"Have you ever found a body?' she asked. The men whispered La Voison among themselves. The first sign of fear crept into their eyes, which the guns were unable to spark.

Rutger shook, though only Marie was close enough to see it. A breath hitched in his chest, "I think you should stay out of this. The Van Lear boy will find justice, this time. There is evil, which bleeds out of Swannanoa." He looked at Barnett, "Real justice would be to burn it all down, but I'll settle for Jacob."

"You're going to die, if you try the front gate."

Rutger looked at Marie, "Men are possessed by ideas and passion, I reckon, so it is a matter of time before the little worm squirms out." With a glance and a raised hand, they dispersed back to their trucks.

The rumble of old vehicles faded. Barnett and the hard cases faded back into the fog. Marie rubbed her eyes, as the shadows retreated and whispers fell to an idiot murmur. Ashless Hollow was far below Swannanoa to simmer in its rot. It felt etched into her heart. She opened her eyes, caught the brush of gingerbread. Always, Bethany had smelled like cookies, the taste on her tongue comforted.

"Inky," Tim looked at her. Her mother had often looked besieged, trapped, and he looked away from Marie. It was selfish to want her to stay, he knew and cursed himself. "Are you okay? You look sick."

"Rutger saw something," she willed away the world's surreal life. "It must be bad," she shivered, "to scare a man like him."

"While I was out, I stopped by a house, that friend of mine. The house was stripped bare," he rubbed strawberry blonde hair, "someone used a lot of bleach."

"No evidence," she nibbled her lip," and this is about to blow up."

"Is there a serial killer in Hemlock Hurst?" Tim asked, but chuckled at such a silly idea.

"I don't know," she said, and the smile on his face died, "the Sheriff is freaked out. Jacob was supposed to be seen nearby, but Rutger has a deep hate of the Van Lear Family."

"Maybe," he sighed, "someone will tell us something."

"We'll have to shake the tree, and see what comes loose."

They returned to his truck. Owl Sticks waited for them, where all the disappearances had happened. The drive back was silent. Idea of Marie dying hacked at Tim's heart. Her mind chewed on the questions. There were the murders, but also the missing women. Time bled away, and they both knew Rutger would never stop.

A pair of headlights appeared behind them. They drew close, backed away, and then flashed. "They want us to stop," Tim said, but grabbed the shotgun.

"Who is it?" she looked back.

"I can't tell," he looked at the rear-view mirror, "the lights are blinding me." He pulled over onto a dirt side road, but left the engine running, and kept a firm grip on the gun. The vehicle pulled up behind them, shut off lights. Bloody glow cast back doused the woman in a visceral luminance. Tim grunted, "It's Carol."

She waited for Marie and Tim to get out. "I followed you," Carol said, and kept a hand on her pistol, "but I wanted to wait till you got away from my Dad."

Marie nodded, relaxed, "Your father is set on getting Jacob."

"I know there are people watching me, the Sheriff, and our houses," she said, but a car passed and her hand dipped towards the gun. "I slipped out," she looked back at them, "but I'm unsure who it is, a Van Lear for sure."

"Diana wants me to exonerate Jacob," she smiled.

"Jacob is innocent," Carol returned the smile, though weakly, "but Rutger is too angry to listen to me."

"Yes, I had to talk him down," she relaxed, "so what did you want to tell him?"

Carol was dress conservatively, now, which was worse in the heat. She pulled the flannel shirt out, and tugged it over the gun. "I know you don't know me," she blushed, artless features innocent, "and I've lied to you. I had no idea your family?"

"Take it easy," she said, and could feel the woman's terror, "I'll listen."

"The Sheriff told me your mom was Batty Betty," she said, froze.

Marie blushed, face burned, "I'm not my mother."

"Carol," Tim scowled, "Bethany never did anything to you. She even helped your father."

"I'm sorry," she said, like a repentant maiden, "it's just, you know, I never heard anyone call her anything else."

"I'm trying to figure out what's going on," she crossed her arms. "There might be more than murder," Marie held her head up, "but insults are of no interest."

"Sorry," she ringed her hands, "things have been scary for a while."

"Carol," she forced her body into a relaxed stance, "you need to tell me the truth."

"Okay," hands swiped at her brow, "okay, there has been a lot of weirdness. Even before the murders, there was someone following me. I didn't always see them," she shivered despite the heat, "but I know they're stalking me. I've caught a few glances of him."

"Have you heard anything about missing girls?"

"Everyone knows," her voice twanged, "no one wants to talk about it. Dad won't tell me anything!"

"Do you know any of the missing girls?"

"Well, no," she brushed long hair back.

"Alright," Marie sighed, "tell me what really happened. I've spoken to Jacob, so I know he was there."

"Sweet Lord," she shook her head, but let out a long, ragged sigh. "I was just relaxing, you know. Living on unemployment insurance, and trying to think of the net step." She shivered, "I've been checking the windows a lot, because I see shadows, and think, maybe, it's him." The sweet, Southern tones plucked through the words, deepened. "I see her out there!" Carol swallowed.

"Who," Marie scowled, leaned closer.

"Alice, that little loony, she was standing in front of my house," she shook her head. "I know she has problems, but her standing out there like a lost doll, creepy."