Things had been pretty clear to me after I talked to Ben. I’d made a bad mistake when I left Dorf. If I went back now, maybe Williams would let Justine go. Maybe taking her was his way of sending me a message: Come back, or else. If he’d already killed her, at least going back now would keep him from hurting anyone else. What he did to me was out of my hands, but maybe I could keep him from doing anything to anybody else. That idea had brought a measure of calm.

That calm was still with me when I pulled into the parking lot in front of the small brick building that served as Dorf’s police station.

I sat for a minute, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of my car. It was a ’91 Le Mans. It had been my mother’s. When I’d gotten the job with Dr. Nielsen, Mom had offered it to me, sort of offhandedly. We were cleaning up after dinner one night, just the two of us. She’d said she thought she’d get herself a newer car, but maybe we should hang onto this one for a while so I could drive to work.

I’d been so ashamed, back then, of failing at college. She’d saved for years for me to be able to go. It’s not like you make that much, working at a supermarket. She took extra hours whenever she could, even did some house-cleaning on the side. With my scholarships and financial aid and her loans and savings, we’d just been able to make it work.

But when I got there, the panic disorder flared. I’d always had attacks a couple times a week, but in Madison, I started having them every day, sometimes three or four times a day. Sometimes in the middle of class. I felt like I was floating in dark water, and terrifying things were sweeping by me at random, brushing my legs. The sense of terror was constant, overwhelming — crippling. I didn’t last a semester. I didn’t even last two months.

It came down to this: I’d thrown Mom’s money away, and all her hopes for me too, because I was too crazy to do what millions of eighteen-year-olds did every year.

And there she was, still trying to help me.

I should’ve gotten in her lap and cried like a baby; instead I shrugged and said, “Sounds good,” as if it didn’t mean the world to me, how much she cared.

She never got that new car, either. Instead, she got run over crossing Center Street.

I sighed and got out. It was uncomfortably cold. I stood next to the car, wondering if Williams was already hunting me. Maybe he’d shoot me from a distance, and I’d never feel a thing.