Christopher recalled the little girl’s face. He always kind of thought he knew her, and he
thought about what happened to her often. Maybe they had been on a swing set at the park at the
same time. Nothing like the murder of Billie Barnes had ever occurred in Bryan before—at least
not within Christopher’s short lifetime—and afterward people were different. Everything was
scary now. He fell asleep on that pile of towels, still thinking of Billie’s face. In his dreams she
was older, and had black hair. She was different in other ways too, but he could not figure out
how. She still smiled. He looked up at her from the banks of the creek where she sat at the top of
the culvert, pointing to something shiny in her hand. “Find it,” he thought she mouthed to him, as
the world around her turned from bright green, broad-leafed trees and sunshine, to a snowswirled, winter landscape and Christopher woke up as he felt himself begin to drown.
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