"Jocelyn."

"Pictures of Jocelyn?"

She shakes her head and begins to cry.

"Poe, what?"

"Somebody came here and threatened me."

"Who? How?"

So for the next ten minutes or ten hours, I can't really tell, through tears and gasps of air and confused dialogue, Poe tells me what happened. She says certain things in barely a whisper, not wanting her father to hear.

Someone sneaked into her house Sunday after lunch while her parents were gone. They came up to her room and opened the door and forced her to look at pictures of Jocelyn. Pictures of Jocelyn after she died.

I ask who and what they wanted and why, but Poe just ignores my comments and continues her story.

Whoever came to her house was wearing a Halloween mask, but she could tell it was a man. Probably a young guy. He showed her the pictures and then said that's what happens to girls who hang around with guys like me.

"They said my name?" I ask.

It was a warning. Whoever came in wanted her to stop everything and anything to do with me. As if they were watching. As if they knew what we were doing.

"Did you tell-"

"I told my parents someone came in and threatened me. I told them everything except the part about you."

"Poe-"

"Shhh. He doesn't know. Mom is gone to Walgreens to get some meds the doctor prescribed for my nerves. I think she's going to take half the pills herself."

I no longer want to tell Poe what happened.

I can't.

"The guy said one thing before he left, Chris. One thing that-I didn't tell the police. But you need to know."

"What?"

"He said that this is what happens to those who get close to you. It happened to Jocelyn. It happened to the lady at the inn you worked at. It'll happen to me."

"Iris?"

The word explodes like a firecracker, leaving a burning scent in the air.

"Then he told me that we're all going to die. We can be afraid, or we can embrace our last breath. Something like that."

I don't say anything.

"Chris?"

I know exactly who sent this guy to threaten her. It's as if he's begging to be found out. As if there's no mystery about who's wearing the mask, who's behind the dark curtain.

It's like he's wanting you to go to him.

"Chris, what is it?"

She knows. She can see it on my face.

I've made up my mind.

That's exactly what I'm going to do.

105. One Moment I started this year angry and desperate and searching for answers. I didn't wait for them, either. I went out to search. Yet before I could get to anybody, I ended up being saved from the creepy mountain man by Jared.

Jared who happened to be there and who proceeded to fill me with lies.

I never got a chance to follow through with what I wanted to do. I wanted to not only find out the truth. I wanted to hurt whoever was responsible for Jocelyn's death.

Now, without any doubt whatsoever, I know.

That's why I'm skipping school today. What are they going to do? Threaten my life?

That's why I'm holding a rock in my hand.

That's why I'm throwing it through the glass window and then taking the rest of the shards out with a stick.

And that's why I'm climbing through the window at the back of the little, seemingly abandoned and desolate cabin. The one wearing the mask, just like everybody else around here. The one with a false front, just like the guy I'm pretty sure owns it.

I stand there with misty light coming through the windows. It rained earlier, but now it's clearing and sun is drizzling down. There's a desk and a computer and files and books.

I guess if it was the middle of the night I'd be creeped out. Maybe it should be pouring rain or something. But no. It's bright and I'm angry and the only fear that I have is what I'm going to do. What I might end up doing to hurt myself.

I find a bunch of files about the church, confirming that this office does indeed belong to Pastor Marsh.

Another drawer is full of cards-the same type of cards I saw a bunch of kids playing with at Ray Spencer's party the first time I ever went over there. They have different images on them, strange images. A leaf or a flower or an animal.

Another drawer reveals a knife, which I decide to take. I wish I still had Uncle Robert's gun.

There're a lot of things I wish.

The bottom drawer is locked. I find a letter opener that I use to unlodge the drawer and break through the wood. It's not even wood, just particle board. The lock that's hiding whatever secrets are behind it breaks easily.

Inside are folders stacked on top of each other. Ordinary manila folders. Each one is marked in black pen. The folder on top says #6.

I take them out and then look out at the woods. Nothing. Nothing but nature talking back at me and sunlight spilling in.

You don't want to see what's inside these.

But I open the folder marked #6, and I see her looking back at me. Jocelyn. It looks like a school picture. She looks younger.

You don't want to do this, Chris.

I keep going through the file. Pictures, information, copies of emails, more pictures, information on Aunt Alice and Wade. There's a stack of pages paper-clipped together that are all about my mom. Copies of a birth certificate, driver's license, family photos back when there was a family to photograph.

My hands are shaking.

I have to keep looking. I want to know. I want to see.

I want to know why they killed her.

Then the door behind me opens, and the folders in my lap spill out as I stand.

At the door is the man responsible for this. His evil eyes behind the slivers of his glasses don't appear surprised.

"Hello, Chris," he says, his voice as casual as the white polo shirt and jeans he wears.

The fan of pages that litter the top of the desk from where they spilled out show enough. For just one brief second, I see.

She's hurting and bleeding but she's still alive, at least in those pictures.

The man at the door just stands there. "I have a lot more than just photos I can show you," the pastor tells me. "I have video, too."

I swallow, but my mouth and throat are dry. My body goes numb, hot and cold, my eyes fill with dizzy red rage.

"She screamed your name, Chris. Over and over again."

With that, I find that knife on the top of the desk and take it out of its sheath.

As I do, the pastor bolts away from the doorway. I hear hurried steps rushing through the woods.

I think of Wade, the monster who was hurting Jocelyn.

I dealt with him, and I can deal with this.

I follow him, knowing exactly what I'm meant to do.

Whatever-whoever-was left of Chris Buckley after Jocelyn died stays in that little cabin next to those horrific pictures I only saw for a moment.

But one moment is all you need in this life.

And that one moment is all I need to end the pastor's.

106. The Big Bad Wolf Evil wears a mask, and I can finally see its face.

The rushing waters surround us as sunlight plays tricks on my eyes. Gold glitters in these woods, damp from the earlier rain, foggy from the temperature change. My legs splash in the cool stream that comes up to my shins.

He's standing on the edge where the water drops fifty feet to the jutting rocks below. He faces me with his sick smile. "What are you going to do now, Chris?"

I'm no longer scared, no longer running away.

"It's done," I say. "You're done."

The voice talking is not mine. The hand holding this knife doesn't belong to me.

Chris Buckley is gone. Long gone.

It's been six months, but I can still taste it in my mouth. The anger, the bitterness, the absolute hunger for revenge.

You don't have to do this, not here, not like this.

He smiles. "What do you think you're going to do?"

"Whatever you're doing to this place and these people-it's over. Right now."

His laugh twists into my skin.

"There are things you need to know," he says.

"I know enough."

"You know only what you're supposed to know. That's why I brought you here."

"I followed you."

"I could break your neck if I wanted to."

I smile. Because something in me says he's wrong. Something in me believes that if he wanted me dead, I'd be dead already.

"You're not going to do anything to anybody ever again," I say.

"So what happens after you kill the Big Bad Wolf?" he asks. "There are others lurking in these woods and in this town. I'm just the obvious one. Killing me achieves nothing."

My hand shakes, but I steady it as I walk closer to him. Streaks of sunlight circle us like a laser show.

You can't really do this, Chris, no matter how you feel and how right it is.

"So the pastor stands at Marsh Falls," he says. "How ironic. How fitting. And how utterly predictable."

"You killed her," I say to him.

He laughs and looks at me through his short glasses, and I want to take them and break them just like I want to break him.

"Six months and you're still seething," Pastor Marsh says. "That's good."

"People are going to know."

"Haven't these past months taught you anything? You're smart, but you're not that smart. You're not here because you're some bright young star chosen because of your intelligence, Chris. You're really rather unremarkable, to tell you the truth."