Out on the front lawn, the party has spilled onto the grass. A few kids from the pool are still dripping wet, their towels slung over lawn chairs. A couple of seniors are making out against a station wagon. Fairy lights strung along the porch railing flicker weakly in the humidity.

And there, in the middle of it all, is Billy Hargrove.

He’s not looking at anyone in particular. But he knows exactly where you are. He's been tracking you all night from the corner of his eye, ever since you walked in with Carol.