I was wound so tight I almost fell off my bed. Her name blinked on the screen. And I hesitated. I didn’t know what to say. I thought of the sheriff and Judy finding us in the middle of the cemetery, my arms around Silla, but not to comfort her, to pin her there, to keep her back from Reese. Her staring, comatose eyes. I thought of Reese’s body, his blood everywhere and making me gag. His eyes half-open, his mouth slack. I didn’t know what to say to Silla, but I had to say something. So I flipped open the phone and walked to the window. “Hey.” “Hi.” Her voice was soft, barely there. Silence fell between us, and I pressed my bandaged hand to the cold glass. Under the bandage, stitches held together the gash I’d made on the cemetery wall. It throbbed, and the cold helped. I stared out past my fingers. The woods looked so normal in the morning light. Not like the place the sheriff had tracked Josephine’s blood trail to, not like the place they’d lost her. They’d searched Ms.
