“I should thank you,” he says. “It seems right that we end it here, back where it started.”

I don’t understand what he’s talking about, and then suddenly, I do.

“What did you mean when you said this worked last time?”

The Magpie Man smiles and says, “I think you know.”

The suicide in the cemetery on the day before Mom died wasn’t suicide. It was murder.

“You’d killed before,” I say.

He crouches down next to me and says, “It wasn’t the same. I felt nothing. And there was so much blood. I had to burn my clothes.”

The reds and yellows and greens—the backyard fire Mom was trying to stare into. He saw her watching, he took her photo, and that night, he took her life.

“She didn’t see anything,” I say. “It was blurry. She didn’t know what she was looking at.”

He looks confused, then says, “I got rid of her phone.”

“It wasn’t on her phone. It was a camera.”

For the first time, the Magpie Man looks genuinely scared, and as he turns away, I seize my chance.

I stand and run, and for a few seconds, there’s no sound except my breathing and my feet against the ground. Then he’s shouting, and I start weaving between the gravestones, running as fast as I can.

Not stopping, I reach into my bra and pull out Dad’s phone and dial 999.

I hear the Magpie Man behind me, his own heavy breathing ripping through the darkness, and I dart to my right and start moving slower, trying not to make a sound.

“Nine-nine-nine. What’s your emergency?”

I hear him stop, the crunch of the leaves on the ground slow and deliberate, as if he heard the operator speaking into my ear.

If I reply, he will hear me, and I won’t have time to tell them where I am, let alone why.

The woman starts to repeat herself so I hang up, feeling my way between the stones, praying that I’m moving away from him with each careful step.

“What do you expect to happen, Jessica?” he calls. “I will find you.”

I hear him walking toward me, too slowly to know exactly where I am.

I stick to the shadows, terrified the moonlight will give me away. Every sound feels louder in the darkness, each snap of a twig like thunder in my ringing ears.

His footsteps crack against the uncut grass, and I freeze, my fists balled up so tight my fingernails dig into the skin. The pain focuses me, and I close my eyes, listening for his movements, figuring out exactly which part of the darkness he’s coming from.

I’m too scared to breathe deeply. Instead, my breath comes out small and jagged, my chest growing tighter until I’m sure I’ll explode.