Funhouse by Diane Hoh

I can’t provide what a baby needs. I’ve tried and tried to think of a way, but there is none.
    He keeps telling me how much these people want a baby of their own. Doesn’t that mean they’ll love it and care for it? I hope so.
    But anyway, it’s too late now. I’ve signed the adoption papers. I pray I did the right thing …
    I knew, somehow, that she didn’t.

Chapter 18
    S TARING AT THE SHREDDED tires on her car didn’t make them suddenly inflate, so Tess straightened up and looked around her, her heart thudding in her chest. Someone had done this deliberately.
    Sagging against the useless car, her wet hair and clothes clinging to her she thought, Gina had a lot of visitors tonight. Every single one of them knows this is my car. Someone I know—one of my friends—is after me and I have no idea why. The thought made Tess feel sick. She heard the whisper again. “You’ll have to be punished … soon.”
    What should she do now? Call the police? She’d have to tell them who she suspected, the whole long list of names. She couldn’t do that. She had no proof. They’d never believe that any child of one of The Boardwalk’s directors, the most powerful people in town, was responsible for all the turmoil.
    Which child was it?
    And why were they hurting people in Santa Luisa?
    She was stranded. How was she going to get home? Any minute now, Doss Beecham would leave the hospital and find Tess stranded out here. Although she wasn’t sure he was the one, that thought made her more nervous than the slashed tires. All she knew was that she wanted to get home, out of the rain, where she could think straight.
    Turning, she hurried away from the car and out into the road leading up the hill toward The Shadows.
    Halfway up the hill, misery overtook her with full force. She was alone in the dark and the wind and the rain and she was frightened. Where was the tire-slasher now?
    Was he watching her? Tess glanced around nervously. The hill and the woods on either side seemed deserted. But were they? Wouldn’t the sound of footsteps be muffled by the wind and the rain?
    Realizing just how vulnerable she was, walking out in the open up the main road, she decided it would be safer to take a shortcut through the woods. It would be muddier, and therefore slower, than the paved road, but the thick woods might provide some shelter from the weather, and at least she wouldn’t feel like a walking target. Out in plain sight on the road, she might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on the back of her blue windbreaker.
    The thick, tall trees did provide some protection from the torrents of rain spilling out of the sky, but she had no flashlight with her and couldn’t see very well. Fortunately, there was a path, and although the mud and deepening puddles prevented her from hurrying, she did feel a little safer in the woods.
    The heavy rain had softened the earth beneath her feet into a soggy goo. Walking was difficult. She slid as often as she stepped safely. Low-hanging branches she couldn’t see in the darkness jumped out at her, snagging her hair, scratching her face. Several times she hit low spots in the path and sank up to her ankles in cold water and mud. The mud clung to her feet like glue, making her sodden shoes feel as if they were encased in cement. But she struggled on, because she had no choice.
    The first couple of times she heard a noise behind her she told herself it was her imagination. The next time she heard it—a soft, padding sound—she told herself it was probably a small animal, a raccoon or a possum. But when the sound came again an uncomfortable feeling began to rise in her throat.
    She was not alone in the woods. Someone was following her. The tire-slasher?
    She stopped to listen intently. A fluttering sound in the trees overhead reminded her that bats had recently been reported in the area. The reports had frightened her, but Sam had dismissed her fears by saying, “It’s not like you make a habit of