After night had settled in the woods, we reached the cabin. Jason kept a close watch over me after I'd fallen, walking right beside me rather than ahead or behind, but he hadn't needed to; I was fine the rest of the way, and I was relieved by that. My last memory had been scary, and I spent most of the rest of the walk trying to figure it out. It wasn't like it had been confusing in itself—I'd been in the woods, running from some people, and I was on my way to the cabin. The problem was, I couldn't tell how it fit into my past. If it had been a real memory and not a strange combination of a past and the present situation, I'd known where the cabin was long before Henry and I had thought we'd discovered it. That's why I'd known where to go.

Why was I recalling such disjointed pieces of my past? The process was wearing on me. If I couldn't get it all back, maybe I didn't want any of it.

When we got to the cabin, we could barely see it, just the same as it'd been when Henry and I had found it. The building was like some dark fairytale cottage attempting to hide from the children that came across it. Jason was thrilled to come across it at last; he said as much. But I wasn't as sure I wanted to go in, now, after what I'd been thinking about. I just stood there, staring at it in the gloom, trying to make out its various windows and recalling the layout, thought of the furniture and paintings and pillows sitting there in the dark, no one there to take care of them.

"How do we get in?" asked Jason quietly, startling me a little.

I sighed, supposing we'd have to do this. There was no way Jason would listen to me if I suggested we not go in, not after I'd led him all this distance. "The lock's undone. There's nobody there."

"How do you know?"

"Because. Nobody was there the last time."

"So? Someone could've moved in or come to vacation"

"Does it look like someone's there? There aren't any lights on, nothing." His questions irritated me. "It's deserted. Nobody vacations here. I just know that."

"Fine! No need to bark at me. Let's go, then."

Go in alone.

The voice in my mind, again--my intuition. Each time I heard it, so real in my thoughts, as if someone were speaking to me, I was caught off guard. I still didn't understand it, except that it had to be instinct. It was certainly my own voice. And it had been helpful . . . I knew I should listen to it.

I took a deep breath; Jason wasn't going to like this. "Can you wait here? I'll go in first, and if it looks ok, I'll turn a light on. If you don't see a light, then don't come in."

"Shouldn't I go in first, if it's dangerous?"

"No. I know the place. Just trust me, all right? Please listen to me on this? Stay here?"

Even in the darkness, I could tell he was scowling. His eyes looked like angry holes. "Ten minutes max. If you don't turn the light on, I'm coming in anyway."

That was all I could hope for; it'd do. I turned and walked away from him. When Henry told me what to do, I didn't mind, but I was beginning to find Jason insufferable. There was just something about him that made my skin crawl; it was probably the confession he'd made, how he'd beat Henry so bad he'd almost killed him. That sort of rage . . . it was ugly. And how anyone could hurt Henry, I didn't know. I couldn't stand the thought of him being hurt like that.

Going up the steps of the cabin, I winced when they creaked against the quiet. A tiny bit of pale moonlight had somehow crept down through the trees and was glinting on the pieces of glass still left in the windowpane right above the doorknob. The sharp edges of them stood out as if they were laced with a thin, electric wire, and I almost felt like it was a warning, like those shards of glass were telling me not to go back in. But I convinced myself that was stupid, and I reached out my hand to grasp the doorknob.

Instantly, my hand was banging on the suddenly-full glass windowpane, shattering through it and feeling it slice into me. My hand and wrist stung, but I knew I had to move fast. I snaked my arm through the broken pane, moving my hand downward until I found the latch and turned it. On the outside, my free hand yanked at the knob, and the door clicked open. Quick as anything, I was inside the cabin, and I knew that I was searching for clues, trying to figure out what they'd done to Henry when they'd had him here all that time, trying to learn what they'd done in all their secrecy. All the nights I'd crept through those woods, attempting to find this place yet constantly having to retrace my routes, I'd known they were doing things to him, things that weren't right. When I'd finally reached the cabin, I'd stayed outside of it for two days and nights, and I'd seen them hover outside: someone in a long gray coat; a man who wore jeans and boots and spoke in a grating, snarky manner; and a flame-haired woman who seemed to always be telling the others what to do. They didn't seem to have a car; they were just there. There was no road to this place. I gathered that it wasn't really a cabin, somewhere for people to relax or vacation. It was disguised as such in case anyone came across it accidentally. And now—now that I thought they had gone, all together, all at once—I was going to find out what was inside that place. But they'd found me--they were somewhere behind me in the bushes and trees. I'd tried to run, away from the cabin at first to mislead them, but I'd doubled back, and now here I was . . .

Dizziness consumed me, and I gulped in air as the back door, the shattered windowpane, the quiet of the woods settled around me again. I hadn't realized that I'd been holding my breath. I wasn't really in the cabin. I hadn't actually broken the window. Or, at least, I hadn't done it just now. I'd done it a long time ago, as my memory had just revealed to me. And suddenly, as the meaning of what I'd just remembered sank in, the place I was about to enter became ultimately more dangerous.

I'd wanted to know what happened to Henry--when? after he'd shot Mr. Hines? I wasn't sure, but it seemed maybe I'd followed them as they brought him here. He'd been trapped in that cabin with members of the Circuit while I'd hidden in those woods, possibly for days, wondering what was going on. And when they'd taken him—to Oliphant? or was he still in there?—I'd attempted to break in. But I'd been found, chased . . . someone had seen me in those woods, and they'd probably caught up to me shortly after I'd broken in.

It was compelling yet terrifying. Why were these memories coming back in such a strange way? Something tickled, ran down my cheek, and raising my hand, I felt moisture there again—more blood. It had to be affecting my memories, whatever they'd done to me, and the drug I'd taken had probably had something to do with it as well. I wished Bodie had better explained it to me. It was all so frustrating: I was having all these memories around Mr. Hines's death, but I couldn't seem to recall the event itself.

Hurry up.

My mind pushed itself again, and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing. I'd told Jason I'd go in and turn on a light. If the Circuit had used this place, it was unlikely that they were using it now. Wouldn't they have repaired the window? And the last time I'd been in it, with Henry, there hadn't been anything out-of-the-ordinary going on in there. In fact, it had looked like nobody had been in it for months, which was probably true. At the very least, I needed to get in there and to a mirror, so I could see what was going on with my head and try to stanch the bleeding. So finally doing what I'd come to do, I twisted that knob and opened the door.

It was even darker inside than it had been outside. Knowing that this place was Circuit property put my entire body on edge. I almost wanted to go grab Jason, make him come in with me after all, but I needed to follow my intuition and go on, despite the way my skin prickled with goosebumps. I kept on down the hallway, trying to rely on the few items limned in pale gray light to guide me. All the rooms were dark. I didn't want to go into them. I would just get to that main room, the one where I'd slept on the couch, with the deer antlers and knick knacks and adjoining kitchen. It was hard to believe that a place that was so absolutely boring and normal had actually been used for terrible purposes. One foot in front of the other . . . slowly, slowly I moved through the building, some part of me telling myself to just run ahead and get to a light whatever the commotion. But I couldn't do it. There was something pendulous in that darkness, something I was afraid to stir . . . and then there I was, in the long room. It was easier to see, now, as this room had more windows through which moonlight had found its way. I could see a table lamp as well as a floor lamp. I was going to be ok. If I could just get to a light, switch it on, illuminate the room and force the shadows into hiding, Jason would come in, and I'd feel at ease just to have someone else there.

I quickly crossed the room to the floor lamp, took hold of the chain and was literally about to pull it, when--

"Don't."

I froze. The whole world seemed to freeze at the sound of the voice that came from somewhere behind me, perhaps by the empty, gaping fireplace. There was no way I was going to turn on that lamp, now. Absolutely no way. I didn't want Jason at all, anymore. In fact, I forgot him entirely. He was non-existent. I didn't need him or the light or the world, because what I wanted was right there, in the dark of the cabin, with me.

As I turned, slowly, I wondered if I'd fallen into another memory, but somehow I knew I hadn't. As real as those memories had felt, as much as they'd fooled me, I physically knew that this wasn't one of them. Everything in me felt whole again, had been rebuilding itself the closer we'd come to this place, but I hadn't wanted to be too hopeful. I whispered Henry's name, hardly believing he could really be there and suddenly worried I might have imagined he'd spoken. Facing the fireplace, I stared into the shadows, trying to find something more solid than a disembodied voice, and as I peered, a darker-than-dark shape detached itself from the far wall and took a few deliberate steps toward me. He hadn't been startled in the least by my presence. He'd probably known all along that I was going to be returning to the cabin in the woods, and he had waited for me here—waited for me to return.

"Henry?" I whispered again, a little louder. "It is you, isn't it?" My chest constricted as I tried to restrain my joy.

"Leave the light off," was all he said.

I was certain it was him, now.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

I was disconcerted. "Yes," I said with hesitation. "But I--I've been trying to help you, Henry. I wanted so much to find you, and here you are! We--we can run, now. Together."

He didn't respond at all.

My legs began to grow weak under me. What was wrong with him? They'd done something to him. Maybe, maybe they'd hurt him, or they'd done something to his mind. Or maybe they'd convinced him that he was a murderer after all.

"You need to listen to me," I said firmly, trying not to let him hear the despair welling up. "Whatever anybody's been telling you, you aren't a killer. I'm--I'm so close to figuring it out. I don't have all the pieces, yet, but I knew you, in the past, and the Circuit wanted you to kill that man, but I don't know if you did. There's no proof that you did it! I--I have Jason with me--Mr. Hines's son. And he said that he never saw you kill his father, he just assumed you had, but everything about his trial was so corrupt, and why would they have put you in Oliphant like that if you'd actually done what they asked? They wanted you to forget something, and me, too. And I also know that they hurt you, even before all of this. They kept you here, and I tried to find you, because somehow we knew each other." I was rambling a hundred miles a minute and I didn't know how to stop. He wasn't saying anything at all, wasn't moving as far as I could tell, and I couldn't see his face. My tears were about to catch up with me; I had to keep ahead of them. "And Jason. He's just right outside. I can put on the light, and he'll come in, and you can talk to him. We can figure this out, Henry. Please--please . . ." I didn't know what to say anymore, felt so stupid, as if I were talking to nothing, no one. I waited for him to speak into the vacuum that my silence suddenly created. But he didn't. "Are you listening to me?"

Something clicked in the quiet. Something ominous. But it couldn't have been what I thought it was.

"They told me you'd try to lead me astray, to weaken me," Henry at last said, his voice sending chills up my spine. "But bring him in--your friend."

Then I knew for certain that the click had been his finger on the trigger of a gun he held. I couldn't see it, but I knew it was there, knew instinctively that he was meant to kill Jason. Contrary to reason, I gained confidence in knowing it. I straightened up "Everything I've said is true, Henry. These people want to hurt you. They've done it before. Tell me where you've been these past few days. What have they been doing to you?"

I thought I sensed a break in his coldness when he answered. "Go get Jason."

"All I have to do is light the lamp--I told you that. So why'd you stop me?" I took a step closer to Henry, but his shape took one step back. "You don't want to kill him. I know you don't, or you would've let me turn on that light. You aren't a killer, Henry. You aren't whoever they're telling you you are."

"Aren't I? Do you really know who I am, Nadia? After just a couple of days together? Do you know what I am?"

His questions wanted no answers, but I gave him one anyway. "I know that I knew you before Oliphant. I know from remembering--we were together at one time." I recalled his concern, his worried glass eyes, the dark and light around us. "They'd told you to kill that man. But you didn't want to, Henry. You didn't want to do it!"

"That doesn't mean I didn't. And none of that matters anymore, anyway. It's too late."

I didn't understand his meaning.

"Did you get the delivery?"

"Delivery?" I shook my head, confused. "No, I--" I gasped, suddenly connecting his words to meaning. "No--Henry--you didn't. Did you? You couldn't have!"

"It was a warning. What happens to anyone who crosses them."

"But he--he was your friend, Henry. I didn't like him, but he cared about you, even to the point that he risked his life so that I could get out and find help for you."

I thought I heard a tremor in his breathing. "I--I didn't remember him. I've remembered nothing at all. You say you have . . . how?"

Had I changed his mind? Had I won him over? "I don't know, exactly, but they did something to me when I was there; they put something in my head. And then Bo--someone gave me a drug to help bring the memories back."

"And you say we knew each other, before all of this?"

"Yes! I--I remembered a conversation with you. But I don't know where, and you--you were talking about not wanting to kill someone. But then I . . ." Should I tell him? "I told you that you should. That you had to, because I didn't want it to happen anymore."

"You didn't want what to happen?"

"I don't know." I hoped, prayed, that he believed me. "Can you please, please put down the gun? Can you just come with me? You don't want to hurt Jason. We can all three of us get out of here." I was restless to see him, to go to him, but I still couldn't tell where he was with what I was saying.

"You have to run, Nadia." His voice was small; he wasn't the confident Henry I'd left Oliphant with. "You have to get as far away as you can from all of this. I--I don't want you to get hurt. I couldn't stop them from killing Slim, and I can't let it happen--I just can't--"

"Then . . . you didn't kill him?"

"Nadia . . ."

"Did you shoot Slim or not, Henry?"

"Me, personally?" He paused. My heart paused. Everything paused. "No. I wasn't the one who shot him. But I made the decision to do it."

"But, why?" I was relieved--so relieved!-- and yet I was also so sad about all of it.

"Because . . ."

"Because what?"

I heard his body tremble in his voice: "Because it was him or you. They told me to choose." His words were almost a whisper: "He had no chance."

There were no words. I didn't know what to do or think. It was horrible to be flattered, and yet . . . I was. Something began to glow, to warm inside me. But it was awful--so wrong to feel what I did. Poor Slim--truly. I did feel for him, but wouldn't I have done the same if the situation were reversed? Wouldn't I have chosen Henry in a heartbeat? Gazing into that darkness, I thought for sure there were two small sparks of light, gleaming like fireflies where Henry stood.

I was going to say something to him, but the lights drew nearer, stopped a few feet away, and Henry's voice sounded so close to me: "Nadia--your eyes--"

My breath caught, a warmth raced through me, but at that same moment, the lights turned on.