She saw him coming, and she knew it was her brother. There was no doubt in her mind. He drove wildly, like a man trying to escape his crimes. The headlights of the SUV were dragon’s eyes. The truck bore down on her, but she stood in the middle of the street, her hands at her side, the storm punishing her body, and she didn’t move. She made no attempt to dive clear. She heard the whine of brakes, heard the tires slipping in the water, saw the back of the truck skid.

The Escalade lurched to a stop inches from her body.

She had to shield her eyes, but she could see him behind the headlights. The driver’s door opened, and he climbed out. He clung to the window with one hand to keep himself upright, and he screamed at her.

‘Fruity! Get out of the way!’

Peach simply shook her head and didn’t move. The lights bathed her, making her feel small. Small, which was how she’d felt ten years ago, wandering in a haze onto the deserted highway. Deacon had screamed the same way then, in desperate terror, telling her to get back in the car.

He was the same man. Her brother.

‘This isn’t about you!’ he shouted.

She walked around the corner of the SUV. She came close to the driver’s door, and she could see that he was badly wounded. ‘Not about me?’ she said, but the storm was louder than she was. Hearing it try to drown her out, she raised her voice and shouted back. She was no longer a child.

‘Not about me? You killed Lyle, didn’t you? You killed Justin, too. It was you!’

Deacon raised his other hand. There was a gun in it, pointed at her head. ‘Fruity, get out of here!’

‘Sure, kill me! That’s what you do, Deacon. You kill people.’

‘I’m not kidding!’

Peach walked closer, until the gun was a beast in her eyes. Wild wind, wild rain, plunged from the sky. ‘Neither am I! Do it!’

He was the young one now. He was still eighteen. His voice screeched. ‘Goddamn it, Fruity! Don’t make me!’

‘I don’t care! Do you think I don’t know what you did? I remember the accident. I remember Alison. So now you have to kill me, too, just like everyone else, right? So pull the trigger!’

Deacon shoved the barrel against her forehead. It was hot; it burned. Over his shoulder, beyond the car, she could barely make out two people sprinting through the storm. They were fifty yards away, but they were getting closer. Two people. Cab. Lala.

Deacon glanced back and saw them, too. He pushed the gun into her face again, so hard it made her stumble.

‘Go away! Just go away! I don’t want to hurt you!’