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GWENDY’S STILL THINKING ABOUT the three small teeth hours later as she showers and gets ready to attend Christmas Eve mass with her parents.

Forensics have already confirmed that the teeth are archetypal for a female Carla Hoffman’s age, and Sheriff Ridgewick’s in touch with the girl’s dental office to determine if they have X-rays on file. Carla’s parents know about the sweatshirt but haven’t been told about the gruesome discovery made inside the pocket. “It’s our first concrete piece of evidence,” the sheriff had confided to Gwendy. “We need to see where it leads before news of it gets blabbed all over town.”

The discovery of the teeth had pushed thoughts of last night’s terrifying encounter in the parking lot out of Gwendy’s mind, but they return to her now, twenty-four hours later, as she’s selecting a dress for church.

The whole thing feels like a bad dream. The man was wearing a mask, she’s sure of that now. But at this time of year, ski masks are common. Other than that, she doesn’t remember much of anything. Dark clothing, maybe jeans, and some kind of shoes or boots with a heel. She definitely heard him before she saw him. Another thing, she hadn’t noticed any strange cars in the lot, so he either parked somewhere nearby and came in on foot, or he lived close by.

But why would anyone want to do that? she thinks, settling on a long black dress and a pair of leather boots. Was he just trying to scare her? Or was it more than that? For that matter, did he even know it was her? Maybe the whole thing was just a prank. Or had nothing to do with her at all.

Gwendy also wonders why she chose not to say anything about it to Sheriff Ridgewick this morning, although she has a theory about that. It all points back to the chocolate owl she ate a couple of nights earlier. It’s true that eating the chocolate immediately infused her with a sense of calm energy and clearness of vision—both the internal and external variety—but it did more than that: it gave her back her sense of balance in the world; a sense of confidence that was sorely lacking these past few months. Missing Ryan, floundering at her job, worrying about her mom and a President with the IQ of a turnip and the temperament of a schoolyard bully… all of a sudden, she felt like she could shoulder her share of the load again, and more. All thanks to some kind of wonder drugor candy, she thinks. It was an uneasy feeling to have, and in some ways it made her feel even guiltier about eating the chocolate. After all, she wasn’t a lost and insecure teenager like the first time the button box came into her life. She was an adult now with years of experience at handling the curve balls life threw at her.

She’s strapping on her seat belt and pulling out of the parking lot on her way to meet her parents at church when that dreaded question rears its ugly head once again: How much of her life is her own doing, and how much the doing of the box with its treats and buttons?

Gwendy has never been less sure of the answer.

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