Maybe she should go to him.

What was another five minutes… Just five minutes…

The pizza parlor was to the right.

She turned left, pulling through the intersection. Even as she did, she half paused, wondering if perhaps she ought to just grab the food and go. But then, feeling a flicker of frustration, she floored the gas, pulling away even more quickly to the left. Moving back away from the town. Moving in the direction of the old mountain road.

Where the two bodies had been found.

Where the killer had been active.

The same back road where Samantha had been abducted. Ilse picked up the pace, zipping through the night now, moving rapidly toward the mountains, toward the old forest. The skies were dark. Impossible to tell if they were overcast or simply black as tar. Ilse only had eyes for the road.

In, out, she breathed softly. “Holmes, two hundred possible victims. Deceased. Dissociative disorder.”

She wouldn’t cower. She refused to hide. She floored the pedal now, teeth set, determination falling over her like a warm liquid. Don’t be stupid, a small voice whispered. Again, it sounded so much like Dr. Mitchell.

But Ilse knew what she was doing. She couldn’t turn back. Not now. She’d already made up her mind. If her memories were coming back, if her history was hoping to hunt her again… this time, it wouldn’t find a helpless, scared little girl. This time, she’d fight back.

Fingers tight, knuckles white, she tore up the old road and didn’t stop until she reached a familiar stretch of highway. Sleep deprived. Check. PTSD triggers. Check. Classic textbook conditioned response. She knew she should have stayed back, knew this was a risk… But sometimes, even the best textbooks held the lousiest advice.

At least, to a sleep-deprived, fear-addled brain.

Ilse pulled sharply off onto the shoulder, watching as another car zipped by in the other direction. She winced against the flash of bright headlights, and then pulled to a complete stop. She parked the car, sitting on the dusty shoulder, facing the small jogger’s trail that led into the woods.

The trail seemed an invitation all of a sudden, a beckoning, dark portal into some other realm.

Ilse breathed softly, exhaling in, out, quiet.

This was where Samantha had been kidnapped.

She hadn’t fought back. She hadn’t even run.

Could Ilse do any better? Was she even capable?

Trembling, she slowly pushed open the Boat’s door, stepping out onto the dusty shoulder. The highway was abandoned again. The sound of the only other vehicle had faded. Now, in the chill night, beneath the trees, surrounded by the woods and dust and asphalt and concrete, Ilse felt a flicker of anxiety in her chest.

Slowly, she pulled her phone out. She cycled to the newest number she’d stored.

Agent Sawyer. With shaking fingers, she sent a text message. Then she put her phone back in her pocket and approached the jogger’s trail.

She stood by the concrete barrier, facing the old, dark road cutting into the deeper portion of forest, into the black and darkness. Into shadow.