I don’t remember exiting the house—only the smell of Dad’s stacks, his moldy paper columns—and it takes no time at all to cross the overgrown lawn. I can’t run down the driveway to the road; it will be deserted, blank asphalt, and he’ll be able to find me straightaway. There’s only one place for me to go. I reach the boundary line of the forest, and as I enter, the quality of the air changes. The dampness envelops me. Among these trees is the only place I’ll be able to lose him. I jump over barely visible roots, rising from blue mist; scrabble over muddy hills, smelling of rich clod; duck beneath low and hooked tree branches like rusted scythes. I can hear him behind me, struggling with his heft but still swinging wildly: he sounds like a beast of the wood navigating its perils despite a clumsy, overgrown appearance. It hits me, then, what Noni said: Il est le bûcheron. He was made for these woods, with his thick limbs, his sturdy build. There’s so much for me to snap and twist and break. My speed is less useful here. And as I step farther, I know that I am deeply unfamiliar with this part of the forest.

I need to find the cabin Mama and Noni and I played in.

But where are the landmarks I should know?

The dark erases them.

I reach a small clearing, still canopied, and cut across in a wild run. My adrenaline surges—I might outrun him. But that’s followed by another thought—where am I going?

Find the cabin. Hide. Wait until the police arrive.

Nons will think I’m also running to get service to post what I recorded.

Confession: I didn’t record anything.

It doesn’t work that way—when you’re confronted by someone dangerous, things don’t slow down enough for you to pop out your phone and record his dastardly confessions. Life isn’t one of Mama’s movies.

But I told him I did, to get him away from Nons. To get him away from Saxim. I knew Teddy was going to do something he couldn’t take back. I could feel him come unglued from the character that made him feel safe. He’s fallen into the same frame of mind that he was in all of those years ago. He made horrible mistake after horrible mistake with Mama, ten years ago, on this same stretch of land. He might make a horrible mistake with us.

And I can hear him behind me, still.

It’s as I’m running that a piece of my brain realizes how rash my decision was. It’s as I start to lose my breath that I realize I’m probably doomed.

“Stop, Tai!” he shouts from somewhere behind me. Far, but not far enough. “Stop!”