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The boy blinks. Turns his head at last and seems to see us for the first time. His fingers flex where they still hover above his shoulder. It’s like the beat of a moth’s wings.

“Don’t you dare—” Jeremy begins, balling up his hand in a warning fist. But there was never any fight in the boy, not really, and he only stares placidly at us.

“Who are you?” he asks.

We glance at each other, like we’re deciding who should speak, but we know the answer before we ask the question. “My name is Sara,” I say. “These are my friends.”

“Sara,” he says. “Becca’s Sara?”

Behind me, someone hisses. I barely hear over the wind-rush sound in my ears. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I’m Becca’s sister. I’m Sara. You know her? You’ve seen her?”

“Becca,” he says, like he’s trying to remember. His eyes close. “Yes. I met Becca. She came by here. Or someone met Becca, and I think I’m still someone. But am I the same someone? Or are they me? Or are we someone else?”

“What’s your name?” I ask. I kneel. Out of arm’s reach, again. I’m not making that mistake twice.

He sighs. “I think I was Bryan or Isaac. I wasn’t Grace and I wasn’t Zoe, so I was either Bryan or Isaac. Bryan met the bramble man, so I must be Isaac. Yes. Yes, I think that’s right. I’m Isaac.” He looks up, like finding his name has meant finding himself, filling his skin again where it was hollow a moment ago.

“Isaac,” I say. “We’re looking for Becca. For my sister. Where is she?”

He frowns. “She’s—I’m sorry. It’s hard to think. To remember. She wasn’t with us. The us who came to the road together. We got to the fourth gate. Or was it the fifth? No, it was the fourth. We went through the Liar’s Gate and the town and the marsh and we got to the mansion, and Grace—she wanted to keep going, but I needed to go back because—I was looking for Zoe. Zoe wasn’twith us anymore, and I needed to find her, and Grace said we had to go to the lighthouse, but I couldn’t go without Zoe.”

“The gates. You mean the seven gates, the ones we’re supposed to get through?”

“Yes. No,” he says. He shakes his head. “Seven gates. Seven gates before the city, but the city is drowned. The Liar’s Gate is first. If you’re here, you went through it. You’re here. You’re Becca’s Sara. Or are you Sara’s Becca? Which you are you?”

“I’m Sara,” I say. “We came through a gate. We came through the darkness.”

“Did you?” he asks. He looks between us, peering into our faces. “Are you sure you’re you? Sometimes you’re someone else instead. I think I’m Isaac, but I might be Bryan, but Bryan met the bramble man. Or maybe I met the bramble man, and Bryan is here, and I’m somewhere else.” He laughs. He sobs. He covers his eyes with his hands.

I look at the others, dread and pity curdling together in my gut. This is worse than the dark. This is worse than the crow. “Seven gates,” I say. “You said there are seven gates. What are they? Please, Isaac. We need your help to find my sister.”

He nods. “The Liar’s Gate. The town. The mist in the marsh. The manor. We didn’t know the rest except the lighthouse. The lighthouse is sixth. Or maybe fifth. Go through the gates. Don’t break the rules. Bad things happen when you break the rules. I came back for Zoe, but I couldn’t find her. I waited. I waited and she never came, but Becca, she came. With a boy. She told me things. Stories. She told me she had a sister. She tried to helpme remember, but there’s nowhere for memory to live anymore.”

“How long have you been here, Isaac?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. Maybe he can’t answer. “You should come with us,” I say. “You can help us find Becca.”

He shakes his head, a whine in the back of his throat. “No. No, I have to stay. If I’m Isaac, I have to stay. I’m waiting for Zoe.”

“You can’t stay. Come on,” I say, holding out my hand to him.

“Sara,” Anthony says, shaking his head. He points his flashlight at Isaac’s back, where it presses against the iron bars, which don’t rise straight into the air but curve and branch. Branch into him. Through him. Puncturing his sides bloodlessly. Punching through his spine, his shoulder blades. One sharp end curling up just below his clavicle like a picture hook, almost invisible against his dark sweatshirt.

“I’m waiting for Zoe,” he says. He smiles at me. “You’re Sara.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m Sara.”

“Good. She said you’d come. She said she left you a map.”

His head droops. His eyes close. His breath settles back into that rhythm, in-out, in-out, like a wounded thing.

“A map?” I say. “What do you mean, Becca left me a map?” But he doesn’t answer.

The notebook.

“We should go,” Anthony says. I nod. We need to look at the notebook but I don’t want to do it here, standing right next to Isaac. Poor Isaac, with the gate growing through him and his own name slippery in his grasp.

“Who wants to open it?” Jeremy asks. No one volunteers. “Let’s see if Toyota does the trick.” He pulls a car key from hispocket and steps up to the gate, giving Isaac as wide a berth as he can. The key slots in perfectly. He pushes the creaking gate open wide. No darkness this time. Just the road. We start to trail through. I wait as the others pass. I want to be last. I want to stay with Isaac as long as possible.

Trina gives him a pinched, sorrowful look as she approaches the gate.