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The darkness crawls over Nick’s skin. Vanessa steps up to him. She puts a hand on his chest, rises to her tiptoes, and kisses him on the cheek.

He dissolves. She steps through the flurry of ash as every crow in the forest takes off in a storm of wings. No one moves. They stare, unfocused, into the forest. Except for Miranda, who watches the imposter, her anger electric. But she doesn’t interfere as Vanessa steps back onto the road and points.

VANESSA: Look, a crow.

They raise their flashlights, illuminating the last remaining crow.

CROW: Oh God. Oh God, what is that?

The crow screams again, and then flings itself into the air.

MEL: This is fucked up.

VANESSA: It was just a bird.

At the edge of the frame, Vanessa looks at Miranda, and presses a finger to her lips.

The phone swings as Kyle lowers it. The video ends.

INTERVIEW

SARA DONOGHUE

May 9, 2017

Sara’s hand is pressed to her mouth so hard that the skin around it blanches. Ashford closes the laptop.

ASHFORD: Miss Donoghue?

SARA: No. No, that can’t be—no, that’s not—

Her words devolve into incoherence, and she moans, rocking forward. Then she shoves back from the table, shooting to her feet. Her chair clatters to the ground. The table skids five inches, feet screeching on the concrete floor, and Ashford jerks out of his chair to avoid being struck. Abby steps forward, drawing the syringe from her pocket, but Ashford holds out a restraining hand and she stops, eyes fixed on Sara.

Sara covers her face with her hands and huddles with one shoulder against the wall, her breathing ragged.

SARA: We left him.

ASHFORD: Nick Dessen?

SARA: Nick. We left—we forgot him. We... how did we forget him?

ASHFORD: Do you remember him now?

Sara’s hands drop. She frowns, looking past Ashford, eyes unfocused.

SARA: I—no. Yes. I’m not sure. I remember something, but... She took him from us. And Vanessa—oh God. Poor Vanessa.

She scrubs tears from her cheeks. Then she sees Abby, still with the syringe out, though her arm hangs relaxed at her side.

SARA: What the hell is that?

ASHFORD: Just a mild sedative. We weren’t certain how you would respond. Sometimes this sort of thing provokes... adverse reactions.

SARA: What kind of adverse reactions?

ASHFORD: Seizures. Self-harm. Sudden violence.

Sara laughs nervously. She picks her chair up and takes her seat, sneaking another glance at Abby.