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.

Chapter thirteen

An annoyingly persistent beeping sound thrust me into a world where my skin felt too tight, too dry. And every—every—part of my body ached as if I’d gone one-on-one with a truck. My eyes opened into thin slits, and the lights were too harsh. I moaned, immediately closing them. I wished I could disappear back into the darkness.

“Sam?” The bed dipped beside me. “Sam, are you awake?”

The sound of my brother’s voice dragged me back, forcing my eyes to open. His face loomed over mine, blocking some of the light. Dark shadows blossomed under his eyes. His hair was a mess, sticking up every which way.

He smiled weakly. “Do you remember me?”

“Yeah,” I croaked, wincing. I tried lifting my arm, but something tugged on my hand painfully. Tubes. There were tubes everywhere, connecting to that damn beeping machine. I wet my lips. “What…what happened?”

“You were in a car accident.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Dad’s out in the hall, talking to the doctors. The police think you lost control on the highway.”

I struggled to sit up, too weak to really lift my head. “What about the other driver? Are they okay?”

“Don’t try to sit up. I got it.” Scott grabbed an extra pillow off the chair and then gently slid his fingers under my head, lifting slowly as he got the pillow under me. “The other driver was clipped. They’re fine.”

My head protested the movement, as did most of my body. “Your car…oh my god, I’m sorry.”

Scott settled back down, rolling his eyes as he fixed the thin hospital blanket. “I don’t care about the stupid car. It’s already taken care of. I’ll get a rental in the morning.” His eyes lifted, meeting mine. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was in a car accident,” I said, lifting my free hand once I figured out that one wasn’t hooked up to anything. I touched my head gingerly. There was a bandage on my forehead. “How…bad is it?”

“Nothing too serious. Not like you need your brain anyway, right?”

I laughed and then groaned. “Ow.”

“You got a lot of bruises and probably will hurt for a while, but you’ll survive.”

“That’s good.” I closed my eyes, wanting to move but knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea. Something waited on the fringes of my thoughts. Something I couldn’t quite grasp. A quick peek through the window told me that night had fully fallen. “How long have I been here?”

He glanced over my shoulder, sighing. “It’s close to five in morning. You’ve slept this entire time.”

Oh god.

“I think I heard the doc saying he was going to keep you through today for observation after everything…else.” He smiled again, but there was an edge to it. Wariness. “So you get out of school the rest of the week. Way to go.”

I wanted to laugh and joke, but his smile nagged at me. “You’ve been here this whole time?”

Scott nodded. “Del the Dick stopped by before they ended visiting hours. So did Julie.” He paused, a real grin tugging at his lips. “And after I texted Carson, he was here in under ten minutes. Was not happy when they wouldn’t let him stay.”

“Carson,” I murmured.

“Yeah, he…was really worried, sis. He and I are going to have to talk about that.” A troubled look eroded the teasing grin. “Sam, the EMTs and police said you were talking when they arrived on the scene. Something about—”

Dad entered the room, looking every inch the poster child for country club member of the month. Not a single piece of his hair was out of place. He came right to the other side of the bed, smiling down at me.

“How are you feeling, princess?” he asked, brushing the hair off my bandaged forehead.

“Okay.” I glanced at my suddenly quiet brother. “Where’s Mom?”

Dad’s smile faltered. “She was here earlier, but she’s at home…resting.”

I blinked back the tears that sprang to my eyes. Mom hadn’t stayed. I was in the hospital, hooked up to machines, and my mom was at home resting. I hurt all over, and my mom wasn’t even here. And I wanted her—suddenly needed her—to tell me I was okay.

Maybe she couldn’t look at me anymore, believing that I’d had something to do with Cassie’s death—it all came rushing back then.

Going to the cabin, finding the lake and the cliff above the waterfalls, then the man chasing me, the note…the car—my heart started pounding, and the machine matched the beats.

I struggled again to sit up, but Scott and Dad kept me still. “You don’t understand,” I gasped, head throbbing. “There was someone in the car. He was in the backseat. Did they get him?”

Dad pushed down on my shoulders lightly, clearing his throat. “Samantha, there was no one in the car.”

My forehead ached. “No. You don’t understand. He was following me in the woods, and he put this note in my car—”

“What were you doing up at the summerhouse?” My dad’s eyes met mine.

I glanced at Scott, swallowing. Who cared why I was there? Didn’t they understand? “I thought if I went up there…I’d remember what happened.” My throat felt like paper. Each sound was like a dry whisper. “Dad, he was chasing me. And then he was in the car. That’s why I wrecked.”

“Who is he?” Scott asked.

“Scott,” my father warned.

My brother’s face darkened. “Sam, who was following you?”

“I don’t know who he was.” I pressed the palm of my hand to my brow. “I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he’s been leaving me notes.” Recognition flickered in his eyes. “I put the note in my bag—where is my bag?”

Then Scott looked at our dad, who shook his head. “What?” I demanded.

“Sweetie, you should get some rest.” Dad grabbed my hand, pulling it away from my face. “You’re getting yourself worked up.”

I pulled my arm away. Something tightened in my chest. “Is my bag still in the car?”

“No,” Scott answered, looking away. “Your bag was in your bedroom. You didn’t take it with you.”

“What?” My head swam in confusion. That made no sense. “That’s not right. I brought it with me, and I put the note in it.”

Scott shook his head, his voice sad. “Sam, we had to get your bag because you didn’t have ID on you when the police got to the scene. You didn’t take it with you.”

I felt cold as I stared at him, but I started to sweat. “But there was a guy in the car….”

“There was no one in the car.” Dad placed his hand over mine.

No. No. No. “He was in the backseat. And he was following me. I didn’t—” A sour-faced nurse came in, not saying a word as she went to the tubes hooked up to the IV. There was a needle in her hand. Panic curled around my insides. “What is she doing? Dad?”

“She’s just giving you some pain medication.” He patted my hand. “It’s okay.”

I watched her press down on the needle. Fluid bubbled in the IV. She left without looking at me or saying a word. I thought nurses were supposed to be nice. “Dad…”

“You need to rest.”

I didn’t want to rest. I wanted them to believe me. Turning my head, I met my brother’s troubled eyes. “Scott, someone was following me when I was at the cabin. And someone had been there. There were fresh cigarette butts and—”

“Honey, that was from me.” Dad thrust a hand over his head. “Sometimes I go up there to smoke. Your mother doesn’t know. I quit years ago, but with everything recently…”

I stared at him. “But…but someone was in the car. He scared me and that’s why I lost control.”

Scott’s eyes cast down. “Sam, the car doors were locked when the police got there.” He said his next words slowly, carefully. “He couldn’t have locked the car doors after he left the car. The computer in the car was fried. They had to cut the car door open to get you out.”

Oh man, his car.

“The insurance company is already—”

I cut my dad off. “There was someone in the car.” My voice rose, cracking. All of it had been too real to be a hallucination. And I had a vision—a memory of crawling. How could I have a vision inside of a hallucination? “I didn’t imagine it! I’m not making it up.”

Dad sat back, looking helpless. “I know you’re not making it up, sweetie. I don’t doubt that you believe someone was in the car.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, understanding what he wasn’t saying. “I’m not crazy.”

He made a strange noise, and he looked like he was about to crack—like he was about to crumble into a thousand pieces. “I know, baby. You’re not crazy.”

And I knew right then, when he looked away and a muscle popped in his jaw, that he didn’t believe what he was saying.

The doctors let me out of the hospital that evening with a prescription for pain meds and orders to take it easy over the next couple of days. If it hadn’t been for what had put me in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, they probably wouldn’t have even kept me that long.

Red roses from Del had been placed on my desk in my bedroom, filling the room with the crisp, fresh scent. A smaller basket of bright pink peonies peeked out from behind the vase. They were from Veronica and the girls.

My purse was on the chair in front of my desk: house keys, wallet, and phone tucked inside. I dumped everything out on the seat. No note.

I felt sick.

How could I have hallucinated all of that? My skin felt numb, thoughts muted. The painkillers were still kicking around in my system. Dragging my feet, I went into the bathroom. Bandage off, the purplish bruise seeped out from my hairline, spreading over my left temple. There were tiny scratches on my arms from the glass. Nothing as bad as what I’d done to myself earlier on Wednesday.

A lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down. My palms were raw. Changing slowly into a tank top and sleep shorts, I saw that my knees hadn’t fared much better. At least the whole falling-down part was real.

In a daze, I brushed my teeth twice and then crawled into bed. There I stayed, forcing my eyes closed. Mom visited me once. She didn’t say much, but her manicured nails were chewed down to their beds.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, moving to the door.

I said nothing.

“I…I love you, honey.”

There was nothing for me to say. The words were on the tip of my tongue. Fighting or not, memories or no memories, I still loved her, but nothing came out. She stared at me with weary, sad eyes and then left.

She thought I was capable of killing someone. No leaps of imagination were required to assume she also thought I was crazy.

Scott stopped in just before ten, but I didn’t speak to him, either. I pretended to sleep, and then I did sleep. Sleeping didn’t require thinking. Thinking led to questioning my mental state.