“We’re almost there,” Daniel says, smiling at me.
“Where is there?”
“You’ll see.”
Suddenly, it feels claustrophobic in here. I reach for the air-conditioning and push the knob all the way to the right, leaning into the blast of cold air.
“Daniel, I need to go home.”
“No,” he says. “No, Chloe, I am not letting you wallow in self-pity at home right now. I told you I had plans for us today, and we’re going to do them.”
I inhale deeply, turning to face my window, watching the trees fly past as we inch deeper into the woods. I think about my mother, spelling out Daniel’s name. How could she possibly know? How could she know who he is if they’ve never met? The uneasiness I felt this morning is quickly returning. I look down at my phone, at the single bar of service, appearing and disappearing as it struggles to find a signal. Here I am—miles from home, trapped in a car with a man in possession of a dead girl’s necklace, no way to call for help. Maybe he saw me holding it last night; maybe I didn’t stash it back into the closet as quickly as I thought I did. My feet graze my purse and I think about my pepper spray, dutifully tucked into the bottom. At least I have that.
Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe. He won’t hurt you. He won’t.
A shock wave jolts through my body, and I realize that I sound just like my mother. I am my mother. I am my mother sitting in Sheriff Dooley’s office, making rationalizations about my father despite the growing mountain of evidence stacking up against him. My eyes sting as a pool of tears wells up inside, threatening to break free. I lift my hand and wipe at them quickly, careful not to let Daniel see.
I think of my mother, bed-bound back in Riverside, her life confined to the ever-shrinking walls of her own troubled mind. And I understand now. I understand why she did it. I always thought she went back to my father because she was weak; because she didn’t want to be alone. Because she didn’t know how to leave him—she didn’t want to leave him. But now, in this moment, I understand my mother more than I ever have before. I understand that she went back to him because she was desperately searching for any trace of evidence that would point in the opposite direction, a scrap of something she could cling to that proved she wasn’t in love with a monster. And when she couldn’t find it, she was forced to take a good hard look at herself. She was forced to ask herself the very questions that are now swirling in my own mind, constricting in the same way hers must have been.
She was forced to acknowledge the fact that she was in love with a monster. And if she was in love with a monster … what did that make her?
I feel the car start to roll to a stop. I glance out the window again and see that we’re deep in the woods, the only break in the trees a small, swampy stream, presumably the entrance to a larger body of water.
“We’re here,” he says, turning off the car and stuffing the keys in his pocket. “Now get out.”
“Where is here?” I ask again, trying to keep my voice light.
“You’ll see.”
“Daniel,” I say, but he’s already out of the car, walking over to the passenger side and opening my door for me. What used to feel like a chivalrous act now feels more ominous, like he’s forcing me out against my will. I reluctantly take his hand and step out of the car, wincing as he slams the door shut behind me, my purse, phone, and pepper spray still inside.
“Close your eyes.”
“Daniel—”
“Close them.”
I close my eyes, taking in the absolute silence around us. I wonder if this is where he took them, Aubrey and Lacey. I wonder if this is where he did it. It’s the perfect spot—isolated, hidden. He won’t hurt you. I hear the buzzing of mosquitos around us, the scamper of some animal rustling the leaves in the distance. He won’t. I hear footsteps, Daniel’s, walking back toward my car, unlocking the trunk, pulling something out. He won’t hurt you, Chloe. I hear a thud as whatever it is is yanked from inside and lands on the ground. He’s walking back toward me now, carrying something. I hear it scraping against the ground. The scraping of metal against dirt.
A shovel.
I swing around, ready to sprint into the woods and hide. Ready to scream at the top of my lungs, hoping against all odds that there is someone else out here. Someone to hear me. Someone to help. When I face Daniel, his eyes are wide. He wasn’t expecting me to turn around. He wasn’t expecting me to fight. I look down at his hands, at the long, slender thing he’s clutching in his palms. I raise my arms to block him from striking me with it when I get a good, hard look at it and realize … it’s not a shovel. Daniel isn’t holding a shovel.