by Holley Trent
Nadia gave Jody a nudge. “Hey. We have rooms like those, too.”
“So, that’s why she’s in your cellar,” Jody guessed.
“Her memory’s coming back too fast,” Shea said. “I panicked and worried that she was becoming susceptible. The other ones we’ve rescued, the cult kids and the Afótama, we’ve done exercises with so they can lock down their thoughts a little bit while we figure out how to erase the planted suggestions from their minds. We must have done all right because Anders hasn’t rediscovered them yet. Lora doesn’t have that skill set, and I…understand she was important to you.”
“Is important to me,” he said.
She nodded. “Is.”
“Whatever this shit is… This tangle she’s caught up in, it’s not her fault. I’m not going to throw her away due to some shit she had no say in. She has a family in Norseton that wants her back. And if she’s…” His anger was mounting too quickly, his emotions spiraling out of control. He needed to keep his head and preserve his ability to think logically. As an emissary of the Afótama, his measured actions were critical to deriving a desirable outcome.
He dug his nails into his palm to steady himself and took a deep breath.
“If she’s having my daughter, she needs to be in Norseton.”
“She knows that.” Shea grimaced. “Knew that.”
He nodded. Stood. “Let me see her.”
“You can see her, but I would caution you not to open that door yet,” Claude said. “We haven’t had a chance to explain to her why she’s here. You know more than she does and nothing you tell her will make sense to her until her fuller memory comes back.”
“When will the hypnotic suggestion Magnus planted fall off?” Simone asked.
“It won’t on its own. The problem is, we don’t know what the trigger is. It’s been different for every one of the kids we rescued. Once we figure it out, it’s easy to wipe, but we’re still working on guessing what the word or words might be. It took us months and sometimes years to discover the triggers on some of them. We can only hope Lora’s will present itself sooner and in a controlled environment.”
“How will you know when you’ve found it?” Jody asked.
“She’ll have an unquenchable drive to please him. He wants her to take out your Tess, your Nan. Anyone there who could pick up the pieces. She might fight you. She might turn on you. Hard to say how she’ll behave. From all accounts, Lora is a very measured, intelligent woman. You may not know what she’s thinking.”
Bullshit.
No one knew her more intimately than him. No one else had been afforded the quiet hours of sitting and watching her when she was completely at ease—when she knew she didn’t have to perform for anyone.
“Trust me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll know. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lora
Lora got on her hands and knees and traced her fingertips along the seams of the baseboards and up the gaps between the pieces of wood paneling. She was looking for any sort of latch or gap—any evidence that there was a door or window that had been covered over. She’d been under the impression that houses in the Midwest had outside access to their cellars so that people could take cover when there was a threat of a tornado.
She’d made her way to the corner opposite of where she’d started when the speaker mounted at the top of the staircase crackled.
“Lora?” came Shea’s voice.
Growling, Lora pushed herself upright and waited for the click of the lock being disengaged.
No such luck.
She rolled her eyes and resumed her search.
“Lora, I can see you,” Shea said with a sigh. “Camera.”
“Good for you,” Lora muttered.
“Look, I’m sorry, ’kay? I want us to be friends when this mess is over. You’ve got to believe I’ve got your best interests at heart.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“What’s that?”
Louder, Lora repeated, “I don’t even know you!” She found a little notch in the paneling near the sofa and pressed her thumb into it with an a-ha! of discovery…to no avail. “Damn it.”
“Did you drop a contact lens or something?”
Lora sat back on her haunches and heaved a sigh. “No. What do you want, if not to let me out?”
“There’s someone out here who wants to talk to you.”
“Your father? Or was that a lie, and you never planned on letting me talk to him in the first place?”
“Well, he’s out here, too. Dad, let her know you’re here.”
There came a masculine clearing of a throat followed by a gravelly, “Hello, Lora. It’s me. Claude Callahan. If you turn on the television, you can see us the same way we see you.”
Lora pushed back onto her heels, expelling a startled gasp at the flutter beneath her ribs. She’d been feeling the twinges for days, but it’d finally dawned on her that what she was experiencing wasn’t merely the spontaneous spasming of her muscles. That was her baby making her presence known—spreading out and trying to get comfortable, perhaps.
“Are you all right?” Claude asked.
“Um. Yes.” She hurried to her feet, hand still on her belly, and moved cautiously to the flat screen television installed atop a dresser. The remote control was tucked handily behind the base wearing a coat of dust she blew off. She pressed the power button.
“Press the source button,” Shea said. “Twice, I think.”
Lora did as she asked, bypassing the satellite feed for the input of the surveillance video.
Her image was in the inset at the upper right, her gaze semi-forward, and she realized then there was a camera behind the television. The movement of the larger picture drew her attention back to the screen.
Crowded in front of the camera were Shea and Faye along with a man with short-cropped gray hair and piercing eyes.
“Can you see us now?” Shea asked.
“Yes.”
“If it’s okay, I’m gonna to do the talking. Dad’s voice doesn’t hold up so well, but you can assume that anything I’m saying has been filtered through him first.”
Faye tapped Shea’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go make dinner. Turn up the volume so I can hear.”
Shea nodded at her mother and leaned closer to the camera, ostensibly to adjust the output on her end.
In the gap Faye had left, a stranger filled in. A scowling woman with red hair that had been shaved on the sides.
Some little voice in the back of Lora’s mind said, “I know her,” and marked her as an ally, but she couldn’t grasp her identity. She just knew that they’d endured some things in a group capacity.
“Are you all right, Lora?” the woman asked.
Lora shrugged. “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.”
“We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you—I promise. I just wanted you to see my face so you’d know I was here. Simone and I are going home to debrief the folks who couldn’t travel.”
“Home? Where’s home? And who’s Simone?”
Another woman leaned into the picture. Brown skin. Long, curly, dark brown hair. Sweet smile. She waved. “Hey, Lo.”
Lo?
She had a nickname, apparently. Nicknames were something friends gave to each other.
“I hate keeping you in the dark.” The redhead let out a dry laugh and dragged her hand through her hair. “Where we come from, you’re usually the one who knows everything that’s happening. That’s probably why we can’t figure out what to do right now. You’re the one who knows what to do or who to ask for information.”
“Am I?” Lora massaged her right thumb against the palm of her left hand and stared at the grain of the carpet. She couldn’t imagine being the go-to for anything. She hated the feeling of not knowing what she didn’t know. The anxiety was crippling.
“You’re important to all of us. No matter what happens—no matter what anyone tells you—don’t
forget that you belong somewhere, and we’re never going to turn you away.”
“Do you know something I don’t and that you want to share?”
Staring at some spot directly over the camera, the redhead tucked her hair behind her ears and stood in silence for a minute. Then she shook her head and said, “I can’t personally tell you anything except that…your current and former bosses want you to know that they’re going to do everything possible to disentangle you from this.” She snorted. “They’re going to pretend that you had a momentary lapse of judgment when you put in your notice.”
Lora smiled at that. She had no idea what she did for a living or who those people were, but it was nice to think that people cared about her wellbeing. Whether they cared for good reasons or bad reasons, she didn’t know yet. She’d have to hold off making any verdicts until she had more puzzle pieces to connect in her mind.
“I’ll see you soon, okay? Now that we know where you are, getting you back won’t be a problem.”
“You mean, you’re just going to leave me here?” Lora shouted. “That doesn’t make sense if you really know who I am.”
“I do,” the woman pled. “I—”
Simone leaned in and whispered something to her.
“Oh.” A minute later, the redhead held a smartphone screen up to the camera. On it was a picture of Lora. She was sitting behind a desk. Her chin was propped atop her fists and one eyebrow was cocked up at the redhead seated lackadaisically in the chair on the other side. She had her booted feet up on the desk and appeared to be spinning quite a yarn.
The wide window behind Lora revealed an expansive view of a pastel sky and a desert painted by the sunset.
“My grandmother took that picture,” the lady said, tucking the phone away. “She’s getting better at focusing the damned things. I think you only had to show her how to do it ten times. Gods forbid anyone else try to show her. She doesn’t want to listen.” She shrugged.
“So, you’re just going to leave?”
“I am, but…someone who knows you just as well…” She cringed. “Better, actually, is here. He’s going to stay. When Claude opens the door, he’s going to send him down and then lock you in. Don’t say anything until Claude’s closed the door, okay? Don’t even think anything if you can manage it. That’s important. You might be angry with us all right now, but when you get your memory back, I guarantee you’ll forgive us.”
“I’m supposed to just take your word that this man isn’t going to harm me in some way? And you’re not going to tell me who he is before you open the door, huh?”
Slowly, the woman shook her head. “We don’t know what your triggers are. For all we know, he could be one.”
“Triggers?”
“He’ll explain that, too.” She looked at something or someone off-camera to her left. “Are you ready?”
“As soon as Faye’s packed the dinner basket,” came the male voice.
“Five minutes!” Faye shouted from a distance.
The redhead waved and stepped out of the image. Shea moved front and center. “Do me a favor. When I open the door, don’t try to charge up the stairs, okay? I don’t want there to be a tussle. No one wants you to get hurt.”
“You seem to be neglecting the fact that most animals have fight-or-flight instincts, and when they’re caged, they tend to run at first opportunity.”
Shea groaned. “We’re not caging you. We’re just giving you time to remember things and for us to figure out a way to remove harmful suggestions.”
“And just to confirm, remembering them down here is safer for me?”
“Yes.”
Lora rolled her eyes.
A few minutes later, the television screen went dark. The lock clicked and, instinctively, Lora straightened up.
“Don’t come near the stairs, Lora,” Shea called down preemptively. “You can move freely as soon as I close the door again.”
“Freely doesn’t quite seem the right word.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, fine. You can move around all you want down there. Better?”
“Better is subjective,” Lora grumbled.
“Take this. Go ahead,” Shea said, but not to Lora.
Heavy footsteps started to descend.
The door slammed shut and Shea turned the lock.
Lora moved then, holding her tote’s strap and prepared to sling the bag like a weapon at the stranger if necessary.
He stepped around the wall dividing the stairs from the rest of the cellar, and Lora immediately cataloged his posture—relaxed…or as relaxed as possible for someone wearing a bulging backpack that looked as though it weighed a hundred pounds and carrying a basket which must have contained dinner.
She didn’t swing at him, but she did take a massive step back. Too massive. Her heels hit the base of the sofa and sent her topping backward. Recovering quickly, she scooted all the way to the end of the seat and pulled her knees up against her chest, and then a flood of memories cascaded into her mind.
She’d been little, perhaps six or seven, and was playing quietly in a tiny park. She was skipping rope and running periodically to the swings for pockets of exhilaration.
She’d felt so free and safe with her parents looking on, and she remembered her parents, then. They didn’t look like her, but they were smiling as they watched her run and play, their focus on her only. They’d worked hard to earn her trust, to make her feel safe and wanted. Perhaps they’d even overindulged her to make up for all the misdeeds others had committed against her in earlier years.
After a few minutes on the swings, she’d bounded back to her rope and found it in knots. As she bent to untangle it she was pelted by one water balloon after another, and she remembered being so frightened and confused by the bombardment that she couldn’t even scream. Couldn’t breathe.
When the balloons had finally stopped, she saw a young version of the man with the basket grinning triumphantly, right before a man with red hair grabbed him by the collar and yanked him over to Lora.
“Apologize to her now, or I swear to the gods that your grandmother is going to hear about this tonight,” the man had said to him.
The boy had stared at her with such cruelness in his blue gaze that she’d finally broken down and sobbed.
The man had nudged the boy away and picked up Lora’s hand. “It’s all right, sweetie. Come on.”
Her parents had been watching, but they hadn’t approached. They’d been too afraid to say anything, and still didn’t talk when the man gently handed her over to them. “My nephew knows better,” the man had said to them. “We’ll deal with him.”
“It’s all right,” the woman had said as she picked some remnants of exploded balloon off Lora’s shirt. “Boys will be boys. Trust me, I know. We have one.”
“All the same, this one isn’t gonna grow up to be an ass. Doesn’t matter what family he’s from. He’s not going to get away with what he did. I promise you.”
Her mother had folded Lora into her embrace and nodded.
Lora had swiped at her tears as the man walked away, yanking the boy by the arm.
That boy had grown into a man who bore a striking resemblance to his uncle, but his hair was a browner shade of red and worn longer beneath his backward baseball cap. And he was broader across the shoulders and wore his face clean-shaven.
He’d been a cruel, smirking, beautiful child.
The grown man in front of her didn’t wear a smirk or even a smile, but he was still beautiful. Still cruel, too, probably. She didn’t believe people who were rotten to the core could change, and as a child, she’d believed he was no good.
“Lora…” Grimacing, he set his bag down. “Gods, I don’t even know if that was supposed to be your real name.”
Bemused, she kept quiet and wondered why he was there—wondered why those people upstairs had thought he was safe when he was quite obviously a menace.
He placed the food basket on the coffee table in front of her and kneeled,
his gaze direct and searching.
He didn’t say anything.
Neither did she.
Then he broke his stare, lifted his cap, and shoved his thick, wavy hair back. “Jesus, are you afraid of me? Tell me you’re not afraid of me, Lora.”
She wasn’t going to lie. She didn’t think she was a liar and was going to speak the truth even if her self-preservation was at stake.
“You don’t know who I am,” he said. “You don’t know who I am to you.”
“You’re a bully.”
Eyes wide, he gaped and pointed at himself. “Me? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. So stay the hell back or I’m going to scream, and I won’t stop until you leave.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Norseton
Mallory
Mallory, Keith, Asher, Vic, and Elliott reached home late at night. Mallory had slept most of the drive back, having been slammed with an overwhelming surge of exhaustion that she figured out too slowly had to do with Elliott. His grip on her wrist had been unceasing for the entire drive, and touch tended to strengthen psychic connections in their kind. He was emotionally chaotic. His thoughts were a wild tangle, and she was having difficulty picking apart her thoughts from his.
She didn’t want to tell him to let go, though.
She knew what it felt like to be odd and to not be able to talk to anyone except Marty about the things she saw and heard. Elliott had been on his own for too long. She wasn’t surprised that he’d cling. She would have been needy, too.
“It’s always so pretty this time of night,” Vic whispered and nodded toward the darkened community as they approached. “Especially with the desert in the background.”