Page 60 of Middle of the Night

Which means whoever’s here doesn’t want to be seen. Definitelynota good sign.

I remain completely still, even as my mind races, thinking of reasons why someone would follow me into the woods while trying hard not to make their presence known. As usual, I go to the worst-case scenario first: Someone wants to do me harm.

A maniac hiding in the woods. Preparing to do to me what someone else did to Billy.

That leads to another, worse thought.

That it’s Billy himself, his long-ago Halloween prediction coming true in the most twisted way.

I bet there are ghosts roaming these woods right now.

I resume walking. I don’t have a choice. I’m in the middle of the forest and must go somewhere. So I forge ahead, each step I take matched by a similar, slightly quieter one a half second later.

One step.

Five steps.

Ten steps.

Then I run.

Terrified that I’m being chased—by a killer, by Billy, by anything—I crash through the woods, dodging low-hanging branches and leaping over logs, fully aware it’s borderline-ridiculous behavior. I don’t know what I’m running from. Or if I need to be running at all. Yet instinct keeps me moving. Not slowing, I risk a backward glance, trying to see who or what orifanything is behind me.

I see nothing.

Still looking backward, I burst through a line of trees and out of the woods. A startling transition that makes me whip my head around to face forward. A second passes in which I think I’ve reached the falls, its dark water spreading before me. I skid to a stop, arms pinwheeling to steady myself, as if one wrong move will send me tumbling over them.

But I’m not at the falls. Not even close.

I’m still a mile away, at the road that sits between my backyard and the Hawthorne Institute. The sight of that asphalt cutting through the forest—as clear a reminder of civilization as there can possibly be—makes me wonder if Detective Palmer is right about Billy knowing who sliced open the tent.

If so, it means he went willingly into the forest, coming to this very road. What did he feel at that moment? Did he have any inkling of what would happen here?

Then there’s my biggest question: Was he scared?

God, I hope not. I hope it was quick and painless and so sudden that he never knew what was happening.

Catching my breath now at the road’s edge, I think about the police dogs that followed his scent here. It’s common knowledge that the dogs couldn’t track Billy farther than that, leading everyone to think he was taken to a waiting car and whisked far away. What’s not as well-known is that Billy had been here earlier in the day with four other people.

Me and Ragesh, Ashley, and Russ.

I can’t keep from thinking that we’re to blame for the misunderstanding. That our presence in the woods confused the dogs and sent them back the way they came. All those different scent trails crisscrossing the road, some of them with Billy, some of them not. As a result, everyone thought Billy’s journey ended right here.

In truth, it was only the halfway point.

Friday, July 15, 1994

1:07 p.m.

Ethan watches it all unfold like a movie in slow motion. Billy edging close to the road. The car honking its horn and screeching to a stop. Ashley shrieking as she runs to Billy, pulling him away from the road, mouthing an apology to the driver as the car slowly moves on.

“You need to watch where you’re going!” she yells at Billy.

Billy, visibly shaken but none the worse for wear, nods. “I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

“Just be careful.” Ashley sighs as she looks at the rest of them. “All of you. Me and Ragesh will be in deep shit if something happens to one of you.”

“I’m not their babysitter,” Ragesh protests.

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