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thing.” Leaning across her, he fiddled with the door. “Give it a tug, will ya?”
    â€œOkay.” The second she pulled on the door handle, she felt something cold and metallic click around her wrist. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, fear spreading through her bloodstream as she jerked her hand up and realized she’d been cuffed to the door handle.
    â€œJust calm down.”
    â€œThe hell I will! What is this?” She was furious and scared and tried to open her door, but it was locked. “Let me out, you son of a bitch!”
    He slapped her then. Quick and hard, a sharp backhand across her mouth.
    She let out a little scream.
    â€œThere’ll be no swearin’,” he warned her.
    â€œWhat? No what?” She swung her free hand at him, across the cab, but he caught her wrist.
    â€œAh-ah-ah, honey. You’ve got a lot to learn.” Then, holding her free wrist in one hand, he gunned the engine and drove toward the entrance to the interstate.
    â€œLet me out!” she screamed, kicking at the dash and throwing her body back and forth, screaming at the top of her lungs. The heel of her shoe hit the preset buttons of the radio and an advertisement filled the interior.
    Dear God, what was this? What did he plan to do to her?
    Panicked, she tried to think of a way out of this. Any way. “I—I have money,” she said, thinking of the cash in her pocket, all the while struggling and twisting, to no avail. His grip was just so damned strong.
    â€œIt’s not your money I want,” he said in that smooth, confident tone she now found absolutely chilling. His smile was as cold as the wind shrieking down the Columbia River Gorge. “It’s you.”
    Â 
    â€œMom!” Gracie’s voice rang through the house. “ Mom! ”
    Sarah’s eyes flew open. Her heart hammered. “Gracie?” she called, sitting bolt upright from her sleeping bag on the floor. The room was dark, dying embers of the fire casting a blood-red glow on the walls. “Gracie?” she said, one hand searching the flattened sleeping bag beside her, the other reaching for the flashlight. “Where are you?”
    The bag was empty.
    A shiver slid down her spine.
    â€œGrace?” Scooping up the flashlight, she was on her feet in an instant. “Grace?” she called again, her heart hammering.
    â€œHere!” was the panicked cry, and Sarah followed the sound, the beam of her flashlight sweeping the floor and hallway ahead of her, her heart hammering in dread.
    â€œI’m coming!”
    â€œMom, hurry!” Gracie cried. “Up here!”
    Sarah reached the stairs, flipped on the switch, and took the steps two at a time as the dim light from the sconces gave off a soft, golden glow. “Gracie! Where are you?”
    â€œOn the stairs,” her daughter responded, and she sounded less panicked, more in control.
    Sarah rounded the landing at the second floor and found her daughter lying on the steps leading to the third floor. Pale, shaking, eyes wide, Gracie was huddled against the wall, which was still covered in faded, peeling wallpaper. Her right hand gripped the railing over her head, as if she needed support to keep from sliding down the worn wooden stairs.
    â€œAre you okay?” Sarah said, grabbing her child and holding her close. “What happened?”
    â€œI saw her.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œI saw the ghost.”
    â€œThe ghost?” Sarah repeated.
    â€œYes!” Gracie was insistent, and her little body quivered in Sarah’s arms. “I got up to go to the bathroom, and I saw something up here, and I . . . I just followed.”
    â€œAnd it was a ghost?”
    â€œYes! I already said.” There was a higher pitch to Gracie’s voice, a desperation that Sarah didn’t recognize. “She was dressed in white, a long dress, and hurried up the stairs. It was