Chap­ter 17 begins with Patri­cia step­ping down the shaky front steps of the house, hold­ing a sil­ver Boy Scout flash­light in her hand. She had just spo­ken to Mrs. Greene, who stood at the door­way, but as Patri­cia pre­pared to search around the back of the trail­er, Mrs. Greene swift­ly locked the door behind her, secur­ing it with a chain. The night around her was alive with the hum of air con­di­tion­ers, and the woods were filled with a cacoph­o­ny of insects, mak­ing the air thick and heavy as she moved into the dark­ness. The ground beneath her feet was sandy, and as she walked around the cor­ner of the trail­er, Patri­cia felt a grow­ing sense of unease. She clicked on the flash­light, scan­ning the area around her, but only found shad­ows and uniden­ti­fi­able lumps in the dirt. She then turned her atten­tion to the trees in the dis­tance, the dim light from her flash­light illu­mi­nat­ing the pine trunks.

Patri­cia, feel­ing increas­ing­ly unset­tled but deter­mined, decid­ed to ven­ture into the woods. As she stepped fur­ther, the woods seemed to swal­low her, and the insects’ cho­rus grew loud­er, fill­ing the air with an almost suf­fo­cat­ing hum. Every step she took was met with resis­tance from the under­brush, and she could hear the sounds of her own body crash­ing through the branch­es and bush­es. At one point, some­thing caught her foot—a rusty wire stretched across the ground—which made her heart race with a surge of fear. She paused for a moment, real­iz­ing that the homes she had left behind were now far out of sight. She had entered an unfa­mil­iar world, alone in the woods, with only the beam of her flash­light to guide her. As she con­tin­ued, she tried to focus on each tree trunk, try­ing not to think of the vast dark­ness that sur­round­ed her.

Patri­ci­a’s anx­i­ety reached a peak when she heard a rustling sound off to her right. She imme­di­ate­ly turned off her flash­light, let­ting the night sur­round her in a thick silence. The sounds of the insects abrupt­ly ceased, ampli­fy­ing the pulse in her ears. The silence felt unnat­ur­al, almost as though the woods were hold­ing their breath. Just as Patricia’s fear inten­si­fied, she heard the unmis­tak­able sound of some­thing scur­ry­ing through the under­brush. In a pan­ic, she turned the flash­light back on and moved for­ward, her focus now sole­ly on find­ing Des­tiny Tay­lor. Her heart raced as she made her way through the for­est, the flash­light cast­ing errat­ic beams of light on the ground in front of her.

Then, as if guid­ed by some unseen force, Patri­cia stepped onto a dirt road, not far from where the trees began to thin. The road appeared to have been recent­ly used, with large tire tracks in the sand indi­cat­ing recent activ­i­ty. When she shone the flash­light in one direc­tion, the beam revealed a van parked nearby—the unmis­tak­able chrome grille of James Harris’s white van. Her heart skipped a beat. She turned off the light and stepped back into the trees, unsure if Har­ris had seen her. The van sat omi­nous­ly still, its head­lights dark, and Patri­cia knew that this moment could deter­mine every­thing. She need­ed to approach, need­ed to con­firm whether Har­ris was inside, but every step felt heav­ier than the last.

With her stom­ach churn­ing and her body tense, Patri­cia cau­tious­ly moved toward the van. The sand under her feet felt soft and heavy, but she pressed on, each step bring­ing her clos­er to the vehi­cle. Her mind raced with pos­si­ble sce­nar­ios, but her instincts told her to pro­ceed. She reached the van, her hand trem­bling as she touched the cool met­al of the vehicle’s hood. Kneel­ing, she tried to peer into the dark inte­ri­or, but it was impos­si­ble to see any­thing. She con­sid­ered turn­ing back, but the thought of Des­tiny, the thought of the young girl she was cer­tain was in dan­ger, pushed her for­ward.

Patri­cia was almost cer­tain that James Har­ris had been in the van, and he was most like­ly still near­by. She had to make her move before it was too late. She reached for the back door of the van, her hand trem­bling as she gripped the han­dle and pulled. As she raised the flash­light, she froze in shock. A man’s back was bent over some­thing on the floor of the van, and as he turned around, Patricia’s blood ran cold. There was some­thing ter­ri­bly wrong with his face. Some­thing long, black, and insect-like was pro­trud­ing from his mouth—an appendage that resem­bled a cockroach’s leg. The sight left her par­a­lyzed, and the blood on his chin and cheeks made her feel sick to her stom­ach. Beneath him, a young girl lay sprawled across the floor of the van, her body limp, a dark bruise mark­ing the inside of her thigh.

In that moment, Patri­cia under­stood that the hor­ror she had feared was real. James Har­ris was not just a threat; he was some­thing far worse, and Des­tiny Tay­lor was in grave dan­ger. Patricia’s body went into sur­vival mode, but even as she turned to run, she could feel the weight of what she had just wit­nessed. Harris’s reac­tion was slow, but he seemed to sense her pres­ence. The van rocked as he shift­ed inside, and Patri­cia knew she was close to being dis­cov­ered. Fear surged through her as she sprint­ed back into the woods, des­per­ate to get away. The trees seemed to stretch on for­ev­er, and with each pass­ing sec­ond, the dim­ming light from her flash­light made it hard­er to nav­i­gate.

As she ran, the thump­ing of her heart­beat drowned out all oth­er sounds, and her body screamed for her to stop, but she couldn’t. She had to keep going. The light from her flash­light flick­ered, grow­ing weak­er, but Patri­cia pushed for­ward, the shad­ows of the trees sur­round­ing her like an impen­e­tra­ble wall. Final­ly, after what felt like an eter­ni­ty, she stum­bled out of the woods and onto a chain-link fence, rec­og­niz­ing the road that led back to Six Mile. Just as she began to catch her breath, a car appeared, its head­lights blind­ing her for a moment. A police officer’s voice came from inside, ask­ing if she was the one who had called 911. Patri­cia wast­ed no time and climbed into the back of the patrol car, feel­ing an over­whelm­ing sense of relief wash over her as the door slammed shut behind her. The offi­cers were here. They were going to take action.

The car sped down the road, and Patri­cia gave the offi­cers the direc­tion to the woods where she had seen Harris’s van. The police were focused, deter­mined, and in a few moments, their spot­light was scan­ning the woods. Patricia’s heart raced as they moved deep­er into the area, but the moment stretched on with­out find­ing Har­ris or Des­tiny. The offi­cers turned the car back to Wanda’s trail­er, where the search for Des­tiny con­tin­ued. Patricia’s frus­tra­tion grew as she saw the uncer­tain­ty in their faces—her sto­ry, her warn­ing, seemed to be slip­ping away. But she remained res­olute. She couldn’t let Des­tiny become anoth­er casu­al­ty of this twist­ed night­mare.