“It’s not deserted,” I said.

“You know what I mean. Look, I love your house. I’m jealous of it, really. I’ll probably be living in that same shitty apartment until I’m fifty by the time I pay off all my debt. But come on, Liv. It’s so dark at night. A reason people might want to come out here. Meeting in the middle of nowhere for a drug deal. Or, I don’t know, someone could’ve driven out this way and dumped the body, less chance of witnesses.” She shook her head, like she was clearing the image.

I could understand her point of view. She lived in the apartments where most of the newer hires moved at first, before deciding whether they were going to stay. The younger people tended to live there anyway, with the gym and the pool and the on-site laundry. It was convenient in more ways than one. My area was just as close to work but not as traveled. The lots had been cut wider, from before the industrialization. I’d gotten a good deal, when all was said and done.

Still, I thought the chance of random crime was higher near her, as the population density increased. Where people and walls abutted one another.

This, out here in the openness, had always felt safe. My primary fear was not of other people, of what they might do. I was afraid of being trapped, and even then, of people not knowing where I was. I kept my phone beside me at all times. And I liked having Rick close by; I liked that he noticed when I was gone. I liked being sure that, should I not return one day, there was someone who would know. I thought it was easier to be overlooked where Elyse lived, with the rush of bodies and activity.

We finished eating in silence. I tried to help clean the dishes, but she took the plate from me, gestured with her free hand down the hall. “Go get some sleep. I’ll stick around in case you need anything.”

I was grateful that I didn’t have to ask. My limbs had turned sluggish, and my walk was slow and deliberate.

Elyse followed me down the hall to my bedroom, eased a pillow under my leg to keep it elevated. Her gaze drifted to the window, and I could see the activity reflected in her eyes.

“Are they allowed to be on your property?” she asked, edges of her mouth pulling down.

“The body was close . . . just over the property line.” My voice was slurring, a lightness settling in my head. Every worry becoming smaller.

So they were still out there. And coming closer. I felt I should care more—something in Elyse’s expression said I should. But I was already drifting. The sleep, dark and heavy, pulling me under.

TRANSCRIPT OF EMMA LYONS’S LIVE INTERVIEW WITH LAUREL MAYNOR

OCTOBER 19, 2000, 7:03 P.M.

EMMA LYONS: I’m here in front of the site of the volunteer center with Laurel Maynor, Arden’s mother. Laurel, thank you so much for sharing your time with us today. We want you to know that all our viewers have been hoping and praying for Arden.

LAUREL MAYNOR: Thank you. That means a lot.

EL: You were telling me earlier how strong your daughter is.

LM: She is. She’s only six, but she takes ballet. She runs outside, she rides her bike. She’s always moving. She knows how to swim. I know she can survive this.

EL: We believe it, too. And everyone who has gathered here from as far off as Michigan believes it. That’s why they’re here. We heard at first that concerned citizens weren’t happy with the search effort. Do you believe that’s changed with all the attention Arden’s case has gotten?

LM: Yes. People keep coming, keep finding new ways to help. It’s given us all more hope. I’m so grateful.

EL: Is there anything else you’d like our viewers to know about your daughter?

LM: I just want her back. I want to go back in time to a few nights ago and wake up sooner—

EL: Hold on, just a moment—Yes? What? Please repeat?

LM: I want—

EL: No, sorry. Not you. Hold on. Say once more? Oh my God.

LM: What is it? What happened?

EL: Please pardon the interruption, but we’re reporting here live with the news that someone believes they’ve located Arden Maynor.

LM: What?

EL: Ms. Maynor, they think they’ve found your daughter.

CHAPTER 10

Saturday, 3 p.m.

I WOKE DISORIENTED.

The open bedroom door. The rattle of a bottle down the hall. An image of my mother in the kitchen, the amber container in her hand. That blurring of time.

But I was also in my bed, my leg elevated, arms lying still at my sides. Like I hadn’t moved an inch. I couldn’t tell whether I’d been asleep for a minute or an hour.

I reached for the phone on my bedside table to check the time, but it wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember whether I’d brought it in with me when I went to bed.

“Elyse?” I called, pushing myself up on my elbows. My throat was dry, my voice raspy, and I tried again. “Hello?”

A shadow filled the hallway, and my eyes struggled to focus. “Look who’s up.”

I knew the voice before his face clarified, and I fell back on the pillow, wondering if I should be mortified that Bennett was seeing me like this. “When did you get here?” I asked.

“About an hour ago. Sorry it wasn’t sooner, I couldn’t find someone to cover my shift on short notice until after lunch.” He stepped into the doorway, leaned against the wall. “Elyse swapped with someone’s night shift. I sent her home to get some sleep.”

I couldn’t tell if that was Bennett being generously friendly or being aware of his role as the head-of-shift nurse. In addition to setting the schedule and handling any issues that came up during the shift, he also had the unenviable job of documenting and reporting infractions. So he’d never send anyone to work who he thought wasn’t up to the task.

I bent my leg slightly; the stitches ran vertically on the outside of my kneecap, and the swelling seemed to have gone down enough to allow for a little more motion. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s just after three. You’ve been sleeping like the dead.” And then, with a glance to the window, he winced. “Can I come in?” he asked as I pushed myself to sitting.

“Yes, but I can get up just fine.” Sitting upright, I felt better. Not just the leg—I felt vindicated that what I’d really needed all along was a sleeping aid. I’d have to ask Sydney for a refill.

“I’m sure you can. But just in case.” He stepped closer to the side of the bed. He’d been in my house plenty of times, but never in my room.

“I’m not going to sue you if I fall, Bennett.”

He grinned tightly. Hospital protocol. Step one, never allow any further damage. He held out his hand, and I took it, his other hand at my elbow as I stood, steadying me. But I wasn’t about to let him help me around the house.

“What’s next,” he said, stepping back, his eyes roaming slowly over me. He wrinkled his nose and suddenly seemed five years younger. “Shower, maybe?”

I hadn’t changed from the night before, and the remnants of mud at the bottom of my pajama pants had caked and hardened. Maybe that was the source of disorientation when I woke—the scent of fear and adrenaline clinging to my clothes.

“You’re always full of good ideas,” I said. Standing closer to him, I could tell he was assessing me in a medical way. Could I walk straight? How was my sense of balance? Were my eyes focused? Pupils normal and reactive? “Are you going to check my pulse next?” I asked.