Lyla drove cautiously up the steep, narrow dirt pathway, more suitable for mountain goats than for cars. The car bounced and rocked. When the suspension screeched, she stopped the car, engaged the emergency brake, and climbed out.

She started up the hill with enthusiasm, but the steep climb soon had her wheezing from the exertion. At the summit stood a cluster of oak trees, their spindly branches reaching out against the sky. A hidden blackbird cawed.

The tall field grass bent in the wind. Lyla could see the tops of several grave markers coming into view as she ascended the last leg of the sharp slope. A thick burst of wind blew her hair into her face. She threaded her fingers through the strands and tucked them behind her ears.

Overhead, the boughs of the old-growth trees moaned, leaves clinging desperately to bobbing branches. She felt the wind depart and watched it forge a path across the adjoining meadow, leveling wide swaths of field grass as it traveled.

Her shoe made contact with a hard object. She knelt, pushing away the tangle of weeds and discovered an ancient stone marker with the word AMES carved into its surface.

Between the marker and the stand of trees were dozens of small gravestones grouped in no apparent pattern. Their locations seemed random, not arranged in neat rows or organized by date. The only observable commonality was the last name, Ames. One gravestone that read "Jonas and Lorelei Ames," was dated 1872. The most recent date, 2012, appeared on a gravestone that marked the resting place of Brittany Ames.

She snapped a few photos.

The sky grew darker, the heavy clouds hung lower in the sky threatening rain.

She jogged down the hillside toward Darcy's car. Halfway down, Lyla noticed a patch of discolored vegetation about fifty feet from the path. Curious, she wandered over. As she drew closer, she observed a section of yellowish sod dangling into a crack in the ground, an open seam that split the turf. She tossed a rock into the hole, counting to five before she heard the rock hit bottom deep in the belly of the earth.

Yikes!

She walked carefully toward the base of the hill, scanning for holes in the turf. The ground beneath her feet felt solid all the way to Darcy's car. She slid into the driver's seat eager to make her way back to school.

"Let's get the hell out of Creepytown," she muttered, started the car, and released the parking brake. As Lyla slowly backed the car down the rugged pathway, the undercarriage of the car wailed. She grimaced.

"I suck at reverse." She stopped and considered turning the car around, no easy feat on this steep, uneven surface.

A pickup truck pulled to the side of the adjoining road, country music leaking through the open windows. A college-age guy jumped out and started up the hill. Lyla watched him in the rearview mirror climbing the hill with long, lunging strides.

Slightly out of breath, he peered into her window. "You lost?"

She smiled politely. "I thought this was the turn for Stony Brook Park."

"This goat trail? You want Old Hendersonville Pike," he said. "It's about ten miles back that way."

"Okay. Thanks."

"You out here all by yourself? A pretty little thing like you?"

Uh oh. The unmistakable signs of a first-class creeper.

She offered another fake courteous smile. "I need to get going."

"Do I know you?" He pushed back the brim of his baseball cap and leaned in closer.

"I don't think so."

"Seems like I've seen your pretty face someplace before."

An uncomfortable pause expanded. When Lyla glanced into the rearview mirror at his truck, a fragment of memory flashed into her mind.

While driving Keenan's car on that dark country road, a speeding pickup truck roared past, traveling in the opposite direction, leaving behind a trail of loud country music. She watched the pickup disappear in the rearview mirror.

"Something about you," he said. He glanced up at the sky as a spatter of thick raindrops hit his brim. "Doesn't look like a good day for a picnic. You might want to consider some indoor activity." He leered at her before jogging back toward his truck through the rain.

Lyla replayed the pickup truck scene in her mind.

No way he saw me that night. No way.