He hears the van’s door roll open behind him. He’s boxed in. They step out, guns drawn, making it clear that even if he carried a weapon — he doesn’t, he’s never thought of himself as a gunslinger — there is no chance. They have him.

Mike is going to die, and he knows it.

He’s always hated those moments in old movies where the hero faces down impossible odds, knowing he’s about to die, and still says something clever and brave. It never made sense to him. His life has been, if anything, a mission to prevent people from dying too soon, and if there’s one thing he’s learned, it is always too soon. He’s seen people die, and he’s never believed in any such thing as a good ending. No matter how it comes, quick and violent or slow and painful, it’s still an ending.

He never saw the point of uttering famous last words. Not until now. Now he does.

So as much as he wants to curl into a ball, or at least spend his last moments thinking of his wife and all the good moments they shared, he knows he has to do something else. He said goodbye to Mary a long time ago. He’s done his mourning for her already.

Instead, he tells them, “She will find you.”

They hesitate, for a moment, and he’d smile if he weren’t shaking.

“You’ll never be safe. You’ll never get away,” he says. “She will find you. It’s what she does.”

He senses their discomfort. Their hesitation. He knows it because, despite his great, fierce love for his daughter, he shares it. He always has.

She will never give up. Never compromise. Never stop.

These people in the dark. They know it too. They’re scared. They get over it quickly, but they’re scared. They’re scared of her. She will solve this crime, and she will find them.

When the bullet comes, that’s almost enough.

INTERLUDE: The Case of the Candy Cult

INTERLUDE

The Case of the Candy Cult

MIDDLETON. THEN.

The big ugly guy raised his shotgun as Carrie steered her little blue Geo Metro into the parking lot of the No-Tell Motel. She didn’t even slow down.

She saw his eyes get wide, and then there was a hard thump as she hit him with the front bumper. He went flying in one direction, the shotgun in the other.

Carrie finally hit the brakes and skidded into a parking spot not far from the white van.

She’d called her father, of course, but she couldn’t wait. She ran over to the van and yanked open the doors.

A half-dozen kids from Middleton High were inside. They looked terrified. But they weren’t handcuffed or tied up. They stared at her for a long moment.

“Well?” she asked. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”