Marion drove through the night, streetlights flickering across his face.


    A weathered old newspapery crumpled in the passenger seat, its yellow pages detailing every grim detail of that decade-old kidnapping case, but not a trace of warmth touched his expression.


    When he reached the coast, he killed the engine. Clutching the newspaper, he strode to the water''s edge. A lighter shed in his hand. mes crawled across the brittle paper, casting dancing shadows on his tense jawline. He watched until thest ember died, then scattered the ashes across the sand.


    ...


    Debra had drifted into an uneasy sleep.


    Her dreams swirled with half-remembered fragments—a ship''s deck, choking smoke, a cramped dark space.


    Saltwater stung her nostrils as waves pressed down on her face. She thrashed against the suffocation until she was exhausted and helplessly sank into the water.


    Suddenly, a child''s scream pierced the darkness. "Brother, save me."


    Debra jolted awake. The fading image of a faceless boy running toward her lingered. Then came the phantom stench of a filthy car trunk.


    She couldn''t remember the face, but it felt strangely familiar.


    A sense of unease, one she''d never experienced before, surged through her


    body. She trembled as she pulled herself up from the bed.


    There was something she needed to confirm. She had to know the answer, and fast.


    Old voices crowded her mind.


    "Debra, how did you get that scar on your back?"


    "Doesn''t look like a fall."


    "Tell me, Mrs. Houston, do you remember anything before eight?"


    The voices in her mind grew louder and more chaotic until Ivan''s voice stood out.


    "It''s the locked attic on the third floor."


    Her senses warned this was a trap, and every instinct screamed not to go.


    But another voice told her otherwise. She had to know. That memory was too important to her.


    Emergency hammer in hand, she staggered toward the attic.


    The


    e still lingered in her


    impossible to shake off.


    When she saw the door at the end of


    the attic, a sharp headache struck a her. Her breathing quickened, and her heart seemed ready to leap out of her chest.


    But still, she forced herself to keep gforward. She raised the


    har high and mmed down


    on the lock. Content


    Downstairs, Andrew woke up with a start. His fingers clutched his heart, and violent coughs wracked his body.


    He copsed on the floor, crawling toward the door like a wounded animal.


    The hammer blows above grew frantic.


    With a final crash, the attic door splintered. The dust slowly settled around her.