"I figured that, Kay. But you do know something, right?"

"I do."

"Fine. I don't have anywhere to be."

"About three years ago, I started keeping company with this guy named Jim Potts. I've dated my share of men since my husband died. I brought them around when I shouldn't have. Let them stay over when I shouldn't have. I'm not perfect, honey, I know.

"Jim Potts liked to drink. And when he drank he talked. He told me all kinds of things, things I really didn't want to know. He scared me to be perfectly honest, but I guess being alone scared me more. He never got violent with me, but he'd threaten me, you know? He'd talk about doing things to me, and he'd talk about things he'd done to other women. I guess it made him feel more like a man.

"One night, he was drinking, and he told me about this girl he'd picked up in a convenience store. He said he was up near Westwood-that's where you're from, right?-and he was driving through, out on the 901 Bypa.s.s. He stopped to get cigarettes or something, and he saw this girl. He said she was the most beautiful young thing he had ever seen. Blonde hair. Pet.i.te. Worldly and innocent at the same time, he said. Does that sound like it might be your sister?"

Diana swallowed hard. "Go on."

"Jim said the girl looked like she'd been crying, and he asked her what was wrong. And she just said she needed a ride to Columbus. She said she needed to get out of town and get away. Jim, of course, was more than willing to help a pretty face in distress. He always was apparently. He said she could come along. And the girl agreed. Jim lived in Columbus back then. He grew up there. When they got to Columbus, the girl went to his place with him and ended up spending the night. They drank together and whatnot. I'm sure you can imagine."

Diana wanted to put her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear.

"She stayed with him for awhile. Two weeks or so, I think. Jim had quite a collection of CDs. Country mostly. He was a good old boy. That girl went through his CDs like they were jewels, and she picked one out and played it over and over again. The same song. He said she must have played it a hundred times. She'd just sit there on the floor and sing along a little, real quiet. You can guess which song this was."

Diana nodded.

"Jim asked her why she liked that song so much, and she wouldn't say. He figured it reminded her of somebody, somebody special. Songs like that do, you know? After a couple of weeks of her living there with him, she left. They were out driving one day in heavy traffic, somewhere near the university. He came to a light, and that girl put her hand on the door and stepped out of the car, just like she had somewhere to go. He called after her, but with the traffic and everything, he couldn't do much. It was around five o'clock, and she just blended into the crowds of students and other people. She was gone, just like that."

"What made you remember this story?"

"It was the way Jim talked about the girl, like there was something special about her. Jim never got sentimental about any women or girls, but he said he thought this girl needed help, that she was running away, and if he had it to do all over again, he would have jumped out of that car and tracked her down, just to make sure she was all right. But he didn't, and I could tell it bothered him, really bothered him. And nothing like that bothered Jim. You see I thought he was going to tell me another one of his crazy stories about being with two women at once or getting together with some broad in a truck stop, but instead he really felt bad for the girl he met that night. He didn't have any kids of his own, and he felt responsible for her in some way. And I thought about Margie, of course, and I wondered if maybe Margie had met someone like that and was maybe okay. And if I could just talk to that person who saw her last, it would be okay for me.

"He also told me that the girl said her name was Rachel. He only knew her first name. Rachel. Sometimes I get on the internet at the library-the librarians show me how to work it-and look at missing persons cases around here, and I came across your site. I remembered that story, and I used it to get you. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. The truth is I didn't even know if that was your sister when I first met you. I threw that 'Rhinestone Cowboy' thing out and hoped for the best. I was right, of course. That's when I knew Jim Potts had seen your sister, and she was still alive two weeks after she left your house."

"Where is Jim Potts now?" Diana said.

"He's gone, honey. He died last year. He was riding his Harley and had a heart attack and went right off the road into a creek. Dead before he hit the water."

"What about the flowers? Did you send them?"

"I did, honey. And I'm sorry I lied about that. I just wanted to get you going. I don't have much time left. This had to happen fast. And it did. You did so well for me. Don't be mad. I wanted to find out about my Margie. I would have done anything. You understand, don't you?"

Diana looked Kay Todd in the eye and hoped once again that she wasn't staring at her future self. But how could she know where her life would take her? How could anyone know?

"I do," Diana said. "I do."

Back in the car, Dan asked Diana if she were okay.

"I'm doing all right."

Dan sighed. "We'll have to come back and get a statement from her at some point, but I figured it would be best to send someone else. I have a feeling she'd scratch my eyes out about now. And I couldn't blame her."

"She has a lot to process right now. She'll never get over it."

"I'm not sure I will either," Dan said. "I know I was a rookie and everything, but I could have done more. I should have done more."

"Maybe when we f.u.c.k up like that we're not meant to get over it. Maybe guilt's a good thing."

Dan started the car, but they didn't drive off. "Yeah. You're right."

"Trust me, I'm an expert."

A silence settled over the car. Diana continued to stare at the dumpy trailer. It took a minute for her to realize Dan was watching her, trying to read her thoughts.

"What else, Diana?" he said.

"She told me something about my sister, about Rachel."

Dan didn't speak, but she knew he was listening.

"She knew a guy who saw Rachel after she disappeared, a guy Rachel stayed with." Diana related the details of Kay's story to Dan. To his credit, Dan didn't interrupt or voice any skepticism. He listened intently, as though he knew how much rode on the information Diana pa.s.sed along to him. "Jim Potts," she said at the end. "James Potts, I guess. She said he's dead, but you should check him out anyway."

"We will. I will. We'll get the word out. We'll send it through the whole state, the whole country. This is real hope, Diana. She lived past that first night, the first forty-eight hours, right?"

Diana felt empty. She tried to summon a sense of optimism, but couldn't. "If she's still out there... maybe she's not meant to come back. I found one girl in the woods. Maybe that's enough."

"I don't know," Dan said. "Are you ready to go home?"

"My car's at the station. I have one more stop to make."

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

Despite his lack of sleep, despite spending the entire night awake at a crime scene in the middle of nowhere, Nate Ludwig entered his Intro to Folklore cla.s.s feeling energized. He had nothing prepared for the students and planned to just dismiss them after a few minutes, perhaps throwing in a perfunctory extra reading a.s.signment to keep them honest. He had more important things to think about now. He had started writing down notes, recalling with as much detail as possible the events he had witnessed out at the Donahue place. He wanted to get back to that, his real work, while it remained fresh in his mind.

As he walked to the podium, something unusual happened. His students broke into a round of applause. He a.s.sumed they intended it sarcastically, but after a few moments, he saw they were sincere. Something had changed.

He motioned for them to be quiet.

"What is this all about?" he said. "Did you finally realize how extraordinary I am?"

"Dude, you're all over the news."

"You saved that woman's life."

"Are you going to tell us about it? You found it. That Pioneer Group thing."

He felt a smile spread across his face.

"Well, I was going to let you out early today. But if you're really eager for details, I don't mind talking about myself a little bit."

The students cheered again, egging him on. He drank in the attention.

"Well." He cleared his throat. "The clearing on the Donahue farm is a haunted place, a locus of evil if you will. What brought it into existence? I'm not sure I can say conclusively. My own research, as well as the research of colleagues of mine, indicates that such places occur in the folklore of almost every town or city, dating back to the founding of this country. And they also exist in Europe, Asia, South America..."

Several hands were already raised. He'd never seem them so engaged so quickly.

"Yes?" he said, pointing at one.

"Did you see the killer?"

"Did I...yes, I did see him."

"Up close?"

"Yes, rather close."

"What's he like? Is he crazy?"

"Actually, he seemed a little sad and pathetic."

"Did you see the bodies?"

"I'm not sure it's appropriate to say."

"Did it smell?"

Ludwig paused. He saw what was happening.

"Are you only interested in the prurient details?" he said.

They didn't respond. They didn't know what prurient meant.

"I mean to say, are you only interested in the gory stuff, the kinds of things you'd see on some lousy cop show?"

The students nodded and cheered some more. They did want to hear the seamier side of things, not the folklore, the research, the history and human drama that had unfolded in that clearing.

"I have some other work to do today," he said. "And I'm tired. Why don't we resume our work with the next cla.s.s?"

They didn't seem that disappointed after all. They quickly gathered their things and left, and so did Ludwig. He had a book to finish after all.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.

Roger waited in a small, cold room. It had cinder block walls and no windows. He sat at a beat-up wooden table, one covered with scratches and burn marks. He imagined a lot of criminals had sat at this table, waiting for the police and the lawyers to come in and hand down their fates. Now, Roger was one of them. A criminal. A killer.

But was he? Really?

He couldn't make up his mind, no matter how long he thought about it. And he'd been thinking all morning. He saw the way the lady cop looked at him in the clearing, something like fear showing on her face and in her eyes. But not just fear. As they cuffed him and led him away, Roger looked back at her, made eye contact with her, and he thought he saw something else. Sympathy? Maybe, he thought. Maybe that. But something more, something much more important.

Understanding.

She understood him. She got it. She knew what was happening in the clearing. She had felt it, and when she looked at Roger, she let him know that things weren't as simple as they might initially seem. After all, something had led her to the clearing, some force, some call. Like the invisible cord that drew Roger there, heightening his urges and desires, she had been brought there too.

The door opened and the captain came in. He carried two cups of coffee, and he set one down in front of Roger. The captain hitched his pants and took the seat on the opposite side of the table. He didn't speak right away. He blew lightly on his coffee, then took a tentative sip, his mouth making a little slurping noise. Roger drank from his own cup. The coffee was hot and black and gave his body a little jolt. He hadn't slept all night. He needed it.

"Roger," the captain said, "we've got ourselves a mess here."

"Yes, sir."

"I know there are some extenuating circ.u.mstances relating to what happened out there on your property. Isn't that right?"

"Sir?"

The Captain smiled. He looked tired, too. "There were some weird things going on."

"Yes, sir."

"But in this county, in our justice system, 'the devil made me do it' doesn't really work as a defense. Do you follow what I'm saying?"

Roger thought about it for a moment. "You're saying no one's going to believe me about the clearing."

"Some people will believe you," the captain said. "Some people already do."

The lady cop, Roger thought. He was right. She believed him.

"But a few people believing you doesn't help in a court of law."

"Yes, sir."

"I think it would be best if you got out in front of this a little bit," the captain said. "Tell me your story now in the form of an official statement, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and I'll make a recommendation to the prosecutor that you be treated with a certain amount of care. We'll get you the help you need."

"You mean I'm going to the loony bin."

"It's not like that anymore, Roger. They have pretty nice hospitals where they can help people like you. You might...it's possible they might even let you out someday."

"Will my house still be there?" Roger said.