No.

  I’m so close. The cabins are just yards away. I can see the shadows of people moving behind the windows.

  Help! I try to shout, the hand pressed against my lips muffling my voice. I flail wildly, but the arms wrapped around me pin my elbows to my torso, making it impossible for me to move anything except for my head and my legs. I kick as whoever’s holding me lifts me into the air so my feet don’t even touch the ground. Tears spring to my eyes.

  Come on, think, think.

  My head. It’s the only weapon I have left. I drop it forward, chin to chest, and I’m about to jerk it back where it’ll hopefully collide with this asshole’s nose, when—

  “Stop moving,” a quiet voice says directly in my ear. Jack’s voice. I exhale, relief flooding through me. Thank God.

  I nod into his palm, and he removes his hand from my mouth, using it to point dead ahead.

  At first, I don’t see what he’s pointing at. There’s just trees and shadows. They’ve turned on the lights in the cabin and I can see people moving on the other side of the windows.

  And then, just below those windows, a shadow moves.

  My breath catches in my throat. My eyes are glued to the shadow beneath the window, the one that moved, and I’m trying to make sense of the blurry shape, but it’s gone still again, making it impossible to see from where I’m standing. Is it an animal?

  No, not an animal: a person. My muscles tense. My eyesight adjusts, and the scene I’m looking at shifts: the shadows beneath the cabin’s window aren’t shadows at all, but someone dressed in a black trench coat, a witch’s mask hiding their face.

  The witch straightens, and I can see that she’s looking over her shoulder, toward the woods.

  Toward us.

  In an instant, I know exactly what happened.

  If Jack hadn’t grabbed me and pulled me back into the trees, I’d be dead right now. He gave up his hiding spot to save me.

  I look back at him. His eyes are wide with fear, and unblinking. He presses a single finger to his lips, and motions for me to duck back behind the tree with him. We’re in the shade, and far enough away that it’s possible the witch hasn’t spotted the movement. I move as slowly as I’m physically capable of moving, holding my breath, all the while praying, Don’t see us, please don’t see us.

  Jack speaks directly into my ear, his voice all breath. “She’s been there for about fifteen minutes.”

  I nod, staring at the figure. Something thick and sour forms in my throat.

  I know that’s not my sister. I know it. And yet I can’t help studying the shape of the body hidden beneath the trench coat, trying to figure out her height, her approximate size, to see if there’s any chance it matches up with Andie’s. But the trench is too oversized and bulky. It could be Andie. It could be anyone.

  The witch is still facing the woods. I can’t tell whether she’s looking at us or not, thanks to the mask. She seems to know there was someone running through the trees, but not exactly where the sound was coming from. I look from her mask to her hand and my insides clamp up in terror: she’s still holding that bow.

  Andie knows how to use a bow, I think. Mom taught her when she was a little girl, and Andie, being Andie, practiced until she became a perfect shot. Our closets back home are filled with ribbons from competitions Andie entered when she was my age.

  The witch takes a step toward the trees, her boots silent on the dirt. Each breath I take scrapes my throat, sounding loud enough to my own ears that I don’t see how she doesn’t hear it.

  I watch as she takes another step toward us.

  And then another.

  I’ve forgotten that Jack’s arms are wrapped around my shoulders until they tighten protectively. I can feel his heart beating fast and hard against my back, his breath warming my neck.

  The witch is only a few feet away now. She’s scanning the trees, head tilted, listening. She’s close enough that I can see the arrow nocked in her bow, aimed at the ground. I can’t stop staring at it, imagining what it would feel like for the sharp point of the arrowhead to rip through my skin.

  I clench my eyes shut, thinking, Andie would never hurt me. If Reagan’s right, if she is the witch, then I’m perfectly safe.

  There’s a rustle of movement a few inches away from me. I freeze, convinced the sound came from me, that my foot accidentally brushed against a loose rock.

  The witch is alert, bow and arrow up, searching for whatever—whoever—made that sound.

  As slowly and carefully as I can, I look around.

  There’s a squirrel perched on a tree trunk a few feet away. I watch, horrified, as the squirrel scurries down the tree and onto the ground, the rustling sound of its movement so soft I have to strain to hear it.

  “Shit,” Jack breathes into my ear. I swallow. I don’t have to ask why he’s so freaked out. I already know. If the squirrel comes any closer to our hiding spot, it won’t matter how quiet we are, how still. The witch will find us all the same. The squirrel will lead her right here.

  Jack seems to tense behind me, the muscles in his arms going very, very still. I stop breathing, stop blinking. My entire world is that squirrel.

  It scampers along the dirt path, then stops to pick up a nut. It’s three feet away from us now, just on the other side of our tree, and it must catch our scent in the wind because it looks up all of a sudden, nose twitching.

  Wood splinters just above my head. I flinch, and Jack’s arms tighten around me, holding me still. I press both hands to my mouth to keep myself from crying out in fear.

  The arrow just misses the squirrel, instead burrowing deep into the tree trunk I’m hiding behind.

  There are tears in my eyes, and I’m shaking all over. This is it. The witch is going to find us. She’s going to look behind the tree, I know she is.

  She stops on the path directly ahead of us. The trunk is big enough that I can’t see her on the other side, but I can hear her heavy breathing, muffled by the mask she’s still wearing, and I can hear her boots rustling through the underbrush as she turns toward the tree we’re hiding behind.

  I close my eyes. I can’t watch. I don’t want to see that arrow flying toward my face. I don’t want to know it’s coming. Jack holds me closer, tucking me just below his chin. I turn toward him and knot my hands into his shirt. I still have enough functioning brain cells to be grateful that he’s here, that I’m not going to die alone.

  Please just do it already, let it be over, please, please, please.

  For a long time, nothing happens. Then: another splintery wood sound as the witch removes the arrow from the tree trunk. A shuffle of footsteps.

  The next time I lift my head, she’s just a shadow in the trees, walking away.

  “I think she’s gone,” Jack says directly into my ear. His voice is quiet enough that I don’t think it’s possible for anyone else to have heard him, but I still tense, my eyes scanning the trees for movement.

  What if she’s still close? What if she comes back? What if—

  Jack starts to move away from me, but I grab his arm, holding him in place. I’m not ready to give up our hiding spot yet. I want to stay here, where I know it’s safe, for just a little while longer. Maybe more than a little while longer. Maybe forever.

  Jack must realize I’m still completely freaked out because he relaxes against me, his arm sinking heavily onto my shoulders, a comforting weight. Like a weighted blanket or one of those vests they make dogs wear during thunderstorms. I can feel my heartbeat steadying.

  “She didn’t see us,” Jack says. Again, he speaks softly and directly into my ear.

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure doesn’t mean anything. Pretty doesn’t have a numerical value.”

  “Okay, then I’m…eighty-eight percent sure.”

  I look up at his face because he can’t be serious right now. “Eighty-eight percent is a B.”

  “It’s a B-plus,” Jack clarifies. “B-plus is good.”

  “If I got a B on an assignment, I’d be humiliated. I’ll start moving again when you’re ninety-four percent sure.”

  “Mickey,” Jack says, in a gentler voice. “If she’d seen us, she’d be chasing us right now.”

  Yes, I think, yes, that makes sense.

  Unless the witch is Andie. Unless she’s just pretending she didn’t see us, because she doesn’t want to hurt me.

  My arms, my legs, everything is frozen in place. I watch the tree line. A minute passes, and then another, and no one appears. Jack’s right. The witch is gone.

  It’s time for me to start moving now. But I feel a strange churning in my stomach, and all of the frustration and fear and stress of what’s been happening seems to bubble up my chest.

  This is too much. I can’t take it anymore. I just want it all to stop.

  I try to hold it back, I really do, but I guess I’m not that strong. My eyes flood, and my shoulders start to shake and then it’s all over and I’m crying, openly crying in front of some strange guy in the middle of the woods, while a killer probably watches from a few dozen feet away with a freaking arrow aimed at my face. At least I manage to throw a hand over my mouth to quiet the sobs.

  Jack stiffens behind me, clearly taken aback by my sudden display of intense emotion. I bet Reagan doesn’t burst into hysterical sobs when she should be running. I bet Reagan is always cool and pulled together and never overly emotional at inappropriate times. She seems like that kind of girl, and I feel a little twist of jealousy, wishing I could be strong.

  I expect Jack to say something logical and cool-headed, to tell me to pull myself together, maybe, or to remind me that we’re in a lot of danger and we need to get out of here, fast. Both true statements. But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he tightens his grip around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest so that his chin rests on top of my head. He doesn’t tell me to calm down or lie and say it’s all going to be okay. He just holds me.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” I choke out when the sobs have subsided some.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jack says. After a moment, he clears his throat and adds, in a lower voice, “My mom gets these panic attacks sometimes. They used to really freak me out. She was always this larger-than-life superhero when I was a kid, you know? So seeing her crouching on the ground, struggling to breathe, I’m not going to lie, it was really hard to watch. Then this one time I asked her why it happened. You know what she told me?”

  I shake my head.

  “She said that even strong people need to fall apart. And if you go too long without letting yourself do that, your body’s going to do it for you. We’re not made of stone.”

  I blink the fresh tears from my eyes and lean away from him, so I can see his face. “She sounds like a badass.”

  “She really is,” Jack says. “You’d like her.”

  “My dad says something like that, too,” I tell him, only hesitating for a second on the word dad. “He likes to say that you have to feel your feelings, even the unpleasant ones.”

  “Smart guy.”

  “Yeah.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my arm. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Jack says. Weirdly, it sounds like he means it. He’s looking at me now. Really looking at me, in a way that feels different than how he’s looked at me before. It takes me a second to realize what’s changed: for the first time since I’ve met him, it feels like he’s looking at me instead of at Reagan.

  I look away first, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. For a moment neither of us speaks. Then, as though he’s only just realized he’s still holding me, Jack pulls away and scrubs a hand over his jaw, still staring down the dirt road where the witch just disappeared.

  “I wish we knew who she was,” he says.

  I hear Reagan’s voice shouting in my head, Who do you think is dressing up like a witch and chasing us through the woods, Olivia? Because my money’s on the girl who was caught on tape attacking a murder victim!

  And then I’m picturing the Andie I saw on Gia’s video: the fury in her face, the blood on her hands. She’d certainly looked like a murderer.

  But that doesn’t mean she is one, I tell myself, forcing the image away. I know how it looked, but there’s another explanation. There has to be. Andie and I might not be the closest sisters in the world, but I know her.

  Don’t I?

  “We should move,” Jack says. “Before she comes back.”

  I look down the path, feeling uneasy. It’s late, nearly sunset, and long, creeping shadows have crawled across the ground. Thunder rumbles overhead.

  “That’s the path I just came down,” I realize.

  A muscle tightens in Jack’s jaw. “The nurse’s cabin. It’s down that way.”

  “She’ll find them for sure.”

  “The truck is parked right through there.” Jack nods to the trees on the other side of the cabins. “I can grab it and circle back for Hazel and Reagan.”

  We meet each other’s eyes and I know, without asking, that we’re thinking the same thing: Can he get there before the killer does? Or is he already too late?

  “Go now,” I tell him. “Hurry.”

  Jack hesitates just a second, a question on his face. He wants to know why I’m not coming with him. It’s probably just now occurring to him to wonder why I followed him in the first place. But there’s no time to explain.

  “You’ll be faster without me,” I say. I don’t know whether he accepts this or if he’s just aware of the ticking clock, but he nods and dashes into the trees.

  As soon as he’s gone, I reach into my pocket, and tighten my fingers around the stolen video camera.

  Time to get some answers.

  * * *

  • • •

  WITNESS STATEMENT

  Investigating Officer(s): Angel Lopez

  Incident No: 000524-27B-2008

  Description: Miranda D’Angeli’s official statement

  Date: 06/14/2008

  MIRANDA D’ANGELI

  I swear to the following, to the best of my recollection, under penalty of perjury.

  My name is Miranda Michelle D’Angeli.

  I am thirty-five years old and competent to testify in a court of law.

  I currently reside in New York State.

  I grew up in Ulster County and have been working as the director of Camp Lost Lake for three years.

  I have a nineteen-year-old daughter, Andie. Full name: Miranda.

  Andie was out of town at the time of the murders, at an internship in New York City.

  While director at Camp Lost Lake, I knew the victims, Gia North and Jacob Knight, as well as the accused, Lori Knight.

  Gia was a camp counselor last year and had plans to work as a camp counselor again this summer. Lori has been my assistant for three years. Jacob has worked as the archery director at camp for the past ten years.

  On June 13, 2008, I was working late at camp. Camp staff traditionally starts work two weeks before the first day of camp, so they can help clean out the cabins and get everything set up before the kids arrive. Jacob and Lori had worked until approximately 7 p.m. that day. I was under the impression that they had gone home after that.

  Gia was not working at camp that day, however I saw her briefly that morning. She told me she needed to speak with me. I was in the process of running an errand and told her to wait in my office until I returned. She was not there when I got back.

  To my knowledge, the only other person on the campgrounds was Henry Roberts, our groundskeeper.

  I left my office at approximately 7:30 p.m. I heard a noise and turned around. Moments later, Lori Knight ran out of the trees behind the lighthouse. She was covered in blood and carrying something I assume was a weapon.

  Lori told me to run. She then headed back into the woods. A few minutes later I believe I heard a car starting. At that time, I went into labor.

  I did not see Matthew Knight on the grounds that evening, nor have I seen him since.

  I have retained counsel in New York City, Jeremy Rosenberg, and I respectfully ask that any attempts to contact me be made through him.

  I have reviewed this affidavit with my attorney.

  Witness: Miranda D’Angeli, 6/14/2008

  Investigating Officer: Officer Angel Lopez, 6/14/2008

  EXCERPT FROM THE INTERVIEW OF MIRANDA D’ANGELI

  Date: 07/10/2008

  Officer Lopez: Okay, Miranda, first I want to thank you sincerely for talking with us. I know you have a newborn at home.

  Miranda D’Angeli: Anything I can do to help.

  Officer Lopez: What did you and Johnny end up calling her?

  Miranda D’Angeli: Olivia, after my mother.

  Officer Lopez: That’s a beautiful name, Miranda. Just beautiful. Okay, if you’re ready to begin, can we start? You were good enough to provide a statement immediately following the incident.

  Miranda D’Angeli: Yes, I did.

  Officer Lopez: That statement was very helpful, thank you. Before we get to my questions, I want to make sure you still stand by everything you wrote.

  Miranda D’Angeli: I’m sorry, I don’t know if I follow your question.

  Officer Lopez: I’m wondering if there was anything you wanted to change or amend about the statement you provided.

  Miranda D’Angeli: Are you asking if I lied?

  Jeremy Rosenberg: Mrs. D’Angeli and I have been over that statement several times. I assure you that it’s accurate.

 

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