Chapter VIII

I GUESS YOU'RE PROBABLY WONDERINGabout the next girl. Because there is always another girl, right? A girl waiting to be taken. To be swept away. I'll tell you about her. How she came after. In the winter. When everything was dead and cold. How she was blazing. Bright. Hope renewed. A reason to live. My path to salvation.

After David killed Hope, I was locked in my room all day. Right about sunset, keys jangled, and the door opened. Serendipity stood at the entrance. Her right cheek swollen and nearly black with bruises. She wore a holey sweater, yarn unspooling at the left cuff.

"I brought you some food." She stepped in, a piece of bread in her hands. The smell of yeast mixed with the scent of gasoline—a few hours before, David had burned the little patch of land where our Queen Anne's lace had grown. Tucked under Serendipity's arm was a stack of clothes. A University of Washington sweatshirt, jeans, socks, and a pair of running shoes half a size too big. Hope's things. "And these," she said, setting it all on the bed. "I thought you might like to have them."

I crawled across the bed and looked up at Serendipity. "Help me."

"The bread is fresh from a bakery nearby," she said, back rigid. "Michael brought it today."

I sat on my knees, beseeching. "Look at what he did to you."

She ghosted a hand across her cheek, letting it land in a nervous jumble at the back of her head where the hair was thinning and falling out. She smiled warily. "David hasn't been himself lately. You can't imagine the stress he's under."

"He's going to kill you someday. He's going to kill all of us." My stomach lurched. Tears bubbled. "Just close your eyes for a few moments, and I'll walk right out of here. You could come with me."

A flicker. "Oh, I couldn't leave." She lowered her voice. "You have no idea how much David has sacrificed for me, how much he needs me." She stopped, a thought crinkling her brow. "Sometimes I rehearse what I'm going to say to him," she quietly confessed. "You might try that." She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Look at your nails." I'd raked them against the walls and broken them. "David won't like that."

Looking back, I understand now. It came down to cages. Mine was a forest, dogs, angry men. Serendipity's was dependence. But back then, I didn't get it. "Fuck you." Anger jumped in my throat. "You're just like him."

Serendipity's mouth slackened. "I'm not."

The air in the room changed, expanding with a third person. "Am I interrupting something?" David asked.

Serendipity shifted. "I was just bringing some food and clothes…"

David beckoned Serendipity forward. He whispered something in her ear. She collapsed in little sobs, and he held her, kissing her temple, smoothing her fine greasy hair. He cupped her cheeks, and she winced at the light touch. "I hate that I did this to you." He let her go. "Give me a moment?"

Serendipity nodded and scurried off. I watched David from the corner. He stared at the ceiling and sighed long. At last, he crouched in front of me and grasped my chin. A whine escaped from the back of my throat. Had he heard me ask Serendipity to help me escape? "This is a hard day for everyone." His eyes were cold and dark, like deep space. I could still hear Hope's keening. Please, David. "Hope was… well…" He dropped his hand and faux-grinned. A chastised schoolboy. "I have an illness when it comes to girls like her. All of you girls, actually, with your smiles like weapons, making promises and breaking them…" He trailed off. "It doesn't matter. I have much to atone for. I take full responsibility. I must be more careful. You all have me wrapped around your little fingers, don't you? What can I say? I'm just a boy, after all." He stopped. Sobered. "I have learned my lesson. And I hope you have learned yours, too. My love has limits. Do not forget." He shifted and squeezed my thighs. My skin tickled as if beetles were swarming it. "You can never rely too much on others. Hope was a crutch. I have set us both free. You'll thank me one day."

After he left, I held Hope's sweatshirt against my cheek. I could still smell her, see her. I slipped on the clothes—the jeans, the shoes, the sweatshirt. Outside, my body wouldn't stop trembling, but inside, I was still. That was what David did. He broke you down until you were nothing. Empty and waiting for him to fill you up. I forced pieces of bread into my mouth. The jeans had mud stains on the knees. Other than that, the clothes were in good condition. Clean and warm.

The bloodstains would come later.

I woke in the wee hours of the morning to a cry. My body was stiff. Weak. I listened. Nothing. I couldn't hear anything but the night—trees caught in the wind, chirping crickets, an occasional owl.

The cry came again. High-pitched. Unnatural. Human. My face turned automatically toward the thin wail in the distance. Again it came, a gentle keening. My fists clenched and unclenched and clenched again. My skin grew clammy. The voice was feminine. Young. One of the dogs barked. Far away, the girl cried. And I cried with her. Tears slipped down my cheeks. I let them fall into the grooves of the stained mattress.

David had abducted someone else.

Two weeks passed, and the cries faded. I tried not to think about why. I was almost asleep when the metal door opened. I backed to the corner and drew my legs to my chest.

Michael didn't say anything as he threw the new girl in. She huddled on the floor, a pile of bones with a mop of maple-colored hair, dressed in a purple shirt and pink corduroys.

"Hey," I whispered after the lock clicked. Her shirt had kittens on it. I nudged her shoulder. Her head turned. Hair hung in one of her eyes, big soft brown eyes. She closed them tight. Her nose was bruised and gushing blood. Underneath Hope's sweatshirt, I wore only a bra, but I slipped off the sweatshirt anyway and handed it to the girl, gently pressing it against her nose. Blood soaked the front of the sweatshirt. "What's your name?" She didn't answer me. She was so tiny, so much younger than I was.

I told her my new name.

Silence for a while. The bleeding waned, and I put the sweatshirt back on. She started quaking. Massive, uncontrollable tremors. "You've got to calm down," I told her. She did the opposite. The shaking grew worse, and then she started to hum. A soft buzz that reminded me of a beehive Hope had shown me once. She'd pointed out the female worker bees and explained that they were sterile. Their only purpose was to collect nectar and protect the hive. After a worker bee stung something, it died. Nature's suicide bomber.

"Listen, just breathe. You're going to make yourself sick. Please." I looked down at my hands, small and incapable. "You want to hear a story?" What stories did I like when I was that small? I couldn't think of any. But I was desperate to get her to calm down. And I guess I thought the more I talked, the more space I would fill up until there wouldn't be any more room for her sadness and fear.

I'd scratched constellations on my wall, thinking I could chart the stars and calculate the distance from the compound to home. Foolish thoughts. I told her about Ursa Major, the Great Bear, whose body in the heavens contains thousands of bright galaxies. "We're just a speck of dust among them," I said.

I explained how the Great Bear turned around the pole. How she was a watcher, a keeper, and the only animal the ancient Greeks believed could weather the solitude and the cold. The heaving of the girl's chest slowed. She grew still. I moved on to Ursa Minor, the Lesser Bear, the speaking constellation. Also known as Little Bear. This time I did touch her ear. She didn't flinch or move away. "She holds Polaris, the North Star, in her tail," I said. She looked up at me. There was a birthmark on her cheek, red and small, the kiss of a strawberry. I let my mouth curve up into a comforting smile. "Hey, there you are. How old are you?"

She held up seven fingers. Charity and Hope had never mentioned David abducting anyone so young before.

Big tears spilled from her eyes, carving tracks down her dirty cheeks. She dove into my arms. She smelled like urine and unwashed hair. I welcomed her and felt my world tunnel, my purpose change. She laid her head on my chest, right between my breasts, as if I were her mother. I asked her if she was tired. And she said yes. I helped her lie down on the bed.

I stripped off her socks and rubbed her feet, holding them against my belly to warm them. Then I carefully replaced her socks, giving her toes a gentle squeeze as I did. I tucked her head under my arm and called her "little bear."

Up until then, I'd still thought of escape. I didn't after that night. I made a list of things I would do to keep her safe. The list was short. It contained one word: anything. I didn't even know her name. But I knew she needed me. And need is such a powerful thing.

In hindsight, this was part of David's plan—to bind me to the compound with a string so tight it would cut off my circulation to the outside world. It worked.

The sun was beginning to rise when she finally spoke. Her voice was small and hoarse, a razor blade against my skin. "I was riding my bike," she said. "They called me Grace. But that's not my name. I'm Willa."

I squeezed her frail shoulders, then I fetched a file from the windowsill and began fixing up her hands. I told her how we were supposed to keep our nails, long but rounded. I told her Grace was a beautiful name. I told her to forget what she used to be called. We would never speak it again. We were a family now. We had so much to look forward to together.