Don’t Look Back

chapter twelve

Mrs. Messer had this thing with her glasses. She put them on when she started talking, took them off before she finished a sentence, and then nibbled on the temple piece. Within the first five minutes of our session on Wednesday, she’d already completed the cycle five times.

I slid down in the seat, smothering my yawn with my hand. She’d spent the better part of our time together checking over reports from my teachers.

She placed the papers in a folder and set it aside. “As expected, none of the teachers have any concerns. If anything, you’re actually paying more attention in class now than before.”

“Well, I guess that’s one good thing.”

Her smile was tight-lipped. “How’s everything been at home?”

I schooled my features blank. “Everything’s okay.”

On went the glasses. “Your mother contacted me yesterday. She’s concerned about how you’re adjusting to everything.”

Jerking up in my seat, I snapped my mouth closed. Mom hadn’t spoken to me since the blowup on Monday night. And I was okay with that. “She called you?”

“Yes. She’s worried that you’re having a hard time connecting things from before the … incident with your life now.” Off went the glasses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

My teeth ached from how hard I was clenching my jaw. “It’s more like she’s having a problem with the way I am now.”

Mrs. Messer nibbled on the end piece. “Something to do with a boy …?”

Heat swept over my cheeks. “I was eating ice cream with a boy and she freaked out.” I couldn’t believe my mom had called her! Mom hadn’t made good on calling an actual therapist, but telling the school counselor was bad enough. Gripping the arms on the chair, I took a deep breath. “I’m not the same person I was before the incident. And you know what? I think it’s a good thing. I was a complete and utter bitch before.”

Putting the glasses back on once again, her lips twitched as if she really wanted to smile. Not the fake, tight smiles she always gave me. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I did explain to her that she would see personality changes.”

“I bet she took that well,” I grumbled. “She thinks I’m …”

“She thinks what, Samantha?”

I started chewing on my thumbnail as my foot anxiously tapped the floor. The urge to spill my secrets came at me fast and hard, and I wanted to cave. “I don’t know. She’s embarrassed by me. I think she’s always been.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” the counselor said, watching me. “Have you been able to recover any more memories?”

Focusing on the picture of the cherub-faced little boy in the photo on her desk, I gave a lopsided shrug. “Just bits and pieces, and they don’t make much sense. There hasn’t been a rush of memories, even though I’ve been doing like you’ve told me. I thought … I thought the news about Cassie would trigger something, but it hasn’t.”

“And how are you handling the news about Cassie? Do you still feel apathetic toward her?”

I hated it when she said things like that, even though I understood what she meant. My inability to recall the feelings surrounding my relationship with Cassie did make it hard to share in the grief everyone felt over her sudden death. “I’m trying to remember her.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

Returning to my thumbnail, I refused to answer. “Can I ask you a question?”

Mrs. Messer nodded.

“Do people who start to get their memories back see … weird things?”

Her eyes blinked slowly behind her glasses. “What kind of weird things?”

I shrugged again. “I don’t know. Like just seeing weird stuff or hearing voices?”

She took off the glasses, folding them this time. “Some memories can come back in the form of voices or images that may seem strange. If you could give me an example …”

I waited for her to put the glasses back on or to chew on them, but when she did neither, I knew I’d thrown her off her game. Not good. Just from her lack of fiddling with her glasses, I guessed hearing and seeing weird things wasn’t normal.

When I didn’t elaborate, she moved on, but I knew she’d come back to it again, probably on Friday. “Cassie’s funeral is on Monday. That may be a hard … event for you—”

“Or maybe it will help me remember something.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, scribbling something down on her pad.

My session was over, and I had to hurry to my locker so I wouldn’t be late. The first thing I saw when I opened the metal door was a note, written on yellow paper, folded in a triangle. Looking around before I opened it, I made sure no one was lingering nearby.

These notes baffled me—hell, they frightened me. If it had been me … if I’d done something to Cassie and somehow hurt myself in the process, what explained these notes? What was worse? Being responsible for Cassie’s death or the possibility that the culprit was still out there? The same person who was stalking me with a never-ending supply of legal notepaper?

I didn’t have an answer. Sighing, I unfolded the note.

You know why she was at the lake.

Part of me wanted to laugh as I folded up the note, adding it to the other one in my bag, but a familiar unease coated my throat. Obviously I didn’t know why she was at the lake. Whoever was leaving these things needed to get a little clearer about my situation, which brought up bigger questions.

Who was leaving these notes, and how much did they know?

Closing my locker, I turned as Del rounded the corner and sauntered toward me. A little stab of guilt shot through me as I remembered how badly I’d wanted to kiss Carson.

Del wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek before pulling back, tugging lightly on my ponytail. “You look tired. Doing okay?”

I smoothed my hand over my hair self-consciously. “I really didn’t put much into getting ready today. …”

“It’s okay.” He wrapped his hand around mine as we started down the hall. “Everyone understands you’ve been through a lot, and with the news about Cassie, no one expects much.”

My brow arched, but I didn’t say anything. Stopping outside of my math class, he kissed me good-bye—this time on the lips. Not a bad kiss at all. It was warm and dry, soft. Even patient, but my toes still curled for all the wrong reasons.

Del pulled back, searching my eyes intently. “You sure you’re just tired?”

Mysterious notes, the possibility that I might have had a hand in what happened to Cassie, and crazy thoughts aside, I had serious boy troubles. As if my life couldn’t get more complicated, I was lusting after the wrong guy according to everyone else—my brother’s best friend—while my boyfriend patiently waited for me to snap out of it.

I needed to figure out how I felt about Del if there was any hope for us because stringing him along wasn’t fair. If I was no longer the girl who’d fallen in love with him, it wasn’t right to keep up this … this charade.

Mulling over my options during my morning classes, I still had no idea what to do. I didn’t know what it was that kept me lingering. Fear of letting go of one of the last things that linked me to my old life? My relationship with my old friends was practically nonexistent at this point, leaving Del as the last vestige of the old Sam. Unable to decide how I felt about that, I eventually pushed those thoughts away and focused on Cassie. The most recent note told me nothing, but it did point me in the right direction.

I needed to get to that lake.

Maybe seeing it would trigger a key memory—help me remember an important detail. Selfish as this was, the need to know what happened wasn’t just for Cassie anymore. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t the one responsible for what had happened. To her and to me.

A plan formed slowly in my mind, and before heading to my friends’ table at lunch, I was already in the process of implementing it. I stopped at my brother’s table. “Can I borrow your car after practice?”

His brows inched up his forehead. “I’m not sure about that.”

I sat down, prepared to beg and plead. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to your car. I just need to do something after school.”

“What?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Something,” I said. “Please, Scott.”

Julie grinned at her brother. “I can’t remember the last time I heard her say please, so you kind of have to let her.”

“You’re not helping.” Scott sat back, eyes still trained on me. “Why don’t you let Julie take you wherever you want to go?”

“I can’t,” she said quickly, then flushed. “Not that I don’t want to, because I kind of do want to hang out, Sam.”

“Okay.” I still felt a little stung, even though I hadn’t planned on bringing anyone with me, but she seemed as if she genuinely wanted to be friends again.

Looking relieved, she smiled. “I have to work at the theater after school. It’s my shift today.”

“Oh, crap, I forgot.” Scott sighed. “Fine. I’ll be home before five. You can borrow it then, and I swear, if anything happens to my baby, it’s your ass.”

Ecstatic, I jumped up and leaned across the table, hugging him. “You’re the best.”

My brother’s jaw dropped. He shook his head, speechless, as I said good-bye to an equally shell-shocked Julie and headed to the back of the cafeteria. Only when I plopped my plate down beside Lauren did I realize Carson hadn’t been at the table. During bio, he’d acted as if nothing had happened between us, and that was probably for the best. At least until I figured out what I was going to do with Del.

I felt better than I had in days. It was as if I finally had a purpose, something to investigate, instead of sitting around in a daze. I dug into what I thought was sliced ham.

“So, I saw you talking to Julie.” Veronica picked at the label of her bottle of water. “Did you guys kiss and make up?”

“She was actually talking to her brother,” Lauren said, her eyes nervously bouncing between us.

“I don’t understand why your brother is with her,” Candy said. “He’s definitely dating down.”

I bit down on the anger building inside me. “What’s wrong with Julie? She’s really nice, and my brother likes her.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Candy glanced across the table at Veronica. “Her father works at a cigar shop in town. And not like he owns and works there, but, like, works there for minimum-wage slave labor.”

“He does?” I feigned shock. “Holy crap, I can’t believe they let her attend school here.”

“I know!” Candy nodded.

Lauren smothered her laugh with her hand.

“She was being sarcastic,” Veronica explained, her cheeks flushed. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“I’m not stupid.” Candy folded her slender arms and then giggled. “Okay. I may not be the smartest cookie in the shed.”

I stared at her. “It’s the sharpest tool in the shed.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“So is everyone excited about prom?” Lauren asked, striving to lessen the tension building at the table. “It’s, like, less than a month from now. Daddy is getting me this champagne-colored—”

“Shut up,” Veronica snapped. “No one cares about your damn dress.”

“Hey! Don’t talk to her like that.” I clenched the fork. Good thing it was plastic, because I wanted to shove it into what I suspected were surgically enhanced lips. “Jesus.”

Veronica’s skin flushed an unpleasant shade of red under the tan. “Okay. You’re being a bitch, Sammy.”

“I am?” I put the fork down, dumbfounded. All the irritation bubbled up and spilled over. A rolling anger took hold. “I’m not making fun of someone because their parents aren’t rich or because they don’t wear size Gap Kids. That’s what you are doing.”

“Okay. I’m just going to have to be up-front with you.” She twisted toward me, clasping her hands in her lap. With her collared blouse over her gray sweater, she looked like she was ready to give a sermon. “I understand that you’ve had some problems—”

“You mean not having any memories?” I shot back.

“Whatever. But that’s no excuse for how you’ve been behaving. If you keep dressing like you’re a homeless chick and—”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” I was wearing jeans and a shirt, for crying out loud. Most of my clothes at home were way too nice to wear to school, and seriously? Why would I want to wear a damn dress or skirt every day?

She gave me a duh look. “And if you keep talking to people like them”—them had to be anyone with a median household income under six figures, I assumed—“you’re going to turn into a bottom-feeder. And we’re going to have serious problems.”

Our little spat was drawing the attention of the kids closest to us, and I could’ve just shut up then or got up and walked away, but I couldn’t. I was so tired of … of everything—the looks, the snide comments, and how Veronica and Candy acted as if my memory wasn’t the only thing I was lacking. And maybe it was more than that—the frustration of not knowing anything, of being confused all the time.

Either way, I was so done with these bitches.

“You know what? We already have problems,” I said.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

“If getting my memories back means becoming a huge bitch like you? Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that.”

Some of the kids around us stopped eating. Others choked on whatever was in their mouths. My entire body burned with anger, and I wanted to say more than that, but I grabbed my tray and stood.

“Don’t ever think about sitting here again,” Veronica said, her chest rising rapidly.

“Fine with me,” I tossed back.

Drawing in a deep breath, she swirled in her seat. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Already do, honey.” I didn’t wait for her response. Edging around the table, I made my way to the front of the cafeteria. Eyes were on me, and I didn’t care. A weight lifted off my chest. I felt free—free of having to fit in with people I couldn’t relate to anymore. Adrenaline put an extra kick in my step as I dumped my tray. Part of me wanted to run back there and kidnap Lauren. She was the only decent one among them.

On the way out, I glanced over to my brother’s table. They were too far away to have heard us, but the whispers flying around the cafeteria had already reached them. Julie caught my eye and grinned before she rested her chin on my brother’s shoulder.

With some time to spare before lunch ended, I headed for my locker. Rounding the corner, I came to a complete standstill.

Carson was leaning against a locker across from the library, his back to me. A pretty brunette smiled up at him as he handed her a backpack that must’ve belonged to her. All I could hear beyond the irrational buzzing in my ears was the deep, husky laugh that curled my toes in the right way as he slipped the bag over her shoulder.

A pang hit me right in the chest, splintering my heart. I had no right to that pain—no right to the fire building inside me, but I wanted to bum-rush the two and force them to have at least five feet between them.

And there was no way in holy hell I would do such a thing. Maybe the old Sammy would’ve, but then again, the old Sammy didn’t like Carson on most days.

I took a step back, and it was suddenly like watching two actors on a black-and-white television, except the girl in front of him … it was me. I was on the tip of my toes, in his face. At first I thought I was kissing him because I was that close, but then I heard myself speak—this lifeless gray version of me.

“I saw you,” I sneered. “I saw you with Dianna. I know what you did.”

Carson threw up his hands, laughing grimly. “As always, you’re sticking your stuck-up nose where it doesn’t belong. You have no clue what you saw, Sam.”

Laughing, I tossed my hair over the shoulder. “Oh, we’ll end you, Carson. You just—”

Whatever else I’d said was lost to me. I’d stumbled into a locker, and the rattling sound sucked me out of the vision. All I knew was that the girl who was really in front of him was Dianna, but the reason behind the confrontation with Carson was unknown. Who was the “we”? And what had I seen him do with Dianna that could’ve been used as a threat?

Carson looked over his shoulder, brows knitting when he saw me. “Sam?”

Backing up, I shook my head in confusion. Switching from a memory—or possibly a hallucination—to what was really happening had my mind spinning to catch up. That, and my reaction to seeing him with a girl. “I’m sorry. I … I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Wait,” Carson said, stopping me. “Is everything okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah—sure, I’m okay.”

His eyes narrowed, and then he turned to Dianna. “Can you hold on a sec?”

“Sure,” she said, pulling out her cell and suddenly becoming very interested in it.

He crossed the distance between us, reaching out as if he would touch me but stopping before he made contact. “Sam, what happened?” he asked in a low voice. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” I looked down. The sleeve of my sweater was pushed up to my elbow, revealing two jagged scratches that beaded tiny drops of blood. A dull ache radiated from my arm. “I must’ve … scratched myself.”

He took my hand, swallowing. “How could you not know if you did that, Sam? That’s …”

Messed up? I pulled my hand free. “I have to go.”

“Sam—”

“She’s waiting for you,” I whispered, backing off. “I’ll talk to you later.”

His jaw clenched as he gave me a sidelong glance. “Okay. There will be a later.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I nodded. Forcing a smile that felt wobbly, I turned around and headed to the nearest bathroom. Heaviness pressed down on my chest, spreading to my shoulders. The back of my throat burned as I dropped my bag near the sink and turned on the water.

How had I done that to myself without even noticing or feeling it until now? And when had I done it? Swallowing hard, I felt my stomach roll as I shoved my arm under the faucet. The raw skin stung, adding to the already overwhelming pressure of unshed tears. Water ran red until it turned a faint pink against the porcelain basin.

Lifting my chin, I stared into my own frightened eyes. My heart threw itself against my rib cage. What would Mrs. Messer say about scratching yourself so deep that the skin tore? Probably the same thing she’d say about talking reflections. A strangled laugh escaped my lips. I doubt either of those fell in the normal range of coping mechanisms.

I took a breath, but it got stuck. There was most definitely something wrong with me. Crazy wrong.

When Scott returned home after baseball practice, I took my purse and my hastily scribbled directions down to the garage. I had a couple of hours before the sun set, so I managed to avoid most of Scott’s questions. I felt bad for being short with him, especially because he was letting me borrow his car, but I didn’t have much time.

It took me a little over forty minutes to reach Michaux State Forest and to find the summerhouse. Common sense told me that if I was going to start anywhere, it would be there.

Easing the car down the gravel road, I leaned over the steering wheel as a two-story log cabin came into view. Two garage doors were under the raised porch, and the entire front of the house was nothing but windows. A patch of land had been cleared around the front, and trees choked the back of the house. Parking the car, I clenched the keys in my hand and climbed out.

Shivering, I inhaled the scent of pine and rich soil. Something else lingered behind the scent—wet, familiar.

Most of the houses I passed on the way up had screened-in porches, but this house had a tiered deck. My sneakers crunched over gravel and tiny broken branches as I headed toward the steps. I tried to picture summers here, walking this very same path dozens of time.

The stairs groaned under each step, echoing and causing me to wince. A large, empty ceramic flowerpot sat in the corner. I went up the second set of stairs, to the main deck that appeared to wrap around the whole house.

As expected, the front door was locked. I crept along the railing of the porch. There was a can full of cigarette butts that looked newish. Mom and Dad claimed that the home hadn’t been opened since last September, but I doubted the butts would’ve retained their color that long.

Had someone been here? Did I smoke?

Shaking my head, I moved toward the back of the house, and there was the sound of something rushing, peaceful. It sparked the unrest inside me, stirring the abyss where my memories existed. The sound …

Water.

Excitement bubbled. I knew that sound—the lake. Hurrying down the back steps, I half slid down the sloping hill that met the heavy wooded area. The ground was covered with small rocks and fallen branches, and despite the fact that I had no conscious memory of the layout here, I navigated the area with ease. Maybe I had been back this way before? There was no other way to explain it. Anyone without some knowledge of the woods behind the house would probably break his or her neck wandering around at night. Pushing bare, low-hanging branches out of the way, I headed toward the source of the sound.

Up ahead, there was a boat docked. Angel. Recognizing the boat from one of the photos on my wall, I stepped on the dock, caught off guard when it bobbed under my feet. My gaze drifted beyond the boat, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

The lake was a deep, glossy blue and larger than I’d expected. The surface dipped and rolled gently in the breeze, holding a lifetime worth of secrets in its depths. It went on as far as I could see, curving around a bend. I lifted my gaze and couldn’t find anywhere nearby that would explain my memory of falling. There were just trees with tiny buds and boats docked all around the lake.

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I trekked across the man-made beach, following the shoreline. Detective Ramirez had mentioned a waterfall, which seemed to be the likeliest place for someone to take a fall.

I rubbed my sleeve over the scratches on my arm, trying not to think about how they’d gotten there. The sand was eventually replaced by mud that formed a weathered trail. Trees began to crowd the edges of the lake, and the farther I went, the louder the sound of rushing water became. I inched around a large oak and came to a standstill.

Water spilled over a rocky cliff, slamming into the lake twenty feet below. Frothy white water bubbled over sharp, jagged rocks jutting out of the lake. As I lifted my gaze, vertigo swept over me. I reached out blindly, placing my hand on the tree for support.

Around a hundred feet above the waterfalls was a cliff. It wasn’t a smooth descent from there. Large rocks protruded from the side of the mountain, rising up between thick bushes and smaller trees. A stream of water snaked its way down the hill.

I had a hard time believing someone would’ve made that fall. There were too many bone-breaking obstacles in the way. But if someone was pushed … he or she would’ve cleared the hill. My eyes moved down the horrific drop. The person would’ve ended up in the lake below.

An unnerving sense of rightness settled deep in my bones. Pushed—Cassie had to have been pushed. And me? Did I take the same fall? I shuddered as I recalled the memory of falling … and falling. That had to be it.

Seeing the cliff didn’t spark any memories in me, but I knew—I just knew this was where it all had gone down. There had to be another way to get up there. The climb was too steep, and I doubted I would’ve made it. I needed someone who knew his or her way around here, who could get me up there. Maybe Scott? Carson? My belly warmed at the latter. He might know his way around, but running to him didn’t make sense, especially after seeing him with Dianna—

Snap!

I froze. What was that sound? Straining, I held my breath and listened. Birds chirped and the branches above swayed, but those weren’t what I’d heard.

Snap! Another twig snapped, followed a few more seconds by the distinct sound of someone walking. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my heart leaped into my throat.

It came again, closer.

Spinning, I scanned the trees. It could be anyone—someone out walking or jogging. I strained to listen but heard nothing. Not even natural sounds. The whole forest had fallen deathly quiet.

A blur of black darted behind a tree up ahead. Catching it out of the corners of my eyes, I noticed that it was tall and definitely not bear-shaped.

“Hello?” I called out, my fingers clenching the car keys.

There was no response, and I couldn’t see whatever or whoever it was. Willing my heart to slow down, I started back toward the summerhouse. I’d made it about five feet before I heard a crunching sound behind me. I whirled around, eyeing the gloom that was falling between the trees.

The shape shot between two trees. The shape was male—dressed in black. A cap was pulled down, hiding his face. Hope sparked, but it was quick extinguished by dread. It couldn’t be Carson. He wouldn’t hide behind trees, and he would’ve answered when I called out.

A normal person would’ve answered when I called out.

Icy fingers of anxiety trailed down my spine. My chest compressed as I took a step back. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Throat dry, I turned around and picked up my pace. It could be anyone—it could be whoever was responsible for what had happened to Cassie and me. Not wanting to take any chances, I glanced over my shoulder. I saw nothing at first, and then … he was several feet behind me, off the trail, moving in quick, ground-eating strides.

I stopped.

He halted.

I took a step forward … and his step matched mine.

This … this wasn’t good. Warning bells went off. Instinct kicked in, and I took off. Over the sounds of my feet slapping on the ground and my thundering heart, I heard him crashing through bushes. Coming after me, chasing me …

I darted through the trees, kicking up dirt and small stones. Fear caught my breath as I pushed at the branches ripping at my hair. The edge of my sneaker caught on an exposed root, and I spilled forward, my knees and palms taking the brunt of the fall. Rocks ripped open my hands, tearing the denim and then the skin on my knees. I yelped in response to the sharp pain.

My vision dimmed. The color of the fallen leaves and muddy brown faded into gray. Not now. Please, God, not now. It was too late—I was sucked into the vision.

I was crawling on the ground, one hand in front of the other. No. Not the ground—a rocky, slippery hill. Pebbles and clumps of dirt broke free, pelting my face. I was numb, moving only on instinct. Nothing hurt. I clawed my way up, and my fingers slipped. Grasping wildly at rocks, roots, anything I could get my hands on, I slid down several feet, losing whatever ground I’d gained. My hands were gray, but red streaked the backs of them, caking my fingers. Nails cracked open.

Gasping in air, I blinked and color returned to the world. I looked over my shoulder. Two legs encased in black jeans stood a few feet behind me. Terror punched me in the gut. Scrambling over the ground, I ignored the pain and ran.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before the boats came into view and my feet hit the sand. I didn’t dare look back as I rushed toward the woods separating the lake from our house. My breath pawed at my chest as I shot free of the tangled branches and darted around the porch.

I cried out when I saw Scott’s car. Kicking up gravel, I slid around the hood and finally looked behind me.

No one was there.

Turning around, I scanned the thick trees. He could be hidden anywhere, waiting to jump out and do … do what? Finish what he’d started? But why? Who was he? I reached for the handle and the door opened. Had I locked the car when I left? I couldn’t remember.

Climbing in, I quickly pressed the button on the side to lock all the doors. I slumped in the seat, dragging in deep breaths that shook my entire body. I was nauseated and dizzy—adrenaline had me feeling as if I’d had one too many energy drinks.

I opened my eyes and put shaky hands on the steering wheel as I glanced at the passenger seat. A piece of yellow paper folded into a triangle was resting on it. My heart took another painful jump.

That hadn’t been in the car before.

Hands trembling, I reached over and picked up the piece of paper, quickly unfolding it. There was just one sentence, written in the same childish handwriting that was becoming as familiar as my own.

You know who killed Cassie.

I threw the note in my purse and started the car. Peeling out of the gravel driveway, I maneuvered the car down the narrow road, the back of my neck tingling.

Keeping my breaths long and even, I pulled out onto the main highway. I couldn’t afford to think of what had just happened. Time to freak out would come later, when I wasn’t behind the wheel of my brother’s car. I reached for the volume on the radio, wanting to drown out my thoughts, when I glanced up.

All I saw was the dark shape of him in the backseat, a brief glimpse in the rearview mirror. The world tilted, pitching me to and fro behind the steering wheel.

Oh my god.

He is in my car.

Terror rolled through me like thunder through the sky, dark and threatening, stealing my breath. Everything happened so fast. I thought about stopping, jumping out of the car and running, or slamming on the brakes. But I didn’t know what I did. Panic seeped from my pores, coating my skin. My brain was firing useless signals. There was a blast of a horn that sounded like it was miles away, and I couldn’t breathe.

He’s in my car.

A scream rose from the depths of my body as the darkness moved toward me, and then this sound—metal crunching, ripping apart—cut off my scream. Knocked to the side in one heartbeat, I was jerked back in the next, slamming my head off the steering wheel. Fierce, blinding, paralyzing pain stabbed at my skull. Glass shattered, picking at my skin.

And then there was nothing.