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Besides Jeff, I’ve missed one other call. It’s from Jonah Thompson, received shortly after eight. Roughly an hour ago. When I call back, he answers after only one ring.
“Finally,” he says.
“Good morning to you too,” I say.
Jonah ignores me. “I did a little digging on Samantha Boyd, aka Tina Stone. I think you’ll be very interested to see what I came up with.”
“What did you find?”
“It’s hard to explain over the phone,” Jonah says. “You need to see it in person.”
I sigh. “Bethesda Fountain. Twenty minutes. Bring coffee.”
PINE COTTAGE
11:49 P.M.
The moon had slipped behind some clouds, leaving the woods darker than before. Quincy had trouble staying on the path, the ground beneath her feet a dim muddle of leaves and underbrush. But she had reached the incline. She could feel the weight of extra effort tight in her calves.
She had no plan. Not really. She just wanted to confront them. She wanted to go to that rock, stand before their panting, moon-streaked bodies, and tell them how much she hurt.
The knife would make them believe it. It would make them scared.
Soon Quincy was halfway up the incline. Heart pumping hot blood. Breath escaping in ragged puffs. As she marched upward, she was struck with the sensation that she was being watched. It was nothing more than a tickle on the back of her neck, telling her she wasn’t alone. She stopped, looked around. Although she saw nothing, she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her body. It made her think of the Indian ghosts rumored to roam the forest. She welcomed them, those vengeful spirits, eager to have them join her cause.
A sound entered the woods. Quick footsteps shush-shushing through the fallen leaves. For a moment, Quincy thought there really were ghosts in the forest, a herd of them coming toward her. She glanced behind her, expecting to see them swooping through the trees. But this ghost was all too human. Quincy heard gasps of exertion, heavier than her own. Soon the sound was right behind her, making her spin.
Joe appeared, awake now and hastily dressed. His sweater was on backward. The tag scraped his Adam’s apple as he stared at Quincy.
“I need to be alone,” she said.
His breath was still heavy, gasping out words. “Don’t do this.”
Quincy turned away. Just looking at him made her queasy. She still felt him inside her. The burning between her legs both shamed and excited her.
“You don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I do,” he said. “And it’s not worth it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve done it. And I felt the same way then that you do now.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I know you want to hurt them,” he said.
The thick darkness that had enveloped Quincy suddenly vanished, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. She saw the knife in her hand and sucked in air. She couldn’t remember why she had picked it up. Had she honestly intended to use it on them? On herself?
Shame burned through her. She shook her head back and forth. The dark forest blurred.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
“Isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t—”
She stopped talking, knowing that whatever she said wouldn’t make sense. Words had failed her.