I whip around and race back in the direction I just came from. My lungs are beyond burning. They’ve moved to a constant pressure on my chest. A stitch pinches my side like I used to get when I ran the mile in high school. I breathe through the pain. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. I tuck my arms into my sides and try to run faster despite my body screaming at me to stop. I didn’t come all this way to leave empty handed.
It’s not long until I hit the post again, and I head the other direction this time. The brush is so much thicker at my feet. People rarely go this way. I slap the branches out of my way and push through the thicket. All my senses on high alert as I strain for any sight or sound of her.
And then suddenly, there’s movement ahead. She’s on foot, cutting her way through the brush in the opposite direction of the party pit and headed straight for me. I freeze, petrified, as she scans the woods. I flatten myself against the tree behind me, trying desperately not to make a sound as my chest heaves. Why is she on foot? Where’s her car?
Her eyes take in the scene like she’s making a decision, and it’s another second that feels like an hour before she cuts left, pushing her way through the scrappy bushes and onto a less familiar path. It’s the trail leading down to the edge of the swamp where the Sipsey River drains, just like I suspected.
Genevieve moves quickly, her head continually scanning and sweeping around her as she hurries down the path. I wait until she takes the first bend before making my next move. I tiptoe run, darting between and around branches and trees, careful of each step while still trying to move fast. Leaves crunch underneath my feet no matter how hard I try to be quiet. Suddenly, the rumble of tires growls behind me.
I’ve waited so long for this moment, but now that it’s here, blind panic shoots through me and sends me hurtling as fast as I can through the woods so I don’t get caught by whoever’s in that car. I dash in and out of bushes until I catch sight of her again. I slow, staying far enough back that she doesn’t see me. The sound of the vehicle grows closer. I drop to my knees, crouching in the middle of blackberry bushes. Spiderwebs stick to my face. I wipe them off, my eyes scanning everywhere. There’s no car yet. Just Genevieve standing at attention with the swamp behind her. The car is even closer. Almost here. Fear rushes through me in pulsing waves.
I whip my phone out of my pocket, and to my stunned horror, the vehicle pulls up only a few feet from where I’m hidden. The world freezes. It’s like I’m hanging at the top of a roller coaster and waiting for it to drop. I crouch down even farther, ignoring the screams of protest and pain from my legs. I pull up the camera on my phone, desperately trying not to rustle anything with my movements.
The truck door opens with a slow, deep groan. Goose bumps rise on my arms. Fear grips my throat. A black boot steps out from the truck. I point my phone in the direction of the truck and press record.
THIRTY-SIX
GENEVIEVE HILL
The door opens, and he slowly steps out of the dirty blue pickup truck. I made sure to get here before he did. My position during the exchange is the most crucial part of the mission. Every mission has its steps. You have to break it down step by step so you don’t miss anything important. That’s how you get it done. Each step has to be planned and precise. You have to be careful when you invite other people into your plans, though. That’s why I never have before. I won’t make this mistake again.
But I didn’t have any other choice if I wanted to change people’s perspective about Mason. I didn’t like the way they were starting to look at him and talk about him like he was something to be scared of, because that’s not what I want them thinking. I didn’t go through all the work with that boy for people to start treating him like he wasn’t still a sweet, innocent child. I had to do something. Just to shift their perspective back to the right size.
Annabelle was never supposed to die. That was never part of the plan. But again, that’s what I get for letting someone else help me. If you want to get a job done right, then you’ve gotta do it yourself. That’s what Daddy used to say to me. He was right about a lot of things, my daddy.
All I wanted was for people to see how wonderful Mason is despite his disabilities, and what better way to do that than to make him the local hero? Everybody loves a small-town hero. Look how nuts people went when I fought that boar off the poor little girl in Africa. They didn’t know I was the one who let it loose in the first place, but it was a small price to pay for all the recognition it got their village and that sweet girl. Some nice family in the UK adopted her as soon as the video went viral.
Anyway, I figured there was no better way to make Mason a hero than having him save the mayor’s wife. That’s why I paid someone to attack her while she was running. Mason was supposed to stumble on them and make it look like he saved her. Throw him off her, and she’d tell the frightened story of how he’d rescued her. We practiced the throw hundreds of times just like we’d practiced for all his psychological tests. He learned it almost as fast as he’d learned how to not react to physical pain. Mason’s always been such a fast learner, especially if you take away his food, and he’ll do just about anything for kisses—real ones or chocolate.
I can’t believe this is happening after I was so careful. I took my time finding the right guy for the job. Nothing about it was rushed or hurried. I responded to lots of different handyman ads on Craigslist and screened each one thoroughly before letting anyone near my house. Even fewer got selected for the job, and then I watched them for weeks, testing them out on little tasks first to see if they could be trusted. I was so cautious and careful, but I knew something had gone horribly wrong from the moment Simon instead of the guy I hired from Craigslist stepped out from behind the trees. It’s only gotten worse since.