Thomas rolled away and sat up. Barbie Man was lying on the ground, his left hand impaled through the palm and stuck into the earth. He looked like a pinned insect with just one wing, something in a grotesque natural history museum. He was trying to sit up but couldn’t. He twisted onto his side and reached toward the knife, but Thomas got there first and pulled it out, throwing it across the lawn toward the woods. Blood spurted from Barbie Man’s palm and dripped from his hair where the dart had hit his neck. Had Thomas stabbed him? I handed Thomas the gun.

Barbie Man’s nose was still streaming, and he tried to use his right hand to support himself but collapsed back onto the elbow.

“Where is she?” Thomas asked. “Where?”

Wilson mumbled something on the ground.

“Car,” Thomas said. “Libby, check his car. By the shed.”

The Camaro was backed into the carport at the side of the McVays’ shed. When I opened the door on the driver’s side, an interior light came on. The car smelled of cigarette smoke and patchouli. A yellow rabbit’s foot hung from the rearview mirror. On the passenger seat was a black comb, white hair and lint caught in its teeth, and a pink plastic mirror like a child would use, with a small plastic bag of powder sitting on it.

I kneeled on the driver’s seat and looked into the back and on the floor. I thought of Ellen sitting inside here with him that night, how terrified she must have been. Where was she?

“She’s not here,” I shouted.

“Check the trunk.”

I went to the back of the car, pushing pine branches out of the way. I paused a second, terrified of what I might find. I lifted the trunk lid. It was empty, just some leaves in the bottom.

“She’s not here.”

I wanted to go kill the man and stamp on the hand where he was bleeding. I walked back toward them. Wilson was lying still. He was breathing, but it didn’t sound right. His eyes were open, and he looked back at me. Barbie Man was propped up on his elbow a few feet away, his hand on the ground, still pumping blood.

“Where is she?” Thomas asked again.

“Fuck you.”

“Libby, shoot him again.”

“You’ll be fucking dead if you do.” Barbie Man tried to sit up further.

Thomas stepped back. “Don’t move,” he said. He motioned me to come over. “Be in front of him in case I have to shoot. Get him in the eye or the front of the neck.”

I pulled another dart from my back pocket and cocked the air gun again. It took several attempts, my hand was shaking so hard.

“Where is she?” I asked. “What did you do to her?” I walked closer, trying to aim.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”