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“Can you help me sit up?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Graham moved to my side. He hoisted me to mostly upright. My head swam, but I worked to keep from falling over.

“You okay there?” Graham asked quietly into my ear.

“I …”

I wasn’t okay, but I couldn’t grasp all that was wrong with me. I didn’t have any energy. I wanted to lift myself up and run, but I knew that wasn’t possible.

Okay, focus.

I squinted as I looked around again. “Are we in a cave?”

Graham sat down next to me. “We are. The Vulture Caves.”

“Why?”

“Because it was one of your father’s favorite places.”

“Okay. That’s true, but why are we here?”

Graham’s smile fell. The flames played tricks over his face, but now the smoke from the fire was becoming thicker. You shouldn’t have a fire where there was little ventilation. I’d explored the caves plenty of times, but all the “rooms” looked the same to me. I wondered how deep we were.

I coughed. “The smoke is getting bad. Can we get some air?”

“I will be leaving in a moment, but you won’t be going with me, Hazel. I’ll be back for you. Later.”

“Graham …”

A part of me knew I was in deep trouble. This was bad, and though my own stubbornness had been the reason for the fall, everything that happened now was going to be his fault.

A string of drool fell from the corner of my involuntarily slack mouth. I tried to suck it back in, but it didn’t work. My eyes caught a glimmer on the ground on the other side. I leaned to look but thought I would fall over, so I straightened and then tried again. Spread open on the floor was a felt case, its pockets stocked with knives of various shapes and sizes.

Though adrenaline zipped through me and made a part of me more alert, my head made a wobbly swivel as my eyes sought out Graham again. He was still there. The flames from the fire suddenly illuminated the underneath of his jawline more than his face. I thought I saw something I hadn’t noticed before, though it was now obvious. A small cut, maybe? Jerry’s words about the man he’d come upon in The Wild, and the cut on his face, rang through my mind. I said, “You?”

Graham chucked. “Yes, ma’am. Me.”

“Why?”

What I wanted to say was, what did we do to you, but something clunked into place in my head instead.

“You’re not Graham!” I said. “Not your name.”

I’d never looked him up. I’d wondered about the lead coffins story, but I hadn’t researched it or him.

“I am not.”

“Is there a real Graham?” I said.

“Kind of.”

“Did you kill him?”

He chuckled. “No, Hazel. He’s still alive, but he’s not well. He doesn’t have a professional presence anymore. My God, the man loves talking about his bones. I bet you and he would hit it off.” He rolled his eyes.

“Who are you?”