I remained perfectly still—a shadow in the dark, looking out. Feeling like Ruby must’ve felt, watching as each person walked by the Truett house, unaware that someone was inside, seeing everything.
His face turned briefly toward the front porch light—Preston—before continuing on, moving slowly down the sidewalk. Maybe he was patrolling again tonight. Maybe he was watching for something. Some threat that he knew was out there but couldn’t find.
I SEE YOU.
Did any of us ever see each other here for what we truly were?
* * *
AS SOON AS HE was out of sight, I left through my back gate, carefully locking up behind me. I kept to the fence line, hearing the nighttime routines of each house I passed, the homes winding down to silence, the drone of the air-conditioning units churning in the night.
When I rounded the corner, the sounds of the outside gained force, the cacophony of the lake growing louder as I darted across the street. The crickets, the call of the frogs—beckoning me closer, into the trees, thick with the promise of something.
Inside the tree line, I was fully disoriented at first. There was no clear path here, just trees and branches and things moving through the underbrush. It was easier on the way back, when you could see the lights from the neighborhood guiding your path.
I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds to orient myself. The water lapped at the shore in front of me, so I headed left, deeper into the trees. It was impossible to get lost—the woods were not that deep here. Eventually, I’d hit either a road or the water. I could feel the breeze coming in off the lake, from my right.
Every few steps, I turned on the light from my phone to guide the way, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself, in case other people were out here. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the woods. The moonlight was crisp and clear, and the shadows became more distinct—the shape of trees, of branches, of dense underbrush scratching at my legs.
And then, abruptly, I was out. The trees gave way to nothing. To openness.
I shone my light around the space: a flattened circle of dirt, the ash pit in the center. Little signs that others might’ve been here in the past: cigarette butts where the flame had once been; a bottle of beer at the border of the clearing; drag marks across the dirt, like someone had pulled a boat through the woods.
There was no car that I could see. From where I stood, to the right, was the water—where the kids must’ve been launching their boat. I headed to the left, where the clearing gave way to the dirt access road. The path was narrow and rocky, dipping and swerving with the terrain, not the place for any vehicles. You’d easily lose a tire or worse.
But at the bend of the next corner, I saw it. A flash of metal in the moonlight. Bright white, tucked off the side of the dirt road.
I moved faster until I was almost upon it. Until I knew it was the car I’d seen before. Tinted windows and mud-streaked tires. No plates.
There was no way to know whether this was Ruby’s car, though. To know why Whitney or Molly had assumed it was hers. Or whether Molly was just spinning another story, trying to keep Ruby at the center.
I circled it carefully, as Preston had done when it was parked in the lot at my office. Between the dark and the tinted windows, I couldn’t see inside. I shone my flashlight into the window but could make out only darker shadows.
I braced myself as I tried the handle, ready for a siren that blared through the night, but the passenger door was locked, and no alarm sounded. I tried the other handles, but every door was locked. There was a keypad under the handle of the driver’s door.
Keys couldn’t keep you safe—
I searched on my phone for the make and model of the car, to see if there was a way to reset it. All I discovered, per the car manufacturer, was that a five-digit code would grant me access, but it would also lock me out for good after three attempts, requiring a call to the dealer afterward.
I almost left. I had no proof this car was hers, and no way to get in. But I had three attempts, and I decided to take them.
The first code I tried was Ruby’s birthday. I knew the date by heart, subtracted backward to calculate her birth year, and hoped the locks clicked open.
They didn’t.
What other codes could there be? Knowing Ruby, she’d think she was being clever, subverting all expectations. Not even bothering to try to outwit someone.
I punched in 1-2-3-4-5, because what other options did I have?
Nothing happened.
I was down to the last attempt, but I could think of no other date. Pacing back and forth, I tried to remember her dad’s birthday or anything significant that had happened in her life—and then I froze.