Page 83 of Confessions of the Dead

Evelyn twisted around and stared up into the trees. “Weird, right?”

Riley scratched her arm. “Yeah, weird.”

Mason was growing impatient. “We should keep going. Buxton’s little shithole is right over the next ridge.”

Evelyn ignored him. She’d turned her attention back to Riley. “You’re scratching again.”

“So?”

“So, let me see. Pull up your sleeve.”

Riley didn’t want to. She had no idea how Mason’s and Roy Buxton’s names had gotten there, and that scared her, but the idea that another name might be there frightened her even more. And none of that was as bad as what Evelyn and the others would probably think of her if there was something else there. They’d tell everyone she was some kind of freak or monster or worse. “It’s nothing, just a mosquito bite.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, stomped over, grabbed Riley’s wrist, and pulled up her sleeve. “Mosquito bite, my ass.”

“Let me guess,” Mason said. “She drew a big heart around my name?”

“I didn’t write anything.”

Evelyn frowned at her. “Empty your pockets. Turn them inside out.”

“Why?”

“Because when I figure out where you’re hiding the pen, I’m going to beat the living hell out of you.”

Riley tried to pull away, but Evelyn held her still and told Mason, “Pat her down.”

“You pat her down. I’m not touching her. That’s how you end up on a list on the internet.”

“Turn your pockets inside out,” Evelyn insisted.

Riley did, and when Evelyn saw they were empty, she started touching Riley all over, real fast—the front and back of her shirt, the waistband of her jeans, her shoes, and socks. “Where are you hiding the pen?”

“I don’t have a pen. I didn’t write it. I didn’t write any of it!”

“You make her strip down, and I’m out of here.”

“I’m not gonna make her …” Evelyn fell back on her heels, stared at Riley, then stood. “You’re telling me that stuff is just magically appearing on your arms?”

Riley wasn’t about to say magic. “Ididn’t write it.”

“Well, we didn’t, either, and there’s nobody else out here.”

“If it’s not a heart, what is it?” Mason came over and looked at Riley’s arm. “Who the hell is Hannah Hernandez?”

“I don’t know anyone named Hannah,” Evelyn said.

“I don’t, either,” Riley told them. “I swear.”

Robby said, “Hannah Hernandez. Fifteen years old. Lives on Birch Street. Mother is Martha, father is Luis.”

Mason glared at Robby. “You’re seriously getting on my nerves with that. You’re like an internet that walks and farts.”

The name was written a little smaller than the others, and at a slight angle, but it was easy enough to read.

Evelyn licked her thumb and tried to smear it off, but that didn’t work. “It’s like a tattoo. I think it’s under your skin, like Robby said.”

Riley looked back at Evelyn, her eyes wide. “It won’t come off?”

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