I open my mouth to ask what he means, but then it occurs to me that maybe he's some kind of lunatic who escaped from a mental hospital. Being stuck out here all alone with him might not be such a good idea, from a not-wanting-to-get-murdered perspective.

  “You know what?” I say. “I'm going to go home and change. My friend's just along the road. She's really close. She's so close, I could probably call her name and she'd hear me.”

  I.e., she'll hear me if I scream.

  I hope he gets what I'm suggesting.

  Then again, he probably knows I'm lying.

  “Have fun in the forest, then,” I say, before starting to very carefully wade through the mud and make my way back up toward the fence. I half expect this psycho to grab me from behind, but fortunately I manage to reach the fence and duck down to get back under the barbed-wire.

  “Ramsey.”

  “What's that?” I ask, clambering through and then turning to him. At least now I'm back up here, I can run if necessary.

  And scream.

  “I have something for you,” he says, reaching into his pocket.

  “Oh, I don't need a birthday present,” I reply, taking a step back. Damn, why did I mention that it's my birthday?

  Wait, maybe he already knew?

  Maybe he's, like, some kind of stalker. Actually, that's starting to make sense. He's a stalker and he thinks he can win me over by finally revealing himself on my birthday.

  Sure enough, he takes a silver ring from his pocket.

  Oh great, he's going to propose. He's that kind of stalker.

  “So I'm going to go now,” I tell him, “and that's cool, and you enjoy lurking or whatever you're doing out here and...”

  My voice trails off as I look at the ring. I know it's crazy, but I'm getting this weird feeling of deja vu right now, and for a moment I can't quite bring myself to stop staring as he turns the ring around between his fingers. The edge catches the light for a fraction of a second, and I feel a weird creepy feeling running through my chest.

  And nausea.

  I feel just a little bit sick.

  “You recognize it, don't you?” the guy says, before holding the ring out toward me. “Here, take a closer look.”

  “I'm okay, thanks,” I reply, taking another step back.

  “This ring belonged to someone who was once very important to you.”

  “I've never seen it before in my life,” I tell him, “and I think maybe this conversation is starting to weird me out.”

  “James Kopperud.”

  “I don't know that -”

  Suddenly I feel a knot tighten in my stomach, and I retch so hard I actually think for a moment that I'm going to spew.

  “Sheriff James Kopperud died almost nineteen years ago,” the guy says, “in a town far from here, called Deal. The same day, his daughter -”

  “I don't know why you're telling me this,” I stammer.

  “The same day, his daughter Ramsey Kopperud -”

  As soon as he says that name, the knot in my stomach tightens again and this time I lean forward, vomiting up the pasta bake I had for lunch. Shocked, I look down and see the half-digested food all down the front of my already muddy dress.

  This is not a good look.

  “The same day,” the guy continues, “his daughter Ramsey Kopperud drowned in a river just outside the town. She shouldn't have, she should have survived, but I didn't get to her in time. She gave her life to stop something that was threatening the lives of everyone in Deal. She succeeded in that, she saved a lot of lives that day, but she lost her own in the process. Not a day has gone by that I -”

  “Okay, seeya.”

  Turning, I start making my way along the road. I don't want to look like I'm freaking out, but I quickly speed up until I'm walking about as fast as I can walk without actually running.

  “Wait!” he shouts.

  “Gotta go,” I mumble. “Gotta -”

  “Ramsey!”

  I immediately feel the knot tighten again, and I don't have time to stop myself. I lean forward and fall to my knees, and the rest of the pasta comes bursting out of my mouth and splatters against the cracked tarmac.

  “Oh hell!” I gasp. “What's happening to me?”

  In my stomach, a twist of pain is swimming from side to side.

  I take a moment to get my head back in order, and then I try to get up. As soon as I move, however, I feel a strange lurching sensation in my chest, and then I realize I can hear footsteps coming closer behind me. That guy, whoever he is, still hasn't given up. Reaching down to my bag, which has landed next to my knees, I start searching through all the crap and clutter for the one thing that might be able to help me. I even ignore my cellphone as I finally find my can of pepper spray.

  “I've gone about this all wrong,” the guy says, towering over me. “Can we sit down somewhere and talk? I only need five minutes of your time to prove something to you.”

  “And what's that?” I ask, adjusting my grip on the can.

  “It's about who you are. Who you were. I can't explain here, like this. You need to get cleaned up first.”

  “Oh, do I?”

  “Let me help you.”

  I see his hand reach down. Maybe he's one of those freaks who thinks a girl'll fall in love with the first 'gentleman' who shows up. Still, I need to put him off-guard, so I reluctantly take his hand and let him help me to my feet, while taking care to keep the can hidden.

  “My name is Ethan,” he says, “and -”

  “Hi Ethan!”

  Turning quickly, I spray the pepper can straight in his face. He lets out a startled gasp and pulls away, and then he puts his hands over his eyes.

  I don't even wait around to see the rest.

  I turn and run, racing along the road as fast as I can. And I know I'm probably too far out of town for anyone to hear me, but I scream anyway:

  “Help! Somebody help me! Help!”

  All I hear in return, however, is the sound of my own frantic footsteps as I rush to the road's next bend. I clatter to a stop and turn to look back. For a moment, I feel a rush of relief as I don't see the guy coming after me, but then I spot something on the ground and I realize to my horror that he is there.

  But he's not running.

  He's crawling!

  And he's crawling fast!

  “Oh hell, no,” I stammer, turning and running again, racing around the bend and then along the next stretch of road.

  My bag falls from my arm, but I don't stop to pick it up. All I can focus on is the next bend, and the desperate hope that a car will suddenly appear and save me from this nightmare. I don't even dare look over my shoulder, but I tell myself that there's no way that freak can be crawling as fast as I'm running. After all, I came fourth three times in my school athletics competitions, and that was only a few years ago, and I'm not -

  Suddenly something grabs me from behind, swinging me around and off my feet before sending me clattering against a nearby earth-bank. I slam against a twisted tree root that's poking out, and then I slither down just as the guy gets to his feet and steps toward me.

  “Listen -”

  “Please don't rape me!” I scream.

  “What?”

  “Don't murder me either!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I reach for my bag, but of course it's way back on the road and I don't even remember where I left the can of pepper spray.

  “Please don't hurt me,” I sob, with tears streaming down my face. “I'll scream. You won't enjoy it if I'm screaming, will you?” I freeze, as I feel a pang of doubt in my chest. “Or will you? God, are you one of those perverts? Please don't do anything to me. I'm a good person, I swear I am, and I don't deserve to be murdered and mutilated and beheaded at the side of the road and then buried in a shallow grave, and then to have pack dogs come along and dig me up and eat my corpse, and then for some kid to one day find my hand on the forest floor and -”

  I take a deep, sobbing breath.

  “- and then for them to test it and realize it's me, and then for them to find the rest of me but not to release details of what really happened because it's too disgusting!”

  “You're different,” the guy replies with a furrowed brow. “Very different.”

  “I'll do anything!” I whimper. “Anything at all! Just don't hurt me!”

  He stares at me for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and taking out that same silver ring he tried to show me earlier. Then he takes a step toward me, and then he crouches down.

  “Please,” I sob, “don't do it.”

  “Take it,” he says, holding the ring out to me.

  “I don't want anything!”

  “Just take it.”

  “Please, I don't want to die!” I sob, with tears streaming down my face. “I'm too popular to die!”

  “Take the goddamn ring, Ramsey!”

  I feel a lurch of nausea in my belly when he says that name, but before I can react he grabs my hands and forces me to take the ring.

  I open my mouth to beg him for my life some more, but then I feel the cold metal against my skin and I look down at the ring, and for some weird reason I get this really strong feeling that I've seen it before. I know that's nuts, because I haven't seen anything like this ring, but as I turn it around between my fingers I'm overcome by a sense of familiarity, and... something else. Something new. Something I can't quite identify at first, until finally I realize what I'm feeling.

  Sorrow.

  I'm still crying, but now they're tears of sorrow.

  “I don't understand,” I whisper, “I'm not -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a loud clinking sound. In a flash, I remember seeing someone set this ring on a dish next to a sink while he started washing some dinner plates. At the same time there's also a really strong smell of cologne filling my nostrils, but it's not a cologne I remember. At least, it's not one I remember remembering.

  “What is this?” I ask, and now the tears are already starting to dry on my cheeks. “I don't...”

  “It's going to take a while for me to explain,” the guy says, “but I need you to at least hear me out. I've been looking for you for a long, long time, Ramsey. I finally located you two years ago. At first, I was going to leave you alone, but in the last six months... Something bad has happened. Something to do with Sebastian and the witch. Ramsey, if there were any other way, I'd take it. But there's not. I need you. We need you!”

  “We?” I whisper, still staring down at the ring. “Why do you keep saying that name? Why do you keep calling me -”

  “Ramsey!” I hear another voice yell suddenly, echoing in my head. It sounds angry. “You're going to wait here until I get back! Do you understand?”

  “Dad?” I blurt out, finally remembering a face.

  “It'll take time for everything to come back to you,” the guy says, “but it will come back. It shouldn't, but it will. You remembered Sophia Landsome before, and now you're going to remember Ramsey Kopperud, and you might even remember some of the others. You might even remember...”

  His voice trails off for a moment.

  “Well,” he continues, “that's something I can tell you another time. Right now, we need to go somewhere so we can talk. And we really need to clean you up, too, because this isn't a good look.”

  I'm not listening.

  Instead, I'm hearing voices echoing in my mind.

  “It doesn't work like that!” I hear someone shout. Maybe me. “Dad, Sebastian specifically said this isn't how the deal works! If it's something you do to yourself, the deal doesn't hold! He warned me about that! Suicide is the only way you can die!”

  “Good job this isn't suicide, then,” a man's voice replies. “Relax, I'll be right back.”

  “Dad, no! Dad -”

  “Dad!” I gasp, still holding the ring. My heart is pounding, but somehow I'm remembering two lives at once. There's my life – eighteen years as Carrie Cane – but there's also another life, someone earlier, someone whose father went away and who fought and who struggled and who...

  Died.

  I remember sinking into cold, dark water.

  I remember drowning.

  I remember dying.

  “Ramsey, this is important,” the guy says, reaching out and taking my hand, ready to help me up again. “We have to find Sebastian. We have to find the witch. It's not just about you anymore, or about me, or about a deal or about the forest. It's about everything. It's about the whole world. Ramsey, something very bad has happened and I need you to help me put it right. And step one is to find Sebastian. Please. I can't do it without you.”

  “Ethan?” I whisper, still trying to make sense of all these strange new memories. “Is... Is it really you?”

  “I'll explain everything on the way,” he continues. “Right now, we have to get moving. It's Sebastian, Ramsey. Sebastian needs our help.”

  Fifty-Nine

  Samantha 'Giggis' Higglestone

  One year later

  “It's such a beautiful night,” I say with a smile, turning and looking up at the sky. “You can't usually see the stars from here, can you? There's usually too much light from the city.”

  “I think it's gonna rain,” Johnny says behind me. “See those clouds moving in? How about we head somewhere for a drink?”

  “I like rain,” I tell him, still staring up at the stars.

  “Mary, come on.”

  “I do!”

  “Nobody likes rain.”

  I feel him put an arm around my waist, and then I turn away just a little. I don't know whether he was about to try kissing me, but I'd rather not find out, not yet. This date has gone so well, and I'm worried about pushing things on too fast. There'll be time for a kiss on our second or third date, and Johnny – if he's the kind of guy I think he is – will understand that.

  “So I know this great bar,” he says, walking alongside me as we make our way along the dimly-lit path. There's no-one else around. “They do cocktails, they do wine, they do spirits. They really have anything you could possibly want. I'm buying, if that helps.”

  I bite my bottom lip.

  He just lost another point on the subtlety scale.

  “Sorry,” he adds. “I didn't mean... Well, you know what I mean. They have water, too. And alcohol-free cocktails. And I don't have to pay, if you don't want.”

  Another point lost on the subtlety scale, but a couple gained on the cute-awkward scale.

  “Did you feel that?” he asks. “I think I just felt a spot of rain.”

  “I'm enjoying the walk,” I counter.

  “Sure, but the weather seems to be turning and maybe we should think about -”

  “Can't we just take our time?” I ask. “So it rains, so what? We get a little wet.”

  “I like the way you think,” he says.

  I can't help laughing. Out loud.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” I check my watch. After everything I just said about taking our time, I'm going to feel like a hypocrite if I say I want to go home, but suddenly I feel a little antsy. “I should probably get going soon, that's all.”

  “I thought you were a freelancer.”

  “I have deadlines.”

  “So -”

  “I get itchy when I don't meet my deadlines,” I add, as I feel more and more spots of rain falling against my face, “even the ones I impose for myself. Half the work of being a freelancer is getting out of bed in the morning and being at the desk by eight.”

  “I can dig that. Discipline's cool.”

  “And the rain's really starting to come down now,” I point out, “so maybe -”

  Suddenly there's a scream in the distance. Not too close, maybe a mile or so away. I turn and look across the darkened park, but I already know that there's no reason to be worried. In the six months since I moved to New York from Stubb's Bottom, I've come to learn that people just scream in the city sometimes and it doesn't mean anything's wrong. Screams are just a part of life around here.

  “I'd like to see you again,” Johnny says as we stroll toward the exit. “I'm away next week at a conference, but maybe the week after we could get together and I could show you some of the bars in my neighborhood.”

  “Oh, you could, could you?” I reply, as a few more spots of rain fall on my glasses. I wipe them away, but a couple more follow almost immediately and now my glasses are a little smeared. “Well, I suppose I could maybe make it out that way, but I'd have to get the last train home, so I wouldn't be able to drink too much. Truth be told, I never drink too much.”

  “Do you smell that?” he asks. “There's something in the air, like... I don't know, a little rich. Almost like iron.”

  “I love the smell of rain hitting grass.”

  “Yeah, this isn't that, though.” I can hear him sniffing in the darkness. “It's pretty strong.”

  Smiling, I see a street-light up ahead. We've been on this dark path for so long, it'll be nice to be able to see one another again. After all, Johnny has a real cute smile with dimples and everything. Sometimes I think I don't so much want to date him, as just have him around a lot like a work of art. Then again, I've changed my mind about the kissing thing now. If he makes a move for a light peck on the cheek at the street-light, even a brief kiss on the mouth, I think I'd like to give him that encouragement.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “Nothing.”

  The rain's really starting to come down now, hissing as it hits the grass on either side of the dark path.

  In the distance there's another scream, then another from the opposite direction.

  And then yet another.

  “Sounds like some people are having fun,” I point out, before realizing that I might seem rude. “Oh, not that I'm not! I am! You know that, right?”

  “I think so,” he says, and I can hear from the sound of his voice that he's amused.

  “I'm not -”

  Before I can finish, I taste something really weird on my lips. Something strong and rich, and a little sticky. At the same time, my glasses are really starting to get a lot of spots on them, and for some reason these particular spots are smearing the lenses as they dribble down.