“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“What’s not what I think? That you took her pills or that you . . .” I looked down at my sleeve, picturing the scar that lay underneath—the sharp edge, the pain, the screaming. “You . . .”

“It’s not what you think,” he said. He held one hand out like he was trying to show me he had nothing to hide, but his other hand gripped the knob tightly, trapping me. “I swear it. I can explain. But not here. Not right now.”

The places where the stitches had disintegrated started to itch, and I scratched at my arm. “You did this to me, didn’t you?” I pointed my finger at him and the skin around the scar stretched unnaturally. Then I swung my arm in the direction of the old woman’s room. “What are you doing to her?”

“I’m helping her. I’m easing her suffering.”

Pills down the drain. Razor down my arm. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. “How, exactly, do you ease the suffering?”

He shook his head and stepped toward me. “The only way that’s possible.”

I was surprised by my own strength when I pushed him and he stumbled back. I threw open the door and ran down the hall, through the lobby, and out into the cold. I ran to my car, shaking from more than just the frigid air.

I couldn’t go back to Troy. I couldn’t go to Decker. I couldn’t go home. So I drove randomly, without direction. Turning from somewhere to anywhere, anywhere to nowhere. I wondered if hell looked like this. A girl with no one, in a car, going nowhere.

Chapter 13

I drove past town, past Falcon Lake and the homes beyond. I drove down the same stretch of highway that Decker took last night, where the road had no shoulder, just pavement, then dirt, then thick trees. Where people had plowed a path through nature and tried to make a lasting impression. How long until the trees crept back up? Until they shot through the pavement, cracking and buckling it? How long until all evidence of us is erased?

Then I circled back toward town because there was nothing, no one, waiting for me out there either. But I didn’t go home. I drove around in the surrounding communities—unknown, but somehow familiar. An inescapable sameness. My life, relocated. And all the while, I heard Troy’s voice whispering in my ear. I saw his face on the dark shape by my hospital bed. Asking me if I suffered. Telling me it would be over soon. I listened to it echo a thousand times in my head, and still I didn’t know which he was referring to. Was he easing my life or my death?

And as I drove, I felt random pulls. Faintly left. Faintly right. Behind. Ahead. I couldn’t escape it. Death was everywhere. It was creeping around the outskirts of my world, like it was searching for me. Like it knew I had escaped and was trying to reclaim me.

So when I felt something stronger, I followed it. I pulled off the narrow curvy road surrounding my town and coasted down into a valley, riding the brakes. The trees parted and the forest flattened into pavement and concrete. A grid of homes and storefronts stretched in front of me for several blocks until the trees crowded back in again.

I cruised through the blocks until I found it, a ranch home the color of melted butter. A wide porch circled the front of the house, and two white rocking chairs swayed with the breeze. Or the ghosts. I put the car in park and watched.

Someone in that house was sick. Someone in that house was going to die. It was strong, but my hands were still. My brain was as normal as it was going to get. But death had settled in. Someone moved the white lace curtains aside. A narrow face peered out at me, hovering behind the window. Her white nightgown matched the curtains, so her face looked like it was floating behind the glass.

She was washed out and hollow, nearly a ghost already. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and groaned. Troy had a point—it was too late for her. She was ancient, halfway to death. How could I possibly save her? The face behind the window kept watching. Like she knew that I was death personified. A warning. A useless, terrible warning. I shook my head, shifted into drive, put my foot on the gas, and left.

I almost didn’t stop at my house. Troy’s old car was at the curb. I wanted to drive right on past, but Mom was at the window and she’d already seen me. From the road, she looked washed out and hollow as well. When had she become like this? I couldn’t remember. Falcon Lake claimed me nearly a month earlier. Maybe it had claimed her, too.

I parked in the driveway and walked up the front steps to let myself in the house. Mom was alone in the living room, but I knew he was nearby.

“Where is he?” I said as I scanned the room for Troy.