Chapter Sixteen

The forest is quiet and dark.

Unnervingly so.

I'd expected chirping birds and prancing critters and sunlight streaming through the trees. A cartoon, basically. Something from those Disney VHS tapes still sitting in the basement in their white plastic clamshell cases. Instead, I walk in near silence, the only sound made by my own footsteps as I move through the trees. Above me, a canopy of leaves blocks out much of the sun. What little light there is comes in bright splotches that dapple the forest floor.

I have only a vague recollection of the last time I walked these woods, the day Billy vanished. In my memory, it's brighter, more open. Then again, there were five of us clomping through the woods, making no attempt to be quiet. Now there's only me, the crash of my footfalls breaking the otherworldly hush of the forest.

Between them is another, lighter sound that I first think is an echo of my steps. But something is off about them. They're not quite in sync with my movements, not to mention they seem quieter than an echo.

I stop, lift my right foot, and stomp once on the leaf-covered ground. The sound it makes reverberates through the woods a moment before quickly fading. Now that I know what the echo of my footsteps sounds like, I continue walking.

One step.

Five steps.

Ten steps.

On the eleventh, I hear the sound again.

I stop. A halt so sudden that all noise made by me instantly ceases. Yet there's another sound in the forest. A single, almost imperceptible shush of leaves coming from somewhere behind me.

Hearing it creates a cold drip of anxiety that runs directly down my spine. Yes, it could be an animal. But animals, far more scared of us than we are of them, don't just stop when there's a human present. They run, scurrying through the underbrush and making all sorts of noise as they go.

But this? This sounds like footsteps. Quiet, unobtrusive ones timed to match my own.

I'm not alone in these woods.

Someone else is with me.

I slowly turn in a complete circle, scanning the forest for signs of where they are—and who it could be. But I see nothing. It's just me and the trees and the ragged weeds filling the ground around them.

Which means whoever's here doesn't want to be seen. Definitely not a 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 or if anything 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.