“He said it was the only way.”

“Then, I’m afraid—”

“He also told me to ask you a question.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t leave me alone until I promised I would ask you.”

“What’s the question?”

“He wants to know, ‘She still can’t sleep, can she?’”

29

My knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

What am I doing? Why am I leaving the house? Caitlyn’s in there, somewhere.

But where? I’ve taken the place apart. The only place she could be is in the walls.

I suddenly have a horrible vision of Caitlyn trapped in a wall of the house and I nearly swerve off the road.

No. The only way to get Caitlyn back is with answers and this guy sounds like he has them.

Still, the voices in my head are screaming at me to turn around and get back to the house. I grit my teeth, grip the steering wheel, and wait for them to pass.

I keep trying to rehearse what I’m going to say, but every attempt sounds more ridiculous than the last. When I see the exit for the town of Redmill, I have a crushing thought that causes my body to go limp; I lost Nicole, and now I’m going to lose Caitlyn.

The blaring horn of a semi-truck, barreling towards me as I drift across the yellow lines snaps me out of it. I wrench the wheel to get myself back into the proper lane. The butterfly necklace, journal, and medallion slide to the side of the passenger seat next to me. I punch the dashboard and take a deep breath through clenched teeth.

I can’t give up. Until I hold Caitlyn’s lifeless body in my arms, there has to be a chance. I have to believe that, or else there is nothing else but madness.

*

The Whitlock house is a simple, one-story ranch with a concrete porch on a lonely road, surrounded by fields, on the outskirts of Redmill. It has a sprawling, featureless front yard. The driveway is paved, but only just. I can feel every crack and depression as I drive over them. I park behind an ancient Ford Explorer and take a moment to check my reflection in the rearview mirror.

I look like shit. I’m worried that my appearance might scare the granddaughter off the whole thing, but what choice do I have?

I get out and walk up the stairs of the porch to the weathered screen door. The front door behind it is already open. Before I can knock or find the doorbell, I’m greeted by a petite woman somewhere in her forties. She has a sharp nose, thin lips, and wiry brunette hair that’s pulled tightly into a bun. She peers at me through the mesh of the screen door.

“Are you Daniel Price?” she asks.

I nodded. “You Dana?”