I floor the gas pedal again. And again, I see it. The shape on the bicycle. The tendrils of her hair.

This time it doesn’t disappear. I clench my teeth so hard it feels like they’ll shatter. It barely keeps a scream inside.

She’s there. She’s right behind me.

I peel my eyes away from the mirror, back to the road. Just in time.

I’ve reached the last bend. In the distance, the dim light of the house prickles through the trees. And on the pavement right in front of me is a woman.

She’s old, dressed in a flowered nightgown, with a crocheted sweater dangling around her shoulders. Her hair is wild. Her feet are bare. She’s running straight at me, into my headlights. She’s screaming something.

Her mouth is a black, open hole. A hole that I am driving straight into.

I slam on the brakes. The tires screech.

The Nissan comes to a shaking halt. The old woman is still running toward me. I grab the baseball bat, pushing the car door open at the same time. I’m ready for whatever comes.

But the old woman isn’t even looking at me. She’s looking just past me, at the bicycle that’s rolling to a stop.

“They’ve got her!” the woman is screaming. Her eyes are cloudy white, like dusty chunks of ice. “Thea! They got her!”

That’s when a hand like an iron cuff closes around my arm.

Thea

Aunt Mae hasn’t buttoned her sweater. It’s cold and damp out here. The impulse to do it for her crosses my mind, but there’s not time. And I’ve got to keep my grip on Anders’s arm, too.

He gapes at both of us, his mouth shifting, wordless, as I reach out and take the baseball bat from his fist. He’s gripping it as hard as he can, but I don’t have to struggle to pull it away. I toss it into the ditch without looking. My focus is on Aunt Mae. Her terrified face.

“What happened?” I ask her.

“It wasn’t—the dark ones.” Aunt Mae is short of breath and shivering. She presses one veiny hand to her heart, like she’s pushing a bird back through its cage door. “Two kids. About your age. They came to the door. Said they’d broken down out here—and their phones were dead. . . .” Aunt Mae takes another gasping breath. Anders is fighting against my grip, but I barely notice. “And then they grabbed me and pulled me out the front door and locked me outside.”

I glance down at Aunt Mae’s knees. They’re muddy. So are her hands. Her nightdress is grass stained. I can see a scrape on her ankle, bloody and broad.

They knocked her to the ground. Two teenagers against an old woman. Anger pulses inside me.

“Ow,” says Anders.

I guess I’m gripping his arm a little too tight.

“I went all around the house—trying to get back in,” Aunt Mae gasps. “But everything was locked tight. Then I thought to check the shed. And she was gone.” She crumples. “Everything. Everything . . .”