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Trembling in a dreamlike trance, Carrie dressed in the bloodstained clothes.

Foul, ill fitting, they felt wrong against her skin. Shuddering with waves of revulsion and horror, she was stabbed with a question.

What happened to the woman who owns these clothes?

Fearing she might never see Emily again, Carrie choked back a sob, then froze.

A tiny, weak noise sounded in the darkness.

She turned to her door, moved her head to the slot. Holding her breath, she listened with every fiber of her being. Seconds slipped by, then, finding its way out of the gloom like a wounded animal stumbling from the forest, the noise came again. Faint, pained.

“Hello…” The soft voice of a younger woman.

“Hello?” Carrie responded, louder, stronger.

“Can you get me out of here?” the voice begged. The voice broke into a rasping sob. “Please!”

“Where are you?”

“Locked in a room.”

“Me, too. I’m Carrie, who are you?”

“Joyce-Anne.” She sniffed; her voice got stronger. “Joyce-Anne Gemsen. I’m from Oklahoma City.”

Oh, God , Carrie thought, her heart racing.

“What happened, Joyce-Anne? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.”

Joyce-Anne sobbed. Carrie did, too, thinking of Emily.

“I was with Dylan, my boyfriend,” Joyce-Anne struggled to say, “at a swap meet in Pauls Valley. He bought a car part with the two grand that we’d saved for our wedding. We fought about it. I stomped out of the truck stop to the highway. I’d had some tequila, a little pot, and I wasn’t thinking. I was so pissed at Dylan. I was stupid. But pretty soon I wanted to go back. I waved down a car, never got a good look at the driver, but he was nice, at first. Said he saw us in the truck stop diner and he’d take me back.

“The liar kept driving. I told him to take me back, but he reaches over and I felt this shock at my neck. My body spasmed, then I couldn’t move. He put me in the back, under a blanket, taped me up. He drove and drove and drove. I was in and out of consciousness. At one point he stopped, took my shirt and forced me to wear another shirt, a pink one. Maybe to disguise me. I don’t know. When I struggled, he shocked me again. He was rough about it, a freak. We drove and drove again. I was angry. I wanted to fight back. I was loosening my bindings. When I got free, I jumped out. God, it hurt. I’ve never been so scared. It was raining. I ran right into another car. I flew over it, hurt my head, legs, ribs. It was so painful, but I was out of my mind. I crawled from the ditch, ran down the road, praying for a car to help but—but—”

“It’s okay, take a breath, it’s okay.”

“The car that stopped was him again. Now I’m here. I don’t know how long it’s been. God, we’ve got to get out!”

“Okay, okay. Where are we?”

“In Hell.”

“Joyce-Anne, who is he?”

A long moment passed.

“He calls himself ‘The Other,’ and his voice is chilling. He’s a monster, makes me wear clothes of dead women, saying it cleanses my spirit, prepares me—” She paused, before a terrified whisper. “He does things to me.”

A sharp noise from above, metal clanking on metal.

“He’s coming!”