It was a murder scene. She was dying. Henry had poisoned her.

It was the scene I had seen references to in my vision. The one Paige had been meant to perform. It was supposed to be Paige’s murder, only something had changed — this wasn’t how Paige had died.

The film stopped with a jerk and rewound itself, then started playing, so I had to watch Diana recite that line again: This is the kind of dream you don’t wake up from, Henry.

It made me think of Marnie’s line, that she’d used so proudly. He’s no gentleman, see?

And just thinking that gave me an uncomfortable twinge. Like the one I’d had on the stairs earlier. That feeling of overlooking something important. Of a piece not fitting in the puzzle.

Weirdly, I thought of Reed. And it occurred to me … Why hadn’t he been surprised to see me? I mean, yes, he was surprised to find me carrying an alleged dead bird in a shoe box. But he shouldn’t have expected me to be at home. As far as anyone but Marnie, Wyatt, and I knew, I was at Marnie’s for the weekend.

Then my heart seemed to slow to a stop, as I remembered his words in the garage that morning.

I guess I’m no gentleman.

It was too similar to Marnie’s words: He’s no gentleman, see?

Had Reed been watching Detour?

Maybe Reed knew I wasn’t at Marnie’s because he knew Marnie wasn’t there, either.

I glanced back at the frame frozen on the editing machine, Diana Del Mar’s face in a stricken expression of regret and sorrow.

Reed called this one of his favorite movies.

What if those weren’t Jonathan’s files I’d found on the computer?

What if they were Reed’s?

And with that thought, the pieces came smashing together with a deafening, horrifying impact.

Reed was an insane psychotic killer….

He’d killed all those girls.

And now he was after me.

I paced Diana’s office. Reed’s priorities would be to keep me from getting to a phone or computer and to keep me from escaping out the front gate. Eventually, he’d realize I had to be in the guest cottage and find a way to force me out.

Keeping me from calling for help was easy enough. He had my cell phone. The landline was useless. And now he had the only computer in the house, too.

I felt faint and flushed. Now that I knew his secret, there was no way he would let me live. Which meant I had to either find a way out … or be his next victim. I could scream and hope someone heard, but by the time anyone came to help, Reed would have found me.

There was no way out. I was trapped.

I made my way back upstairs to the main floor of the guest cottage, looking for something to use as a weapon. My best chance for escape would be to knock Reed unconscious and then run for my life. A baseball bat could work, or even a broken chair leg.

In the end, the best I could find was the metal base of an old lamp. I dropped the bucket out the window and began to climb out. As I left, I looked at the closet in the corner of the room.

And that’s when I remembered …

My father’s old laptop was in my bedroom closet.

Reed didn’t even know it existed.

I scanned the yard for a full sixty seconds before scrambling to the trellis and climbing back up. I had to leave my lamp behind, but there would be other blunt objects inside the main house.

Once I had silently hauled myself through the window, I dropped into an army crawl and began dragging myself slowly toward my room. Passing by the stairwell, I saw Reed sitting on the step just outside the open front door. He looked composed and relaxed — but there was tension in his posture, and I knew he was keeping close watch on the yard.

I held my breath and kept going. Finally I made it to my bedroom door, which was closed. As quickly as I could, I eased up off my elbows and turned the knob, grasping it with both hands to keep the catch from snapping back after I turned it.

And then I was in the room, closing the door behind me. It slid shut with only the slightest whisper of sound. I reached up and turned the lock — but it wasn’t the kind of lock that would keep someone out. Not if they really wanted to get in.

I ran to the closet and grabbed the old laptop — and a pair of running shoes. I locked myself in the bathroom, to buy some extra time in case Reed figured out where I was. I carried the computer in, set it on the counter, and plugged it in.

The screen slowly lit up.

Then, to my horror, it made that DA-DAAAAAHHH! boot-up sound. I nearly peed my pants in surprise.

It took an eternity for the home screen to load, but there was still no sign of Reed.

I was safe … for the moment.

I loaded up the web browser. I’d deleted all of my social network accounts months ago, so unfortunately, I couldn’t log into Facebook and post HELP HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME! to a concerned group of people who would be able to find me right away.

I searched for contact police online, but the results were useless — a bunch of people complaining about not being able to contact the police online. There were a few police departments’ CONTACT US! forms, which I figured would get me rescued in about a week and a half, if Reed would be kind enough to postpone his serial killing for a while.

I decided to send an email blast to all my contacts, something like SEND THE POLICE TO MY HOUSE ASAP! I opened a new blank message, selected every name in my address book, and in the subject I typed, SEND POLICE IMMEDIATELY 2121 SUNBIRD LANE HOLLYWOOD.

I was about to hit SEND, when I decided to add to the body of the email: NOT A JOKE ALONE WITH REED THORNTON HOLLYWOOD KILLER PLEASE HELP — WILLA.

I moved the mouse to the SEND button …

And clicked it.

I sat back, watching the little wheel spin — not surprising, considering all the addresses it had to send to —

And then the lights went off.

Reed had cut the power.

Oh, no.

The laptop ran on a battery, so the screen stayed lit. But the spinning wheel stopped. An error message popped up onscreen: Error sending message. No wireless connection detected.

A few seconds later, I heard the approaching clunks of distant footsteps coming up the stairs. After a slight pause and the rattling of the stupid, useless lock on the door, he entered my bedroom.

Oh, no, no, no.

“Hey, Willa.” Reed’s voice had a hollow cheerfulness to it. “It’s me. Are you all right?”

“Um,” I said. “I’m not feeling very well. I’d kind of like to be alone.”

“Is it from your fall?” he asked. “Why don’t you come on out and I can drive you to an urgent care place? You should probably get looked at.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I raked a hand through my hair. “It’s kind of embarrassing. Just a stomach thing. I actually called my mom before. She should be here any second. You can go.”

He paused, and for a second I thought I might have fooled him.

There was a soft impact on the door, and I cowered away before realizing that he was leaning against it. “Just out of curiosity,” he said, “what exactly are you typing in there?”

My whole body began to shake. “I already emailed my mom and Jonathan! They’ll be calling the police any second!”

“You’re bluffing,” Reed said in a light, pleasant tone. “I know you’re upset, and I think we should talk. Why don’t you come on out?”

“If you run now, you can get away,” I said. “Before the police get here!”

He shook the door, a sound that made me nearly pass out from fear.