It makes such perfect sense. I can’t believe I never saw it until now.

The night it happened, Shane dropped me off almost right in front of Tim’s house. He never used to do that. And Tim just happened to be outside, in his yard. They must have figured I would invite him along. And if I hadn’t, Tim would have finagled an invitation.

As soon as we got to the farmhouse, even though they claimed to hate each other, the two of them were suddenly deep in quiet conversation. I remember the way they kept looking at each other throughout the evening. I thought it was because they hated each other, but in retrospect, it was more than that.

Shane was the only one who somehow knew Tim had dated Tracy Gifford. We were all shocked he knew about it. But of course he knew. They probably killed her together. She was their practice run for that night.

And then after we found Brandon dead, Chelsea and I left Shane and Tim alone in the living room. It was almost too perfect for them. Shane went outside, giving Tim a chance to slip up to Kayla’s room and finish her off.

And the second Chelsea and I split up, Shane tried to strangle me in the living room. I had believed I tripped over Tim’s body in the living room, but it was so dark—I must have tripped on something else while Tim was lurking in the shadows. And while my windpipe was being crushed, Tim went up to Shane’s bedroom to simultaneously take care of Chelsea—the sound of thunder almost masked the sound of her screams. I never quite understood when the killer had time to get rid of Chelsea, but now it all makes sense.

When they realized I escaped the house, they must have done some quick thinking. It was obvious the tiny stab wound in Tim’s belly was not meant to kill him. It was meant to make it look like he was a victim. Same deal with the bump on Shane’s scalp. They were just pretending to be unconscious. Maybe the plan was to hope I never saw the face of the person who choked me, blame the entire massacre on a drifter, and claim the footprints had been washed away.

But then when I blamed it all on Shane, Tim flipped. He turned on Shane, going along with my story in order to save his own ass. It must’ve driven Shane crazy, but what could he do? If he told the truth, it would be admitting he was a murderer.

Lucky for Shane, Tim couldn’t keep from killing again.

My knees buckle beneath me, and I barely make it to the chair before I collapse. Shane is crazy. He tried to kill me that night—I have no doubt it was him anymore. And now he is out in the woods with my son.

Our son.

My hands are shaking almost too badly to get my phone out of my coat pocket. I’ve got to get Shane and Josh back here, and I can’t let Shane know that I know what he did. As soon as we get back into town, I’ll go straight to the police. I’ll tell them everything I know.

The phone rings a gut-clenching five times before Shane’s voice comes on the other line: “Hi, Brooke.”

He sounds so normal. He doesn’t sound like a murderer. I can’t let on what I know. “Hey. Are you guys heading back soon?”

“Pretty soon,” Shane says vaguely. “We’re having a lot of fun out here building that snowman.”

“That’s great.” I try to keep my voice steady and normal. How does my voice usually sound? I can’t even remember. “But it’s getting late. You should head back.

“Late? It’s barely midafternoon.”

“It’s just… it’s cold out. I don’t want Josh to get sick.” “He’s fine. He’s all bundled up.”

“Still. I think it’s better if you head back pretty soon. You know?”

There’s a long pause on the other line. “No, I don’t know. I’m just trying to spend a little time with my son, Brooke. You know, the one I haven’t seen in ten years and I didn’t even know existed.”

“Shane,” I breathe. “Listen—”

“No, you listen, Brooke.” His tone is clipped—I have destroyed any advantage I had. “I missed ten years. Ten years. You didn’t even tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

“A little late for that, isn’t it?” He snorts. “But don’t worry. Now that I’m here, we’re going to be making up for some lost time. And maybe you’ll see what it’s like to miss out.”

“Shane…” I stand up from the chair, my heart pounding. I hurry in the direction of the door to the farmhouse. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know, Brooke.”

I get outside the front door of the farmhouse. I squint into the woods, in the direction Shane and Josh disappeared. I can’t see anything—just blinding white. Where did they go?

“Could we please talk about this at home?” I beg him. “I understand how you’re feeling, but we can work this out. I just want to be a family again.” I reach into my coat pocket for the keys to my Toyota. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come pick you guys up.”

I’m going to drive along the road until I see them. I’m going to find them if it’s the last thing I do.

Except where are my keys?

“I think it will be hard for you to pick us up,” Shane says, “since I have the keys to the Toyota.”

“But…” I keep checking my pockets, certain he’s got to be wrong. All I can find are balled-up tissues. “Why?”

“I think you know why, Brooke.”

This can’t be happening. I can’t be the one responsible for having unleashed this monster and letting him wander into the woods with my son. This is going to be another one of those dreams that I’ll wake up from in a cold sweat.

Wake up, Brooke!

I race down the steps to the front door and slip on the last one. My legs slide out from under me, and a sharp pain jabs my right ankle. My phone has fallen out of my hands and is lying beside me in the snow. I snatch it up.

“Shane,” I gasp. “Please… let’s talk about this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be back eventually.” Before I have a second to feel relieved, he adds, “After all, I need to make sure you suffer for what you did.”

“Shane…”

“I wonder,” he says, “if you’ll scream louder than Tracy Gifford did.” My mouth drops open. I try to speak but no words come out. “Goodbye, Brooke.” I can almost hear him smiling on the other line.

“Or should I say, see you later.”

Through the phone, I can hear my son’s voice. His laughter. I might never hear him laugh again.

“Shane!” I cry. “Please—”

But it’s too late. The line is dead.

I try calling him back, but it immediately goes to voicemail. Shane isn’t bringing Josh back. I don’t know where he is, but he knows I have figured out his game. I have lost my advantage. And even if he comes back eventually to try to hurt me, he’ll be smart about it. He’s going to wait a long time—until the heat is off.

For some reason, the thought of facing off against Shane doesn’t scare me. What scares me is what’s going to happen to my son. I can’t let that monster get away with this.

I grab onto the railing of the stairs to haul myself to my feet. The second I try to put weight on my right ankle, it screams in pain. It’s definitely sprained, possibly broken. I’m afraid to pull off my boots to assess the damage, and it won’t do any good, anyway. It won’t help me find Shane and Josh.

I type 911 into my phone with shaking fingers. He won’t get away with taking Josh. There will be an amber alert, they will find him, and Shane will go back to prison. He doesn’t even have a car—he may have taken my keys, but the Toyota is still right here. The police will find them. I’m sure of it.

Except when I try to connect the call, it won’t go through. I squint down at the screen of my phone.

No service.

It’s almost too much of a coincidence that my service cut off just when Shane hung up with me. Does he have some sort of blocker to prevent cell phones from working? Is that what he and Tim did that night eleven years ago, to ensure none of us could call for help?

What am I going to do? If I have no cell service and no vehicle, my best bet is to walk to the main road. But I’m not sure I can even put weight on my ankle.

I have no choice though. Even if I’m walking on a broken ankle, it doesn’t matter. I have to do this for Josh. I can’t let that monster steal him and do God knows what to him.

I put some weight on my right ankle. The pain is almost blinding, but I push through it. For Josh. I’m doing this for Josh.

I limp down the road, every step like a knife stabbing me in the ankle. I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but I’m going to do it. I’m not going to stop moving until I get to the main road, and then I’m going to flag down a car.

But to my shock and relief, I see a car coming down the road, right toward me. It’s a green SUV, like the one Margie drives. Oh, thank God. I don’t have to keep walking on my possibly broken ankle. I wave my hands in the air like I did that night eleven years ago. The SUV skids to a halt.

“Help me!” I scream. “My son has been kidnapped! Please help!

Please!”

The driver’s side door opens up. To my utter shock, Margie gets out of the car, her gray eyebrows knitted together. “Brooke!” she cries. “Are you okay?”

What a strange coincidence that Margie would happen to be coming down this road right now. But I can’t dwell on that. There’s no time.

“Josh has been kidnapped!” I manage as I limp toward her. “He’s in the woods somewhere. We need to call the police. He’s in terrible danger.”

Margie’s eyes drop to my feet. “What happened? You’re limping.”

“I slipped on the snow.” I am mildly irritated that I need to explain this to her when there is something so urgent happening. “I’m not getting any service. Can you see if your phone works so we can call the police?”

“Of course!” Margie reaches into the car and pulls out her giant purse. She rifles around until she finds her phone. “Oh fudge, there’s no service.”

I expected that. “Fine, then we’ll have to drive to the police station.

Let’s go—now.”

Margie swivels her head to look out at the woods. “Are you sure he’s in danger? I mean, he’s with his father. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Margie—” I start to say, but then I stop myself.

I never told Margie that Shane was Josh’s father. I never even told her I was with Shane. And I certainly never told her where I was today. Even though she doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised to see me here.

“Margie?” I say.

Her lips curl slightly. “That’s not actually my name. We have met before, and you do know me by my real name, but I doubt you would

remember it. Of course you wouldn’t.” She titters. “In fact, I’ll tell you what, Brooke. If you can tell me my real first name, I’ll take you right to Shane and Josh.”

I stare at her wrinkled face, trying desperately to place her. While I’m trying to figure it out, she sifts around in her purse again. But this time, instead of her phone, she pulls out a gun.

And she points it right at me.