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Back When the Stars Go Dark Save as PDF
Chapters (83)
  1. Epigraph
  2. Maps
  3. (prologue)
  4. Part 1: Signs and Vapors
  5. (one)
  6. (two)
  7. (three)
  8. (four)
  9. (five)
  10. (six)
  11. (seven)
  12. (eight)
  13. (nine)
  14. (ten)
  15. (eleven)
  16. (twelve)
  17. Part 2: Secret Things
  18. (thirteen)
  19. (fourteen)
  20. (fifteen)
  21. (sixteen)
  22. (seventeen)
  23. (eighteen)
  24. (nineteen)
  25. (twenty)
  26. (twenty-one)
  27. (twenty-two)
  28. (twenty-three)
  29. (twenty-four)
  30. (twenty-five)
  31. (twenty-six)
  32. (twenty-seven)
  33. (twenty-eight)
  34. (twenty-nine)
  35. (thirty)
  36. (thirty-one)
  37. (thirty-two)
  38. (thirty-three)
  39. (thirty-four)
  40. (thirty-five)
  41. (thirty-six)
  42. (thirty-seven)
  43. (thirty-eight)
  44. (thirty-nine)
  45. Part 3: Time and the Maiden
  46. (forty)
  47. (forty-one)
  48. (forty-two)
  49. (forty-three)
  50. (forty-four)
  51. (forty-five)
  52. (forty-six)
  53. (forty-seven)
  54. (forty-eight)
  55. (forty-nine)
  56. (fifty)
  57. (fifty-one)
  58. (fifty-two)
  59. (fifty-three)
  60. Part 4: The Bent Grove
  61. (fifty-four)
  62. (fifty-five)
  63. (fifty-six)
  64. (fifty-seven)
  65. (fifty-eight)
  66. (fifty-nine)
  67. (sixty)
  68. (sixty-one)
  69. (sixty-two)
  70. (sixty-three)
  71. (sixty-four)
  72. (sixty-five)
  73. (sixty-six)
  74. (sixty-seven)
  75. (sixty-eight)
  76. (sixty-nine)
  77. (seventy)
  78. Dedication
  79. (acknowledgments)
  80. (author’s note)
  81. BY PAULA MCLAIN
  82. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

Cameron Curtis rushes to the surface of my mind, like heat. Like the blood tingling through my hands as I clench them. The wide brown eyes that have known difficult things. The stubbornly hopeful set of her mouth, and her long dark hair. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’ve failed others like her and myself along the way. That it’s probably too late already. She’s here.

I’m almost stumbling as I duck back through the break and onto the headlands, walking faster and faster along the empty trail, to the edge of the bluff where the wind is so strong it almost knocks me sideways. Down below, four oily cormorants stud a ragged black rock, their necks tucked back against their bodies like hooks. The surf bucks around them, hurling foam. Farther out, there are black swells and green swells. A fishing boat rolls to the top of a crest, and then drops away, as if through a trapdoor.

I want Cameron Curtis gone like that, out of my consciousness for good. But not even the boat disappears. It springs out of the trough, small and white, clinging there. My ears have started to ring with cold, but I sit down anyway, cradling my knees tightly with my arms, holding myself together. My hair blows over my eyes and into my mouth, tasting of brine. Everything seems to swirl in a vortex, yanked back and forth, awful and beautiful. And I’m here with it, trying to remember how to live through unthinkable moments, how to ride out the wildness and the chaos and the fear.

(six)

An hour or so later, as I make my way back to my car, I’m chilled to the bone but calmer in my head. As soon as I reach the parking lot, I stop in my tracks. Two striped police barriers half block the park entrance. Half a dozen uniformed officers are organizing near the rangers’ board, with K-9 teams and walkies. This is a search party for Cameron Curtis.

Tightening the hood of my anorak, I make for my Bronco, feeling conspicuous, on high alert. I’m ten feet away with my keys in my hand when I hear my name. But I have to be imagining it. No one knows me here, not anymore. Speeding up, I reach the door just as a hand comes down on my back.

“Hey.”

I whirl with my hands out automatically, ready for a confrontation. But nothing can prepare me for the face I see—so familiar, even with the intervening years. It’s like swimming through vertigo, or waking up in a time machine.

“Anna Hart. I can’t believe it.”