Gingerbread Man

pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. "It's coming back. It's all coming back, and I don't want it. Dammit, I don't want it."
    "I'm sorry, Amanda." Holly reached out to stroke the girl's hair, but Amanda pulled away from her touch.
    "There was a room. In a house. He kept me there. Oh, God, for so long, I don't know. It seemed forever. Chains. My wrists." She rubbed at the phantom marks that must have once been on her wrists. "Water, once in a while. Hardly any food. And I was alone a lot of the time. All alone, in the dark. No lights. It was so cold there at night. But it was worse when he was there. It was so much worse."
    "Amanda..."
    "He
...hurt
me."
    Those three words, spoken so softly, carried more pain in them than Holly had ever heard before.
    "If I could make the memories stop, I would."
    Amanda turned toward Holly. "You can't."
    "I know."
    Thunder cracked like a rifle shot and Amanda cringed, closed her eyes. "It was just like this. There was a storm, and I was so afraid in the dark, with the thunder and lightning crashing, that I pulled, and I pulled. And my wrist slipped right through the metal bands." She looked down at her own hands in wonder.
    "You'd probably lost enough weight that it made the difference," Holly said.
    Amanda nodded. "I heard him coming. So I ran. I found my way out of the house. I was so weak. And so cold. And then I saw a truck. It was parked down the street. I just wanted to get in out of the rain, and I thought it was safe. Something about the truck... told me it would be safe. I couldn't reach the doors in the front, but the back wasn't shut tight. And I could smell the bread. It smelled so good. I crawled inside. I ate and ate. And then I wrapped up in a piece of canvas or something I found back there, and I went to sleep." She looked at Holly again, eyes wide. "I didn't know it was
his
truck. When I woke up it was moving. And when it stopped again, I peered out through the crack where the back door was still open just a little. And I saw your aunt's house. And I saw
him
going into it."
    "You recognized him?" Holly asked.
    "Not his face. I'd never seen his face. He always wore a mask when he was with me."
    Holly's memory flashed back to the man in the mask, tearing her sister from her life. And suddenly those ice blue eyes were familiar. They were her own uncle's eyes.
    "But I knew it was him," Amanda went on. "His walk. His shape. His way. I just knew. And it was still storming. But I realized I still wasn't safe—the truck I thought would be my escape was his truck. It was his truck, and I had to get away. So, as soon as he went inside the house, I climbed out, and I ran away from the truck, away from the house."
    "Into the woods," Holly said softly. "And you wound up at Reggie's."
    Nodding, Amanda sniffed and swiped at her tears. "Reggie never hurt me."
    "I never thought he did."
    Amanda nodded, lifting her head. Then she froze. "Look. Taillights."
    Holly looked ahead and saw them. She quickly turned off the car's headlights so Marty wouldn't see them coming. "Uncle Marty and Aunt Jen have two daughters," she told Amanda. "Kelly and Tara. Five and seven years older than me. When I was a little girl I thought they were the wisest, the coolest girls in the world." She sighed, shaking her head. "When Kelly turned eighteen she dropped out of high school, took Tara, and ran away. They turned up months later, living on the west coast, making their own way. I never knew why." She bit her lip at the inevitable conclusion.
    "They must have been his first victims."
    Holly nodded. "And my sister was his next."
    "Oh, God. Holly, I'm so sorry." Amanda's hand, cool and soft, smoothed back a lock of Holly's hair, and stroked a path down her cheek. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you all I did. It was cruel."
    Holly looked at her, her own eyes welling with tears. "At least you got away. I'm so glad of that."
    Amanda nodded hard. "And Bethany will, too. We'll see to it."
    Suddenly a soft tone beeped.
    "What was that?" Amanda looked around, her eyes wide. Holly checked the lights on the dashboard.
    "None of the warning lights are on. Oil, gas—"
    It beeped again.
    "It's in here." Amanda popped open the glove compartment. Then she released a loud breath. "Oh, God, it's a phone!" She yanked it out, looking at its face. "It's the low battery signal."
    "Pray there's enough for one call," Holly said.
    Amanda looked at her. "Who should we call. Nine-one-one? Chief Mallory? The