“I am not the killer!” the voice protested shrilly, and then in the next instant, the voice grew an edge of its own. “I’m trying to help. You can either listen and learn, or continue this game on your own.”

“Who are you?”

“He’s getting angrier.”

“No shit. Where are you calling from?”

“He’s going to strike again. Soon. Maybe already.”

Mac took a gamble. “He’s already struck again. This time he didn’t take two girls. This time, he took four. So what about it?”

A pause, as if the caller was genuinely surprised. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t think…”

“Why is he now in Virginia?”

“He grew up here.”

“He’s from Virginia?” Mac’s voice picked up. He swapped concerned glances with Rainie.

“His first sixteen years,” the caller replied.

“When did he move to Georgia?”

“I don’t know. It’s been… years. You have to understand. I don’t think he really wants to hurt the victims. He wants them to figure it out. If they would just remain calm, be smart, show some strength-”

“For Christ’s sake, they’re only kids.”

“So was he once.”

Mac shook his head. The killer as a victim. He didn’t want to hear this shit. “Listen, I have two dead girls and two more at risk. Give me his name, buddy. End this thing. You have it in your power. You can be the hero. Just give me his damn name.”

“I can’t.”

“Then send it in the mail!”

“Did the first body lead you to the second?”

“Give me his goddamn name!”

“Then the second body will lead you to the third. Move quickly. I don’t… I’m not even sure what he’ll do next.”

The signal went dead. Mac swore and hurled his phone into the brush. It spooked a scavenging raccoon and didn’t do a thing to calm his temper. He wanted to run back up the mountainside. He wanted to plunge into an ice-cold stream. He wanted to throw back his head and howl at the moon. Then he wanted to swear every obscenity he’d ever learned as a child and collapse into a pile and weep.

He’d been working too long on this case to keep seeing so much death.

“Damn,” he said at last. “Damn, damn, damn.”

“He didn’t give you a name.”

“He swears he’s not the killer. He swears he’s just trying to help.”

Rainie looked at the body. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“No kidding.” Mac sighed, straightening his shoulders and moving resolutely toward the body. “All four girls disappeared at once, from the same car?”

“That’s what we’re assuming.”

“Then we don’t have much time.” He hunkered down, already pulling the black plastic body bag away from the girl.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for clues. Because if the first girl led us to the second, then the second will lead us to the third.”

“Ahh, shit,” Rainie said.

“Yeah. You know what? Go find Kathy Levine. We’re gonna need some help here. And a boatload of coffee.”

“No rest for the weary?”

“Not tonight.”

Nora Ray was dreaming again. She was in the happy place, the land of fantasy where her parents smiled and her dead dog danced, and she floated in a pool of cool, silky water, feeling it lap peacefully against her skin. She loved this place, longed to come here often.

She could listen to her parents laugh. Watch the pure blue sky, which never contained a red-hot sun. Feel the crystalline cleanness of pure water against her limbs.

She turned her head. She saw the door open. And without hesitation, she left the pool behind.

Mary Lynn was riding her horse. She drove Snowfall through miles of green pasture, racing through fields of wild daisies, and jumping fallen logs. She sat forward in the saddle, her body tight and compact like a jockey’s, her hands light and steady on the reins. The horse soared. She soared with it. It was as if they were one.

Nora Ray crossed to the fence. Two other girls sat on the top rail. One blonde. One brunette.

“Do you know where we are?” the blonde asked Nora Ray.

“You’re in my dream.”

“Do we know you?” the brunette asked.

“I think we knew the same man.”

“Will we get to ride the horse?” the brunette asked.

“I don’t know.”

“She’s very good,” said the blonde.

“There’s never been anything my sister couldn’t ride,” Nora Ray replied proudly.

“I have a sister,” said the brunette. “Will she dream of me?”

“Every night.”

“That’s very sad.”

“I know.”

“I wish there’s something we could do.”

“You’re dead,” Nora Ray said. “You can’t do anything at all. Now, I think it’s up to me.”

Then her sister was gone, the pasture had vanished, and she was spiraling away from the pond long before she was ready. She woke up wide-eyed in her bed, her heart beating too fast and her hands knotted around her comforter.

Nora Ray sat up slowly. She poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on her nightstand. She took a long drink and felt the cool liquid slide down her throat. Sometimes, she could still feel the salt building like rime around her mouth, coating her chin, covering her lips. She could remember the deep, unquenchable thirst that ran cell-deep, as the sun pounded and the salt built and she went mad with thirst. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

She finished her glass of water now. Let the moisture linger on her lips, like dew on a rose. Then she left her room.

Her mother slept on the couch, her head crooked awkwardly to the side, while on the TV Lucille Ball crawled into a vat of grapes and gamely stomped away. In the neighboring bedroom, Nora Ray glimpsed her father, slumbering alone on the queen-sized bed.

The house was silent. It filled Nora Ray with a loneliness that threatened to cut her heart in two. Three years later, and no one had healed. Nothing was better. She could still remember the harsh grit of salt, leaching the last moisture from her body. She could remember her rage and confusion as the crabs nibbled on her toes. She could remember her simple desire to survive this hell and return to her family. If she could just see them again, slide into her parents’ loving embrace…

Except her family had never returned to her. She had survived. They had not.

And now, two more girls in the pastureland of her dream. She knew what that meant. The heat had arrived on Sunday, and the shadowy man from her nightmares had resumed his lethal game.

The clock glowed nearly two A.M. She decided she didn’t care. She picked up the phone and dialed the number she knew by heart. A moment later, she said, “I need to reach Special Agent McCormack. No, I don’t want to leave a message. I need to see him. Quick.”

Tina didn’t dream. Her exhausted body had given out, and now she was collapsed in the mud in a sleep that bordered on unconsciousness. One arm still touched the boulder, a link to relative safety. The rest of her belonged to the muck. It oozed between her fingers, coated her hair, slithered up her throat.

Things came and went in the sucking muck. Some had no interest in prey quite that large. Some had no interest in a meal that wasn’t already dead. Then, up above, a dark shadow lumbered along the path, stopping at the edge of the pit. A giant head peered down, dark eyes gleaming in the night. It smelled warm-blooded flesh, a fine, delectable meal that was just its size.

More sniffing. Two giant paws raked one side of the hole. The depth was too great, the terrain not manageable. The bear grunted, lumbered on. If the creature ever came up, it’d try again. Until then, there were other fine things to eat in the dark.

The man didn’t sleep. Two A.M., he packed his bags. He had to move quickly now. He could feel the darkness gathering at the edges of his mind. Time was becoming more fluid, moments slipping through his fingers and disappearing into the abyss.