As the truck bounced violently over the ruts in the dirt road, Jimmy stared at the back of Miller's head. He looked at the way the man's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Whatever they were running from was real. It was human. And it was enough to make a monster like Miller run for his life.
But as he looked out the tiny, salt-crusted rear window, Jimmy saw something that made his heart stop.
Far back at the house, standing in the middle of the yard they had just fled, was a single figure. It wasn't moving. It was just standing there, watching the truck disappear into the darkness.
It wasn't a cop. It wasn't a social worker.
It was a tall, thin silhouette that seemed to blend perfectly into the trees behind the fence
