Later at home the ping of a text message wakes me, and adrenaline dumps into my body like I chugged five Red Bulls. When I see the sender, make that fifty.
Meet me at Hell House tomorrow at 11:00. I’ll explain everything.
I stare at the screen, waiting for words to appear there that make sense. It goes dark. The clock glows eleven fifteen. I write back.
Who’s going to show up instead this time?
I wait in the dark. My heart’s hammering against my chest. Maybe I should call Maggiano, or Brenda. I’m calling Maggiano, I decide. I’ll tell him about Willow, about everything. I’ll tell him what she did to me.
A soft ping.
I have something to give you. It will help.
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