Page 88 of Nowhere Good

“Claire, where are you?” It was Seth. The sound of his voice thawed her state of shock.

“My sister—she’s gone.”

“What do you mean she’s gone? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen at the farm. The back door’s open.” She stepped out. “I think Trevor dragged her toward the cornfield.”

“Stay there. I’ll be less than five minutes.”

But she was already walking into the backyard toward the cornfield, still holding the knife in one hand and her phone in the other. As she got closer to the cornstalks, she could see where he’d dragged Clementine in.

And a few yards in, movement. The corn shifting in a way that could not be from the wind.

“Oh my God, he’s gonna kill her,” Claire said. “I think I hear them. They’re not far ahead.”

“Claire, do not go in after them. I’m three minutes away.”

Three minutes. That was too long.

Claire had grown up playing hide and seek with Clementine in these cornfields—she’d gotten herself lost more times than she could count. She knew how hard it could be to find someone once they went deep enough.

“I have to stop them while they’re close. We could lose them if I don’t. I left Sully in his crib upstairs—please go check on him.”

“Don’t. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

She ran into the corn.

The moment Seth’s car ripped up the Dyers’ driveway, he jumped out, just as Chief Wells’s cruiser skidded to a halt behind him. More backup, almost every cop car in Fairview, was only minutes behind him, but waiting wasn’t an option.

He beelined it for the back of the house.

“Winslow, wait!” Wells called out.

He turned as she jogged toward him. “Claire left Sullivan in his crib upstairs—someone has to go get him. They’re in the cornfield. I’m going in.”

Wells threw her hands up as Seth took off. Around the back of the house, the sliding door had been left open. A stool was knocked over on the back porch. The grass had been stomped on leading east, so he followed it until he came to the edge of the cornfield. One of the stalks had been clearly broken and shoved aside.

Seth took out his radio and spoke into it. “Dispatch, I’m beside the cornfield east of the Dyer farm. Pursuing suspect on foot, heading eastbound.”

“Copy that, Winslow. Perimeter is being established.”

Seth drew his weapon and pushed into the cornfield, moving east in a straight line. The cornstalks confined him; the heat fell over him like an oppressive blanket, but he carried on, the leaves slapping and scratching at his arms. He stopped a few yards in and listened.

Every direction looked the same—endless corn. The sun glared in his eyes; the cicada howl raked against his eardrums. His focus split. He didn’t know where to turn.

Then, a sound on the wind, coming from the northeast. A whimper.

There. He kept moving as silently as his feet would let him. A gust of wind blew toward him, then there were voices. The murmur of a man. The cry of a woman.

With his heart in his throat, he followed them until the sound crystalized.

“Please.” Claire.

Then, Trevor’s voice. “I don’t like what Clementine has done to her hair. She—she looks nothing like her.”

“Trevor, please. Please let her go.”