He passed the light over the dinette table and shone it around the small kitchen. The place was so clean, he wondered about the source of the odor.

With the flashlight directed at the floor, he went to the bedroom. He passed the beam over the mattress.

It was not a dog or other animal: it was the naked body of a girl.

What is she doing here?

Her eyes fluttered a little.

“Hey, lady,” Max said. “Who are you?”

“Help me.”

Adrenaline surged through Max’s body, and he dropped the flashlight. It hit the floor and spun in a near complete revolution, casting a spray of illumination over the mattress, where the woman whimpered in a ragged, hushed voice.

Max picked up the flashlight and crawled close to her.

Duct tape had fastened her ankles and wrist to the exposed metal frame of the interior of the mattress. She’d been gagged with some cloth, but it had slipped enough to allow her to speak.

“Hurry,” she said. “Before he comes back.”

“Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?”

“My name is Carol. Please…please get me out of here.”

Max sat mute for a moment. She hadn’t explained what she was doing there, but he didn’t press her. He knew that this was not some computer game; it was real.

“How?” he asked, knowing to keep his voice low.

“Over there.”

He followed her gaze to the wooden chair next to the wall. The chair was facing the wall, leaving its rails like a cage. Protected by the wooden slats was a box of tools: a box cutter, screwdriver, electric drill, and spools of duct tape.

“There’s a knife in there,” Carol said, struggling to use her eyes to indicate where Max should go. “Shine the light. You’ll see it.”

The box was wooden, with hinges that had the patina of age. Max remembered when he and his mother had bought several such boxes when they’d gone shopping in Port Orchard some months back.

The beam met the shiny glint of a utility knife, and Max lurched for it as if it might move on its own to elude him.

“Please,” she begged again, tears streaming from her eyes now.

Max was unsure why his own eyes had misted, but they had. It made what he had to do all the more difficult. As he bent at her bound feet, he winced as he sliced.

She let out a cry, and he was afraid he’d cut her. She wriggled her feet, bloody and bruised.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice a rasp. “My hands next.”

“Max!”

Jolted by his name, Max turned around. It was his mother’s voice.

“I have to go,” he said.

“You have to get me out of here. Cut my wrists,” Carol said.

He looked at her.

“Max! Max!”

In the flash of awareness of what he had to do, what had to be right, Max Castile sawed on the tape.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Carol said. “Thank you…Max.”

The boy said nothing in response. He dropped the blade and ran for the door. He didn’t look back, but Carol, battered, nude, and scared to death, was right behind him.

He didn’t remember picking it up, but Max had the flashlight back in his hand. The beam stabbed over the cedars and firs.

“Max, there you are. Where have you been?”

Melody was in the middle of the yard.

“Just looking for the raccoon that was eating the dog food,” he said, his words choppy with fear and the breathlessness of what he’d just done.

“What have you done?” Melody screamed at her son. In the light coming flooding the grassy space of the yard from the kitchen window, she could easily see a smear of blood on her terror-filled boy’s T-shirt.

She knew.

Melody looked over at the Fun House. Then she saw the white figure of Carol Godding stagger into the woods.

“Sam!” she screamed in the direction of the garage. “Sam, get your ass over here. We’ve got a problem!”

She looked down at her son and grabbed him by the arm so hard, Max thought she would pull it from its socket. “You,” she said, “get to your room. Shut up! Say nothing about whatever you think you just saw. This is a grown-up game, and you had no goddamn business playing over in the mobile!”

As angry as she was, Melody Castile knew better than to call it the Fun House.

Max studied his mother’s face and wondered what kind of game could be so cruel.

Chapter Forty-eight

March 27, 8:30 p.m.

Key Peninsula

It took Carol Godding a moment to orient herself in the darkness of the forest. She had no idea where she was or where she should go. She only knew what direction Max had gone when the woman’s voice had summoned him, and knew that that was not where she should go. She shivered as she tried to gather her wits. Where? The moonlight illuminated a narrow slit of water on the forest floor, a small creek. She followed it, trying not to make a sound, but her lungs heaved with each step. A woman who had never been on a Washington beach without flip-flops because the rocky shoreline was too jagged, Carol did her very best to ignore the pain in the soles of her bleeding feet and pressed on as fast as she could.

Where am I? God, please help me!

A dog or coyote howled somewhere far away, and Carol froze for a split second. She had no idea which way to turn. She looked up through the fir trees that surrounded her; the sky was indigo, the moon nearly three quarters full. She wished that the boy who had found her on that mattress had given her the flashlight. Had she managed to escape, only to wander aimlessly in the darkness of the forest?

She fought down a wave of panic. Only one direction made sense: forward. Away from where she came.

She was sure that her captors were searching for her.

The white-blue spectrum of light confused Carol, burning her eyes as it bore down on her. She was weak. Terrified. Disoriented. She’d had nothing but strawberry gelatin since her capture, and she couldn’t think clearly enough to comprehend what she was seeing. A light from God? Had the moon crashed into the roadway?

As the headlights of the car came closer and the sound of the engine and tires on asphalt grew louder, a wave of recognition broke over Carol, and she started to wave frantically. She no longer cared about modesty; the fact that she was naked meant nothing to her now. She just wanted the car to stop and take her away from there.

“Help! Please! Help!” she said, her voice growing in volume with each word. “Help me!”

The car slowed, and then swerved slightly to avoid her. The taillights went bright red, and the driver pulled over to the side of roadway, forty yards from where Carol stood motionless for a second, her eyes still blinded by the brightness.

A plume of exhaust pulsed as Carol ran toward the car.

Gravel flew as the driver accelerated.

“Don’t leave! Don’t go!” she cried out, tears flowing down her cheeks.

The car disappeared over the hill. Help had vanished.

Carol was crying, wondering if what was happening to her was real or a terrifying dream. She dropped to her knees on the roadway, gravel digging into her skin as she cried out for help.

Why didn’t that car stop? Why didn’t the driver save me?

A beat later, she heard the squeal of brakes. The driver had turned around and was coming toward her. Thank God! She was going to be saved. The headlights were trained on her then, and she squinted, shivering and crying. She was going to be saved. The car stopped, and she blinked in the intensity of its high beams.