Page 97

It’s the forest where Heather died.

No, I don’t want to be here. Take me back to—

A twig cracks. As I turn, I glimpse Heather’s body through the trees. She’s on her back, with her stomach split open, guts snaking out.

I turn away sharply.

Wake up. I want to wake—

Another twig crack. I glance over to see a figure slipping through the trees.

The figure is a bit taller than me. Slender, dressed in jeans and a corduroy jacket with sherpa lining. Work boots.

I force my gaze up, over the open jacket and the Nirvana T-shirt, up to the curling dark hair and the Roman nose and the green eyes.

Anton stands there, staring at me. My gaze drops to his hand. He’s clutching a knife, the blade slick with blood.

No.

That isnotwhat happened.

Yes, twice that night I heard something and saw a shadowy figure, but it wasn’t even enough to make out size or shape. I did not see Anton.

The dream rewinds, and this time, it’s correct. I only catch movement and think I spot a shadow in the forest.

The scene replays, and I grit my teeth. Fine, I’ll play the memory through. That’s obviously what my subconscious wants.

I head for the path, moving as carefully as I did that night, not wanting to alert whoever I’d seen in the forest. I make it into the woods. I’m walking, so slow and measured—

The rustle of undergrowth.

I wheel. The figure is right there.

That’s not what happened. Keep going.

I can’t move. I’m transfixed by that figure. My feet turn against my will, and I take a step and then another. The dark shape stays where it is.

I just need to get closer. See who it is.

Another step. Another—

The figure lunges, and a face flies from the darkness. The same face I saw in the online photograph earlier.

Roddy Silva.

His eyes meet mine, and his lips twitch in a quarter smile. “I will cut you open, and I will gut you.”

I turn and I run, even as the grown-up part of my brain screams that this is a dream. I never saw Roddy. Roddy never chased me.

Only he’s chasing me now, and I’m running for my life, and I can’t breathe. I can’tbreathe.

I try to go faster, but my lungs are on fire, and his pounding footfalls are getting closer, and I can feel him there. Right behind me, and I’m going to die. He’s going to stab me because I can’t run any faster. My lungs will burst, and I will fall, and he will rip me open, and I won’t even be dead when he does it.

Heather had been alive when I found her. She’d been alive when someone gutted her—

There’s something ahead. Someone on the path.

Patrice! Yes, Patrice is here.