick, too. But . . .” He glanced over at the crew again and lowered his voice. “Look, a lot of people have called Aunt Lidia crazy. Between her seizures and her obsession with ghosts . . . when Levi died when they were teenagers, Aunt Lidia was positive his ghost was still following her around. Her friends called her crazy—even my grandmother did. But she wasn’t. And . . . and even if she had been wrong about Levi, if it was just that she’d been—I don’t know, traumatized by his death—that wouldn’t make her crazy, either. It’s not a nice thing to call someone. Including yourself.”

I stared at Oscar. His gaze had drifted off to the sunset, and I had the distinct impression this wasn’t just about Lidia or me. “You’re right,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He lifted a shoulder, and I could see his face tense, like he was worried I’d say something else. And I wanted to. I wanted to tell him that his obsession with what had happened with Emily, the fact that he couldn’t let go of it, that it was making him paranoid—that didn’t make him crazy, either. But he clearly didn’t want to hear it, so I stayed silent.

“Kat! Oscar!” Lidia waved at us, and I saw Jess and Mi Jin had their cameras out and ready. Oscar and I joined them, and Jess cleared her throat.

“Okay! I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve been told it’s easy to get lost on this bridge. There are spots to get onto and off of hiking trails roughly every three kilometers. This fog’s only going to get thicker—we probably won’t even be able to see the van from that entrance in a few hours. We’re not going on any of the trails, so stick to the bridge, all right?”

Lidia handed out walkie-talkies as Jess talked. “These have a twenty-mile range, so we should be good. You two,” she added to Oscar and me, “make sure you can see one of us at all times.”

“We’ll do the intro inside the entrance,” Jess said, already walking. Oscar and I hung back as Dad launched into his explanation of the bridge, with Sam and Roland occasionally jumping in with additional observations (and, in Roland’s case, snark). Jess filmed them speaking, while Mi Jin took video from farther back, framing all four of them against the misty mountain backdrop. Then, as a group, we headed out on the bridge.

It was wide enough for two people to walk comfortably side by side. Oscar walked next to the wall of grass and granite to our right, and I walked along the edge, trailing my fingers along the wooden railing. I could see what Jess meant about visibility; already, the entrance and our van had been swallowed by the fog behind us.

We slowed our pace gradually, until the adults were out of earshot. Then Oscar nudged me.

“Try it,” he said, pointing to my camera.

I reached for it, then hesitated. “It’s going to make us feel lost, though. Remember?”

“I know,” Oscar replied. “But we can’t actually get lost. All we have to do is just keep walking straight.”

“True.” I exhaled slowly, then flipped on the Elapse.

Immediately, my pulse quickened and I felt panic rising in my throat. Oscar crossed his arms tightly, his eyes darting around.

“Once we take care of your ghost, we really need to do something about your camera,” he said, and I laughed nervously.

“Yeah. It’s annoying.” Annoying wasn’t really a strong enough word for the anxiety coursing through me. “It wasn’t this bad at the Montgomery, was it?”

Oscar shook his head. “Nope.”

“I wonder why.”

“More people?” he suggested. “Jamie and Hailey were in the elevator, plus the operator. Maybe the more people there are to . . . to absorb the negative energy or whatever it is, the weaker it feels.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “If that’s the case, remind me never to use this camera alone.”

He smiled. “So . . . gonna try it?”

Nodding, I wiped one hand on my jeans, then the other. There was a curve up ahead, and I could hear Roland’s voice just on the other side. “Stop,” I said, grabbing Oscar’s elbow. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break out of my rib cage. “Look out there, those two cliffs—do you see that?”

Oscar squinted at where I was pointing. The light was growing dimmer by the minute, and the sky was rapidly darkening from ocean blue to black. From where we stood, different parts of the bridge were visible through the clouds. And one part—a very short part—connected the narrow gap between two staggeringly tall, spindly rocks. The drop below into the mist was dizzying.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed. “Wow.”

I could still hear Roland and Sam talking, punctuated by Dad’s laughter. “They stopped, too.” I fumbled with the Elapse, my fingers shaking with completely unnecessary nerves. “Let me know when they start moving again.”

I held the viewfinder to my eye, zoomed in on the space between the two rocks, and found the bridge. While the walking path it offered was straight, the gray stones that supported it beneath arched gracefully from one side to the other. The railings were about waist-high, and I was pretty sure they were also made from stone—carved into a cool, abstract pattern, but sturdy-looking nonetheless. The rocks rose up several feet higher than the