Vee’s fingers trace the tracks the tears left. Gentle sweeps down my face. “Hey,” she says. “Don’t be sad. You’re gonna be okay.”
“No, I’m not,” I say. I sound ridiculous and teary and stubborn. “Look at us, we’re in some drug dealer’s house, my brother’s missing, and some cult is trying to get us, and I’m not going to be okay, Vee!”
Vee doesn’t answer. She just holds me, and when I finally pull away, I throw myself back down on the bed and curl up into a tight ball of misery. I stare at the clock—an old-fashioned one with hands, probably doesn’t even have an alarm or anything—and wonder where Connor is right now. How scared he is. What we’re going to do about it.
Vee spoons up against me, and she whispers something I don’t really hear, but the soothing warmth of her against my skin makes me stop crying and slowly, slowly drift away.
I wake up slow, smelling food, but when I turn over I’m all alone. Vee isn’t there. For a sweet few seconds I think I’m at home, but then I focus on that stupid clock, and it’s almost seven, and as I sit up I remember everything.
It hurts so bad I can hardly catch my breath.
I slide out of bed and lock the door before I strip off the nightgown and grab fresh clothes out of my backpack. I’m packed again and ready to slip into the hall bathroom in under two minutes, and all my stuff gets done fast there too.
When I open the door, there’s a girl standing there. She’s lean, tall, with a smart sunburned face and freckles, and long, curling dark hair. She doesn’t smile. “Breakfast,” she says, and turns to go. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt so faded I can’t figure out what it says. She walks fast. I skip to catch up as I settle my backpack on my shoulder.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Florida,” she says. “You’re Lanny.” Her accent isn’t what I expect. Not Tennessee, for sure.
It hits me a second later. “Are you English?”
We’re already at the end of the hall, and we meet the tall young man who led us here in his car coming around the corner. He pushes Florida out of his way with the ease of an older brother. “She ain’t English,” he tells me. “She just watches a lot of PBS.”
“You shut up, Jesse!” she yells after him, and now her accent has shifted back to rural drawl. “You never let me have any fun!”
Lilah Belldene’s standing in the kitchen when we walk in, and she’s putting out a huge platter of bacon on the long counter. There are staggering amounts of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and several pots of coffee.
Vee and Mom are already here. Dressed and waiting.
Florida says, “Should I get them out plates, Ma?”
Lilah slaps her hand as she reaches for them. “They ain’t staying for breakfast.”
That’s too bad. My stomach rumbles, but Mom turns and heads for the front door. Vee and I follow, and step into the cold morning air. It’s misty and gray, with the sun a pale shadow to the east just sitting on the edge of the hill. A whole football team of Belldenes is heading toward the main house, coming from different buildings situated around the compound. No wonder she didn’t ask us to breakfast.
We get into the SUV and drive to the gate, where one Belldene opens it up for us. I recognize him. Mullet man, from Killing Rock. Seeing him, I shrink back in the seat. It brings back finding Candy up there, and I don’t want that.
Vee rolls down her window and says, “Hey, Olly. You’re out.”
“Yeah,” he says, and looks past her at me. “Thanks for that, girl.” He gives me a grin he probably thinks is pretty charming. I nearly give him the finger.
“Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”
“See you later!” Vee shouts to him as Mom hits the gas and speeds us away. Vee flops back into her seat after waving, and looks at my mom. “Where are we going now?”
“Knoxville,” she says.
I tense up. “But—what about Connor? And Sam? Aren’t we going to get them?”
“Of course we are. But I need leverage, and that means I need Carol. She’s the only one who knows where this compound is really located, and what we’ll be up against when we find it.”
“But how are you going to—”
“Lanny.” She reaches over and takes my hand. Her fingers feel strong, but cold. “Just trust me. I will.”
I hang on to her.
And I try to believe her.
20
CONNOR
When they take Sam away they hit him, and I know Caleb’s doing it to scare me. It would have worked except for how Sam looks at me, like he’s telling me to be strong. I’m not strong. I feel cracked all along the edges. As I watch him being taken off to a low concrete building that looks like a prison, a guy dressed in white starts walking over to me.
It’s weird. I can feel him as he comes closer, like heat. Sun. Something like that. He makes me feel . . . safe. And I know I shouldn’t, obviously I shouldn’t. I remember this feeling because it’s how my dad’s—Melvin Royal’s—voice made me feel when I was little, and when he talked to me on the phone.
All the while Dad was lying to me, planning to kidnap me and use me to hurt Mom, he made me feel just like this.
Safe.
Some people have that talent, I guess. And I already know how dangerous it is to believe it, even for a second.
“Connor,” the man says, like he’s known me all my life. “I’m Father Tom. I know you’re worried and scared, but there’s no reason to be. We’re so happy to have you here. I’m going to introduce you to our church members and get you settled. You’re not a prisoner here. You’re a guest, and, I hope, a friend.”
It sounds stupid, but it’s almost like the whole abduction never happened. Like he’s invited me here. He pats me on the shoulder. He acts like I’m here on a school retreat or something instead of dragged away with a knife to my throat while my mom was fighting to get to me. Like Sam wasn’t just put in some kind of prison.
I need to remember what’s true. Being around him, reality bends. I wish I could do that. Because if I could, I’d make myself bigger, stronger, nobody to screw with. Sam would be free. We’d be home.
Father Tom is still talking, and he’s steering me at a slow walk toward a big main building. It sort of looks like a church, but there’s no steeple or cross or bell, and the windows are just plain clear glass. I’m not sure I ought to go with him.
Maybe I should run? Fight? But there’s nowhere to go. The gate is closed, and there are big guys with guns standing next to it. The wall is pretty high, and there’s wire along the top. Mom taught me to look for these things, to think before I do anything. Run if you can. Wait if you have to. Do what you have to do to survive. She’d meant it for people coming to get us because of what Dad did. But it works for this too.
Right now, making Father Tom think I’m listening to him is the best thing I can do. It’s easy. He thinks he’s smarter than everybody else anyway. If I just agree with him, he’ll start trusting me.
It’s weird how calm I am. I remember how helpless and trapped I felt in class, with the gunshots blaring over the loudspeaker and everybody screaming and knowing all I could do was hide. Here, I am trapped, I am helpless . . . but I can also think for myself. Somehow that’s different.
I haven’t said much to Father Tom, but he doesn’t seem to care; maybe he sees it as normal. He leads me up the steps into the building—church, I guess—and inside there are people standing on either side of a path that’s marked by a narrow carpet running down the middle. They’re in neat rows, and I realize after a couple of seconds that all the men are on the left side, all the women on the right. The women are standing with their hands clasped and their heads bowed. There are a few kids, too, but they seem just as quiet and serious as the adults. Even the littlest, who can’t be more than three years old. They all turn to look at us, and as we pass, the men say, all together, “Hello, Brother.”
I think they’re talking to Father Tom, but no: they’re looking at me. Smiling. Nodding
. The women and kids don’t say anything, they just keep looking down, and all of a sudden I remember how the ladies looked down in that basement in Wolfhunter. They stood just that way, very straight, very still, heads down, hands clasped. Like little dolls waiting for orders.
It makes me sick.
Father Tom takes me all the way down the length of the church—and I guess it has to be one—and at the end there’s a wooden platform about a foot high and a big leather armchair sitting in the middle. It looks strange. I was expecting to see a podium, maybe. Or an altar, like in a real church. But it looks more like a . . . stage.
Father Tom points to an empty spot in the front row, next to the carpet, and says, “The brothers saved you a place.” He expects me to go where he points, I see that. I’m not sure what’s going to happen if I don’t, so I try it. I just stand on the carpet like I’m too dumb to understand. He still looks friendly when he says, “Connor, would you mind taking your place? I promise, this will be quick.”
I don’t say anything, but I move off to the side where he points. I see the extra little curl in his smile. He thinks he’s got me, because I did something he asked. But I did it to see what he would do. And because I can’t do Sam any good if I’m locked up somewhere.
Father Tom steps up on the platform and seats himself in the big chair. When he does, the men all say, “God bless you, Father.”
“And you, my brothers,” Tom says. “Thank you for welcoming young Brother Connor into our number. He’s only here as our guest, but I know he will appreciate your charity to a stranger. Now, I know you’re all wondering what happened last night; you know we went out to retrieve our sister Carol, but as you also know, the demons in the world are clever. It’s been three long years, and she’s still hidden from us, along with our precious child. But with God’s help, and the continuous prayers of our saints, we are going to find them. Very soon.” He beams a smile right at me, and it’s like getting hit with a spotlight. “With God’s help, and Brother Connor’s.”
I want to yell back that I’m not here to help him, I’ve been kidnapped, but something tells me to keep quiet. Lanny wouldn’t, she’d be kicking and screaming and maybe she’d be right to do that. But I want to see what he’s planning.
This has to be about the case that Mom was working, the one with the missing young man. She’d talked about a woman named Carol.
Don’t tell him anything, Mom. I know they’re using me to get to her. And it’s going to work, too, because if my mom has a weak spot, it’s me and Lanny. And Sam, but he’d probably agree that it’s more about us. I’m here to make Mom give up that lady who escaped.
“Brothers and sisters, we will pray about this tonight after work’s done. But for now I want you to take young Brother Connor under your care, make him feel at home, and show him our true fellowship. We’ll have a dinner this evening, Sister Harmony. A real feast to welcome him to Bitter Falls.”
A tall, blonde woman on the other side of the aisle in the front row raises her head and nods, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s probably Mom’s age, maybe a little younger. I guess she’s in charge of food or something. And right on cue my stomach rumbles. I don’t know how I can be hungry at a time like this, but I am, and I can’t help that. Maybe I shouldn’t eat anything here. Isn’t there some Greek story about how if you eat and drink in the underworld, you can’t leave?
Father Tom talks a little bit more, but it’s all Bible verses and explaining what they mean, and I don’t really listen; what he’s saying about them isn’t what I learned in Sunday school. He has a calm, deep voice, though, and it rises and falls almost like he’s singing. It’s kind of relaxing, and I fall into sort of a trance listening to it.
Then it’s over.
I’m a little surprised when I realize people are moving. The women and kids are heading straight for the door, walking single file, while the men stand and wait; Father Tom is sitting in his chair talking to one of the guys who was in the RV with us, the one who drove, not the one who shocked Sam. I’m concentrating hard on them, so it comes as a surprise when I realize someone’s holding a hand out to me. I blink and look up. It’s one of the men who’s been standing next to me. “Good to have you here, Brother Connor,” he says, and shakes my hand. He claps a hand on my shoulder like we’re friends, and then before I tell him I’m not his friend, that I shouldn’t even be here, he’s replaced by another, shorter man, who says, “Welcome, you’re safe here.” They’re all coming at me, beaming big smiles and offering handshakes. “God bless you for visiting us,” one of them says, like I had any choice. I know this has been set up, that they’re under orders to make me feel like a guest. It’s like they just accept Father Tom’s fake reality without question. I usually know when somebody’s saying things to me just to say it, but every one of these men who talks to me seems actually happy to see me.
I try saying, “I want to leave,” to one of them. He just smiles and nods and does that shoulder-clap thing, then moves aside for the next one.
After ten of them, I start losing track. They all say slightly different things, but one thing’s constant: they smile at me. They seem happy. They do that shoulder-touch thing.
It’s really hard, after a while, not to smile back. I don’t want to smile, but when people do that, when they’re beaming all that happy at you . . . it’s weird. It tells some part of you that you ought to seem happy too.
I don’t like that I want to smile.
I catch one of the young women—my age, I think, or pretty close—giving me a quick look as she files out of the church. She’s a pretty dark-haired girl, shorter than me. I watch her while some new guy tells me how glad they are to have me here. She’s at the end of the line of women leaving the church.
She turns and looks at me again, and I wonder—I wonder if she’s trying to tell me something. Maybe she can help me. Maybe I can find a real friend here who can help me get Sam free.
I can almost hear my sister mocking me. You just want to think that because she’s pretty.
Once the girl’s out the door, the men start to leave, too, and by the time the last one shakes my hand I feel exhausted with all the welcomes. I didn’t see Father Tom leave, but his chair’s empty now. I don’t know where to go, so I follow the men as they leave the building.
The girl I noticed is standing near the steps, talking to an older woman. She shoots me another glance and smiles. It’s fast, but it feels like all the air just got sucked out of the world. I feel my ears pop, or I think I do. My skin goes hot and cold at the same time, and I nearly miss a step.
It’s that kind of smile.
“Hi?” I make it a question. Smooth.
She says, “Hello, Brother Connor,” and I think I’ve never heard anybody say my name that way before. “We’re all so pleased to have you with us.” She bobs a little bit, like an old-fashioned curtsy. She doesn’t shake hands, and I don’t know what to do with mine, so I put them in my pockets and sort of nod.
The older woman walks away from us.
“Thanks,” I say to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Aria,” she says, and I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody with that name before. It’s pretty.
“Aria what?”
She smiles. “I’ll be happy to show you around the place. Can I call you Connor?”
“Uh, sure,” I say. “I’d like to talk to my dad. To Sam.”
She doesn’t stop smiling. “Sure, I’ll ask if we can do that. But he’s not your real father, is he?” I don’t like that, and she has to see it, because immediately she draws back, like I’m about to hit her. “I’m sorry. That was mean. I shouldn’t have said it.”
Now I feel bad for scaring her. “No,” I say, “it’s okay. You’re right. It’s just . . . I don’t like to talk about my birth dad.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry, Connor. Well, I guess the first place you should see is the falls, it’s the best part of this place, and then—”
“
Aria!” a voice says sharply, and I look up to see the oldest of the women—Sister Harmony, Father Tom called her earlier—moving toward us. She looks mad. “Get to your work. Now!”
“But I was only doing what Father Tom—”
“Go!” Sister Harmony snaps. Aria gasps and moves away very quickly with her head down and her long hair blowing across her face. She’s wearing a blue skirt long enough that only her shoes are visible, and a paler blue shirt, and she looks like a painting in a museum—beautiful, and also like someone who lived a hundred years ago. Her hands are in fists at her sides as she walks toward the fields.
Sister Harmony looks at me, and unlike everybody else who’s been smiling at me, she doesn’t. Her mouth is set in a flat line. “I’ll show you to your quarters, Brother Connor,” she says, and for the first time I hear something that isn’t welcoming. She doesn’t want me here. There isn’t any of that feverish warmth coming off her either. She puts a firm hand around my arm. “Forgive Sister Aria, she’s young and doesn’t understand how inappropriate her behavior is. This way.”
After all that fake brotherhood, this feels . . . real. Like fresh air in my face. And I needed that, I realize. It wasn’t that I forgot being kidnapped and brought here, or Mom fighting for me, or Sam. It was just . . . a lot. And now that I’ve had that moment of feeling clear, I realize everything about that church was meant to make me feel important. Even Aria.
She was ordered to be nice to me.
If Sister Harmony was, she’s ignoring that, and I’m weirdly grateful. Between the droning rhythm of Father Tom’s sermon, all the smothering, Aria’s flirting . . . I was way off balance.
Sister Harmony takes me to a building that’s nothing but a kitchen, and inside are only women. Women slicing vegetables. Women working at large industrial stoves, stirring pots or mixing ingredients. Two of them are making bread. It smells amazing, and my mouth waters so much I have to swallow.
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