Chapter V

TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION: YES,I knew her. Yes, I knew Gabby. Yes, I remember her.

I remember her in the forest. In the summer. Smiling, her body suspended in warm light like honey. I remember her by the campfire, body quivering from the relentless cold. I remember her in the dark, screaming, feet digging into the ground. I remember her.

The world called her Gabby. But I… we called her Hope.

I was in the room with plastic sheeting. On my hands and knees, coughing up dust. Footsteps, and then someone was in front of me. Someone new. Their shoes were white, unnaturally clean. My fingers curled against the dirt. I eyed a rock and thought about picking it up.

"I'm David," said the new person. His voice was pleasant, almost kind.

I lifted my chin.

Later, as the days passed, I studied his profile, trying to locate it in my memory. Did I know him? Had I met him on the street? Could he have worked with my dad at the docks? Always, I came up blank. He was thin but strong, with a sleek runner's body and the type of face that was unremarkable and easily forgotten. Had I seen him before? No, I did not know him.

"Would you like something to eat?" David asked. Music played on a battery-operated stereo. The song "You Are My Sunshine" on loop.

"Please," I said. There are so many different meanings a single word can have. Please don't do this. Please help me. Please let me go. "I just want to go home."

David smiled widely, weirdly. "You are home."

"I want my mom." I was going to die. I was sure of it.

He hung his head. "I understand."

Pale hands grazed my shoulders—not David's, someone else's, a woman with frizzy hair. David called her Serendipity. She reached for me, her expression tender despite her haggard, rough look. She grasped my hand. Too stunned to move, I let her help me up, accepting her embrace as I stood. Her arms were sinewy and strong. I'd been alone so long that I leaned in. A natural human instinct, to seek affection, gravitate toward shelter. I rested my chin on her shoulder. A piano was in the corner of the room, glossy and ridiculous in all the filth.

She pulled away from me and held my cheeks in her dry, cracked hands. Then she moved in close again. Not for a hug, but to say, "It's an exciting day." One of her bottom teeth was missing. Her breath smelled of must, decay. I stared into the dark pit of her mouth as she christened me with a new name. A secret name. A fate to be fulfilled.

When she finally stepped away, I saw the others. They huddled together. One was slender, white, and tall, with a sturdy build and a square dimpled chin—beautiful. The other was white, too. But shorter, with fuller hips. I imagined all of our faces were shaded by the same look—hurt and hungry, cornered by fear.

David smiled, and it was the smile of a man who believed too much in his own greatness. He introduced me to my sisters—Charity and Hope. "You'll love them as much as I do," he promised. But David didn't love things. He owned them. He was a collector of sorts. A man always chasing the one woman who would not love him in the way he wanted.

Serendipity said my new name, and her eyes darkened, like a piece of cloth doused in water. "You're a very lucky girl." She hugged me again. My face was shoved into her bony shoulder. I inhaled. Wet wool. My body went limp.

"Let's celebrate." David clapped.

A plastic cup of red liquid was pushed into my hand. Over David's and Serendipity's shoulders, Hope made the slightest movement. A tense, single shake of her head. I was too terrified to speak.

"Not thirsty?" David said. "You need to learn to appreciate what's been given to you. Nothing in this world is free. That's what my dad used to say." He touched my cheek. The cup dropped from my hand. Red bled into the dirt. "Clumsy," he said. "We're not off to a great start. It's my birthday, you know. You haven't even wished me happy birthday."

"S-sorry," I stammered. "Happy birthday."

David chuckled. He kissed my cheek, touched the small of my waist, and whispered, "You're a temptress. Dance with me?"

My body shook with refusal. But I felt Hope's and Charity's eyes willing me on.

His palms were soft and moist on my hips. We swayed to the music. I was all locked up inside. I could only see myself from the outside. Like I was peering down from some towering height, a mighty windswept ledge.

"Tell me about your old life. The one you left," he said.

I didn't answer. His fingers bit into my skin. "I'm from Coldwell. I have a sister," I choked out. I don't know why I thought of Sam in that moment. "She's older."

He stopped. "How much older?"

"Ten years."

"Ouch." He screwed up his face. "Sounds like you must have been a mistake." David found our insecurities and nibbled away at them. Like a rat. "Hope and Charity are your sisters now. You'll never speak of your other sister again."

I tucked my chin down and started to weep.

"Poor thing," David said. He hummed the lyrics to the song. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. It gets hazy after that. I don't remember leaving the room with the plastic sheeting. But I do remember David lifting a key from a metal hook. Remember him fitting it into a rusted lock. Remember other doors in the corridor with similar locks—Charity's and Hope's rooms. Remember him following me in.

Next, there are still shots, like photographs or a slideshow. A metal frame with a thin stained mattress and crumpled sleeping bag. A small window cut into the upper part of the wall, big enough for me to peer out. Silver moonlight shone in the room. The air was still and sickly sweet, humming with insects.

I looked down at my hands and spread my fingers apart. The nails were bitten down to the quick; I'd eaten them on the bus. My cuticles were caked in dirt. My pinkie on my right hand had a single chip of red nail polish, a final splash of color from Before.

David touched my shoulders. Slid the shirt from my body. Pulled down my pants. What kills me the most… I didn't even say no. I couldn't. I just lay there murmuring, over and over again, "I'm not sure if this is okay. I'm not sure if this is okay."

When he was done, he touched my cheek and stood by the bed. I lay there staring at the wall, at a crack, retracing it again and again with my eyes. "Did you have a happy childhood?" he asked.

"Y-yes," I stammered out, eyes flickering shut, sucking at the marrow of my memories. My bed, curling under a warm blanket. The smell of the house when my mom dyed her hair. Making wishes on birthday candles. I shook in anguish at the sorrow of it all.

"Me too. I had a perfect childhood." He rustled behind me, the sound of putting his clothes back on. "Sleep well." He dropped a kiss to my temple, tugged on a lock of my hair. "Your hair is too short. I don't like it."

When he left, I propped myself up to stare out the window. The night was overcast, but through a break in the clouds I caught a glimpse of Sirius, the Dog Star. When I'd been taken, it hadn't been visible. Too early in the season. Based on its brightness and location, I'd been held captive in the dark for nearly two months.

The next morning, I huddled around the fire with Hope and Charity. The air was hot and thick, the cloak of summer. David plopped down next to Hope, his thigh rubbing against hers. She shifted away. My eyes watered. The U and W emblazoned on her sweatshirt blurred together.

David smiled, perfectly charming. "It's a beautiful day."

None of us spoke.

Serendipity served us some type of meat. Deer or elk. A hoofed carcass was strung up near the watchtower. Its stomach had been split open, its red guts littering the ground beneath it. The dogs chewed on the scraps, muzzles bloody. My stomach heaved. The outside of the meat was charred, almost black, but the inside was still pink.

David sighed. "You're all in moods today. They're all in moods today," he called out to Serendipity.

A blue station wagon with wood-paneled sides drove onto the compound. Face covered with a red bandana, Michael opened the door and stepped out of the driver's seat. He rounded the wagon and popped open the back doors. He often left for long periods and returned with supplies. I didn't know David but maybe I knew Michael. Was that why he always kept his face hidden? Would I recognize him? Did I find the low notes of his voice familiar?

"David," Serendipity called, walking toward the wagon. I watched her for a moment. Wondering about her. The ease with which she moved. How had she come to be here? Was she taken like us? Or was she here because she wanted to be?

David cupped Hope's knee, squeezed, and stood. "Duty calls." The pregnant dog trotted over and lay down, panting and hot.

I stared as David joined Serendipity. Then transferred my gaze to about fifty feet away. To the break in the trees where Michael had driven through, the branches still in the wavy heat. There could be a road on the other side. I could be a few feet away from freedom. My body tensed, ready to explode into a run. I'd find somewhere to hide, wait out the day, and use the night as cover. The stars would show me the way.

"Don't do it," Hope whispered.

I swiveled to her.

"You won't get very far," she said. Then she addressed Charity. "How many girls since you came?"

Charity's thumbs rubbed the edge of her plate. One of them bent a little backward. She told me later it was from being broken. Multiple times. "Two."

"There were three before her," Hope said. "Five total. And who knows how many others. Only a few make it off the bus."

My stomach plummeted. I thought about the bus. The relentless dark. The bone-chewing loneliness. "All five of those girls ran. They didn't come back."

"They could've gotten away." The words were unbelievable, sour on my tongue. "Someone could find us."

Charity and Hope shared a look. They pitied me—my optimism, my blind faith. "Girls like us don't get found," Hope said. I didn't know what she meant yet, but I would learn over the next few months. David took us because of all the things we weren't. We weren't rich. We weren't remarkable. We wouldn't be missed, other than by our families.

"What about her?" I jerked my chin to Serendipity.

Hope snorted.

Charity leaned in. "Don't ask Serendipity for help. Don't run. Don't talk back. And don't eat the meat." Charity glanced over her shoulder. David and Serendipity were distracted. She dumped her plate into the fire. The meat sizzled and the fat popped. Hope did, too. They both cast me expectant looks. I followed suit.

Silence stretched. "I'm scared," I whispered into my metal plate.

"David won't visit you for a while," Hope said. "He rotates through us. Now that you're here, he'll only come every four nights."

I started to cry. Hyperventilate.

Hope scooted closer and pressed an old soda can into my hand. I remembered the punch from the night before. "Water," she said. "It's water."

I sipped, and the liquid was cool and gritty going down my throat.

Charity's hand touched mine, and I gripped it. "You'll be okay," Charity said. Okay. I used to repeat it to myself. It's okay, I would say. Two words I could whisper a thousand times in one hour.

"Take these." Hope thrust a handful of hairy brown seeds at me.

"What are they?"

"Shh, keep your voice down," Hope hissed. She jerked her chin at Charity, and Charity turned, keeping a lookout. The fire crackled. Smoke drifted into the bold blue sky. The little brown seeds were stuck in the crease of her palm. "It's Queen Anne's lace," she said. "It will keep you from having a baby. It's what he wants."

I closed my eyes, my vision swimming. "I don't want to—"

"That's fine," she said, a little huffy. "I don't have very many. David knows what it's used for, and he's cleared the compound and everything within a mile radius." She started to close her fist.

"Wait." The single syllable tumbled from my tongue. I grabbed the seeds from her and shoved them in my mouth.

"Chew them," she said. "I'll give you more tomorrow. It will make you cramp a bit. Maybe make you bleed, but it's better than—"

"Thank you." My mouth tasted bitter. I swallowed back a gag.

That was the moment. The turning point, I suppose. Those seeds. Who knew? They would be our downfall.