A hard edge came into his voice. “I still don’t understand how your father could do that.”
She didn’t blame her dad; it had been Evelyn’s idea. “The wrong wife can make you do things you never thought you could.” Of course, he knew that better than anyone. All of a sudden, she didn’t want to talk anymore. “Good night.”
“Taylor…Good night.”
Memories bombarded her, playing like a video reel. Images of Jack faded and were replaced by Malcolm. After Jack, it had felt impossible for her to trust again. The hard shell she’d built around her heart had served her well. She had gotten her career on track, she was doing work she loved, and she was happy. When she finally opened her heart again, she’d believed she had found someone who would never hurt her. The bond she and Malcolm had shared over the tragedies they had suffered and then their ardent desire to create their own family had eradicated any remaining reservations she’d had about opening herself up again. Malcolm’s betrayal wasn’t just hurtful though—it had caused her to lose faith in herself. If the second time she had trusted someone she’d been wrong again, what did that say about her? Now that she knew Malcolm was devoid of the very integrity and honor she’d been so sure he possessed, she wondered how she could have lived with him all those years and never known. Maybe there was some part of her that sought men who were incapable of true intimacy. Masks. Everyone wore one. She was done being a fool. She would take nothing and no one at face value ever again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Crosby hit the play button on the video streaming on his computer. The latest episode of Teenage Wasted was ready to be aired, and he was taking one last look. These were college kids—eighteen and nineteen years old. What they were doing was illegal everywhere in the states—everywhere, that is, except for where it was filmed, in Nevada. If anyone bothered to read the disclaimer, they would see that it was a scripted reality series and mostly fabricated.
Two girls are sitting in a dorm room, talking.
“It’s easy, Mindy. And when you graduate, you have no debt.”
“I don’t know.” The other girl looks at her fingernails. “I don’t think I could do it.”
The first girl stands, brushing her long, blonde hair from her shoulder with a manicured hand. She walks to her dresser, opens it, pulls out a wad of cash and fans it in front of Mindy’s face. “Fine. I’m going shopping with my little tip here. You can let that cheapskate of a boyfriend touch you for free. I’m doing exactly what you are, but instead of being paid with dinner or a movie, I’m getting what I deserve, not to mention my tuition paid.”
Mindy looks up at her friend. “How did you even find out about it, Lucy?”
Lucy smiles and sits back down. “That’s the great thing. It’s super easy and organized. It’s run by a girl just like us, and she vets all the guys. You can even pick from a picture and get a cute one. They’re older, but, you know, handsome. Just rich older guys bored with their wives. It’s fun really. They have these on every campus.”
Crosby stopped the video. It was just enough to titillate and get people thinking. He had no doubt that men of a certain age and resources would begin Googling to find willing college girls. Cash-strapped girls would do the same. He sent an e-mail to his YouTube contingent, and closed the laptop. After the show aired, there would be a plethora of videos of good-looking young women singing the praises of such a service.
Of course, there wasn’t really an escort service on every college campus. Yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Institute, 1975
November
He hasn’t come for three days now. I am going crazy with worry, imagining all sort of scenarios with him and my parents. Desperation has driven me to prayer. If there’s any chance that someone up there can hear me, I have to try. I hope with all my heart that they give him what he wants and he doesn’t hurt them. But I don’t really believe that’s possible. I think of a story my mother used to tell me when I was a little girl. It was about three men in Babylon who refused to worship a gold image made by the king because they would worship only their God. They were thrown into a fiery furnace so hot that it burned the soldiers who threw them in. The next morning, they were all still alive, not a hair on their head singed. The king was astounded, promoted them to better jobs and ordered everyone in the land to worship their God. I remember asking my mother why they didn’t just pretend to worship the image, just say something to save themselves. She told me that true faith requires sacrifice, and that to love our lives more than we love God is not serving Him but ourselves. So, I asked if God would always step in and rescue His people like that. She hugged me, put her hand on my face and said that, no, not always in this life, but yes, always in the next.
My door opens, and it’s him. I hold my breath, dreading what he has to say. His eyes are stormy, and his face looks tense. He slams the door behind him and stares at me.
I stand and put one hand on the table behind me, steeling myself for whatever he is going to say. He just looks at me, until finally I can’t stand it anymore.
“What happened? Did you see my parents? What did you do?”
“Yes, I saw them. You look like your mother.”
“Please!” I shout. “Just tell me. Are they alive?”
“They were when I left them.”
“What do you mean?”
He sits.
“Patience, Maya. I was waiting for them when they returned from church. They’re very polite. When I mentioned I knew you, they let me right in. Gave me coffee and some delicious Greek pastry.” He taps his index finger against his chin. “Theeplis, I think they’re called?”
I want to scream. I tap my foot and wait for him to get on with it.
“I told them I’d worked with you here. They’re quite heartbroken that they haven’t heard from you.”
“Stop toying with me.” I can’t stop the tears now.
“Indeed. Well, I got around to the real purpose of my visit. When I asked about the silver pieces, it was obvious by their reactions that they knew exactly what I was talking about.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.
“Your father was the first to figure out that I wasn’t just someone who knew you. He demanded that I return you to them. He’s a brave man.”
“You’re loathsome.”
His eyes narrow. “Do you want to hear the rest or not?”
“Go on.”
“I promised I would let you go if they told me where they hid the coins. Even told them they have a grandchild on the way. That garnered a mixed reaction.” He looks at me with a triumphant expression. “You should have believed me when I told you they didn’t really love you.” He pauses for effect. “They said no.”
All the breath whooshes from me.
“They said no?” I whisper.
“Oh they blabbered on, said how much they loved you, but they had a sacred trust in guarding the coins. They couldn’t betray it or betray God. The fools.”
I sit up straighter. “They are not fools. They knew you wouldn’t let me go. You’re the fool if you think you can trick them so easily.” I want to wound his pride, to say anything to wipe that smirk off his face.
He arches an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll get it out of them. They could have done it the easy way.”
“What are you planning to do?”
He stands. “It’s done. Friedrich’s men are interrogating them. They’re extremely skilled in getting information.”
I clutch my chest as a knifelike pain sears me. “You’re torturing them?”
He tilts his head. “Well, I’m not.”
“You monster!” I pick up the crystal decanter from the table and throw it at him, narrowly missing his head. It crashes to the floor.
He shakes his head, steps over the broken pieces, and opens the door.
“I’ll send someone in to clean this up.” And he leaves.
/> I walk over to the mess and begin to attend to it myself. Making sure my back is to the camera, I take the largest jagged piece and slide it into my pant’s pocket.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dakota sat in the common room of Bellevue staring straight ahead, missing nothing. The chaos surrounding her made her want to scream, but she swallowed her rage and remained silent. To her right, a woman carried on an animated conversation with no one, gesticulating, grimacing, and flailing her arms about. Dakota wanted to slap her, tell her to shut up, but she kept her expression neutral. Across the room, a man pinched his own arm every few seconds then yelled “Ow stop!” No one paid any attention.
She had been here a long time—since the day she had plunged the knife deep into her abdomen, determined to rid herself of the leech that was making her fat and tired. She had finally made Jack understand how miserable she was at being forced to accommodate the intruder that was taking over her body. In the beginning, when she still looked pretty and thin, she had liked the attention. Everyone was congratulating her and smiling, making her feel so special. But then things began to change. Her breasts were sore, and her legs turned lumpy with ugly blue veins. She had to pee constantly, and she was always exhausted. She was sick of being told what to do. No drinking, eat right, take your bloody vitamins. And Jack, always looking at her as though she was doing it all wrong, like he didn’t trust her with his precious child. She knew what he had planned, could see the disdain in his eyes when he looked at her. He was biding his time until she had the baby and then he would leave her. Take the wretched thing and start a life without her. Well, she wouldn’t let him. The baby was in her body and he would never get his hands on it. She chose the day knowing he would be working late. She intentionally started a fight with him so that when he came home and found her he would blame himself. The last words he said to her—that she made him say to her—would haunt him forever. She recalled the conversation with satisfaction. Her vitamins had been sitting on the table, unopened.
“Haven’t you been taking these?”
“They make me sick.”
Jack exhaled slowly. “It’s important for you and the baby.”
She stuck out her tongue. “All you care about is the stupid baby.”
Jack gave her a withering look. “Stupid?”
She put her face inches from his and sneered. “Stupid. Just like its father. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s the matter with you? How can you talk about our child like that?”
“Because, Jack, as you’ve pointed out, I don’t have a maternal bone in my body.”
He was speechless.
She goaded him. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say you’re not cut out to be a mother.”
He turned his back on her and walked toward the door. “I’ll say no such thing.”
She ran up to him and grabbed his arm. “Be honest for once in your pathetic life. Maybe then we can start to change things. Say it!”
He spun around, defeat in his eyes. “You win, Dakota. You’re not cut out to be a mother.”
“Ha.” She was triumphant. “I knew you felt that way. Get out of here.”
When he got home that night to find her bathing in her own blood, she was nearly unconscious. She was determined to hang on until he appeared, so that she could whisper the condemning words to him: “I guess I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
The lawyers advised her to plead insanity, and the court-appointed shrink had diagnosed her with bipolar disorder. Her attorney argued that the pregnancy hormones had sent her over the edge. She was more than happy to go along with them. She knew how to play the game. So here she was, waiting like a good little girl to see the useless doctor and continue to feed him the lies that would get her released. She had studied hard for her role as the improving patient and had no doubt her brainless doctor would soon let her out.
He opened his office door and called her in.
She bestowed her most enchanting smile on him. It was so easy. It bored her to death. She spoke her well-rehearsed lines, cried when appropriate, made her voice catch in the right places. He was nodding at her now, his facial expression one of earnest empathy.
She was a great actress. Her stint with Jack had been her longest-running role. Oh, the long seasons of depression left her bored, but the one thing that kept her going was her amusement at his clumsy attempts to cheer her up. He was pathetic, and his codependent behavior sickened her. When she was tired of being “depressed”, she would miraculously recover and become the Dakota he loved once again. What delight she took in the knowledge that his happiness was short-lived and at the complete whim of her moods. She threw herself into their lovemaking with one goal—to enslave him. She reveled in the sexual power she held over him. She broke him down, built him up, and broke him down again, all the while mocking him in her mind. She was sorry when the role came to an end, having grown fond of the game and crushing his spirit. She got her parting shot in though—cutting the baby out of her stomach had been her idea—her masterpiece. She wanted to destroy him, make sure he would be no good for anyone else. She did so knowing she would have to pay for it but it was worth it. The session was almost over.
She dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up tissue and looked at the therapist. Her lip trembled.
He stood. “Dakota, I’m so pleased with the progress you’ve made. I do think you’re ready to take the next step.”
She feigned grateful surprise. “Really, are you sure, Doctor?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, quite sure. You are ready. I’ll make my recommendations at your hearing.”
Dakota thought he looked pleased with himself. Soon she would be free of this place and back where she belonged. She had played her hand well and was ready, finally, to claim her reward. She couldn’t wait to be with him again. The only man she considered her equal and worthy of her devotion. Damon Crosse.
CHAPTER FORTY
The Institute, 1975
December
My baby is growing strong. I am informed at my weekly exams, that all is going perfectly. The heartbeat is strong, and I’m gaining just the right amount of weight. How could I not, with my diet so carefully controlled? I am visibly pregnant now. I’ve been brought pants that stretch to accommodate my growing belly and loose fitting tops. A drab uniform of solid colors and practicality. Dreams of beautiful maternity clothes, a loving husband, and joyous expectation will all go unfulfilled.
It has been a week since he went to see my parents. I haven’t seen him since, have been left on my own to do nothing but worry. Even though I would never let him know, when he first told me that my mother refused to turn over the coins, I was wounded. How could she not do anything in her power to save me? All because of a legend about some pieces of metal? Because that’s what it must be. Legend. An inanimate object has no power—at least that’s what I thought at first. But now, I wonder. Dunst is a renowned scientist. That’s what got him his entry in this country. And he believes in the power of the coins. And what about the claim that they healed him? I wish I could do some research, find out more about them and their history. But all I have to go on is what they tell me. And if my mother and father, whom I know with certainty do love me, wouldn’t give them up, then maybe, just maybe, they do contain the power he claims. What I said about them knowing he wouldn’t release me—I want to believe that. And maybe it’s true. But deep inside, I know their faith is stronger than I ever realized. It’s hard enough to sacrifice your own life for your faith—but the life of your child? The only way that is possible is to have an unshakable belief that to betray your faith would have monumental repercussions and that the stakes are truly of eternal significance. Now that I am to become a mother, I already feel an overpowering love for my baby. I would lay down my life for this child without a second thought.
So are my parents fools? Is their faith misplaced? I am b
eginning to think I am the fool. When did I give up on my faith? I search my memory and try to remember what it was that turned me away. Did something happen to shatter my belief? Some terrible trauma that made me realize there was no God? I can think of nothing. The reality is, I just drifted away. There was no defining moment, no betrayal on God’s part, no reason other than it was easy to walk away. I gave my allegiance to myself and to science. I didn’t think I needed God or anybody else. Is it too late for me to turn back now? I kneel by my bed, the way I did as a little girl, and clasp my hands together.
“Dear God, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you can. If there was ever a time I needed to know if you are there, it’s now. Please give me a sign, anything, that you exist, that you love me, that I’m not doomed to die in this place with no hope of a life after.” I stay that way for a long while, my head bowed, my spirit still. Then I feel my baby move. It is nothing more than a flutter at first, so subtle, I’m not sure if I imagine it or not. But then, another movement—this time stronger—and a kick. I look up and whisper, “Thank you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
They were back on the road and Jack was worried about Taylor. The strain was taking its toll on her. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she was barely eating. They had fallen back into an easy companionability, and it struck him again how much he had missed her. He was overcome with tenderness for her, and he had to fight a sudden urge to reach over and stroke her cheek. It was becoming harder and harder to be with her and not be with her.
He cracked the window and breathed in the cool air. There was a welcome sign ahead. They had made it to Claremont. A few miles later he spotted a motel and parked.
“I’ll get us checked in. Keep the doors locked.”
He was back quickly, and she looked up as he got back in the car.
“Any problems?”
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