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worked together, a double abduction from the ’80s that the media had dubbed the Taken Ones. This trip north, if they didn’t get out within a day or two, would put their nascent relationship at risk. Evangeline didn’t know what he’d done when he lived here.
Trauma did that to a person, no matter how long ago it had happened. Centered the eight ball of their ugliest fear and turned every sight, sound, and smell into a potential cue.
“The dead don’t want us to mourn, Harry.” She squeezed his hands again. “They don’t want for anything; they’re with God.” His heart bucked as he imagined the relief of confession. He could tell her about his sister right now, reveal the awful truth of that last day. Maybe even confess what he’d done to his body since to blot out
He’d packed the lighter, after all. He’d first used it the week after Caroline was abducted. He’d mostly burned himself on his chest, where it was easily hidden, but there were also scars on his arms. He knew the mechanics of nonsuicidal self-injury. Inflicting the pain offered a feeling of control, and the relief following the pain offered a temporary sense of calm as endorphins rushed in.
He logged on and began reading the email Deepty had sent him. And rereading it, horror trailing its dead fingers over his skin. Exactly what he’d been looking for had just been handed to him, but it was so incomprehensible that he could only sit in
the dingy motel chair, stunned, his mouth hanging open. When he was able to collect himself enough to open and read the data file she’d attached, he reeled all over again.
Mr. Weiss wasn’t just shot. Somebody crushed his head.” Max nodded slowly, like a puppet with loose strings. “The monster comes after we leave. It needs to be fed.”
He put his hand over hers, feeling Evangeline’s truth, her strength. Something strange was bubbling in his veins, responding to her courage and her friendship, an emotion he hadn’t experienced in so long, not since Caroline disappeared. It was hope.
That buzz again. Harry is the purest man I’ve ever met. Smart and strong. Loyal and true. It hurts to think of all the time he’s spent carrying a load that should never have been his. How if he’d confided in me earlier, I could have helped him. But of course, I have my own dark secrets. My visions. The three locks of hair hidden in my bathroom back in Minneapolis.
My mind wanders from coincidences to the invisible weights every one of us carries, whether we acknowledge them or not, how similar burdens tend to draw people together across space and time. Then my brain moves to how the people of Alku chose the easiest path and called it love—feeding Pekka’s addiction rather than addressing it.
