Gingerbread Man

asking them to come with her. But then Vince saw yet another vehicle pull in—Ernie Graycloud's car. The doors opened. The doctor got out of one side and a man he'd never seen before helped a woman get out of the other. He recognized the woman, guessed the man to be her husband.
    "Looks like your mom decided to come to you instead, Bethany," Vince told the child. He nodded toward the woman, and Bethany looked.
    "Mommy! Daddy!" She twisted out of Vince's arms and ran, letting the blanket fall away behind her. Val Stevens was running, too, arms open, and then she was on her knees, heedless of the mud, hugging her little girl, sobbing, speaking too quickly to be understood. Her husband came, too, wrapping his arms around them both, drawing his wife gently to her feet.
    Graycloud met Vince's eyes, gave him a nod. Vince put an arm around Holly's shoulders, grateful to have one arm free to hug her with, as they met the old man halfway.
    "Get them straight back to the hospital," Vince said. "This is no place for that kid. We'll be along."
    "Holly?" the doctor asked, a brow crooked.
    "I'm okay. Amanda, too. Physically, at least."
    "She's going to be fine," Vince assured the doctor. "They both are."
    Graycloud nodded, turning toward the reunited family, urging them back toward his car. But Val Stevens stopped with her daughter wrapped tight around her, and then she turned back toward Holly with her tears still flowing full force. "I can't find the words ... there aren't any words, Holly."
    Holly shook her head. "Don't. Please. Just...just go. Take her out of here." Holly averted her eyes, lowered her head.
    The woman turned and carried her daughter into the doctor's waiting car.
    "You're not okay at all, are you?" Vince asked her as the car backed up, turned around and moved away.
    "No. I'm not."
    "Tell me," he urged. He lifted her chin, tried to search her eyes, but the flashing lights made them impossible to read. "Tell me what you're feeling."
    She seemed to search his face. "Why?"
    "Because I care, Red. More than I wanted to, more than I thought I could. I want to make it good for you again."
    Her tears welled, making her eyes shimmer beneath them. "I wish you could."
    "Tell me what you're feeling," he urged.
    She pressed her lips tightly together, as if willing the words to remain inside. But then they spilled out all the same. "Why couldn't I save my own sister, Vince? Why couldn't I be the hero, the protector, until now? Why did it have to take me so long?" She paused, sucked in a gulp of air, and everything in him was screaming at him to tell her what he suspected about Amanda D'Voe, but he couldn't just yet, not until he was certain.
    "Did you see all those mounds out there? My God, why did so many kids have to die, Vince? Why did my sister have to die? Why?"
    "Not because of you," he said. "Not because of you, Holly. You understand me?"
    "She's out there. She's out there in one of those muddy graves. Ivy." She fell against him, and he held her tight, stroked her back, her hair. But, hell, he couldn't say much to ease the gut wrenching feelings inside her, because he felt them, too. All those graves in the woods.
    "Over here, Vince," Jerry called. He was just helping the chief get Amanda over the ditch onto the road. Her yellow raincoat was splattered with gray and red.
    Holly lifted her head, turned to look as they stepped onto the muddy road. "Take that thing off her," she said, straightening her spine, unconsciously squaring her shoulders. She was now drawing on that core of steel she didn't know she had. But Vince knew. She took her own raincoat off as they moved toward the others. Jerry tossed the soiled one aside, Holly draped hers over Amanda's shoulders.
    "I found the hood," Vince said, pulling the yellow piece from his pocket "That was smart thinking, leaving it there so I'd know which way to go."
    They stood there, on the muddy road, beside the bakery truck, Holly touching Amanda's face. "It was Amanda's idea," she said softly. "Wasn't it Amanda?"
    Amanda didn't answer. She'd retreated somewhere deep inside. Vince kept looking from one of them to the other, seeing things he hadn't seen before. Similarities in their cheekbones, in their noses, and the shape of their eyes.
    "Come on, Amanda. Come on. Look at me," Holly urged. "You're going to be all right. It's over. It's finally over."
    Amanda obeyed, meeting Holly's eyes, nodding but only briefly. Her head came up farther, and her eyes locked on to the