They dropped her onto the floor in the center of the living room, and through her frantic, hysterical tears, Audra saw Maggie emerge from the kitchen. She was carrying what looked like party cups. “Drink,” she said, distributing the cups among the group. Kenzie and Nolan took turns holding Audra down as they gulped whatever it was Maggie had concocted.

Maggie paused next to Jeffrey. She placed a hand on his forearm in a thoughtful way. “Hard to believe we’re finally here,” she said.

“It is,” Jeffrey agreed. “But here we are.”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Maggie said with a chuckle. “Just think of how far we’ve come since meeting in Veldt.”

Audra couldn’t put it together, didn’t understand what they were talking about, but she remembered then—Jeff had mentioned that they needed Maggie to take care of things. What things?

That’s when it hit her: they were really going to do it, they were going to kill her.

And what would become of the baby? What would become of her mother? Her father? How long would it be before her parents knew she was dead? Please, she thought, I take it back. I take it all back. I don’t want them to find me like this. Let it be the mailman, the meter reader, the police—anything but them.

Deacon approached her, and for a split second, Audra’s soul was ignited by hope. Maybe he was remembering the connection they had made on the beach, or felt pity for her and would somehow talk the group out of doing whatever it was they had planned. This isn’t the girl we want. We’ve made a mistake. Let’s move on, forget the whole thing.

Deacon knelt next to her, and for a moment she was sure he was her salvation. But his words brought promise of something else. “I always knew you were the one,” he said. “You’re scared now, but death is only temporary. Trust in this, Avis. Have faith.”

No. The word screamed through her head. They’re all crazy. She cried out, struggling against Noah’s and Kenzie’s grip. I have to get out of here, I have to save my baby. She opened her mouth to scream—one more attempt at protest. But she was gagged before she could pull in enough breath.

Deacon pressed a rag over her mouth. It was wet, choking her with the scent of alcohol, or maybe it was acetone. She continued to fight, trying to kick out her legs to get Deacon away. Except they were suddenly too heavy to move. Her hearing went fuzzy, as though she were drowning. Her vision blurred. She heard Shadow bark, watched Maggie’s fading figure catch him by the collar and pull him back while her dog yipped and tried to get to his owner.

The last thing she ever saw was Jeff leaning over her. He was smiling. And all she could think was that he was still beautiful. If she had just tried harder, maybe it would have been different.

Maybe it would have all worked out in the end.

58

VEE COULDN’T MOVE, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away as Jeffrey Halcomb grabbed her father and, in a shimmer of light, seemed to vaporize right before her eyes.

Astral projection, she thought.

Out-of-body experience.

Etheric travel.

But there was something about her father, something different. His eyes. His posture. The way he was now looking at her, a faint smile tugging at a single corner of his mouth.

“Do you trust me, Vivi?” His words released her from her stasis. The cross glinted in his hand. That nickname . . . her dad would never call her that.

“I do.” What? She listened to the words come out of her throat—words that she wasn’t saying but couldn’t stop. What’s happening to me? She fought against herself as she moved forward. Her hand extended out to reach for the man who looked like her father but was no longer her dad. She knew then; her father was gone, replaced by the one who had promised her happiness if she’d only forget. Forget he ever existed.

“Then don’t be afraid,” he said, catching her hand in his. The moment their fingers touched, Vee swayed on her feet. A sharp scent overwhelmed her. It smelled like a salon. Like nail polish remover. Suddenly she was tired, so tired, as though some inexplicable toxin had entered her bloodstream. Her tongue flicked out across her bottom lip, tasting sweet cherries, bitter almonds. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen, to the cherries that littered the orange-topped kitchen island. The mortar and pestle. The cherry pits she knew were there, ground into powder. Why would anyone grind cherry pits for cider? Why would anyone do that? Why?

“Close your eyes, Vivi,” he whispered, drawing her closer. “Long live, remember? Long live into forever.”

He drew his hand down her back, and Vee’s legs gave way. Her feet left the ground as the man with her father’s face lifted her up into his arms, moving into the circle of the dead.

She couldn’t have fought him if she wanted to. Her body, limp now, felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds.

59

LUCAS THRASHED INSIDE himself. No. He watched himself go through motions he couldn’t control. No! he screamed, but the sound never made it past the space between his skull and his brain, it never reached his throat. He fought to break free. This isn’t happening! And yet, despite his panic, his heartbeat was steady. Even his pulse was no longer his.

Jeanie’s hair spilled to the floor in easy waves of gold. He smoothed his fingers across her forehead, staring down at his little girl as her eyes rolled back into her head. Lucas’s fingers, Jeff’s fingers, squeezed the cross held fast in his hand. So hard it cut into his palm. Strange how he had stared at it only hours before, wondering what it would feel like to stab something so blunt into the side of his own neck. He had begun to wonder if that’s why Jeff had given him the cross in the first place—to repeat what Schwartz had done in his jail cell. Because this house had become Lucas’s prison. Maybe his blood was supposed to soak into the rug where Audra Snow’s blood had spilled so many years ago.

But now he understood. Jeff didn’t intend for Lucas to kill himself. Hell, he hadn’t ever meant for Lucas to write a book about him at all.

I’ve taken a liking to your method . . . your ability to bring the past to life—to resurrect it, if you will.

Jeffrey hadn’t been speaking figuratively in his letter, and he hadn’t been referring to Lucas’s writing. Jeff Halcomb had known that he’d be taking his own life as soon as he knew Lucas was the right man for the job. Jeffrey needed a vessel for his own disembodied soul, and Lucas was the perfect host.

And Jeanie? How had Jeffrey known about her? Caroline had expressed her worry about Lucas noting that he lived in New York with his wife and young daughter on the biography page that appeared at the end of his books. Who knows what kind of weirdos are out there, she’d mused. But even if Jeff had known about Jeanie, how could he have been sure Lucas would bring her to Pier Pointe? How would he guarantee himself a sacrifice?

That’s what Echo was for.

Echo must have been going back and forth between Jeffrey and Lucas. Jeffrey probably suggested the box of photographs himself. It’s why she had appeared so conveniently, just in time to keep Lucas from packing up again and hitting the road. Jeff had told her to leave the cross at the front desk. Echo had never been there to help, never been there as a friend.