The Mask

mask,” he said.
    Grace said, “What do you mean?”
    “The Jane Doe identity, the Linda Bektermann and Millie Parker identities—each of them was just a mask. A very real, very convincing mask. But a mask nonetheless. Behind the mask there was always the same face, the same person. Laura.”
    “And we’ve got to put an end to the masquerade once and for all,” Grace said. “If I can just talk to her as her Aunt Rachael, I’ll be able to stop this madness. I’m sure I will, She’ll listen to me… to Rachael. That’s who she was closest to. Closer than she was to her mother. I can make her understand that her mother, Willa, didn’t intentionally or even accidentally start that fire back in 1865. At last she’ll understand. She’ll see that there’s no justification for revenge. The cycle will come to an end.”
    “If we’re in time,” Paul said.
    “If,” Grace said.
     
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    Carol ran through the stinging rain and through the knee-high grass. She ran up the sloping meadow, her arms tucked in close to her side, legs pumping high, gasping for breath, each stride jarring her to the bones.
    Ahead lay the forest, which seemed to be her only salvation. There were thousand of places to hide in the wilderness, countless trails on which she could lose the girl. After all, she was somewhat familiar with the land, but to the girl it was a strange place.
    Halfway across the meadow, she risked a glance behind her. The girl was only fifteen feet away.
    Lightning slashed through the bellies of the clouds, and the blade of the ax flashed once, twice, with a brilliant reflection of that icy electric glow.
    Carol looked straight ahead once more and redoubled her efforts to reach the trees. The meadow was wet, spongy, and in some places slippery. She expected to fall or at least twist an ankle, but she reached the perimeter of the forest without trouble.
    She plunged in among the trees, among the purple and brown and black shadows, into the lush undergrowth, and she began to think there was a chance—maybe only a very small chance, but a chance nonetheless—that she would come out of this alive.
     
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    Hunching over the steering wheel, squinting at the ram-swept highway, Paul said, “I want one thing perfectly clear between us.”
    Grace said, “What’s that?”
    “Carol’s my first concern.”
    “Of course.”
    “If we walk into the middle of a nasty situation at the cabin, I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect Carol.”
    Grace glanced at the glove compartment. “You mean… the gun.”
    “Yes. If I have to, if there’s no other way, I’ll use it, Grace. I’ll shoot the girl if there’s no other choice.”
    “It’s unlikely that we’ll walk into the middle of a confrontation,” Grace said. “Either it won’t have begun yet—or it’ll all be over with by the time we get there.”
    “I won’t let her hurt Carol,” he said grimly. “And if worse comes to worst, I don’t want you trying to stop me.”
    “There are some things you should consider,”
    Grace said.
    “What?”
    “First of all, it’ll be just as tragic if Carol kills the girl. And that’s the pattern, after all. Both Millie and Linda attacked their mothers, but they were the ones killed. What if that happens this time? What if Carol is forced to kill the girl in self-defense? You know she’s never stopped feeling guilty about putting the baby up for adoption. She carries that on her shoulders sixteen years after the fact. So what will happen when she discovers she’s killed her own daughter?”
    “It’ll destroy her,” he said without hesitation.
    “I think it very well might. And what’ll it do to your relationship with Carol if you kill her daughter, even if you do it to save Carol’s life?”
    He thought about that for a moment. Then he said, “It might destroy us, ” and he shuddered.
     
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    For a while, no matter how tortuous the path she followed through the woods, Carol could not lose the girl. She switched from one natural trail to another, crossed a small stream, doubled back the way she had come. She moved in a crouch at all times, staying out of sight below the brush line. She made no sound that could be heard above the constant hissing of the rain Most of the time she carefully stepped on old leaves or made her way from stone to stone, from log to log, leaving no footprints, in the damp, bare earth. Yet Jane pursued her with uncanny confidence, without hesitation, as if she were part bloodhound.
    At last, however, Carol was certain she had lost the girl. She