Chapter One

Home, Misty

T he scream strangled in Misty’s throat as she fought to breathe. Her eyes popped open, trying to focus on the nightmare happening in her bedroom. Terror and confusion filled her sleepy thoughts. She stared into the eyes of a strange man standing above her, his hand covering her nose and mouth. She exploded in a twist of arms and legs, fighting for her life and that of her family. Her elbow connected with the man’s face, and his loud grunt filled the room.

Another man grabbed her legs, holding them to the bed as Misty grew lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. She froze, a chilling numbness setting in as she tried to decipher what was happening.

The man lifted his hand from her mouth and repositioned himself to carry the upper part of her body as the other man took her lower half. They deftly transported her through the house, out the front door, to a waiting vehicle without saying a word.

She stayed quiet because she hadn’t seen her parents or her little brother. She hoped whatever was happening would not carry over to her family and they would be safe.

The men flung her into the back of an SUV parked outside her parents' suburban home. One of the men sat in the back with her. Misty scooted as far away as she could and immediately tried the opposite door handle. It didn’t budge. The man ignored Misty’s struggle for freedom until her tears turned to screams. The open-handed slap was so sudden that it surprised her more than it hurt, but she got the hint, and her new fear of physical abuse suppressed the next scream.

Misty closed her eyes, hoping the nightmare would end. When she dared peek, she still sat in the back of the vehicle, wearing only her cotton nightgown and panties. No, terrified didn’t quite cover how she felt.

She looked around the back of the SUV for a weapon, anything she could use to protect herself. There was nothing. The man who slapped her didn’t appear to have a gun. He didn’t look at her, but she studied him. If she survived, she could give the police his description. Had they hurt her family, her little brother? She suppressed another scream, lifted her legs, and pulled the nightgown over them. She huddled against the locked door, too terrified to even look out the window, the only sound her frantic gulps for breath between sobs. The two men didn’t care that she could barely breathe or that she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. She knew they planned to kill her.

It took over an hour before she found the courage to ask a question. “Where are you taking me?” She waited. They never answered.

Her terror settled into a cold ball in the pit of her stomach as the vehicle continued on its course. Sometime later, her eyes drifted closed, and exhaustion won the battle. She jolted awake when the SUV made a sharp turn, throwing her against the door. Light shone through the window, and moss-covered dense trees lined the road on both sides. The vehicle turned left down another road. Low hanging branches scraped the hood of the car. An eerie feeling settled over Misty. The sensation intensified when large wrought-iron gates swung open and the SUV continued down a narrow drive. On the final sweeping turn, Misty saw an old decrepit three-story mansion that did nothing to diminish her fear.

The once white stucco was yellowed and chipped, the outer walls and building unkept. The steeply pitched roof covered in dark slate tiles had a few patches showing the effects of age and weather. On the side she could see, a narrow fire escape zigzagging up the building, its metal steps and railings showing signs of rust and wear. Creeping vines and moss adorned the building giving it an overgrown appearance. The foreboding picture in front of her inspired nothing but fear.

The front door opened and a middle-aged woman, wearing a white lab coat over a plain black dress, stepped outside. She stood on the porch and glared at the vehicle, her stern expression accentuated by deep lines etched into her face. Her gray hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, her high forehead prominent. Her lips remained pursed as she took the steps and headed toward the vehicle.

“Slide over,” the man in the backseat said, and beckoned Misty to move across the seat so she could exit on his side. Should she? Now was not the time to rebel so she stayed silent and moved over. The man stepped back and the woman leaned in. Misty still had a small bit of hope that the woman would help her. Unfortunately the firm press of her nearly white lips discouraged her optimism.

“You will remain silent,” she all but spat. “Follow me.” Her voice was as disturbing as she was. The woman turned away and walked toward the front door.

The man said nothing and didn’t really seem to care if Misty got out or not. Stay with the men who kidnapped her or follow the creepy old woman? Creepy old woman won. Misty scrambled out of the SUV and shuffled after her, keeping her arms at her sides so the nightgown didn’t ride up past her thighs.

She walked through a heavy wooden door with intricate carvings, flanked by narrow, dark windows on either side. It was like stepping back in time. The grand foyer may have once exuded elegance but was now in need of heavy repair. The large, worn marble tiles on the floor were broken and chipped. An ornate chandelier hung from the high ceiling. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling at the bottom and faded wallpaper with large roses splashed across it in patterned horror. To the right, a sweeping staircase with a carved balustrade curved upward. The cool air held a slight mustiness but every surface was spotless with no sign of dust or cobwebs.

"You will close the door behind you," the woman said from a few feet away.

Misty stopped where she was and, regardless of her fear, she decided enough was enough. "Where am I, and why am I here?" She put every last bit of her fifteen-year-old arrogance into the question.

The woman had begun climbing the stairs, but she suddenly swept around, her hand going to a thick cane hanging by a cord from her waist, partially hidden by the lab coat. She lifted the cane and struck. Misty didn’t turn in time and it connected with her face, neck, and the upper part of her chest.

"Do not speak." The woman again turned her back on Misty, who had her palm over the red heat burning her cheek. Stunned by the sudden violence, Misty followed, her knees knocking together as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

They climbed the stairs to the third level. There were no decorations on the dimly lit stairwell other than the ugly wallpaper. Nothing gave away where she’d been taken. The woman continued down a long corridor to the second-to-last closed door on the left. Using a key from a keyring also attached to her waist, she unlocked the door and opened it wide. It was a bathroom, and Misty was extremely grateful because she needed to use the toilet.

"Remove your clothes and place them on the counter."

"What?" Misty asked in complete astonishment.

"I do not repeat myself," the woman's lip curled up, and it wasn’t a good look on her. "This is your only warning. If you do not do as you are told, you will be beaten."

Beaten? Misty couldn’t have heard her correctly. The woman’s hand went to the cane. Misty stepped into the bathroom and looked around before turning back to the woman who stood glaring at her.

"I do not have anything but panties under my nightgown."

"Remove it all, or your delay will have consequences."

The words pumped ice-cold terror through Misty’s veins. The church taught her that her body was sacred. She had never undressed in front of anyone but her mother, and that had been years before. Her shaking fingers inched down to the bottom of the nightgown, and she bent slightly before releasing it and straightening.

"I can’t," she said. She expected the strike but hadn’t anticipated that they wouldn’t stop.

Misty cried out and covered her face and neck with her arms. Each ensuing hit landed on her shoulders until she went to her knees, the pain more than she could take. The woman reached down and began tearing the nightgown from her body between strikes. A blow connected with her fingers, and Misty thought they were broken. She did everything she could to hold onto the nightgown, but the woman eventually won.

Long fingers dug into her hair and jerked her head back.

"Stand up." The woman’s eyes held a satisfied expression that stunned Misty. The crazy old lady enjoyed hurting her.

Misty cried out as the cane came down again. The fire spread clear to her toes. Against the fear and pain, she made it to her hands and knees while snot dripped from her nose onto the floor. Her shaking legs didn’t want to hold her, so she grabbed the counter and stood as straight as she was able. The blows stopped but the woman’s heavy breathing filled the small room.

"Remove the underwear, now."

Shame mixed with pain. Misty slipped the garment down her legs and kicked it off her feet, one arm covering her breasts and her other hand going between her legs.

"Get into the shower," the mean voice said. "Wash your hair and your body. Clothes will be provided when you finish. You have four minutes."

"I need to go pee," Misty pleaded between sobs.

"It’s part of your shower time," the woman stated, her booted feet planted a foot apart, unmoving.

Misty stared at her, knowing the woman would watch her use the toilet, which was more humiliation than she could handle. She pushed aside the shower curtain and turned on the water, stepping inside before it warmed. She couldn’t stop the stream of urine that ran down the drain.

"Three minutes."

The freezing water didn’t grow warmer. Misty could barely see through her tears but she quickly grabbed the liquid soap, lathered herself, rinsed, and did the same to her hair while shivering so hard it was difficult to hold the bottle. Misty peeked from behind the shower curtain. The woman stood with a stack of clothing in her arms. Misty’s clothes were missing.

"Shut the water off and get out," she instructed, handing her a towel.

Misty dried herself, trying to stay covered while she did it. The woman pointed at the clothes which she had moved to the counter. It was a beige, unadorned long dress with a high neckline and long sleeves straight out of history from a hundred years before. Misty pulled the shapeless garment, heavier than it looked, over her head. The dress ended midway between her knees and ankles. She donned the white underwear quickly. There had been no bra, but her breasts were small and she’d never worn one.

"Follow me," the woman said again and walked away. She used a key to unlock another door. As soon as it opened, she stepped back and nodded at Misty to precede her.

The room was spartan, with only a bed covered by a white sheet. No other furniture, although there was a door on the side that might be a closet.

"You do not have permission to speak,” the woman said behind her. “Talking is a privilege here. You also have no bedding. Everything must be earned, other than your clothes and shoes, which are in the closet. If you behave in a manner that cannot be controlled by simple means, your clothing will be removed, and you will stay locked in this room until you comply. Someone will come for you when it’s time to begin your orientation."

Misty simply stared, too afraid to ask a question. Tears slowly slipped down her cheeks.

"You are at the Bridge Home School for Girls," the woman continued. "You will stay here until your behavior is that of a proper Christian woman and not that of a spoiled child guided by Satan. This can be a rewarding time in your life where you learn your place to be a wife and mother, or it can be a time of misery. Either way, you will be a suitable young woman when you leave. Your parents have paid dearly for the privilege of sending you here, and they have prayed extensively." She turned and walked from the room, locking Misty inside.

She stared at the closed door in horror.

Her parents had done this to her.