Inside the diner, the lunch crowd was starting to trickle in. Tina recognized the majority of the customers. She’d been around long enough to know who they were and what they wanted. Only one customer was a stranger—a Goth kid draped in black. The way he kept staring at her creeped her out. When she went to take his order, she said, “Do I know you?”

The kid looked up at her. “No, but I know you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re that girl,” he said, eyes locked on her tattoo. “That girl who almost got herself killed at that hotel all those years back.”

Tina snapped her gum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re secret’s safe with me.” The kid lowered his voice to a whisper. “I won’t tell anyone you’re Samantha Boyd.”

When her shift was through, Tina went straight to the library and its bank of outdated computers. Sitting among the elderly and Internet-deprived, she Googled the name Samantha Boyd.

They didn’t look so alike that they could be mistaken for twins. She was a bit thinner than Samantha, and their eyes weren’t quite the same. But the resemblance was there. It could be even stronger if Tina made her hair as dark as that Goth kid’s.

She thought of Joe again. It couldn’t be helped. A search of his name brought up the same picture that had been printed everywhere after the Pine Cottage murders. And wherever Joe’s picture appeared, one of that girl always followed.

Quincy Carpenter. The survivor.

Tina stared at Quincy’s picture. Then at Joe’s. Then back to Samantha Boyd, her dark-haired doppelganger.

In the back of her brain, something clicked. A plan.

Nine Years And Eleven Months After Pine Cottage

Tina hauled her knapsack from the trunk of her Escort, assuring herself that she could actually pull this off. She’d planned this for almost a year now. She’d done her homework. She’d memorized her lines.

She was ready.

With the knapsack thrown over her shoulder, Tina marched up the flagstone walkway and rang the doorbell. When a kind-eyed blonde opened it, Tina knew exactly who she was looking at.

“Lisa Milner?” she said. “It’s me, Samantha.”

“Samantha Boyd?” Lisa replied, surprise thickening her voice.

Tina nodded. “I prefer Sam.”

CHAPTER 38

I’m awake, only my eyes don’t know it yet. The lids refuse to lift no matter how much I contort my face. I try to raise my hands and force the eyelids open with a finger. I can’t. My hands are lead, resting in my lap.

“I know you can hear me,” Tina says. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.” The word can’t even qualify as a whisper. “What—”

It’s all I can manage. My thoughts are equally as weak. Snails plowing through a field of mud.

“It’ll wear off,” Tina says.

It already is. A little. Feeling creeps back into my body. Enough for me to know I’m sitting up, something strapped diagonally across my chest. A seatbelt. I’m in a car.

Tina sits to my left. I feel her presence. I hear the leathery squeak of the steering wheel in her hands even though the car isn’t moving and the engine is silent. We’re parked.

I try to move, twisting against the seatbelt.

“Why—”

“Relax,” Tina says. “Save your strength. You’re going to need it soon.”

I continue to writhe in the seat. I reach for the door handle. My heavy fingers merely claw at the air.

“You could have made this easy, Quinn,” Tina says. “Trust me, I wanted it to be easy. I wanted it to last a day. Two, tops. I show up, make nice and then have you tell me everything you remember about Pine Cottage. In and out.”

My fingers finally connect with the door handle. Somehow I’m able to pull it. The door falls opens and a rush of woodsy October air hits my face. I lean toward it, trying to roll myself out the door, but the seatbelt stops me. My hazy mind forgot about it. Not that it matters. Even if I was free of both seatbelt and car, there’s no way I could escape. Not with most of my body feeling like marble.

“Whoa there,” Tina says as she pulls me back into the seat. When she reaches across my lap to close the door, I swat at her arm. The blows are so weak I might as well be petting her.

“This doesn’t need to be hard, babe,” she says. “I just need the truth. What do you remember about Pine Cottage?”

“Nothing,” I say, my tongue loosening. I’m even able to speak a full sentence. “I don’t remember anything.”

“You keep saying that. But I just can’t believe you. Lisa remembered everything. It was in her book. Sam did, too. She told that interviewer all about it.”

My mind continues to pick up speed. My mouth follows suit. “How long have you pretended to be her?”

“Not long. A month or so. Only once I realized I could get away with it.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed to know how much you knew, Quinn,” she says. “After all this time, I had to know. But I needed help. And since I knew you and Lisa wouldn’t otherwise give me the fucking time of day, I pretended to be Sam. I knew it was risky and that it might not work. But I also knew it would get your attention. Especially Lisa. She did everything she could to help me find out more about Pine Cottage. I told her it would help you. I said getting you to remember would aid the healing process. She bought it for a few days before she started having second thoughts.”