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The woman was sobbing.
Maybe Ollie’s foot scuffed a rock, because the woman jumped and whirled around. Ollie gulped. The woman was pretty, with amber-honey hair. But she had circles under her eyes like purple thumbprints. Streaks of mascara had run down her face, like she’d been crying for a while.
“Hello,” the woman said, trying to smile. “You surprised me.” Her white-knuckled hands gripped a small, dark thing.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ollie said cautiously.
Why are you crying? she wanted to ask. But it seemed impolite to ask that question of a grown-up, even if her face was streaked with the runoff from her tears.
The woman didn’t reply; she darted a glance to the rocky path by the creek, then back to the water. Like she was looking out for something. Or someone.
Ollie felt a chill creep down her spine. She said, “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” The woman tried to smile again. Fail. The wind rustled the leaves. Ollie glanced behind her. Nothing.
“I’m fine,” said the woman. She turned the dark thing over in her hands. Then she said, in a rush, “I just have to get rid of this. Put it in the water. And then—” The woman broke off.
Then? What then? The woman held the thing out over the water. Ollie saw that it was a small black book, the size of her spread-out hand.
Her reaction was pure reflex. “You can’t throw away a book!” Ollie let go of her bike and jumped forward. Part of her wondered, Why would you come here to throw a book in the creek? You can donate a book. There were donation boxes all over Evansburg.
“I have to!” snapped the woman, bringing Ollie up short. The woman went on, half to herself, “That’s the bargain. Make the arrangements. Then give the book to the water.” She gave Ollie a pleading look. “I don’t have a choice, you see.”
Ollie tried to drag the conversation out of crazy town. “You can donate a book if you don’t want it,” she said firmly. “Or—or give it to someone. Don’t just throw it in the creek.”
“I have to,” said the woman again.
“Have to drop a book in the creek?”
“Before tomorrow,” said the woman. Almost to herself, she whispered, “Tomorrow’s the day.”
Ollie was nearly within arm’s reach now. The woman smelled sour—frightened. Ollie, completely bewildered, decided to ignore the stranger elements of the conversation. Later, she would wish she hadn’t. “If you don’t want that book, I’ll take it,” said Ollie. “I like books.”
The woman shook her head. “He said water. Upstream. Where Lethe Creek runs out of the mountain. I’m here. I’m doing it!” She shrieked the last sentence as though someone besides Ollie were listening. Ollie had to stop herself from looking behind her again.
“Why?” she asked. Little mouse feet crept up her spine.
“Who knows?” the woman whispered. “Just his game, maybe. He enjoys what he does, you know, and that is why he’s always smiling—” She smiled too, a joyless pumpkin-head grin.
Ollie nearly yelped. But instead, her hand darted up and she snatched the book. It felt fragile under her fingers, gritty with dust. Surprised at her own daring, Ollie hurriedly backed up.
The woman’s face turned red. “Give that back!” A glob of spit hit Ollie in the cheek.
“I don’t think so,” said Ollie. “You don’t want it anyway.” She was backing toward her bike, half expecting the woman to fling herself forward.
The woman was staring at Ollie as if really seeing her for the first time. “Why—?” A horrified understanding dawned on her face that Ollie didn’t understand. “How old are you?”
Ollie was still backing toward her bike. “Eleven,” she answered, by reflex. Almost there . . .
“Eleven?” the woman breathed. “Eleven. Of course, eleven.” Ollie couldn’t tell if the woman was giggling or crying. Maybe both. “It’s his kind of joke—” She broke off, leaned forward to whisper. “Listen to me, Eleven. I’m going to tell you one thing, because I’m not a bad person. I just didn’t have a choice. I’ll give you some advice, and you give me the book.” She had her hand out, fingers crooked like claws.
Ollie, poised on the edge of flight, said, “Tell me what?” The creek rushed and rippled, but the harsh sounds of the woman’s breathing were louder than the water.
“Avoid large places at night,” the woman said. “Keep to small.”
“Small?” Ollie was torn between wanting to run and wanting to understand. “That’s it?”
