And then . . .

I fall down. I don’t know how or why. Then I don’t have time to consider it. Another shot is fired. Thomas yells, at me, at her, I can’t tell. He rushes by, shovel overhead, a man on the attack.

“Run,” he screams at me. “Run!”

And I find myself racing across the rolling hills I used to contemplate from the tower bedroom, cutting a path straight for the woods.

Another scream of frustration from Marlene. Another explosion from the gun. Followed by a heavy grunt, distinctly male. Thomas, I think; she’s shot Thomas.

But I can’t go back. The wind is carrying me now, cold and determined. Into the woods I go.

“Vero!” I cry out.

And I know she is here with me. We run together, two little girls finally escaping. I hold out my hand, and she is there.

*   *   *

“SHOTS FIRED, SHOTS fired!”

Wyatt’s SUV had just crested the hill when he heard the first exchange. He grabbed the radio; Tessa was already unclipping her seat belt.

“There,” she reported, pointing through his window. “Lights. Near that mound of vegetation.”

He careened his own vehicle to a stop, identifying Marlene Bilek’s car, dead ahead. A quick request for backup while unholstering his sidearm; then he and Tessa had both doors open, using them for momentary cover. Whatever was happening was playing out beyond the beam of the headlights. They couldn’t see as much as hear the action.

Dark bobbing shapes as two people struggled. Then a woman’s shriek of frustration, followed by a fresh crack of gunfire. A muffled grunt; then the second shape dropped to the ground.

Thomas Frank, Wyatt guessed, given the larger size.

“Marlene Bilek!” Wyatt called out. “This is the police. Drop your weapon!”

He leveled his own weapon, but at this distance, in the dark . . .

Apparently, Marlene Bilek figured the same. Because in the next instant, she scooped up a flashlight. Then, as they watched, she took off across the grass.

“She’s running away,” Tessa exclaimed.

“Or giving chase. Where’s Nicky?”

“Shit!”

They both took off into the night.

*   *   *

LEAVES SLAP MY face. I twist around one tree only to become briefly entangled in a bush. The woods are thick, heavily overgrown, and I have no light to guide my way. Already I’m thrashing and heaving, whacking my way through the vegetation like an enraged bear.

She will find me. She has a flashlight. She has a gun.

She’s already taken out Thomas, and now it’s my turn.

I will die in these woods, just like I did twenty-two years before.

Now, with my heart heaving in my chest and tears pouring down my cheeks, it amazes me all the pictures popping into my mind. They are not of the dollhouse. They aren’t of Vero. They are of Thomas.

I am running for my life. Approaching the precipice of my third death, and mostly, I’m remembering the man who loved me.

Days and weeks and months in the dollhouse. Exchanges of looks but never words. Coconspirators before either of us was ever brave enough to verbalize the crime. But he knew, and I knew that he knew, and it was enough to give both of us hope.

Because what is love, if not an exercise in faith?

The nights he never left me. I cried and cried. I railed at him; I hit him. I blamed him; I begged him. And he took it. He held me and stroked my hair and whispered it would be all right. Because what is love, if not perseverance?

I forgive you, I think, though until this moment, I didn’t realize just how much I blamed him for the fire. But he was right; we were just kids. We didn’t know what we were doing. And none of us should’ve been there anyway.

Vero knows that. If I could stop right now, sit and have a cup of tea, Vero would be wearing her finest dress. She’d hug me, and I would hug her back, and we’d hold each other tight.

Because what is love, if not forgiveness?

More crashing. From behind me. Coming closer.

I’m running blind. Maybe even in circles. There’s no place to go. Just trees growing steadily larger, bushes filling out thicker and thicker. I come to a small clearing, and that’s that. I spin around and around. But I’m trapped.

This is it. What I’ve spent twenty-two years waiting for.

Deep breath. I stop, turn, prepare for the worst.

Shouts in the distance. The police, I realize. Here and in pursuit. Meaning if I can just find a way to buy time. Two minutes? Three, four, five?

I should climb a tree. But just as I try to figure something out, I hear a fresh snap right behind me. I whirl around, and Marlene Bilek is standing there.

The woods haven’t been any kinder to her than to me. Her face is scratched and bleeding, her short Brillo hair now a rat’s nest of leaves. Her chest is heaving from her exertions and it’s clear the chase has only increased her rage. She fumbles slightly with the gun; then she’s got it up.

“Don’t move,” I hear myself say.

She frowns at me. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s here. Can’t you feel her? She’s here. Right here. With us.”

“Girl, you’ve taken one too many hits to the head.”

“She would’ve gone anywhere with you, you know. A homeless shelter, a women’s home. She loved you so much. You were her world. The one person who kept her safe.”

“Stop it!”

“She remembered that night. Ronnie beating her so savagely. Felt like it would never end. But then he was gone and there you were, holding her in your arms. You whispered to her all night long. You begged her to live. She heard every word. For you, she came back again.”

Marlene’s arm is trembling. She thins her lips; I can see her willing her finger to move on the trigger. I wonder if she knows she has tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Five thousand dollars. That kind of love, and you sold it for a measly five grand?”

“Stop!”

But I don’t. I can’t. “Tell her you love her. Now. Say the words. She’s been waiting thirty years! Thirty years for you to return to her. Thirty years for you to remember how much you love her.”

“No—”

“You have to!”

“I can’t! Don’t you understand? I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I really did tell myself it was for the best. Then, when she was gone, when I realized what I had done . . . There was no going back. Don’t you understand? I ripped my own heart out of my chest, and there was no putting it back again!”

“Did you miss her?”

“Yes! Every day!”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

“She loves you, too. She loves you and she hates you, and there is nothing I can do to save you from what’s going to happen next.”

Marlene frowns at me.

“Girl, you’re crazy!” She takes a determined step forward, as if to end this once and for all . . .

She doesn’t see what I already know. The jumble of objects all these years later, still sticking out of the earth. Because the night had been dark then, too, and time compressed and my vision blurred by the thickness of my tears. As I’d dragged her body through the woods, away from the flames. As I found the half-filled grave dug just hours before. As I sat back on my heels and used my bare hands to further excavate the heavy, wet earth.

Of course, I’d been exhausted and shell-shocked and traumatized. I hadn’t dug very deep, before depositing my most precious possession in the earth. Her limbs flopping awkwardly. Her sightless gray eyes staring back at me. Not enough time for perfect. Just good enough.

As I closed her eyes.

As I kissed her cheek.

As I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Before dumping a few handfuls of mud, then running off into the night.

Now Marlene comes for me.

She steps forward.

She trips over the first protruding object. Stumbles into a second, then a third. Throws out her left hand as if to catch herself, but it’s no use. The objects have won.