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“You better hope she’s feeling merciful,” the driver warns while his friend laughs. “Though I doubt it. She doesn’t like being inconvenienced, and you have been a big inconvenience for all of us.”
What, am I supposed to apologize? I can barely bite back a remark. Why waste the energy? All they’d do is turn things around on me anyway and make a joke out of me.
It’s only when we come to a stop that true panic starts seeping into my blood. No matter how I try, I can’t help my panicky breathing—short, sharp breaths, barely enough to keep me conscious. There’s no hope of running for it, even if they untied my ankles. They’d catch me before I got more than a couple of hundred feet away. They might even make a game out of it.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of humiliating me. But what’s the alternative? Rolling over and playing dead? That’s basically what I’m doing when my captors open the door at the back of the van, so blinding floodlights illuminate the space and make me wince, squeezing my eyes shut against it.
“Don’t even think about trying any of your tricks.” Now that we’re face-to-face, I see the driver and the scar running from over his right eye down the side of his face. It’s not easy to look at, but I force myself to do it, staring at him in silence. What did he do to earn that?
“She still thinks she’s getting out of this,” his friend predicts. They’re both laughing as they drag me from the van, letting me drop onto the ground with no way of bracing myself or catching my fall. I land hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs, and there’s one wild, terrified moment where I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe again, where I can’t suck in any air. I can only gasp while my captors laugh louder than ever. All I can make out is their shadows looming over me, black against a sky so bright it’s almost white. I hope I get to see them die. I hope I get to hear their screams before they do.
“What are you waiting for? Bring her to me, now.”
Nobody needs to tell me who that sharp voice belongs to. The air I finally manage to pull into my lungs feels icy cold now, but I do my best to be strong as I’m pulled to my feet, then dragged, thanks to the fact that my ankles are still bound. I deliberately let my body sag between the two men, making it more of a chore to move me, but that childish trick doesn’t get me very far. Before I know it, I’m deposited at the feet of none other than Rebecca herself.
“Look at you.” The toes of her leather shoes—beaten and worn—are only inches from my face before I’m pulled up to my knees by the men standing around us. It’s a good thing theymoved me when they did, since I wouldn’t put it past her to kick me in the face.
“That’s right,” one of the men mutters. “You should be on your knees in front of her. In front of all of us.”
“That will be enough, Joshua.” I can’t tell if Rebecca sounds tired or bored. “There will be no need for added commentary. This is between me and our guest. I’m sure there are chores you’re behind on after your journey.”
It feels wrong, the rush of satisfaction that comes from hearing him put in his place. The way he stammers behind me is even better. “Don’t you need?—”
“I will let you know what I need, and at the moment, I need you to return to your assigned duties. Both of you,” she adds, jerking her chin. “Go ahead.”
As she speaks, she lowers herself into a crouch, only stopping when we’re face-to-face. She’s still got that wholeLittle House on the Prairievibe going on with her clothes and the long braid that dangles over her shoulder.
I’m looking into the face of evil, but I can’t look away. I won’t let myself do it. The people who lived here, were abused here, and died here didn’t get the luxury of looking away. If this is the last thing I ever do, I’ll be damned if I end up crying or whimpering or begging for mercy that will never come.
All I can do is stare at her, watching as her thin lips twitch in what might look like a smile if she had a soul. It comes off as more of a grotesque parody, something rotten, chilling. “So. We meet again.” She actually manages to sound almost pleasant. “I did so hope we would see each other one last time.”
“Do you have any idea who my father is and what he is going to do to you if you put a finger on me?”
“I’m well aware of who your father is and how he tried to bring our little community down before. It is you who doesn’t understand the kind of power I hold, my dear.”
When I don’t respond except to glare at her, she stands and clears her throat. “A few lashes from the whip will loosen you up,” she decides. I barely have time to process this before two pairs of hands grab me under my arms and haul me to my feet. I don’t even know where they came from. They must have been standing guard by the door. Between the two men, I’m practically carried to one of the longhouses. It doesn’t matter that I go dead weight on them. They’re too strong and probably too eager to watch me be punished.
They can’t be talking about actual whipping. I refuse to believe it.
Turns out, it doesn’t matter what I refuse to believe. There’s no stopping them from taking me inside, where the windows are covered in cardboard and there’s hardly a trace of fresh air. It’s stale in here, but what’s worse is the underlying stench of blood and piss.
It’s when they untie my wrists and force me face-first over a bench that I finally get it. They’re not bluffing. Not when one of them wraps leather cuffs around my wrists to hold my arms in place against the bench’s underside. “No,” I grunt, fighting to get up and failing when a hand in the middle of my back shoves me down.
Then it lifts my hoody, exposing my back. Sheer terror blooms in my chest and comes out as a throaty scream. “No! Don’t do this!”
I’m talking to myself.
And once the whipping begins, once my skin splits and white-hot pain consumes my every thought, my voice finally breaks. Not that it matters.
There’s nobody around to hear me who actually cares.
6
REN
Idon’t understand what happened.
It’s been days since I woke up alone in bed at the cabin, with my head pounding. I still don’t know why, and the dull ache I can’t shake is like a constant reminder of that first horrible moment when I figured out the truth.
