Gillian Lennox didn't mean to die that day. She was mad, though. Mad because she had missed her ride home from school, and because she was cold, and because it was two weeks before Christmas and she was very, very lonely. She walked by the side of the empty road, which was about as winding and hilly as every other country road in south-western Pennsylvania, and viciously kicked offending clumps of snow out of her way. It was a rotten day. The sky was dull and the snow looked tired. And Amy Nowick, who should have been waiting after Gillian cleaned up her studio art project, had already driven away-with her new boyfriend. Sure, it must have been an honest mistake. And she wasn't jealous of Amy, she wasn't, even though one week ago they had both been sixteen and never been kissed. Gillian just wanted to get home. That was when she heard the crying. She stopped, looked around. It sounded like a baby-or maybe a cat. It seemed to be coming from the woods. Her first thought was, Paula Belizer. But that was ridiculous. The little girl who'd disappeared somewhere at the end of this road had been gone for over a year