“Don’t know. Come on!” Grabbing her sister’s hand, she started running along what seemed to be a path cutting through a dense thicket of trees. The night was warm and wet, rain falling softly, summer in Louisiana evident in the earthy smell and dense vegetation. From somewhere in the distance she thought she sensed the roll of a river, the smell of water.

There was no moonlight. Clouds blocked some of the stars and snuffed out most of the light.

“We . . . we need to call someone,” Chloe said as they sprinted.

“Good idea. Got your cell?”

“No, but—” The slumbering dog was now awake and barking wildly.

“Neither do I. Just keep moving.”

“But my feet . . .”

“Yeah, I know.” Zoe’s feet hurt, too. They were running barefoot through the woods, not a stitch on, probably getting bitten all over. Although the lane was now overgrown with tall grass, the gravel long driven into the ground, the twin tire tracks were still visible. Zoe stubbed her toe and bit back a curse. The weedy lane had to lead somewhere, she figured, to a county road or private drive or something. Their only course was to follow its winding path through the looming trees.

Every once in a while she glanced over her shoulder, worried that somehow the freak would escape from his own prison and break free, running them to the ground. Impossible, she told herself. You killed him. You’re a murderess.

“Good.”

“What? What’s good?” Chloe asked in the darkness, her fingers still clutched in Zoe’s hand.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” Disappointment. “Shit!” Chloe squealed and ducked as a creature of the night flew by. “Oh, God, was that a bat?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“An owl. That was it. Tell me it was an owl.”

Who cared? “Sure. An owl. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got to find someone to help us.”

“We’re naked!”

“I know. That’s the least of our problems right now.” Zoe kept pressing forward, hoping beyond hope that they would find safety and that the abomination who had captured them was dead. Why the hell had the freak kidnapped them? What was he doing at the workbench, cutting up the wire and ribbon? And why did he sing that stupid birthday song? Nothing made any sense. How did he even know it was their birthday? Who the fuck was he? “Come on,” she stepped up the pace, her mind racing faster than her bare feet. Obviously they’d been targeted because of their birthdays. He had known. How? Had he been following them? Stalking them?