The final puzzle on that night's episode of Wheel of Fortune consisted of two words. The first one had five letters, and the second had six. After the lucky contestant was given his starting letters of R, S, T, L, N and E, the puzzle looked like this:

[] [] [] E [] [] L [] S [] []

A television, lit up green and white from the puzzle board was the only light in the living room of Mr. and Mrs. Sandburn, a married couple who lived off the highway a few miles from Lawman Creek. They weren't home, but Mynah Bird sat on their couch anyway. Her circle-lens sunglasses were propped up on the crown of her head, being of no use at that time of night. They rested just above where her American flag bandana was wrapped, which pinned her shaggy blonde hair to the sides of her head and kept it out of her eyes. Her boots were propped up on the coffee table, one leg comfortably crossed over the other one in her broken-in leather pants. Her denim jacket was open, revealing a red shirt underneath.

“That's some bullshit, man. How th' hell are you supposed to guess that?” she asked no one. In her left hand was a bag of Funyuns. She reached in, pulled one out, and popped it into her mouth with a crunch.

Pat Sajak reminded the contestant he could also guess three consonants and a vowel, to help narrow things down. The category was 'Food'.

“C! M!” shouted Mynah Bird, accidentally sending a couple Funyun crumbs flying. “O! Pick O!”

“What in the hell are you hollerin' about?” asked a girl's voice.

Mynah Bird looked up and saw her blonde, twiggy friend Jefra Mae standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing different clothes than she had been when they first broke into this house: a leopard-fur-patterned skirt and a black spaghetti-strap top.

“This fool ain't pickin' O!” Mynah Bird replied, frustrated. The letters he selected were G, K, D, and I, leaving the board looking like this:

[] [] K E D [] L [] S K []

“COKED MOLLUSKS!” shouted Mynah Bird.

“That ain't a thing,” Jefra Mae informed her. “Turn that dang thing off and git to stealin' stuff. Them dummies could come home any minute.”

“What about you?” asked Mynah Bird. “You been wastin' time pickin' through clothes again.”

Jefra Mae twirled around. “Ain't never a waste ta look nice. These big houses always got heaps o' cute things. Best of all, they's clean! Must use some o' that fancy clothin' soap on it.”

The timer was counting down and the contestant was struggling. “RAKED CLUSKY!” shouted Mynah Bird. “WICKED BLISKA!”

The time ran out, and the solution was revealed.

“Baked Alaska?!” demanded Mynah Bird. She kicked over the coffee table. “That ain't food! That's a state! FUCK THAT!”

“There,” said Jefra Mae, putting her hands on her hips. “Your show's over, now let's git. We been here too long already.”

“Alright, alright,” said Mynah Bird.

As she reached for the remote, some dramatic music signaled the beginning of the next show: a new episode of 48 Hours. A school picture of Courtney, the Sunnycrest tennis player, was shown, followed by a school picture of Josh Kiestler, the first child to be sacrificed.

“They're the murders that rocked the tiny mountain town of Sunnycrest,” said a female voice over, as the photos slowly changed to show the volleyball girls. “Children dead in ritualistic killings. Murders committed...in the name of Satan, only for the perpetrators to turn on one another.”

“Oooh” exclaimed Mynah Bird, leaning back on the couch. “It's them Sunnycrest devil-worshippers!”

“Oh! Wow!” said Jefra Mae with interest.

“It's a series of crimes that has Sunnycrest, and the whole country, asking why. How. Tonight, on 48 Hours, new information in this ever-developing, ever-deepening case,” continued the voice-over. “What really led a team of high school volleyball players to commit these acts? Did these murders really have Satanic motives, or is this only the latest case of small town Satanic panic? Who were these killers, really? What do their classmates and teachers have to say about their childhoods in Sunnycrest? What of Denver Hightower, the one who lived, and her impending trial? Plus, an exclusive first look inside the cabin where it all happened.”

“Oh man, this is gonna be good!” said Mynah Bird. “Ah hope they don't give that Denver chick the chair. She's pretty cool if you ask me.”

Jefra Mae grabbed her arm and tugged. “We can watch it at Lila Jean's house. C'mon, let's go.”

Then, the sound of an engine out front. Headlights swept across the room through the window, making Jefra Mae's shadow slide across the wall although she was completely frozen where she stood.

“Shit,” whispered Mynah Bird, rising instantly to her feet. She snatched up the remote, hit the power button, and the two girls flitted out the back door.

Lila Jean was sitting on her plaid, fibrous couch, cleaning her rifle, when she heard the knock on the door of her dad's camper. The weapon was broken into its various components and spread out on an aged cloth on the collapsable dining table. A roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaning solvent were near her right hand.

The sound of the knock was a thin rattle, the kind only a cheap fiberglass door could produce. Lila Jean set down the piece she was cleaning, wiped her hands on a paper towel, and got up. As she walked to the door, she took her hat off a rack and put it on, pulling her ponytail through the hole in the back. When she opened the door, she saw Mynah Bird and Jefra Mae standing in the light of her bug zapper lantern.

“Hey Lila Jean,” said Jefra Mae.

“Evenin',” Lila Jean replied. “What are you two doin' here? Thought you were out creepin' into houses.” She spit.

“We was,” Jefra Mae replied, putting a hand on her hip and cocking it in a flirtatious manner. With her other hand she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Got me this new outfit! Whaddaya think? Am ah hot or am ah hot?”

“Reckon so,” said Lila Jean.

Mynah Bird poked her head in Lila Jean's door and looked around. She saw the little 10 inch TV mounted above the dining table. “Quick, Lila Jean, put on the idiot box! They's talkin' about them Sunnycrest gals what done all that killin'.”

Lila Jean turned her ever-sleepy, half-open eyes to the television. “That so? Well, shoot, C'mon in.”

Jefra Mae and Mynah Bird followed her into the little camper. Lila Jean reached up and pushed the power button on the TV while they sat down on her fold-out bed. “Sorry 'bout the mess. Reckon if ah'd known ah'd have company ah wouldn't have started a project. What channel's it on?”

“Three,” said Mynah Bird. Lila Jean began pushing the channel down button, and the image flicked through the stations.

“Is yore daddy home, Lila Jean?” asked Jefra Mae.

“Naw, he's off in the mines for till the weekend,” said Lila Jean.

“Well ah'm glad o' that. He tends ta creep on me,” said Jefra Mae. Contrary to her words, her slightly disappointed expression suggested she actually may have welcomed a male perspective on her new outfit, but neither Mynah Bird nor Lila Jean were looking at her.

Lila Jean found the channel, then sat down and resumed her work. On the screen, a reporter was walking in the woods near the cabin. He glanced between the camera and the uneven, rocky ground. Crime scene tape was visible behind him, strung up on trees. “Now, later we'll take you inside the cabin itself, but the cabin was not the only scene of horror uncovered that day. In these woods around the cabin, the bodies of Sydney Meyers, age sixteen, Venice Silverberg, age seventeen, and Stephen Wikman, age eighteen, were discovered. All are presently implicated as members of the same satanic cult, and all were found with portions of their bodies eaten.”

The image on the screen switched to an interview with an older forensics expert. “Could those...could those bite marks be caused by wild animals?” asked the voice of an interviewer, off-camera. “Perhaps wolves or coyotes found the bodies after...”

The man's grim smile revealed how unfeasible his expertise rendered this suggestion better than words could. “No. Certainly not. The teeth patterns are...unmistakably human.”

“Without a doubt?”

“Beyond any shadow, yes.”

The picture switched back to the reporter walking carefully over the rocks. He came to a stop beside a chalk outline on the stones. “And it doesn't end there. This spot, right here, is where the body of Brooklyn Greer, age seventeen, was discovered in a sleeping bag. The damage to her body was reportedly so extensive that only DNA testing could be used to identify her. But was Brooklyn Greer victim or killer?”

Brooklyn's family appeared on screen, standing in front of their house. “Brooklyn just...this is all a horrible misunderstanding. Brooklyn, she's...such a bright, special girl. She was friendly, outgoing...everyone loved her.” She wiped away tears from her eyes. “She wouldn't be capable of something like what people are saying. If she was there, it was as a victim. I know it.”

Avery Greer, Brooklyn's little sister, had teary some words as well. “Brooklyn was my big sister...she was my best friend...she'd never hurt anybody. She'd never do anything wrong. I miss her a lot, and...” She couldn't continue. She turned and burst into tears. Her father knelt by her side and wrapped her up in a protective hug, letting her sob into his shoulder.

“The sheer disbelief is a reaction everyone in Sunnycrest can understand. These acts seem inconceivable for anyone to commit, much less a teenage girl,” said a narrator. “And yet, the police are still reluctantly investigating the case with the former Sunnycrest High varsity volleyball team as their prime, and only, suspects, with each piece of evidence they uncover only making that painful truth harder to ignore. Just yesterday, excerpts of Brooklyn's diary were admitted as evidence, pages of handwritten text which reportedly document the sacrifices from the beginning.”

Over an establishing shot of the Sunnycrest County Jail, the narrator continued, “The most compelling piece of evidence, however, is the confession of Denver Hightower. Herself nearly killed in the massacre, this physically imposing, mentally disadvantaged girl is the only living witness to the events of that night, and the police's only key to unraveling this baffling series of events.”

They finally showed Denver, as she was led from a car into the courthouse, hands cuffed. A mob of reporters, shouting her name and slinging questions at her like stones, were held back by security guards as cameras flashed.

“Ooh! There she is!” shouted Mynah Bird. “Dang, lookit all them 'porters shootin' her pitcher. Ah wish ah was famous.”

“She's a biggun, ain't she? Lookit that guard next to her, she makes him look tahny,” said Jefra Mae. “Reckon she's taller than Louise?”

“Maht be, maht be.”

Lila Jean looked at the screen, evaluating the girl on it. “Hmm.” She looked back down at her work, capping her bottle of cleaning of solution and beginning to reassemble the gun. “You reckon a bunch o' city gals could really mess each other up lahk that?”

“Ah guess so,” said Mynah Bird. “You don't think they did?”

Lila Jean spat out the window. “Ah ain't sayin' ah'm smarter'n them cops. Not hardly. Ah'm hardly qualified to pass a judgement on nobody,” she said. “But it seems to me that cabin business sounds an awful lot like Chase's work.”

“Who?” asked Jefra Mae. Then, she remembered. “Oh...you mean that Campbell gal.”

“Her name ain't Campbell. It's Chase.” said Lila Jean, as she snapped the barrel into position. She twisted her body, pointed the gun toward the back of the camper and dry fired a couple times. “An' ah reckon she had a hand in that business. She's about the only city gal ah ever met could de-recognition somebody lahk that.”

Mynah Bird scoffed. “She ain't that tough.”

“Ah don't mean ta belittle yer perspective, but ah recall her bein' plenty tough enough to give you a whoopin',” said Lila Jean. Mynah Bird couldn't respond to that, so Lila Jean went on, “Plus, she saved mah life from that b'ar. Ah ain't forgotten that.”

“Cain't imagine you would, Lila Jean,” said Jefra Mae. She scratched her cheek, watching Lila Jean set the rifle down on the table, then asked, “You cookin' somethin' up?”

Lila Jean looked at her. She spat out the window again. “Just thinkin, is all.”

….............

A rumble of an engine, heavier than the others she'd been hearing, caused Andrea to turn around. She kept the payphone's black handset to her ear.

The sound had come from a large semi, pulling into the snow-slicked truck stop parking lot. As it passed, the noise blotted out part of her conversation.

“What was that?” Andrea asked. She watched the semi stop in one of the refueling spots. Its brakes let out a sharp squeal. The sky was grey with clouds.

Director Abraham tried to sound calm as he responded, but he couldn't hide a bit of anxiety. “I said, are you sure you have her under control?”

Andrea smiled to herself. She liked having a little power over him, having a means to make him squirm. She leaned her back against the outside wall of the truck stop diner, the same wall the payphone kiosk was mounted on. A flexible, shiny metal cord connected it to her handset. “Oh, yes. She's quite well behaved, really. I can't believe you've had such trouble with her. She's a little angel.”

“What I mean is, does she pose a flight risk?”

Andrea sighed. “No, because she doesn't WANT to flee,” she said. “I don't know what part of this whole situation is so hard for you to understand, director. I've convinced her this is what she wants. There isn't any cuff, rope or chain that can bind a person tighter than the bonds she's in right now.”

A man got out of the truck and walked toward the diner. He was a handsome one. Young. Andrea's eyes followed his neck hungrily. He caught her looking, and she flashed a smile and a wink.

The man smiled back, but seemed slightly confused. He opened the door of the diner and went inside.

Andrea kept forgetting she was older now. Her flirtations just didn't hit the same way they did. A pity.

She was on the phone with the man who had taken the best years of her life from her. All the men she could have had...All the warmth she could have felt under her fingers, their adam's apples throbbing against her palms...

Suddenly she wished she had Abraham in front of her so she could start making up for lost time. She suppressed her anger. “Little Chase is all mine now, director. I assure you.”

“Little who?”

“That's what she's calling herself. You didn't know that? Chase,” said Andrea. “Cute, isn't it?”

“Hm.”

“She's a very interesting girl, Abraham. It would do you well to get to know your prey a little better. Perhaps that's why you've failed so egregiously in your dealings with her,” gloated Cha. “She's obsessed with cheerleading, for one thing. Absolutely obsessed. She likes nougat candy, and her favorite kind of meat, aside from people, of course, is a nice rare steak-”

“Where is she now?” Abraham interrupted.

“Back at the hotel room,” said Andrea.

“And you are?”

“Out picking up dinner for the two of us.”

“You left her alone?!”

Andrea laughed. “Oh director. You have so little faith in my methods. When I get back to the hotel Chase will be waiting for me like the patient puppy dog that she is, sitting in bed watching Boomerang.”

Director Abraham was silent for a moment as he considered this. “That may very well be,” he said. “However, given the importance and...volatile nature of this particular subject, I think you'll forgive me if I exercise a bit of extra caution. I want you to tranfer the girl to holding area C-Z until we're ready to receive her here. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

“Yes, I remember my briefing,” she said patiently.

“Good,” said Abraham. “In that case, Andrea, I hope you'll be flattered by my request that you detain yourself there as well.”

Andrea smiled. “You don't trust me to see this through?”

“I'd just like to spare you the temptation.”

“What if I decline?” asked Andrea playfully. She fondled the payphone's cord. “Maybe me and Chase would rather just pack up and go. She'll be Bonnie, I'll be Clyde, and we'll have some old fashioned fun.”

“I think you're smarter than that, Andrea,” said Director Abraham calmly. “You understand that being in my good graces would be a boon to you. You desire the privileges I promised to you if you carried out this mission to my satisfaction. Perhaps most importantly, you know that if I tracked you down once, I can track you down again...and you know that the next time I put you in your cell I may just decide to throw away the key.”

Andrea was rendered silent for a moment. Then, she smiled again. “Really, director. You have NO sense of humor.”

Director Abraham sounded equally unamused when he continued. “You will receive a delivery at your hotel room tomorrow at 11:30 a.m. Be there to accept it personally.” With that, he hung up.