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“This will be hard to look at, Carrie.”

Denise opened her laptop and cued it to the folder containing the crime scene photos.

She’d arranged a room for them at the Clear River Public Library. They were alone with the door closed. Denise had drawn the blinds on the exterior window. The interior glass window opened to the main section where, far across the room, preschool children sat on the floor for story time. A librarian was reading Where the Wild Things Are . Denise angled her computer. Only she and Carrie could see the monitor.

“Are you sure you want to start with this?”

Carrie hesitated, then nodded.

“All right, brace yourself.”

A few keystrokes and clicks, then images exploded on the screen and Carrie drew a sharp intake of breath.

Photo after photo of the body, a female, splayed on the ground in the woods. Her blood-drenched clothing partially torn away, she was missing a shoe and her hair was a confused mass, her face turned. In close-ups, her half-closed eyes looked to the earth as if she were ready to sleep.

This was Abby.

Denise continued, slowly clicking through the next series of crime scene photos, which showed the second body, discovered several yards from the first.

Erin.

Again, her clothes were mangled, in disarray, saturated with blood.

So much blood. Too much blood.

Her legs were sprawled, frozen like she was midstride while running. Her head was turned as if looking back before death, her mouth slightly open. Through the hair webbed on her face, Carrie met her eyes, empty of life yet staring with laser accuracy into hers.

Telegraphing the truth.

You were with us. You were here—

But I don’t—I can’t…

Alarm clanged in the back of Carrie’s mind…propelling her back years…back to…the woods…and…

…gunshots…branches clutching her…running for her life…

A hand on Carrie’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Denise asked.

Carrie clawed her way back, composing herself.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

Carrie glanced to the story circle, the children absorbed with the Wild Things. She reached for her thermos of water, drank some, then breathed deeply.

“Let’s keep going.”

Denise used a sharing app to connect two pairs of headphones to her laptop so they could listen and watch the recorded interviews together. For close to forty-five minutes, they watched the most intense segments of Eve Trainor and Ben McGraw questioning Carrie about the murders. Then they removed their headphones and, bringing up reports, statements and her notes, Denise walked Carrie through a timeline.

“You didn’t really know Abby and Erin, right? They were seniors and you were a junior?”

“Yes.”

“The whole thing first began with the incident with them that day in the cafeteria.” Denise referred to her notes and various case reports on her screen. “What do you remember about that?”

“They were picking on a shy girl, Lanna.”

“Lanna Fendelson.”

“They were calling Lanna names, taunting her. It upset me and I confronted them.”

“You were then targeted, teased for being the sheriff’s daughter. They called you ‘narc,’ bumped you in the hall, that kind of thing.”

“Yes.”

“And not long after that—” Denise clicked to statements from other students “—there was the Halloween party at the old dance hall, which you attended in costume.”

Carrie nodded. “Everyone was dressed up. I went as a witch.”

Looking at her notes, Denise said, “Did you talk to Abby and Erin? They were there.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Was there any tension? Any problems with anyone?”

“I can’t remember. I don’t think so.”

“Somehow, a day later, the three of you ended up in the woods. Do you recall why?”

Carrie shook her head.

Denise bit her bottom lip, thinking, consulting a report.

“They checked Abby’s phone, Erin’s phone, your phone, and computers belonging to all three of you, and found no communication relating to your meeting in the woods. Was it discussed or planned in conversation, or through an intermediary? Was it spontaneous, a chance meeting?”

Carrie shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

Denise looked at Carrie, tapped her pen to her chin.

“As you know, detectives had some theories and—” she nodded to the screen “—they believed you went to the woods to settle a score with Abby and Erin.”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“The cause of death was gunshot wounds, and you had access to your father’s guns—”

“Donnie Ray Hyde confessed.”

Denise stared at Carrie, attempting to decipher her tone. Carrie drank more water. Then keys clicked. Denise opened Hyde’s official confession on her laptop. After they’d reread it, Denise exhaled, summing it up.

“Hyde said he was drinking and doing drugs with his brother, wandered into the woods with his gun and was overcome with dark urges. He said he put on a mask. Do you remember seeing anyone?”

Carrie held her head in her hands. “No.”

“Carrie, has this case material helped you remember anything?”

Her thoughts swirling, she turned to the reading circle.

The children were gone now.

What do I remember?

Carrie thought of the librarian reading Where the Wild Things Are . She remembered that it was a story about a boy sailing to an island where monsters lived…and something monstrous had happened to her. As memory pulled her back again to Wild Pines Forest, she was…

…running for her life…off the cliff edge…the river rising, swallowing her…the rushing current slamming her against rocks…everything going dark…waking in the hospital…to a face looking down at her…

“Dad.”

Carrie’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a whimper, maybe a revelation.

“What is it, Carrie?” Denise asked. “Something about your father?”

Carrie shook her head.

“I remember being scared to death, running through the woods and falling in the river, losing consciousness, then being in the hospital with my dad looking at me.”

That’s all she could say right now. The full truth was that a memory, a new one , was emerging—hazy but so horrifying that Carrie had blocked it.

“Are you okay?”

Carrie nodded.

“It seemed like you were having a breakthrough. Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I’d like to try something that could help.” Denise’s face, creased with concern, searched Carrie’s. “But only if you think you can handle it.”