Sheriff Land and I would never be on the same team, not if we both lived for a thousand years. But I couldn’t tell Cal that, couldn’t ever look him in the eye and explain why. If he knew what I’d done, he’d never forgive me. And even worse, he’d never forgive himself. I nodded and followed him toward a closed door at the end of the hall. Cal hesitated with the knob in his hand, my last chance to back out, and then pushed the door open when I motioned him forward. He stood aside so I could go in first. The room was small, overheated, and crowded with too many bodies, even though there were only three already inside. Sheriff Land and Izzy’s parents, Jenny and Zach. I don’t know why their presence surprised me. Maybe the realization that we were going to be a matched, albeit uneven, set from now on. The parents of the dead girls. Forever lumped together. Pitiful cautionary tales.

“Come on in,” Sheriff Land said, oversized gray mustache quivering on his lip. His hair was slicked back, covering the beginning of a bald patch I knew had to be killing him. My stomach cramped and I looked away. “Take a seat.” And a beat too late, “Hate that you have to be here,” as if he was only now remembering why I was in the room. As if the fact that I had a murdered daughter, too, had somehow slipped his mind.

I slid into the empty seat next to Zach, who gave me a quick glance with wide, shocky eyes. His bland dad handsomeness had morphed into something terrible, and I wondered if I was just as altered. If I would no longer recognize myself next time I looked in the mirror. He had the same button-down shirt and khaki pants, straight teeth and premature gray at his temples, that I was used to seeing. But his face was haunted now, the ghost of his daughter’s absence etched across his features. On the other side of him, Jenny wept ceaselessly. All I could see was the top of her sleek, dark hair, her head tilted down and her sobbing muffled behind a clump of sodden Kleenex. From the soft way Sheriff Land looked at her, I could tell that Jenny, at least, had gotten the grieving-mother role exactly right. Not like me, who couldn’t seem to lay a hand on my own tears yet, but felt them bottled up and howling just behind my eyes.

Sheriff Land took the seat across from us, pushing a dusty arrangement of fake flowers to the side to give himself an unimpeded view. Cal took up a position leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “Well, now,” Sheriff Land said, “I know this is difficult. And I sure do hate to ask you folks questions at a time like this, but the more we know and the earlier we know it, the better our chances of catching this guy.”