LEILA . . The car pulled away from the farmhouse while the turning of the wheels on the gravel felt so final and in a more absolute way, the sound crunching softly beneath us before hitting the pavement of the quiet rural road. The peaceful façade of the place, the silent horror within, receded behind us as we drove into the predawn darkness, the headlights cutting twin paths through the gloom. I was in the back seat, crammed between two of Gerald’s men, silent and imposing figures who paid me no mind, they were just muscle, transportation. Gerald was in the driver’s seat, calm and focused, his profile sharp against the dim light from the dashboard. Misa doesn’t look like she had entered this car, because from the footsteps I had counted and I knew hers so I hadn’t heard her e

