But since he’s already here, it won’t hurt to look. He sighs and, holding on to the truck for support, he picks his way through the broken concrete until he’s on even ground. Three discarded boxcars on concrete blocks sit in a rusty row and Thomas recognizes the car with Soo Line printed across the panels. This was the backdrop for the picture where the three girls were mugging for the photo that showed Jordyn holding the knife. So Jordyn came at least this far into the train yard, Thomas thinks, but still well away from the portion of the tracks where the attack was reported as taking place.

Thomas slowly moves forward, eyes pinned to the earth in front of him. There are coins and pop tabs, an earring, but nothing of real interest.

Thomas approaches the tracks and comes upon a large rust-colored stain in the gravel. Blood, he thinks. This must be the spot. He imagines pint-size Cora Landry cowering, hands above her head warding off blows from the hand wielding the knife. His stomach roils.

No. There is absolutely no way that Jordyn could have done it. None. He can see where the tall grass has been trampled down in one spot. Had the girls gone through the field or was it the real attacker? Hidden behind the thousands of slim stalks, a perfect hiding place in the dark for someone to spy on three young girls. Two, Thomas amends. Jordyn said she wasn’t here. A child nearly died here, Thomas realizes fully, perhaps for the first time since this all began. It makes him feel dirty, complicit, being here.

And if he really thinks about it, he has been. He hid Jordyn’s backpack—her clothing, her shoes—up inside a chimney flue. Had Thomas, in trying to protect Jordyn, made things worse? Made her appear guilty? He needs to get home and pull the backpack from the chimney and take it to the police. They will be able to run tests, examine the contents and prove that Jordyn is innocent. He needs to go home; he needs to make this right.

The sun is just beginning to rise and morning moisture clings to the winter wheat. Thomas reaches into his pocket to retrieve his keys and a small wad of bills comes out with them. The money drifts to the ground and as Thomas bends down they are whisked away by a stiff breeze. Thomas follows the bills into the tall grass and bends over to grab one that has come to rest among the stems.

A metallic glint catches his eye and he bends over and pushes the grass aside to find a small book embossed with the word Journal in silver glitter. Thomas picks up the book; it is wet to the touch and smeared with dirt.