Page 113

Someone was screaming, an ear-piercing, skin-crawling scream. The kind only a woman in serious shit could make.

John slipped and slid in the snow, tearing after Cary. It sounded like it was coming from Laney’s room.

Like he was in slow-motion, he felt himself moving through the garage into the house, the back of Cary’s blonde head disappearing through the French doors into the basement hallway, John following him like he was a fish on a string, bobbing along behind a fishing kayak

There was a shovel on the ground in the hall, and Jerry’s boy, Shane, was standing frozen in the doorway of her bedroom. Cary blew past him and into Laney’s room.

The screaming didn’t stop.

“Shane,” John heard himself saying, “what’s happening…”

Shane was white as a ghost, staring into that room. He didn’t answer him.

John stepped forward and into the tiny bedroom. His body backed up involuntarily until he hit the wall, a bulletin board crashing to the floor behind him.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”