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Carrie arrived home from the school unable to think clearly.

After unbuckling Emily, she got her into the house, changed her and then put her down in her room for her nap. Carrie checked the time, then went into her office.

She needed to go over notes for her work video call coming up with clients in California. Struggling to keep busy, she tried to get past her visit to the school, but it was all she could think about until she sat stock-still, covering her face with her hands.

It’s happening, just like Dr. Bernay said. The cafeteria memory with Abby and Erin was crystal clear. They bullied Lanna, and it made me so angry—I—I— What happened? I know that’s a memory of the days leading up to the woods and their deaths. What did I do?

Carrie’s fingers were trembling.

Take it easy , she told herself. Dr. Bernay had said that healing would happen in stages, that she had to gain control, that she could handle it.

The doorbell rang, startling her.

Carrie went to the control panel of their home security system and looked at the small monitor for the front door camera. A woman stood at her porch. She looked to be in her midthirties, wearing a sleeveless denim top, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, sunglasses perched on her head, bag slung over her shoulder. There was a white SUV behind her, parked on the street in front of the house.

“Yes?” Carrie said through the system.

“Hi, I’m Denise Diaz with the Clear River Chronicle . I’d like to talk to Carrie, Carrie Conway.”

“What’s this about?”

“Are you Carrie?”

Carrie squeezed her eyes shut for a half second, then glanced down the hall, relieved Emily’s door was closed. Steeling herself, she went to the front door and opened it. Denise Diaz straightened slightly as the two women assessed each other. The reporter was pretty, in a rugged way; she had a nice figure and was Carrie’s height.

“Are you Carrie?”

“Yes. How did you find where we live?”

Denise’s face held the look of a sharp-eyed journalist who’d seen much of this world.

“Word got to us that you had moved back. Carrie, I’d like to talk to you about the case. It’s still unsolved. It’s been thirteen years. The killer hasn’t been arrested. I’d like to do a feature on it that would include your reflections.”

Carrie began shaking her head slowly.

“A story with your input could jog someone’s memory. It might even lead to solving the case.”

“No, I’m not prepared to talk about it.”

“I understand, but please, think about it, Carrie. Listen, I apologize for showing up like this at your door, for not calling ahead or sending a message. But I wanted to ask you in person.”

“It’s still no. I’m sorry.” Carrie grasped her door handle. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

“Hold on.” Diaz reached into her bag, then handed Carrie a business card. “Just think about it, please, Carrie.”

Carrie took her card, then retreated into her home.

Inside, she closed her fist around the business card and slammed her back to the door, clenching her eyes shut.