Wildwood Road Read Free Page B

suddenly it was too much for him. He punched the power button and all was silent inside the car, save for his own breathing and the purr of the engine.
    His gaze fell upon the clock display, a green-white glow that read 12:21.
    What the hell was a little girl doing wandering Old Route 12 at half past twelve on a frigid night, without even a jacket on? As he stared at the clock, there was a moment—only a moment—when Michael was sure he was going to look up to find that the girl was gone. Or, perhaps, that she had never been there at all.
    Foot still on the brake, he turned to look out the rear window, and there she was, only a few feet behind the car, bathed in the rich red glow of his brake lights. Exhaust fumes swirled up from his tailpipe and she seemed lost in a crimson fog. Her expression had not changed.
    Michael's breath caught in his throat and once more he shivered, but this time it was neither the alcohol nor the cold night air that caused it. It was the vacant, lost look in her eyes.

CHAPTER TWO
    Shock,
Michael thought.
She's in shock.
    The logic of this filtered through him and he let out a calming breath. He was still turned around in his seat, neck craned as far back as possible without forcing him to take his foot off the brake. The effect of the brake lights that illuminated the girl was eerie, and the exhaust fumes that swirled around her only added to that. But now that he studied her face more closely, Michael was certain she must be in shock.
    Why shouldn't she be? I almost ran her over.
    The blond girl was perhaps seven, but certainly no more than eight. Her face was expressionless, eyes wide, but more in total blankness than in surprise.
    Poor thing.
    Michael glanced down at Jillian. She had been lying on her side on the backseat, but the abruptness of the stop had tossed her slightly forward, so that her left arm dipped down toward the floor mat and her legs were tilted away from the seat. She mumbled, but did not wake.
    His gaze rose once more. The girl stood there, unmoving, forlorn. Michael turned from her and put the car in park. He killed the engine, tugged out his keys, and popped open his door.
    “You all right, honey?” he asked, as gently as he could.
    The girl did not move as he approached her. Without the brake lights, she was no longer cast in that crimson hue. Only the moonlight provided illumination now—the nearest working street lamp was too far away—and in that lunar glow the girl's features were washed-out and pale. Michael went to her slowly, concerned that he might frighten her again.
    “Hello. What's your name?”
    She seemed frozen still, her gaze unfocused. Michael dropped to his knees on the pavement in front of her. He reached slowly to touch her arm and pulled his fingers back instinctively. Her skin was cold. So cold. What else had he expected on a night as frigid as this, with the girl walking around in jeans and a thin cotton blouse? He could not help but wonder what might have happened to drive her from her home. Were her parents terrified for her, or were they the sort of cruel people he read about from time to time, or saw on the news?
    “Sweetie? My name's Michael. Can you tell me your name?”
    No response.
    “Are you lost?”
    She blinked. A tiny gasp came from her lips, and at last her eyes focused on him. Her face was angelic, but it became heartbreaking when she nibbled on her lower lip. And then her mouth pursed, just for a moment, into a pout.
    “The lights were bright,” she said, her small voice filled with the import that often accompanied children's proclamations.
    “Yeah. I know. My car. I nearly hit you, honey, but you're all right. Okay? You're all right. So . . . you're lost? Is that right?” He was thinking now that perhaps she had followed a squirrel or a bird or the path of some gulley and gotten turned around. It would be easy to do around here, in the woods.
    Halloween.
The thought struck him from nowhere. The holiday was still days