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A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and glanced to either side. There was nobody around—nobody to notice him or to pay any attention. It was such a nice neighborhood, this one, and the house before him was tucked away in one of its quietest little curls. It felt like he knew every cobblestone by now. He had spent so much time on this street since his release from prison that it might as well have belonged to him.

He reached for the door handle with his good hand.

There was a slight click—the sound of something slotting into place—and then the door opened easily into the front room he had stared at from outside the window so often.

He listened.

Music was beating softly somewhere below him.

But the little girl was sitting on the couch, just as she always was, with that scarf of hers wrapped around her. The curtains across the window were drawn, and the light from the television flickered over her. She looked up at him curiously as he stepped inside, as though she’d been expecting someone else, but not with any real concern. That didn’t surprise Hyde. She was a brave child, this one—or at least, she hadn’t learned yet how awful the world could be. Or perhaps it was even simpler. That on some level she understood that she had no right to exist and a part of her welcomed an end to it.

It had all started after that fire he set thirty years ago.

Ever since then, everything had feltwrongto Hyde. The cast of the light; the tilt of the world. There was a voice in the back of his mind that spoke in a language he didn’t recognize. The whole of existence had seemed to be leaning on him—pushing him to do something, and while he couldn’t quite understand it, the voice seemed to be insisting that things were not how they were supposed to be. That a mistake had been made and it was his job to correct it.

It was hard to remember now, but he was sure there had been a moment when the voice had become clear, and he had acted upon it.

Or tried to, at least.

But then there had been that time in prison afterward when the men came into his cell. His thoughts had been scrambled after that. The voice had been just as insistent as before but now it was even more garbled and indecipherable. All he had really been sure about since was that there wassomethingthat needed to be put right. He had been doing his best to do what was required of him—to follow the voice as best he could—and even if this little girl here wasn’t quite the person he was looking for, it felt like she was close enough.

The music was still beating beneath him.

Hyde walked across to where the little girl was sitting.

“Red car?” she said.

She recognized him. That made everything settle a little for him. Deep down, she really did understand, and that would make this whole thing easier for them both.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “That’s right.”

“Daddy?”

“No,” he said. “Not Daddy.”

But then he realized she hadn’t been talking to him at all—that in fact she was looking over his shoulder toward the closed curtains by the front door. And then the side of his head bloomed with white fire, and suddenly he was on his side on the floor. He rolled over onto his back. A man—the father—was standing above him, rubbing his wrist.

The man looked to one side.

“It’s okay, sweetie.”

The words seemed to be coming from far too high above, as though Hyde himself was trapped underwater. The voice in the back of his mind grew louder—desperate and angry, and then howling with frustration and rage that drowned out everything in Michael Hyde except the impulse to fight back. To do what needed to be done. He had to get up. He had to—

The man’s foot on his free hand.

He was taking out his cell phone, still talking to his child.

It’s okay, sweetie.

Nobody’s going to hurt you while I’m here.

Forty-nine

Laurence stared up at the fire burning high above him.

It had taken hold properly now, and the entire top floor of the house was ablaze, the flames stretching out into the wings on either side and beginning to lick their way eagerly downward. Flickers of light and shadow played across the windows of the floor below. He watched as the glass in one of them shattered and billows of black smoke began unfolding out.

Beside him, Pettifer glanced back toward the tree line.