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When Luke got home, Carrie kissed his cheek.

She was holding her purse. Emily was playing with her toys on the living room floor.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’ve got to go out.” Carrie lowered her head, scanning the contents of her purse. “I put lasagna in the oven. It’ll be done when the timer goes off. There’s Caesar salad in the fridge. I cut up meat and vegetables for Emily. Warm it, and feed her when you eat.”

Blocking her and angling his head, Luke gently held Carrie’s shoulders, surveying her reddened eyes, her dampened cheeks.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I just have to run some errands.”

“Now? I just got home.”

“Yes.”

“Carrie, what is it? Is it your dad?”

“I have to pick up some things.” Stepping around him, she went to the door.

“Carrie?”

“I won’t be long.”

Standing at the door, watching his wife drive away, concern prickled at Luke. Turning to Emily, who was chattering and playing, happy as could be, he lifted her into his arms, hugging and kissing her, worry clouding his eyes.

***

The streets of Clear River blurred.

Was moving back home a mistake?

Driving across town, Carrie brushed at tears, her head throbbing as she took in old, familiar buildings—city hall, the post office, the courthouse. Dr. Bernay had been right. Coming back had unblocked memories, and Carrie was piecing together details of the murders, getting closer to the truth. Dr. Bernay was also right about it being painful.

More painful than Carrie could ever have imagined.

***

After Luke and Emily finished dinner, he washed her face, then changed her. She played while he put things in the dishwasher. Luke figured—no, hoped —Carrie would be home soon. Waiting, he put his burner phone and laptop on the kitchen table and resumed working on Joyce-Anne’s case.

Questions webbed in all directions: What was it about money that she and her boyfriend argued over that forced her to walk to the interstate? Would the cell tower warrants provide any leads? Will those records connect to Joyce-Anne’s phone? Why didn’t I report this right away?

Luke was going in circles.

It’s because of LA. I was so ashamed and worried about my PTSD that I messed up. If this nightmare ever ends, I’ll get help. I can’t shake what happened in LA. It’s destroying my judgment. It’s like a war’s going on in my head.

It was underscoring all his failings, including his failure to be a good husband for Carrie at a time when she needed him most.

How could he have been such a horrible, selfish person?

God, please tell me I didn’t kill Joyce-Anne Gemsen.

Luke closed his laptop and thrust his face into his hands.

***

Carrie parked at the entrance to Wild Pines Forest.

The same entrance where she’d met Abby and Erin that day so many years ago.

The last day of their lives.

Carrie turned off the motor and gazed into the dense, dark forest. The truth was in there.

Like a monster.

Waiting for me.

She could hear it, feel it, panting, salivating, inviting her to confront it.

The facts, the scenes she could resurrect, replayed like a high-speed movie.

The cafeteria…three may keep a secret…the Halloween dance…

“Meet us…it’s deadly serious… It’s about your dad…”

But I didn’t trust them. What did I do before going to the woods? The screams…birds screeching…running into the river…

It’s waiting.

In there.

The truth.

Carrie opened her car door. She got out, stood beside her SUV.

Rooted.

Unable to move.

I can’t. I just can’t go in.

She stood there sobbing, great heaving sobs, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but the shrapnel of her own terrifying past…until…

A hand on her shoulder.

Carrie turned to Luke.

There he was, holding Emily.

She stepped into his arms, hugging them both.