“Hey, Becca,” Jessie said, kind of quietly, thoughtfully.

Becca had looked at her askance. She and Jessie weren’t exactly close friends, though they ran in the same crowd. And because Jessie was Hudson’s, Becca always felt a bit awkward around her. They hadn’t ever taken their friendship to any meaningful level. In fact, they rarely spoke directly to one another. She waved a hand in the general direction she was heading. “I’m…late…”

“I know something,” Jessie said. “Something I shouldn’t, maybe.” She was eyeing Becca closely, as if waiting for something to happen. A gust of wind blew up, teasing Becca’s hair, making her aware that no one else was around. The walkways and lawns leading up to the front doors were empty, not a soul visible.

“What do you mean?” she’d asked and tried not to notice how eerie the late afternoon sky was-steel gray clouds with burgeoning purple bellies hanging low in the sky.

“Sometimes you have enemies you never even knew existed. Sometimes they’re right in front of you.”

“I’m not sure…what you mean…” Becca felt a jolt, slightly alarmed. It was as if Jessie were reading into her mind about her feelings for Hudson.

“And sometimes they’re not,” she said abruptly, looking away, across the parking lot, her gaze off to a middle distance that probably had nothing to do with the dented Chrysler parked too close to a fire hydrant. “I just have this feeling, you know. Like a storm’s coming. Do you ever think that way? That you get feelings and they come true?”

“A storm is coming,” Becca said, glancing up at the dark heavens and playing dumb. Didn’t Jessie know about Becca’s visions? Hadn’t someone told her?

Jessie skewered her with a disbelieving look. “Not that kind of storm, Becca. You know what I mean.”

Oh, God. Fear curled through Becca’s blood. “I, uh, I’ve gotta go. Really.”

Jessie didn’t look away, though her hair blew over her face. “Don’t be too trusting, Becca,” she warned. “Watch your back.”

Becca had practically run down the steps away from Jessie.

And then Jessie had disappeared. Mysteriously. The runaway back on the road. Or so everyone had thought, including Becca. But Becca’s parents had become overly frightened and even more protective of their daughter. They’d never really known Jessie; Becca and she hadn’t been that close of friends. But they knew Jessie was a runaway and they seemed to think Becca might have picked up some of Jessie’s ways because they constantly checked to make sure Becca was happy after Jessie’s disappearance.

Happy…

Now Becca thought back to her latest vision. How Jessie had mouthed something to her, something Becca couldn’t hear. How she’d been at the edge of a cliff, her toes over the rim, how she’d been frozen in time, the same age as when she’d disappeared. Was that because that’s how Becca remembered her? Or because that’s the age she’d been when she died…

The wind threw the birch branches at her window, clattering and tapping. The radio switched songs and Rick Spring-field started singing about how he wished that he had Jesse’s girl. Becca’s mouth twisted at the irony. How she’d wished that she had Jessie’s boy.

And how she wished that she still had Jessie’s boy’s baby.

She pushed that thought aside with an almost physical effort. No good would come from her wishing and hoping for the past to realign itself. It just wasn’t going to happen.

The electricity switched on, bedroom lamps showing through the open door to the bathroom. Climbing out of the tub, Becca had to nudge Ringo off the mat with a wet toe to make some room. She toweled herself off and grabbed up her underclothes, jeans, and a blue sweater. Padding into the bedroom, she pulled on socks and a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Without really knowing what she intended to do, she grabbed her raincoat and keys and purse and headed to her car, throwing a look toward the stand of firs on her way out.

There was nothing there. No malevolent force. Just branches wavering in the brisk wind, emitting a sad soughing filled with regret.

Becca climbed in the Jetta and headed away from the condo into a heavy sky that was growing blacker by the minute. She glanced at her watch. Four o’clock. Dark as sin already.

Becca told herself she was going out to grab a coffee or a soda as she headed west from her Portland condo. But she passed every coffee shop and fast-food restaurant as night crept up on her. Her hands tightened upon the wheel, her gaze glued to the wet pavement, shimmering in the beams from her headlights. She passed cars and trucks driving in the opposite direction, turned off the main road as if pulled by an unseen force, because not once, consciously, did she admit to herself where she was headed, where she was drawn.

She drove almost unerringly to St. Elizabeth’s campus. It was surrounded by chain-link construction fencing, and yellow signs warned interlopers to stay off the premises. But there was a gap in the fencing where vehicles came and went. An opening no one seemed to feel the need to repair. She drove through as if she owned the place and parked at the far side of the lot, closest to the maze. Behind the front building she could see where demolition was in progress. Several large machines with scoops and claws sat idle while rubble lay in untidy piles, one such pile as tall as the cab of a small crane.

Yellow crime scene tape flapped angrily at the entrance to the maze. It had been long enough that Becca suspected the tape had just been left, that it served no purpose any longer. And even if it were still in play, she didn’t much care. She wanted to see the site where the human remains had been found.

Jessie’s remains…

She’d scarcely taken two steps into the maze when she was slapped in the face by a wet branch. She cried out in surprise, then cringed to hear her voice hang in the air. So much for quietly going about her business. Even with the intermittent whistle of the wind, her half scream had seemed loud.

As if in answer to her, the clouds opened up and poured rain that quickly turned to hail, slamming down in a violent rush. Becca stumbled forward, yanking her parka hood over her head, her boots squishing into the water-saturated earth. Late February and miserable. She reached a fork in the maze and turned left, hurrying, wind gleefully tossing precipitation at her face, the ground white with hail beneath her feet.

Three turns later and she was lost. Becca stopped cold, shivering, surprised by her mistake. In high school she would’ve known the way blindfolded. Now she was uncertain which direction to take. The weather and darkness hadn’t helped, but she’d been sure she would find the Madonna.

Mentally she retraced her route and realized she might have erred on the second turn. Holding on to her coat from the snatching fingers of the branches and skeletal berry vines, she reversed her route at the second turn and headed back inside just as the hail stopped, turning to a thick, pelting rain.

Jessie had been a master at the maze. Flirtatious and dangerous, in her way, she would crook her finger and invite the guys in their group to come after her. They ran like dogs with their tongues hanging out. But it had all been for Hudson’s benefit, her need to make him jealous, though it hadn’t really worked. Hudson was cool. Tolerant. Maybe disinterested. Jessie’s machinations hadn’t provoked him in the least and Becca had admired him for it. Loving him had been so easy.

Love, she questioned now, holding back a long branch. A fifteen-year-old’s love that lingered year after year. Could you even call it that? Love? Maybe it was more like obsession. Or habit. Or…

She heard a twig snap behind her. Like in the movies. The signal for danger. But there was no one in the maze but her. She was sure of it.

Are you? Are you?

She was frozen on the balls of her feet, listening. Was there someone there? Something there?