Only If You’re Lucky

It doesn’t take long for the others to find me.

I can hear them before I see them, the snapping of twigs and leaves as they run in my direction, calling my name. My scream suspended in the air around me and my pile of vomit steaming warm in the cool morning air.

“Margot!”

They must think I’ve stumbled upon some kind of animal, visions of me clutched in the jaws of an alligator, limbs ripping as it drags me away. I recognize Lucas’s voice first, just a few yards behind me, but I still can’t move. I still can’t speak. All I can do is stare down at the body beneath me, facedown in the mud. At the back of his head, moppy brown hair all tangled and torn. The same head I saw staring into the distance from beneath the deck-board slats almost three years ago; those long, tan arms, so muscular and toned, once holding a cigarette as he stood just above, now strewn about in all the wrong angles.

“Margot, are you okay?”

Lucas appears beside me and places his hand on my arm, slow and delicate. Like he’s afraid I might break. I can feel the moment he sees it, too: his tightening fingers, the intake of air.

The back of Levi’s neck, all marbled in bruises.

“Oh shit,” he says, letting go of me before pushing both of his hands through his hair. I turn to look at him just in time to register the color drain from his skin. “Oh shit, oh shit.”

“What is it?”

Sloane jogs up behind us before coming to an abrupt halt, her eyes bulging impossibly wide. Nicole just behind her, her face ghost-white.

“What’s going on?”

I hear Trevor’s voice next, more irritated than anything, and twist around to see a handful of people trickling in behind him, too nosy to stay put on shore. I step to the side, mechanically letting him through, and watch as he follows everyone’s gaze before registering the body lying limp in the mud.

“What is this?” he asks before turning to look at me, his voice picking up an octave. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I say, finally finding my own. “I just … found him here.”

“What do you mean you just found him here?”

“I just found him,” I repeat. “I came out here and I … I tripped. I thought it was a root, or a branch, or…”

I stop, shaking my head, shock settling over me. Making me numb.

“Butler,” Trevor says, turning back toward the body before nudging Levi’s side with his shoe. We all flinch as it sags back into the mud, almost like we expected him to spring up and pounce. “Butler, get up.”

“Trevor—” Nicole starts, but he ignores her, pushing the torso with his foot again.

“Butler, get the fuck up,” he says, louder. “He’s passed out.”

“He’s not passed out—”

“Yes, he is,” Trevor says, nudging him harder. The toe of his shoe pushing deeper and deeper as he tries to rouse Levi awake. We’re all still, too afraid to move. To breathe. Just like last night, watching Trevor and Levi fight in the dark. Like if we just stand here, statue-still, we might blend into the trees and disappear.

“Butler!” Trevor yells, kicking his side, and before anyone can even realize what’s happening, he charges toward Levi and grabs his shoulder, rolling him over so he’s flat on his back.

“Trevor, what are you doing?” Nicole screams, lunging forward, but Sloane holds her back before she can get too far. “Don’t touch him! He’s dead.”

I look down at Levi, that word—dead—hovering above us like a storm cloud, blotting out the light. We all knew it, deep down. We all thought it, feared it, but nobody else had been brave enough to actually say it out loud. Now, though, it’s impossible to deny: Levi is dead, and he’s been dead for a while. The entire front of his body is covered in thick brown mud. It’s in his eyelashes, his nostrils, his mouth, his hair.

I have a sudden flash of Eliza again, the way she must have looked splayed out on the ground beneath that old burnt building. Maybe it’s the position of his limbs that suddenly reminds me of her, both of their bodies lifeless and limp like marionettes simply tossed to the side.

“Fuck!” Trevor screams, the sound of it echoing around us, making me jump. I hear a few birds flap in the distance, too startled to stick around, and I’m suddenly so jealous of their ability to just leave.

“We need to call the police,” Sloane says, quiet, before shooting a look at Trevor. “Nobody else touch anything.”

“God, I’m fucked,” Trevor mutters, pacing now, his hands pushed into his hair. “I’m so fucked.”

“Trevor, he’s dead,” Nicole repeats, disbelief in her voice and fresh tears springing up fast in her eyes. “Do you not understand that? He’s dead.”

“I’m the president,” he snaps back, flinging around so he can finally face her. “This happened on my watch. This piece of shit drank too much, couldn’t handle his liquor, and now I might go to jail for it?”

“Nobody’s going to jail,” Lucas whispers, trying to calm him, though his voice sounds anything but certain. “It was an accident.”

“That wasn’t an accident,” Sloane snaps back, her voice suddenly too hard. “You saw his neck.”

We’re all quiet, thinking of those bruises that looked eerily like fingers. Almost as if someone had been holding him down.

“You’re disgusting,” Nicole mutters, her gaze still on Trevor, and we all turn to look at her now, a quiet hatred festering in her eyes. “It’s impossible for you to think about anyone but yourself, isn’t it?”

“Okay, come on,” Sloane says, grabbing Nicole’s arm and ushering her away. “Back to the beach. I’ll get my phone and we can call for help.”

My feet stay planted as I listen to the slow retreat of the others; their ragged breaths and stifled cries now that the initial shock has worn off and everyone has finally realized what’s happened. I vaguely register Sloane calling my name, trying to nudge me along, force me to follow, but I still can’t move. I still can’t speak.

I still can’t peel my eyes from his, from Levi’s, wide open and blinding white against the thick, dark mud covering the rest of his face.

I feel a touch on my arm and jump again, expecting to see Sloane right back beside me—but instead, it’s Lucy, her expression hauntingly calm. I don’t even remember seeing her show up and I look back and forth, trying to decipher how long she’s been here. Where she came from. Thinking about the last full memory I have of last night: her and Levi together in the sand. Lucy’s hand on his thigh and the way Levi had pushed it, standing up with that look of disgust on his face. Her voice in Penny Lanes as she talked about murder with a cool indifference; the two of us in the kitchen, my chattering teeth. Her head cocked and curious as I muttered my confession, that inky black truth.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” she says at last, her voice so low I’m not even sure if it’s real or if I’ve somehow imagined it. Imagined it all. “To finally get what you want.”