As I came to the street, a blue glow bounced off the fronts of all the houses, and the siren grew louder, almost deafening. The police car sped by in a white streak, and I stopped in place until it was past. It turned right onto Jennifer’s street, its tires squealing, and I knew I had to get out of there and back to my own vehicle.

So I did.

I retraced my steps as quickly as possible without looking like I’d just stolen something. Or committed a murder.

I kept my head down and walked back to the car. By the time I opened the door and flopped into the driver’s seat, my forehead was covered with sweat, and I could barely catch my breath. But I didn’t have time to wait or recover.

I started the car and drove out of there, leaving the neighborhood—and Jennifer’s dead body—behind me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

On my way out of Jennifer’s neighborhood, I passed another cop car zooming past in the direction of her house, a blur of blue light and screeching sound.

“Crap. Crap.”

The word seemed inadequate to the situation I found myself in. Any words would have been inadequate.

I realized I was driving in the direction of my house, where Amanda and Henry waited for me. But I couldn’t go there. I would have to explain why I’d left the basketball game early. And I’d be returning there without having any idea of what was going on with Blake and Jennifer.

On my right I saw a strip mall, so I pulled in and parked the car far from the stores, which were mostly closed, the windows darkened, the lot empty. My hands shook as I took my phone out. Jennifer’s Facebook request was still on my screen.

The image of Jennifer on the floor—her dead-eyed stare, her chilled flesh—flashed in my mind. I tried to push it away, to concentrate on the task at hand, but I knew I’d be seeing those images and feeling those sensations for a long time. For the rest of my life. How could anyone forget something like that?

I called Blake, hoping he’d tell me something that made sense. That it was all a joke or a misunderstanding or a social science experiment gone too far. As the phone rang and rang, it occurred to me that Blake was the only person I could confide in about Jennifer’s death. At least for the moment.

It scared the shit out of me to have to put so much faith in him.

The call went to voice mail. I hung up and dialed again. Again and again.

The phone kept ringing and ringing until Blake’s tinny recorded voice came on, asking the caller to leave a message.

In frustration I said, “Where the hell are you? Call me.”