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The line from ‘Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law’. Copyright © 2016 by the Adrienne Rich Literary Trust. Copyright © 1967, 1963 by Adrienne Rich, from Collected Poems: 1950–2012 by Adrienne Rich. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.

… Save yourself; others you cannot save.

Adrienne Rich,

‘Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law’

CHAPTER 1

Julie Brookman’s life was absolutely fucking perfect. She turned the rearview mirror of her brother’s car toward her face and wiped a stray smudge of mascara from the corner of her eye. Admiring her long reddish-gold hair, she smiled at herself the way she knew made her green eyes sparkle.

She’d finished her paper on the transcendental poets four days early and would turn it in to her professor in the morning. Professor Greenfield was her favorite. She may have even had a slight crush on him, but that had nothing to do with it. Julie always did things ahead of schedule, always made sure her work was better than anyone else’s.

For this paper, she’d stayed up at her parents’ place in Westchester because she believed she wrote best in her childhood bedroom. Routine was crucial to success. That was one of her maxims. She’d decided to take the late train back, and give her essay a final proofread first thing in the morning before hitting send.

‘Okay, kiddo,’ Julie said, turning to the backseat to grab her computer bag. ‘This will be just fine.’

‘We got here early. It would be silly for you to stay. I got it.’ She nodded toward the train station. ‘Look, Kurt’s in there. You go meet Janie.’

‘Come on. It’s totally fine.’ She rubbed her hand over his hair, so long it would have hidden his eyes but for the natural upward sweep it took at the ends. He was adorable. ‘You’ve got good cover now. Mom won’t even ask where you’ve been. Get your precious time in before they ground you again.’

‘Listen –’ he paused, still looking unsure – ‘just wait inside, okay?’

Julie nodded as she slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and pulled twice on the tiny silver heart medallion hanging from the clasp. Her good-luck charm.

Julie got out of the car and peered through the window into the station. Kurt’s outline was just visible as he stood behind the counter going through the receipts. She knew he’d be there until one a.m. She’d taken this late train a hundred times.

She glanced back as Ryan was pulling his car onto the road, his tires spinning out in the gravel at the edge of the turn. She waved half-heartedly but knew he wouldn’t even look back. Kids today. She smiled.

It was a beautiful late-September night. The air was still warm. The stars, such as they were this close to the city, shone with full force. She took out a pack of cigarettes and knocked it against the post of the wooden porch that encircled the building. Instead of going in, she sat on the bench just under the windows, lit a cigarette, and took a long slow drag. Her parents disapproved of the habit and she agreed with them technically, but, this, her first cigarette in two days, was going down beautifully.

She blew out a long puff of smoke and absentmindedly rubbed the zipper of her bag. This paper was better than anything she’d done last year. She wondered if she should submit it for publication. Professor Greenfield would know the best places for it. Even if she didn’t publish it, this was one more step toward the J. Burden Senior English Award next year.

She stood up and walked over to the steps that led to the tracks, took a final hit on the cigarette, and dropped it on the sidewalk. She rubbed it out with her shoe and then lifted her foot to check underneath. She had this thing about cigarette stubs. Bad luck if they stuck to you. But her sole was clean. She laughed to herself. Yes, she thought, her soul was clean.

She took out her phone, checked the time. Twelve minutes until the train would arrive. She opened Instagram, scrolled through some posts, liked a couple. Boring. She checked the New York Times. Sent a text to Mark. Luv u.

She waited. He didn’t text back. Must not have his phone on him. She watched for a couple more seconds waiting for the dots to appear. Nothing.

Should she read on the train or try to doze off? It was always a gamble as to whether she could sleep on the Metro North seats. She was so sensitive to smells and that horrid faux leather stuck to her skin whenever she moved. She could always read that New Yorker article she’d emailed herself.

Suddenly, the lights inside dimmed. She turned around, puzzled. Was Kurt leaving early? She leaned in toward the glass, but the interior office door was closed. She walked over to the side door and pulled hard but it was stuck fast. Locked. He’d gone home. She would have expected him to have said goodnight before he left or even to have waited with her. Unless he hadn’t noticed her out there. She glanced at the parking-lot exit, and, sure enough, a car was turning out onto the road. But why would he leave now? Did they change the train schedules?

Damn it. This had happened to her once before. She took a step toward the board to check the timetable, but suddenly felt the eerie sensation that she was not alone.

She turned to see who it was, but before she’d gone full circle, a leather-gloved hand smothered her face and forced her head back.

She was too disoriented to understand what was happening until he was dragging her by her head and neck across the parking lot. Her feet struggled to keep up, to stay planted on the ground; otherwise the arm squeezing her throat would strangle her.

She couldn’t breathe. Her mind buzzed with confusion. She had to get some air into her lungs right now.

Her assailant loosened his grip slightly, just in time. She gasped at the air in great gulps while trying to get her bearings as her eyes darted around for an escape route. In a split second, she took it all in. They were in the parking lot on the far side of the station, not a soul in sight. Headlights flashed by from the highway through the trees – too far away to make a difference.

Then suddenly her body was airborne. She landed – hard – in the back of a semi-truck trailer. It knocked the wind out of her. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. A metal roll-up door slammed down behind her, cutting her off from the world. It clanked shut. The locks turned and the engine roared to a start.

As it did, her voice returned and she yelled with all her might. At first only a foreign, guttural sound she’d never heard before, didn’t even know she could make. Then the useless words came.

She scrambled her way along the empty, cold floor of the trailer. The truck lurched and she flew sideways, slamming into the sidewall, which was covered in thick Styrofoam padding. She clawed at it with her fingernails. Little bits came off in her hands and stuck to her fingers.

She wiped them off on her jeans and dropped down, crawling her way in the pitch black to the end of the container, searching for a handle.

She finally found one on the far right edge and struggled with it, pulling with all her strength. The door creaked loudly but went up only half an inch. Through that tiny crevice she could see the road passing swiftly beneath her in the moonlight. They were going fast, but not fast enough to draw anyone else’s attention.

‘Help me, please. I’m in here! I’m in here,’ she screamed until her throat went raw, but she could tell from the way the sound refused to bounce that the foam was doing its job. She stepped away from the door, balancing with one hand on the sidewall as the truck bumped along the road.

Except she couldn’t think. Her mind flew from one thought to another, none of them helpful.

‘This is not happening. This is not happening,’ she moaned as she felt around in the vast emptiness of the space, trying to focus, trying to get a grip. She patted herself up and down searching for anything that might help.

Her phone must have gone flying when he grabbed her. They’d find that tomorrow. At least that would raise an alarm.

Her computer bag. Gone. She didn’t remember losing it in the struggle, but he must have ripped it off her shoulder. The thought of her paper flitted across her mind.

‘Come on, that’s the least of your problems,’ she muttered, rubbing her face with her hands in frustration.

She thrust her hands into her jacket pockets looking for something – anything – to use as a weapon. She pulled out a gel pen. It wasn’t much, but she could go for the eyes or the groin. All the soft spots she knew were vulnerable. She wouldn’t go down easy.

She crouched in the corner, clutching her pen, her heart pounding in her chest. She was as ready as she could be, but her breathing was too loud in her ears. It was impossible to concentrate. Impossible to keep the panic from taking over.

It was a long time before anything else happened. Hours sitting in that truck, imagining every possible scenario that could occur when that door was raised up. Hours trying to focus her jumbled thoughts, to sort out the shock from the anger and fear, to force herself to accept that she had to face this horror utterly alone.

‘I want my mommy,’ she whimpered to herself. ‘I want Mark. I want to go back in time and make Ryan wait with me. I’m such an idiot. No, I can’t think like that. No crying.

‘Come on, Julie. Come on. No one will realize you’re missing until tomorrow and tomorrow might be too late. You have to get out of here as soon as he stops. Come on, you can do it, buck the fuck up.’

Then without warning, her body was thrown again hard to one side. They were turning. It must have been a tight one because the truck struggled to make it, lurching back and forth as the driver changed gears to get it up the hill. Eventually it reached level ground and then slowed to a stop.

Julie stood up and ran her hands along the side of the trailer until she reached the end. She hugged the right wall, hoping he wouldn’t see her at first and she could jump out, get past him, and make a break for it.

As he hoisted the door open, she saw his form in shadow, a bright light shining from behind as his outline was revealed to her inch by horrible inch. His face was familiar, but she had no time to puzzle it out. She screwed up her courage, hunched over, and launched herself out of the truck bed.

She bolted sideways, determined to slip around the side of the truck and back down that hill. He’d anticipated that, of course, and he was fast. She never had a chance.

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her around to face him. Her eyes met his – his squinting, terrifying, pale eyes, full of suppressed rage. She went for them, jabbing at his face with her pen but he pried it effortlessly from her hand. She tried to twist out of his grip, to kick him in the groin. He shook her so hard her feet came off the ground and her head whipped back and forth.

She’d never seen one this close up, didn’t even know anyone who owned a gun. She stood there, in the cold, in the dark, shivering with fear and blinking back tears. Her mind had gone entirely blank when she saw that hunk of metal. No one had ever prepared her for this.

‘Please let me go. I know it was just a mistake. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll tell them I ran away. I swear I won’t tell them if you’ll just let me go right now.’

Then she heard a door slam and turned toward the sound. Her heart leapt, though she could hardly believe what she saw. For there, just a few hundred yards away, was a farmhouse all lit up. A plump, middle-aged woman headed straight toward them. She looked like someone’s favorite aunt, wearing a loose-fitting housedress, her wispy brown hair pinned up messily.

It was surreal, unfathomable, yet there she was, walking across the moonlit yard filled with scrubby brush, past an overturned wheelbarrow and a clothesline where shirts twisted precariously in the wind, the cuffs of the sleeves nearly touching the ground.

Julie thought at first it was a hallucination, but no, she was real. Hope welled up in her. It’s so hard to kill hope.

Her abductor still had her by the arm, with the nose of the gun now pushed into her back, but she took a chance that he wouldn’t kill her in front of a witness.

‘Help me! This man kidnapped me. Call the police. Run! He’s dangerous. He has a gun!’

In that moment she felt a rush of relief. Help was here. Maybe there were even others inside who had heard her scream.

Everything began to unfold in slow motion. The woman’s lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes fixed steadily on Julie’s captor. There could be no mistaking the situation. She had to get it. But her expression wasn’t right.

If anything, the woman’s eyes glistened with a kind of adoration. She ignored Julie, who stood there frozen. Julie realized at that moment that this woman was not appalled or outraged or terrified. She wouldn’t be her savior, delivering her from evil.

CHAPTER 2

The basement of the Stillwater public library was always deserted and that suited Adam just fine. He’d been down there for three hours already and hadn’t seen a single person except the assistant librarian who checked on him religiously every forty-five minutes. She pretended, without much success, that she had some administrative task involving the abandoned card catalogue shoved over in the corner. He must have looked suspicious, but he didn’t owe her an explanation.

Adam turned the knob on the microfilm machine, watching the front pages of the Stillwater Herald spin past him. He wondered if the time would come when even these documents would be online and he’d be able do this work from the sanctity of an impersonal hotel room. He doubted it would ever happen for these stories. Not these leftover bits of history, important to no one. Forgotten tragedies, blips in time. Not worth uploading.

‘Fine, just fine.’ The screen was too big to cover with his hands. It sat there in front of them, the words blown up to twenty-four point. She leaned toward it, squinting despite her bright blue-rimmed glasses.

‘Oh, the Fairmont Street murders. Wow, haven’t thought about that in a long time.’

Adam flipped the knob to change the page. It landed on a Sears advertisement for riding lawnmowers.

‘I know. I’ve read all the original reports a thousand times over. Trust me. Now I’m looking for follow-up stories. Thought maybe there’d be an anniversary piece. You know –’ he picked up one box – ‘ten years later.’ Then the other – ‘Twenty.’ He noticed for the first time that she was kind of pretty. She was about his age, late twenties, and her long hair was a little darker brown than his.

‘You don’t look like a cop. You look more like the bad guys.’ She winked. Was she flirting with him?

‘As what? A grad student? Look at you, jeans, hoodie, what is that, four-day stubble? You don’t look like you’ve slept in days.’ Definitely flirting. Adam suddenly felt uncomfortable. He’d been so focused on this case for so long that he’d forgotten what normal human contact was like.

‘Maybe you can help me out then. I could use some local insight. You know, where do the kids hang out – that sort of thing.’

‘Sure, I’d love to.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Actually, Tuesday nights we close early. You wouldn’t want to grab a bite to eat later, would you? Savoy isn’t half bad. It’s just a few doors down. I could give you the rundown over dinner.’

He glanced back at the microfilm machine, thinking of all those articles he’d yet to search, then looked over at her shiny red lips curled up into a half-smile. He was tempted to go, he had to admit.

But that’s what a lesser man would do. Someone without a mission. It might not seem like it, but he knew he was getting closer. He felt it. He couldn’t stop now, not even for a minute.

‘Maybe next week?’ He started gathering up the pages he’d printed out. ‘I’m close to a breakthrough and I’ll probably have to work all night tonight.’ Just like most nights.

‘All night, huh? Your dedication is admirable. It must be awfully important.’ She pointed to the boxes. ‘Do you think it’s a serial killer? That always happens, right? Like, the guy was in jail for twenty years and then when he gets out the same kind of murders start happening again.’ She shivered, playing it up. ‘There’s not a serial killer around here, is there? If that’s the case, you should definitely walk me home.’ She grinned.

‘I think you’re probably pretty safe.’ He smiled back. ‘Really though, I have to get through this.’ He pointed to the stack of papers. ‘I’ve been working on this for a long time and I finally have a lead.’

‘Maybe. I’m searching for a man and a woman who passed through this town twenty years ago. That’s going to take some digging. I don’t know where they went from here. Disappeared without a trace.’

‘Oh, you’ll find them. People don’t really disappear without a trace. You should know that, officer. Humans leave their marks on things. You just have to look . . .’ She rolled her chair toward him until their knees were touching. He could smell her floral scent. ‘Really. Close. Up.’

‘Bye for now,’ she said, standing up. ‘Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. And be sure to put that microfilm in the return tray, will you? The yellow one, by the copier.’ She smiled.

Slightly dazed, he watched her sashay away from him, thinking only, ‘She’s right. I just have to look harder.’

CHAPTER 3

Cora hauled a black garbage bag out of the pantry and went back to the kitchen. One by one, she withdrew the contents and carefully placed each item on the rickety wooden table. James had done well to collect her belongings.

There they were: the tiny black T-shirt and dark skinny jeans, the light brown leather jacket, size two, brand new hi-top sneakers, size seven and a half. Cora didn’t bother folding anything, but she paused to stroke the smooth leather on top of the pile.

She dug around in the bottom of the bag again, fished out a smashed iPhone, and laid it next to the clothes, then took out a heavy black case and balanced it on its edge as she unzipped it. Hanging from a metal beaded chain was a silver medallion in the shape of a heart. She unclasped it and slipped it into her pocket. There couldn’t be any harm in keeping such a small thing.

She lifted the slim computer out of its snug padded compartment. She’d never held such a beautiful object. What must it have cost? Rubbing her flattened palm across its cold surface, she imagined that it belonged to her and felt the envy flare up inside. She must keep her mind clean as James had taught her, must focus on her duty. Yes, she must take heart, be strong and purposeful. She would reap her rewards.

She flipped it open and ran her fingers across the keyboard. Even this had to go. It was part of the plan.

Under the front flap of the computer case was a shimmering pink wallet, jammed with credit cards and worn receipts. Cora unsnapped it, pulled the cash out of the fold, and counted. Nearly thirty dollars. She tucked the bills into her dress pocket. Perhaps James hadn’t bothered to check it. She’d store it in her cash box until he asked for it and maybe he never would. He didn’t understand the household expenses.

She sighed again, more deeply this time, and lined up the girl’s effects in a neat row, her fingers tickling over each one. From the drawer by the sink, she withdrew her latex gloves, slid them on, and took out a clean towel to wipe everything down.

When she had finished, she opened the garbage bag and threw everything back in, then lugged it out into the yard behind the barn. The skies were mostly blue, but storm clouds were brewing off to the west. She’d better get this job done before the rain came. Leaning the bag against the wall, she built a fire in the pit a few feet away and soon enough had it roaring.

She took the computer out, set it on the ground, and went to the barn for her safety goggles and a sledgehammer.

The fire grew hot behind her, flickering and spitting out sparks. The wind picked up. She raised the hammer, preparing to throw her whole weight into it, to dash this object of temptation into a thousand pieces and then burn them in the pit with all the rest.

She took a deep breath. There was no choice, obviously. James had been very clear in his instructions, and there would be hell to pay if she didn’t heed them.

Why was she plagued with these urges to disobey? They were going to get her in trouble.

She put down the sledgehammer and paced a few feet away, glancing over at the boarded-up window of the house. She hated the way it marred the building, like an eye poked out. She bit her lip absentmindedly as she thought hard about what to do.

Walking back to the hammer, she lifted it up a second time. It felt heavier than before.

She swallowed. Then, without thinking – as if her body were not under her complete control – she flung the tool away. It clanged against the side of the tractor, the sound echoing across the valley.

She rushed over to check the damage, terrified that she’d broken something else, but it had only made a tiny dent. James wouldn’t notice such a thing.

She glanced around as if someone could be watching her, ready to report to James. Moving fast, she shoved the computer back into the garbage bag and bunched up its edges in her hand. Running full tilt, she flung open the kitchen door and flew up the stairs to her bedroom. On her knees in the closet, she pushed aside a heavy clump of camphor-smelling dresses and shoved the bag all the way to the back.

She sat down on the bed, panting, and slowly lifted her eyes to her reflection in the mirror above the bureau. She was flushed, shocked by what she’d done. She’d never disobeyed him so directly before.

But she had to have these things, these treasures from a different world. She knew it was a sin to keep them, but it seemed so insignificant. As long as no one ever found them.

CHAPTER 4

Julie adapted quickly to the routines of captivity. Initially, she’d considered her abduction to be an event, a single dot, a point in time and space. Not a new life.

Her room – that’s how she thought of it now – held a single bed with a lumpy mattress rank with sweat and other unthinkable bodily fluids. They’d left her with a sad little excuse for a blanket, an old matted fleece thing with the image of Winnie-the-Pooh spread across it.

There was old Pooh, sitting there innocently with a dopey grin on his face, his hand dipping into the honey pot on his lap. Julie had spent endless hours looking at that sweet, dim-witted bear, imagining the taste of honey on her tongue. She would cry, remembering her mother reading A. A. Milne to her at bedtime when she was six. Some days, however, the memory hurt too much and she only wanted to shred his adorable face into a million tiny threads.

Truth be told though, she talked to him. He was the only friend she had anymore and at some level she was thankful he was there. He didn’t hurt her. He didn’t call her terrible names. He didn’t starve her and then feed her revolting inedible garbage.

Julie knew it wasn’t his fault, but he smelled too, just as bad as the mattress, and no matter what she did she couldn’t scrape that last bit of flaky detritus off his face. Nevertheless, she’d curl up in a corner of the bed and stroke his cheery little face, hugging it to her, looking for solace, commiseration, love. Any poor pittance.

This room, the only space she’d laid eyes on for weeks, was entirely devoid of warmth, a stark white cube either flooded with the harsh bright light of the uncovered bulb or enveloped in total darkness. The top edge of each wall was covered in arcane symbols crudely painted in black, with a row of crazy text beneath them: ‘Behold the death-keeper.’ ‘The impure shall be purified in blood.’ ‘Those who question must sacrifice.’ She avoided looking at them now, but the words already ran on repeat in her brain.

Shoved against one wall was a blond wood console from a million years ago, with a built-in radio and gray bulbous television screen. It taunted her with the prospect of diversion, but didn’t work.

Her only distraction was attempting to detect the subtlest noises in that house, to identify and categorize them, so she could anticipate to some degree the arrival of food, water, or pain. Her senses were heightened from deprivation, and every smell and sound provided a coordinate, a detail, a piece of the puzzle of life down below. She’d learned to interpret the particular language of the building itself, the irregular clank of the radiators, the sudden rush of water through pipes above her head, the creak of rusty door hinges, the slam of cupboards.

She knew at all times who was home and exactly where they were located below her. She’d memorized their daily routines and their repertoire of tics and gestures. He cleared his throat out of habit and groaned when he yawned; she was clumsy, dropping the silverware, her toothbrush, the bucket she was filling in the sink. She heard his wild rages and her muffled cries when he let them out on her. This small mastery over their physical dimensions was her survival map, her only power over them. But it earned her very little.

Nothing in her stifling cell of a bedroom could help her either. In one corner, a couple of cheap plastic lawn chairs were stacked haphazardly. Julie had assessed that neither of them was heavy enough to do any damage to his skull. In the opposite corner, there was a portable toilet and sink, though she’d learned her lesson about drinking the fetid brown water that flowed from the faucet. She’d examined every inch of them, hoping for some pipe or wire she could pull off to stab into his beady eyes. Not one bolt was loose, not one hinge needed oil. He’d been so very careful.

What she missed most were light and fresh air. The space shriveled up on her day after day, the walls appearing at times to undulate before her, closing in tighter and tighter. Yet her captors had threatened her with death if she tried to break off a single fragment of the rough-sawn boards over the window. She believed them. She was fungible. He’d gotten her easily enough, hadn’t he? She was terrified to be here, but even more terrified at the thought of being discarded and replaced.

It didn’t matter what they said though, she spent hours trying to pry off bits of wood. Her nails bore the evidence, broken down to the quick. The pads of her fingertips were rubbed raw and her hands were covered with splinters, the tiny prickles edged in burning red flesh. Some days she hardly noticed it and on others she berated herself for her stupidity. She couldn’t afford to have an infection. That was no way to die. She didn’t want to make it that easy for them to kill her when he was finished with her.

Eventually, she gave up trying to claw her way out and would spend the days lying there listlessly on the bed, half-covered with the grimy blanket, staring at the cracks in the thick layers of paint, thinking about how she’d had everything before this had happened. It was funny how she hadn’t realized it until now. Her perfect family, perfect boyfriend, perfect tiny West Village apartment. Perfect, perfect, perfect. And these gruesome lowlifes – these nobodies she wouldn’t have even noticed on the street – had been able to steal it from her. Just. Like. That.

The first few days in there she’d thought they’d never get away with it. Then she’d been convinced that the police would bust in at any moment. She’d known it. As awful as it was, she just had to have faith and wait it out until her parents found her. They always took care of her. Surely they would notice that one of the three men on the construction job didn’t show up after she disappeared. They would realize that couldn’t be a coincidence, that he was her abductor.

It was killing her to know that her parents were so physically close to the key to finding her. His fingerprints must be everywhere, covering the house. Surely he had a police record and they could identify him. Or had he always worn gloves? She’d never noticed, never paid any attention when she’d gone home for the weekend to visit. Those guys worked on Saturdays until two. She would occasionally take lemonade out to them. She was sure he’d taken his gloves off then – check the glassware!

Then the most chilling possibility had occurred to her: maybe he did keep showing up. What if he was there, in those first days after she was gone, finishing the build out on her parents’ new three-season room, wondering when they would discover she was missing? Then he could peer through those freshly installed Marvin windows to see their most private pain. He must have felt so powerful, in charge, as though he were the puppet master, watching the results of his actions play out in horrible order, just as he’d planned.

But she tried not to think about her parents. She knew how they’d be suffering and she couldn’t bear that on top of everything else. They must have found her phone, must be organizing search parties and making heartfelt pleas on the news. Her mother would never let anyone rest until they found her. But what if they never did?

She closed her eyes as tight as she could. She couldn’t focus on that now, because the truth was she’d been reduced to a near-animal state, worrying more about how to wrangle food out of these beasts than anything else. So here she was, on day thirty-eight, lying on the bed wallowing in her misery, when she heard the familiar step on the stairs.

She would have recognized the rhythm of her walk even if she hadn’t been the only one around for the last week. The sad truth was, Julie was eager to see her today. Even if she was a pathetic excuse for a human being, she was at least a human being. And she wasn’t him. Better to see her than be locked up alone surrounded by these four walls for yet another twenty-four-hour stretch. Better than just having Pooh.

Julie watched the door as she counted off her usual fifteen steps up the stairs and six light footfalls down the carpeted hall. The door creaked open on cue and she entered carrying the tray with Julie’s meager rations for the day.

Julie knew the drill. She sat perfectly still on the bed with her hands up in the air and her legs crossed at the ankles, just as they’d instructed. She knew now that if she made one tiny mistake, veered from the ritual one iota, all sustenance would be swiftly removed and she’d have the rest of that day to reflect on her disobedience.

As the woman put today’s paltry provisions down on the floor in front of her, Julie’s salivary glands came alive. It didn’t matter what was on that plate. The first few days she’d been disgusted by the slop they fed her, but now she found it disgusting only in theory. Her body responded otherwise.

The woman twitched her finger up, the signal to begin, and Julie dove first for the paper cup. She knew she shouldn’t drink it all at once, but she couldn’t help it. The days of the automatic gallon jug had ended when she’d attempted to escape after her first week there. Now she had to earn it with absolute compliance and she usually managed to fall short.

When she’d gulped down the water, she lunged at the bowl, shoving the scraps into her mouth with her fingers. She couldn’t help it, didn’t care how it looked. Decorum was the least of her concerns. When she’d devoured the last morsel, she scraped at the microscopic bits of bread and the glistening smear of chicken fat at the bottom of the dish. She was still ravenous but at least she wouldn’t die.

The woman moved forward in that bored rote way of hers to clear away the things and go, but Julie couldn’t stand to be left alone again so quickly. She would do anything to stop her.

‘Request permission to speak,’ she said meekly, eyes downcast as per the required protocol.

‘What is it?’ She was usually impatient to get out of there, apparently not eager to linger in this room which must smell horrible to anyone not perpetually inhabiting it.

‘Would you … I was wondering if you would consider staying. For a minute or two.’

The woman stared at her, obviously perplexed by her audacity. She may as well have been one of the farm animals who’d suddenly acquired the gift of speech.

The woman turned to go, but Julie thought she saw her hesitate. Could she be considering it?

‘I’m begging you. Please.’ Julie could hear the whine in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. ‘I’m going crazy in here. Please. I’ve been alone for weeks And I can tell he’s gone. Can’t you spare a few minutes? Just to talk to me.’

The woman’s heavy-lidded eyes met Julie’s. For a second Julie wondered if she was dense, a mental defective he kept around to handle the drudgery. Did she even understand what Julie was saying? Should she repeat herself, louder this time and more slowly?

The woman took a step back and wiped her hands on her dirty apron. She opened her eyes wider and for a split second Julie thought she detected a spark of intelligence in there. Now if it could only be conjured up to the surface.

‘I guess you are desperate, if you’re looking to talk to me,’ the woman finally replied. She laughed a hard little laugh that Julie counted as progress.

Julie wiped her face with the front collar of her sweatshirt in an attempt to show some dignity before she propelled herself forward.

‘So then, what is it? Are you trying out a little game on me? Some trick you have in mind? Give up. I’ve seen them all.’

‘No games. No, no. I’m … I’m just lonely. Really, really lonely. I swear. I won’t do anything. Won’t try anything. I’ll sit here, like this. In position.’ Julie got back on the bed, held up her hands, and crossed her ankles. ‘I won’t even move.’

The woman stood studying her a minute longer, narrowing her eyes as she edged toward the door. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

‘Fine, fine. One minute.’ She walked backwards slowly over to the corner, her eyes still fixed on Julie, and dragged a lawn chair over, letting its legs screech across the floor.

She took no chances even then. As soon as she sat down, she reached into the front pocket of her apron and brought out a switchblade. She clicked it open and balanced it on the narrow plastic arm of the chair.

‘Don’t try anything. I mean it,’ she said, glancing down at the knife to emphasize her point.

Julie was determined to ignore it. The threat of violence seemed a small price to pay at that moment.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, elated by this victory. Having been without human companionship for so long, she didn’t know where to begin. It occurred to her that the two of them were in the same boat on that front. Maybe she’d help her, even if only in little ways.

‘What are you smiling at?’ the woman said, mistaking Julie’s hope for slyness.

‘I’m just … glad to have this chance to talk to you. I appreciate it,’ she replied tentatively.

The woman took out a shiny miniature object from her other pocket, turning it over between her fingers like a Chinese medicine ball.

‘I guess not. Okay, then.’ More silence. ‘I wonder if you’d consider taking me downstairs – not outside or anything. I don’t mean that. Just somewhere I could sit next to an open window for a few minutes? I swear I won’t try to run away. It’s just I feel like I can’t breathe in here sometimes.’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ She hadn’t meant to ask so bluntly and wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.

‘I shouldn’t be talking to you,’ she finally answered, looking back at Julie. ‘But you want my advice?’

Julie nodded. She was almost sure she didn’t, but at least it would keep the woman there a few minutes more.

‘You’re focusing on your pain and suffering. That’s not going to get you anywhere. Accept the Word and follow the Path of Righteousness. Your past self is dead and you have been resurrected. The sooner you give yourself over fully to the Path, the easier it will be.’

‘I understand what you’re used to. A girl like you with such a sweet face and pretty little figure, provoking lust and sin. You must have enjoyed your role as temptress.’ She shook her head wearily. ‘Now you will be redeemed here with us.’

Julie could feel the color draining from her face. Then she felt her heart harden a little bit.

‘How did you end up here? Is it because you really believe all that crazy religious stuff?’ That didn’t come out quite right, she knew.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s really – it’s none of my business. I’m sorry.’

When Julie saw the knife in the woman’s hand, she realized what a mistake she’d made and a wave of nausea passed through her.

‘I swear I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant that, you know, I just wanted to get to know you—’

‘Stop talking your blasphemy,’ the woman interrupted. Julie stopped talking.

The woman came closer until Julie could feel her hot breath on her face and smell her strange mix of earth and sweat and soap.

‘Look at you with those long lashes, the tears always delicately balanced on the edges. Oh, so pretty,’ she said, squinting at her. ‘You think that gives you the right to say something like that?’

‘Everyone’s always done whatever you wanted, haven’t they? You’ve never had to show anyone else any respect.’

Julie tried not to react, but inside she quaked. She swallowed. Her arms were aching from being held up so long. A drip of sweat slid slowly down her back. Terrified, she stayed still though, would stay like this as long as she was told.

‘You must have been given so much to achieve what you have. A life of free time, healthy food, and paid lessons.’ She paused, like a storm gathering. ‘And now you think you have the right to criticize things you know nothing about?’

Julie regretted asking her to stay more than anything in the world. She’d thought the woman couldn’t be as evil as him, had to have a heart. She’d been horribly wrong.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You think you have something over on me, don’t you?’

Julie hardly dared to look up. She held her breath, afraid to speak, not wanting to say something to tip the balance.

‘You think you have a right to judge me? If so, then you need to learn your place.’

At this she grabbed Julie’s hair with her free hand and pulled as hard as she could, forcing Julie’s face upward, where she had no choice but to meet the woman’s dark, empty eyes.

She leaned in, enunciating the words carefully: ‘You have to understand, girl, some people are just pawns in the universe’s overarching plans. It looks like you’re one of them.’

Julie couldn’t hold back the tears at that point, but knew better than to break the rules by putting her hands down. No matter how much her arms hurt, she held them in place. No matter how wet her face, she didn’t dare wipe it. All she could do was sit still and watch the woman angrily gather up the tray to leave, her only consolation the way that miserable loser fumbled with everything she touched, dropping the spoon, tripping over nothing on her way out.

When the door finally slammed behind her, Julie let the sobs explode so that it felt as if her chest might heave open from them. How had she ever thought that woman was anything but a monster? She hadn’t wanted to accept it. In her state of denial, she had tried to bear her circumstances day to day, hoping her parents would find her or her abductors would come to their senses and let her go.

Now she knew for certain there was no time to wait for help. If she didn’t figure out something fast on her own, she’d never make it out alive.

CHAPTER 5

James had been away for nearly a month and Cora was beginning to worry. The last time he’d been gone this long it turned out they’d arrested him in Arizona and he’d spent ninety days in jail for some stupid thing. They’d gotten the indictment but the prosecutor let him take a plea. No evidence, James said. They were playing cat and mouse with him and he’d won with such a short sentence on what would have been a felony conviction. He knew how to play the system, for sure.

But she knew he’d be back as soon as he could get here. The girl guaranteed that. That awful girl.

Cora should never have talked to her. So what if she was lonely? Cora was lonely too. What had she been thinking? She’d been immune to the other one – that one had been docile at first and even in the last days she’d been quiet except for the crying. But this time Cora had been lured in.

Things were different with this girl. The other one had come to them willingly, a Follower who was undergoing the preparations to join the Divine Family. But then the plan had gone wrong. It wasn’t James’s fault. The Dark Spirits had taken over by then, and he wasn’t himself.

They’d been forced to build the cell after that first incident. It had been for her own good, to keep her safe. It wasn’t their fault she died before she accepted her destiny. She shouldn’t have pushed James like that.

This new girl worried her, though. Could she truly be the one sent to fulfill the Revelation? Was this as the prophecy had declared? A Servant at Hand, one who arrives in Darkness, to bring the Light.

Even if she was the Servant at Hand, Cora was meant to keep her place – that much was clear. It was also written: The Wife shall suffer, but in suffering shall find her Great Reward.

After all, Cora had found them the farm in the first place. They’d done what they’d had to do to get it, and after years of waiting it out and dreaming of it, it was theirs. Seventy-five acres of prime soil in upstate New York, rolling hills, deep green fields of rye, a fine garden, three outbuildings, twenty head of cattle, and seventeen chickens. She had a view of the Catskills from the backyard, a formal dining room, and a six-burner stove. It was all she’d ever wanted. A home.

She would take long solitary walks over the fields regardless of the weather. The wind would whip up her hair and she would laugh the way she should have done as a child. She would run through the pastures and throw herself down into the grass, feeling its softness tickling her face and neck. In those moments, she could make herself believe that everything had happened for a reason.

Sometimes when she was lying out there in those fields, looking up at the clouds drifting by in a pure cerulean sky, she’d indulge in her other world. If she squeezed her eyes shut tight enough, she could block out so many things and pretend she had the child after all. A little golden-haired daughter with a pixie face and his eyes, who would have loved her mother more than anything in the world. Everything would have been different.

Now she just wanted to hold onto what she had. Her mind was ticking all right. Strange things were brewing in her head. She felt uneasy, unsettled. It wasn’t her place to question, but still.

James had made a mistake. This girl was not the Servant at Hand. She knew it deep down in her bones. Cora would have to be the one to reveal this disappointing truth to him, but she wasn’t sure how. She must be clever about it, lest he think it was merely jealousy. It wasn’t that at all.

She stood up, her course of action decided. She would be doing it for him, not herself. One day he would understand the sacrifices she’d made and risks she’d taken for his sake.

She went to her closet and reached far in the back until her hands met the crumpled plastic. After hauling the sack out into the middle of the room, she turned it upside down and dumped the contents onto the floor.

She started with the computer case, sliding her hand in the front pocket and along the bottom of the inner compartment. She brought out handfuls of yellowed receipts, rainbow-colored Post-it notes stuck to one another, a couple of parking tickets. A box of Altoids that proved to be empty.

Then there was the wallet. Cora unsnapped the small tab that struggled to contain everything and dumped all the dirty slips of paper onto the floor. She sifted through them, a scowl on her face. She took out the credit cards one by one and tossed them aside.

Rich girl. That made her nervous. The other one had been a straggler. She’d been a runaway and a prostitute who was looking for shelter, and she’d found it. That girl would have slipped through the cracks one way or another.

ALSO BY KOETHI ZAN

KOETHI ZAN

The Follower

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5