The Fire Pit

The fire pit was cold, just a scar of ash and snake-like twigs in the center of a ring of sand-smoothed stone. Claire perched on the edge of the bench, knees together, hands folded, back bent like she was studying for a pop quiz. Dawn sat on the other side, legs pulled up, arms wrapped around her shins. For a while, neither spoke. There was nothing to burn, but the old coals and the spent logs made it feel less like a resort and more like a sleepaway camp.

“I didn’t expect it to be so nice,” Dawn said, at last. “The towels are Egyptian cotton. Beautiful lawns. Must spend a fortune in gardening.” Her voice was soft, like she was confessing to a misdemeanor.

Claire smiled, but didn’t look up. “I noticed that too. It’s overkill, right? I keep thinking I’ll turn a corner and find a hidden camera crew waiting to ambush me.”

Dawn nodded. “Or the guy from Dateline. ‘Did you think you were just coming to a normal island, Dawn?’” She made a silly voice, but her laugh died halfway out of her throat. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up.”

“It’s not a dream,” Claire said. “I pinched myself. It hurt.”

They let the silence sit. Overhead, a few gulls squabbled in the wind. Claire tracked the pattern of ash in the pit, tracing it with her eyes. “Do you think it’s real?” she asked. “That they’ll actually do… what she said? Transformations?”

Dawn hugged her knees tighter. “I don’t know. I thought it was a metaphor. Like, for therapy. Or maybe just a weird personality test. But then I saw the way Arabella looked at Andy. It’s not a metaphor.”

Claire nodded. “I thought I’d be more… scared? But mostly I’m just curious. That sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Like I’m excited to see what happens to us.”

Dawn bit her lip. “I think that’s normal. If I were watching this on TV, I’d be rooting for the weird stuff to happen.” She paused. “It’s just different when you’re inside it.”

They shared a laugh, then a shrug, then went quiet again.

Dawn reached for a piece of driftwood, broke off a splinter, and started poking at the old charcoal. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure,” Claire replied, too fast.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Dawn poked a little harder, leaving neat lines in the ash.

Claire considered, then said, “Statistically? I think you’re the odd one out. All the other girls have a story with Andy, except you and perhaps the therapist. You said you barely knew each other. Maybe you’re a control group. Or maybe you are supposed to be the first to go.” She said it so plainly that Dawn looked up, startled.

“No,” Dawn said. “That’s not—” She flailed, searching for the right words. “I’m not a ‘throwaway,’ Claire.”

Claire shrugged. “That’s what they do, though, in these shows. You need one person in the group that can be eliminated without making the viewers sad. Otherwise the stakes are too high.” She looked at Dawn, eyes softening. “But statistics aside, that’s not your role, by the way. I think it’s mine.”

Dawn shook her head. “I don’t think so. I saw how Mr. Cooper looked at you a couple times. He remembered you. He—” She stopped, worried she was oversharing.

Claire smiled, but it was tight. “He probably remembers all of us. That’s what Andy does.”

Dawn let the driftwood fall. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Claire interrupted. “It’s okay. I should apologize.” She looked at Dawn with an unreadable expression on her face. “I’m the one who’s weird. I always say the wrong thing. Even when I mean well.”

Dawn was silent for a moment, then said, “You didn’t hurt my feelings. Not really.”

Claire exhaled, letting her shoulders relax. “That’s good. Because I can’t always tell.”

Dawn shifted closer, not touching but near enough. “Do you want to know, if you do?”

Claire’s face went blank with confusion, then she nodded, hard. “Yes. Please.”

“Okay,” Dawn said. “If you ever do, I’ll tell you. If you want.”

Claire smiled, really smiled this time, and something in her body language changed. She looked at Dawn, really looked, and saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Thank you.”

They sat together, silent, letting the wind scatter the ashes, both feeling just a little less alone.