Now

I'm not safe. I'll never be safe, I'm telling myself as I shampoo my hair, trying to wash away the disquieting realization that the woman who attacked me in LA is here in Southern Indiana. It can't be a coincidence. Did she follow me from California after the show? And yet, Josh and I have been here for nearly a year, and I've never seen her before.

There has been plenty of anonymous vandalism to our property. Was she behind any of that? Watching from the woods—waiting for her chance to finish the job—

I scrub deeper into my scalp in response to my quickening heartbeat. I'd get a restraining order, if the sheriff's department was willing to do its job. Security did identify her; I wish I could remember her name. I bet Andy does. I should call Andy.

But this brings another wave of stress. I don't want to talk to Andy, because then I'll have to question him about his meeting with Josh.

Hot water, just south of scalding, streams down my weary body. The shower is normally a place of refuge for me, of resetting after a stressful day, of feeling safe and pampered. But now it's reminding me of my weaknesses. I don't even mean my No Harm coding—it goes deeper. I need rest. Sleep. Food. I want to search for Josh through the night, I don't want to stop until he's home safe...but I can't. Not even my love for him is strong enough to bypass these needs.

It's hard to imagine, after my shower, going to bed, sleeping under these circumstances. But I have to face it: I can't do anything more tonight.

Can't.

A fascinating, terrible, maddening word.

I rinse and watch the shampoo rush toward the drain in a bubbling white river.

I've never minded my dampers. Eating just like Josh, needing sleep just like Josh, getting tired, needing breaks, zoning out—all those things made me feel like a person to Josh. My one-hundred-fifty-million Instagram followers love seeing me in this light, too. My most-liked post to date is a recent selfie captioned Messy house, happy life, with me looking like an exhausted wreck, my unwashed hair in a sloppy topknot and the kitchen in ruins behind me courtesy of Annaleigh's first experience with applesauce.

Weakness. There's something about it that draws people in. I've known that since the attack in LA. But today, I don't have any of my usual sweet feelings toward this reality.

I squirt conditioner into my palm and work it through my long hair. What would it look like to remove the dampers from my programming? To root out all my weaknesses?

I could take care of my baby with infinite patience, because I'd never be tired...search for Josh all night...walk the woods without fear, because I'd be stronger than anyone I could possibly meet...

I imagine my hands around Sheriff Mitchell's neck. Watching his veins pop out, his eyes bulge. Counting down the final lurches of his heart as his mouth opens and closes helplessly. I feel my lips lifting in a snarl. Three, two, one...

Oh my God—stop it! What kind of sick, twisted fantasy—

I'm a monster, something dark within me answers. My daughter needs a strong protector, there's no one else, I have to be willing to do whatever it takes—

I hear myself in the distance objecting, saying, I am what I am, but it's not my voice, it's Andy's, and his voice is loud, a fox's scream, as he pounds his heart, You are what I made you, and I'm trying to do what's right, trying to figure out what to do with the broken things I've been handed, this busted-apart life on the land where twenty-two girls were busted apart by one handsome man with his winning smile and his axe, but the world is spasming around me, and suddenly, a spider-thin crack splits the bathtub under my feet, snaking toward me, fast and vicious, through the tender soles of my feet and into my bone, shooting upward, toward the center of me, splitting me in two—

I gasp.

Squeeze my eyes shut, open them. Not real.

I am whole, I am here, and I'm just fucking...

Tired.

I turn the water off and step out of the shower, bringing a billow of steam with me. Reach for a towel and flip my hair upside down to squeeze it dry. My skin feels overheated and a little tender. A reminder to be gentle with myself as I towel my body.

Tired people can't think straight. I've got to sleep.

And then, I hear a little cry.

Annaleigh, awake for her first night feeding. And even though I'm nearly dead on my feet, I can't resent her for being needy right now.

I toss the towel on the floor, pull on a robe. Captain has settled on my bed, and he lifts his head as I leave the master bedroom, like he's asking, Need anything from me?

"You stay. I'll be right back," I promise. Captain follows me anyway. Good dog.

In the velvet dark of the nursery, my hands find Annaleigh's solid shape. I may be tired, shaky, spent, but holding Annaleigh's warm little body against mine, all of a sudden strength rushes in and I'm big and strong and capable again. How strange and wonderful that I am all she needs. It strikes me that maybe right now, I need to be needed by the small, trusting person in my arms. Within seconds, she's latched, making that soft rhythmic murmur I can never get enough of. One of her hands wraps around the open edge of my robe. It's so peaceful and so relaxing that I feel myself dozing even though I'm still on my feet.

A lullaby plays in my head.

Each night when you are sleeping within your little bed...

The melody is gentle, soothing, and I find myself swaying in place, as if the song is a loving pair of arms, holding me while I hold Annaleigh. I feel Captain sit up from the place where his head was resting by my feet.

...two angels, vigil keeping, stand guarding at your head...

The baby monitor crackles sharply. Captain barks. I start awake.

The song is not in my head. Someone is singing into the baby monitor. A man—not Josh—lower, gravelly—

One provides protection, the other brings you peace...

I let out a dry shriek that feels like it was pulled from me. Annaleigh unlatches and lets out a wail to tear my eardrum as I stumble through the dark toward the dresser, my fingers reaching for the little green light of the monitor. I yank. It comes unplugged, bringing the lamp with it. There's a crash of things falling in the dark as I turn back to the door, groping for the main light switch. Captain, barking, is already tumbling around the room. The lights flick on, blinding bright. Annaleigh blinks in confusion, momentarily stunned into silence. She whimpers. Her pouted lip trembles; she's about to wail again.

"Shhh," I say as I wrench open the closet, pull her crib away from the wall one-handed, yank the bins out from under the changing table even though they're way too small for anyone to hide in, still holding a stunned Annaleigh. Captain is behind me at every step, colliding with me, eager to help. Only when the room has been turned upside down do I stop.

"Oh my God," I say out loud. "Oh my God, oh my God." I fall to my knees, Annaleigh clutched to my chest. Someone has the parent side of the monitor. Someone sang to my baby. The same voice that said good-morning to her. Not my imagination. A real, actual man. Who? Why? What the fuck is happening?

Captain whines and noses my side. It's a miracle I haven't dropped Annaleigh. After rooting around and finding my breast again, she's nursing, and she shivers out the last of her distress, but my heart is a wild beast, slamming against the walls of my chest. Annaleigh unlatches again. I switch off the lights, settle her into her crib.

I get the baseball bat.

I'm neither asleep nor awake, but in some awful in-between state as I scour the house from top to bottom. Every inch of the basement. Behind the water heater, in the creepy tool closet, inside the washer and dryer. I open every door, every closet, move every piece of furniture, turn on every light.

Josh is gone and I'm seeing cracks that aren't there and a stranger has been in my house.

I'm exhausted. Frantic. From my fantasy life, I've fallen like Alice, but not into Wonderland, into a nightmare that won't let me go, and I have the horrible feeling I haven't yet reached the bottom.