Page 67

67

Riley

“DOESN’T SALLY DAVIE WORK at the sheriff’s office with your mom’s boyfriend?” Evelyn tried to rub away the new name on Riley’s arm, but like the others, the ink didn’t smear. It appeared to be under her skin. They’d all watched the name appear, first faint, barely visible, then it darkened.

Riley started scratching it without realizing she was even doing it. It itched as bad as the others. No, worse.

Evelyn pulled her hand away. “Stop. You’re going hurt yourself.”

“I want it to go away!”

“I know,” the girl told her. “I think I would, too.”

Robby gave Riley’s arm a quick glance, then started down the path again. “It’s called dermatographia. Come on, we should keep moving.”

He didn’t offer any kind of explanation or definition, just threw the word out there like they should already know what it meant. As if it were as common as pizza.

Mason shrugged and chased after him.

Evelyn pursed her lips, looked like she wanted to say something else, and changed her mind. Still holding Riley by the arm, she pulled her along behind the others.

They reached the small clearing and Roy Buxton’s cabin ten minutes later.

His truck was in the gravel driveway, and although it was warm for October, there was a thin line of white smoke drifting up from his chimney.

The four of them crouched down in the bushes at the tree line.

“What exactly do we tell him?” Mason whispered to Evelyn. “Hey there, your name appeared on this girl’s arm, so we figured we’d walk all the way out here and let you know. Oh, and we busted into the water tower and messed with your stuff. Figured we’d confess to that, too, while we’re here.”

“We could tell him we were hiking in the woods, heard gunshots, got scared, and came here when we spotted his cabin,” Evelyn offered. “Please protect us, grown-up, sir. We’re helpless children alone in the woods.”

“Yeah, that will work … if he’s sober.”

“Oh, I’m sober,” a gruff voice said from behind them. “And you all are trespassing.”

They turned together and found Roy Buxton standing there with a shotgun, the barrel pointed at Mason. “How ’bout you roll that baseball bat over to me before you do something stupid.”