I pull at the back of his shirt. “Lucas, don’t.”
Ms. Brighton laughs. I can see black grime caked under her nails and marker stains on her fingers. The rain is sending filth running down her arms and legs in murky rivulets.
“Let him come, Hannah. Let the forest find its justice.”
“I’m not Hannah.”
“But you were last time. You were Hannah, and he was Brodie. I’ve waited for the forest to show me who defiled you all those years ago. And it did, darling. It did.”
Darling. The word sends snakes slithering in my chest. She lifts a hand, and I spot a flash of metal in her fingers. A knife. Old-looking, with an antler handle. That’s what she used to cut her own finger off.
I take a step back, and Lucas comes with me, stumbling.
“What is this?” he asks. “Who cut off her finger?”
I can practically feel him trying to wrap his brain around what’s unfolding in front of us.
“She cut it off herself,” I say, swiping rain out of my face. “She did this, Lucas. All of it, for some twisted version of justice for Hannah. She thinks we’re the reincarnation of those four kids. That’s what the papers were about. I’m Hannah and you’re Brodie.”
Ms. Brighton is moving around the quad. “I don’t think it. Look at yourself, Sera. Look how you love to direct the tragedies, the plays where someone dies at the end. Look how you know to avoid men. You know who you really are.”
“Holy shit, she’s crazy,” Lucas says.
I don’t respond because I’m trying to find a way out. The path that leads down to Mr. Walker is beside me, but that’s a dead end. She’s by the quad, trapping us from the direction we came. The only way out is to go on ahead, to just run up the cliff side and hope to God we find a way around the mountain and to the road.
“I’ll rush her,” Lucas says.
“You’re barely standing! We have to go up the cliff side.”
“We don’t know if we can get through up there,” he says, but he’s already moving because it’s the only way. The only chance unless we want to run headfirst into Ms. Brighton or climb down into the alcove with Mr. Walker.
Ms. Brighton is getting closer and picking up speed. There’s a stone ledge to our right and a sharp incline to the left, covered in brambles and briars. We’re still in that damn channel we were trapped in on the quad. And we’ve got to break out because she’s gaining.
I cry out for help, though there’s no one to hear us but Mr. Walker. Mr. Walker, who was innocent all this time and who might have to hear us die when he gave everything he had trying to save us.
Lucas kicks a fallen log into her path, but she’s going to catch up. She’s already closing the distance. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet.
“Help!” I scream. Like there’s someone to help.
Something pop-hisses, and the gray sky tinges red. I gulp a breath and look over to track the spark of light in the sky. Ms. Brighton stops. It’s coming from down in the alcove—Mr. Walker fired the flare gun.
Mr. Walker.
In my mind, I hear him tell me to run. Run, Sera.
I do, one hand against the stone and every breath burning hotter. My feet shift for purchase. The incline isn’t as harsh now on the left, but the undergrowth is blanket-thick, spun of thorns. Impossible choices everywhere.
I have to find a way through because this stone will lead to a cliff, and if we can’t find a hole, a thin spot—no. No, we have to find it. We will.
My legs wobble, and Lucas groans. I glance over my shoulder, hoping Ms. Brighton took the bait with Mr. Walker’s flare. No dice. It stalled her, but not for long. She’s heading our way, and she’ll gain on us. Lucas just isn’t moving fast enough.
“Wait!” I say, lifting a hand. There’s no way to outrun her and nothing within reach that looks like a weapon. There has to be something I can use, but all I can think of is Hannah. How do I use that?
“I don’t understand,” I cry, trying to play the part she chose for me. “I could die again! Do you want me to die again?”
“You’re already dead, Hannah! You were brought back to this place, and I promise you this time, it will be right. Your soul can finally be with the spirits of your people.”
My chest squeezes. Oh God. That stuff about the Cherokee spirits—those weren’t ghost stories to her. She twisted bits and pieces into her own warped version of reality. She was warning us. There’s no logic I can appeal to here.
But I can still play my role. And I can change my lines.
“I could live again in this body,” I say, laying it on thick. If being Hannah gives me power, I’ll take it. “We could be sisters again.”
She makes a wounded noise. Shakes her head. “You belong to the forest, darling,” she says. She’s crying now, and I recognize those sobs. I heard them in the forest before we got the newspapers. She was trying to get me away from Lucas. “These trees revealed your killer. He will be punished. You will be delivered.”