I couldn’t help imagining the story behind the damage. Because he was angry. And scared. And heartbroken. Because he’d lost someone he loved so much, he didn’t know what else to do but start throwing things.

I wrapped my arms tight around myself, hoping to ward off the chill night air. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine. Go back to the room, where you’ll be safe. And get something to eat, too. You’ll need your—”

“Energy. I know. Except I’m not going back. So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Sighing, he slipped out of his coat and handed it to me. “At least put that on, then.”

“I’m okay.”

He considered me warily. “Just put it on.”

I took it. The arms were too long, the shoulders too baggy, but it smelled like him, like crisp autumn air. We walked for a good fifteen minutes before coming across a twenty-four-hour waffle house. Interior lights shone through the windows and spilled across the sidewalk.

Sam must have read the hunger on my face, because he went straight for the entrance and held the door, motioning me inside. The place was heavy with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and waffle batter. My stomach immediately growled.

The tables were pretty full despite the hour and we ended up choosing a booth in the back corner. When the waitress arrived, Sam ordered eggs with orange juice, and I got the full waffle treatment and a cappuccino. It was almost like we were normal people, ordering normal food, late on a… God, I didn’t even know what day it was.

I fidgeted with the saltshaker, picking the dried salt off the metal top as Sam scrutinized the people and our surroundings.

“Do you think Sura set us up?” I asked.

Sam swung his attention back to me. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Seems awfully convenient that the Branch showed up at the cabin the same night she did.”

“They found us at the mall.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” I trailed off, trying to make sense of the theories I had going. Something didn’t feel right about how we had been ambushed, but I didn’t know what it was, or how to relate it to Sam. “Never mind.”

Our food showed up a few minutes later. Despite the fact that we were in a cheap twenty-four-hour diner, my waffles were the best I’d ever had. I was suddenly thankful for the late-night walk. I’d take this over a gas-station turkey sandwich any day, I thought.

I sopped up the last of the syrup on my plate with a chunk of waffle. “So, that clue you left at the cabin—it said to use the tattoo with the scars, right?”

Sam pushed his plate away. “Yes. I thought it might be a more complicated cipher—”

“Or maybe it’s something as simple as an address. The numbers are the house numbers, and the scars spell out a road.”

He started to protest, but then thought better of it. “Maybe, but I’ve spent years working on those letters, trying to get them to spell something useful. It’s not there.”

I drained the rest of my cappuccino, the heat of the liquid warming my throat. I felt better than I had in a long time, and while it might have been due to the caffeine, I tried telling myself it was because we were this close to solving Sam’s clues. We just needed to analyze the scars a little more.

“Excuse me?” I called out to the waitress. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

The older woman offered me a capless BIC with teeth marks in the barrel before scurrying off. Using the underside of my paper place mat, I wrote out the letters of the scars again, organizing them by boy.

Sam—R O D R

Cas—L V

Nick—I E

Trev—R R E E

“There are twelve scars,” I said, tapping the end of the pen against the table as I thought. “If you’d divided them evenly, each boy would have three scars. Instead, you and Trev have four, and Nick and Cas have two. Why?”

Sam frowned. “If you’re asking me what my reasoning would have been, I’d say I would have taken more to spare the others some pain.”

“But Trev has four, too,” I reminded him.

What other reason would there be for Trev to have as many scars as Sam?

Sura had said she was only vaguely familiar with Trev, which would have meant he wasn’t around when she interacted with Sam five years earlier, when he planted the clues. Which meant, possibly, that he hadn’t been around when Sam, Nick, and Cas devised the plan, cutting the scars into their skin.

I relayed my thoughts to Sam. He folded his hands on the table. “If Trev’s scars were added later—” he said.

“Then maybe they don’t even fit the clue.”

“A decoy.” A flash of excitement warmed his eyes. “Give me the paper.”

He started writing and rewriting the remaining letters in different sequences.

R O D R L V I E

LOR DIVER

LORD RIVE

RIVER DOL

“Old River,” I whispered.

“So 2644 Old River,” he said. “If it’s an address.”

I looked around the diner. A few twentysomething girls sat kitty-corner from us, discussing their boss. An older couple sat at another table, reading separate newspapers. In the opposite corner, a boy clicked away on a laptop, a pile of textbooks open beside him.

I swept out of the booth, and Sam followed. The guy looked at us over the top of his thick, black-framed glasses when we approached. Acne covered his chin. Overgrown dark hair hid what looked like overgrown eyebrows.

He frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have Internet access on that?” Sam said.

“Um, yeah.”

“Would it be possible for us to borrow it for a few minutes? I’ll pay you.” Sam put a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and the guy’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

Sam nodded. “Seriously.”

The guy scooted over, letting Sam slide into the booth in front of the computer. I sat on the other side. Sam tapped a few keys, navigating the Internet effortlessly despite the fact that he’d been in a cell for five years with no Internet access at all. The boys didn’t even have computers.

“So, what are you looking for?” the guy asked. “Anything I can help with?”

Sam hit enter. “I’m looking for an address. I’m not sure about the street name. Old something? River, maybe?” Sam read the computer’s display. “Nothing came up in the search.” He tapped in a few more things, clicked the mouse.

“Old River?” The guy rubbed the back of his index finger across his mouth. “Hmm. Do you know if it’s in town? Farther out?”

“No.”

I straightened. “What about the address 2644?”

The guy repeated the numbers. “I know of a 2644 Old Brook Road. Could that be it?”

Sam and I locked eyes across the table. “You know the place?” he said.

“Do I?” the guy echoed, like that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Everyone knows that place. It’s only the site of the town’s biggest unsolved murders. There was even a crime documentary filmed there a few years back. Where have you guys been?”

Sam wheeled to face him. “Tell me about it.”

The guy shrugged. “Well, the O’Brien family lived out there for a long time. They had two daughters. Then the O’Briens fell on some hard times. The oldest daughter went off to school on scholarship. She was the family’s star. Was supposed to become a doctor or something. At least that’s what Mrs. O’Brien told everyone.

“Anyway, it turned out the daughter ran off somewhere and never came back. About a year later, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien were found dead in their home, and the youngest daughter disappeared. Never did turn up.”

The empty file in the third drawer in my father’s filing cabinet had had the name O’Brien written across the top.

A rushing noise filled my ears. Sam said, “What were the daughters’ names?”

The guy shook the hair out of his eyes as he looked over at Sam, having no idea his answer would change my entire life. “The girls were Dani and Anna. Dani and Anna O’Brien.”

30

I FELT NUMB ALL OVER AS I TRUDGED down the sidewalk. Sam kept his distance behind me. I hadn’t said a word since we’d left the waffle house, because I couldn’t. The boys had been right. My entire life was a lie. The Branch had planted me. How or why, I didn’t know, but they had. They’d wiped my memories and filled the void with made-up truths. And I’d believed every one of them.

According to that boy in the diner, my parents were dead. Dani was my sister, and no one had seen her in years. And if that was true, then Sam and I must have known each other before all of this, long before the memory wipes and the farmhouse. There’d always been something about Sam, some unseen thread that connected me to him. This explained a lot. If it was true. If I chose to believe it.

The boy in the diner had given us directions to Old Brook Road, and we headed that way on foot, despite the fact that it was a good five miles south of town. Raindrops wet my face. In the far distance, lightning lit the sky.

“Anna?” Sam caught up, his arms tight against him to hold in the body heat because he’d given me his coat. I could make out the butt of his gun bulging beneath his shirt at the small of his back. “We need to talk about this.”

“What are we supposed to talk about? That my dad lied to me? That my real parents are dead? That I apparently had a sister who you were in love with?”

“You can’t go running to that address if you’re not thinking straight.”

He was right, of course, and that only annoyed me more. “I’m thinking just fine, thank you.”

Suddenly he was in front of me. “We need to talk about you and me. About this entire thing. About the answers you might find at that place, and whether or not you’re even ready for them.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I stepped around him. “This is my life. I’d like to know a thing or two about how I got here and why I’m here to begin with.” There had to be a reasonable explanation for all this, right?

But even as the thought crossed my mind, the rational side of me argued that we were far past reasonable.

A small truck chugged past and I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, turning my face away in case the person behind the wheel had any connection to the Branch. Paranoia had taken hold of me and wouldn’t let go. Every corner of my life had been altered by the Branch.

Nothing seemed real anymore.

The truck kept going and my shoulders sank with relief.

When all of this had started, I thought I was a bystander, swept up in the boys’ problems, and that I only had to survive. But if what that guy at the diner said was true, I’d always been a part of it.

How did I fit into it now? What purpose did I serve? Somehow, all of this—the stolen evidence, the house at 2644, me, Sam, the others—was connected. And nothing would be solved until we knew what Sam had buried five years ago, at the house that used to be mine.

My feet ached. My legs felt like rubber. The rain had let up, but thunder still rumbled in the distance. I shivered inside Sam’s coat. He hadn’t complained yet, but his lips were blue and he looked paler than he should.

Two hours after leaving the diner, we turned right onto Old Brook Road. Gnarled branches of mammoth oak trees laced together overhead. I could smell the earthy scent of farmland—overturned dirt, hay, manure. It should have been revolting, but it stirred something deep in my memory.

The first mailbox we passed had the number 2232 nailed to its wooden post. A broken-down truck sat in the driveway, its back fender rusted out.

Rain started falling again, fat drops making a pattering sound on my already soaked jacket. Sam ran a hand over his head, flinging water from his hair. My shoes squeaked and gushed with each step I took.