“Who told you that, Dougie? How do you know Rainie went to a bar?”

The boy refused to answer again, his lips set in a hard line, his chin coming up defiantly. But Kimberly thought she knew the answer this time. The boy had been right; Stanley knew how to hurt without ever leaving a mark.

“Dougie,” Kimberly said quietly. “One last time: Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“I hope Rainie dies,” Dougie said, then he ran to a small rock, scooped up the beetle, and went racing back into the woods.