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“Got it,” Selah said. “According to the King James Version, the New Testament verse is James 1:11 and Peter 1:24. Three more in the Old Testament. Two from the book of Isaiah, though it appears they go together in context, and one from the book of Job. You want me to read them?”
“Yes,” Ty said as he concentrated on the photos. They were close to a profile, and once they had it, they could compare it with the one on the Fire & Ice Killer. Rule him in or out.
Selah read them. “Isaiah forty, verses six through eight, says, ‘The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.’”
Hmm... “Read the one in Job.”
“Job fourteen, verse two, reads, ‘He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.’”
“Interesting. Job is a book about intense suffering. Maybe he’s plucking them to test their ability to stand up to suffering—submit despite the pain.” This wasn’t his area of expertise, but Violet’s.
He’d rather not know or be able to sink into a devious mind. Except for now.
Now he needed to know. Because it was personal.
“We need to give a press conference,” Asa said.
“Ty needs to give it,” Violet said. “The Fire & Ice Killer will hate it. I’ll coach you on what to say. You give it and he’ll make a mistake. He won’t expect it to be you. Asa hasn’t let you give a press conference since the viral video. Now it’s time to take away some of his limelight by making you the face of this investigation.”
Ty wasn’t sure about the idea. What if it made the killer angry enough to kill another woman—to kill Ahnah or take his son?
Kipos Island
Saturday, September 1
5:30 p.m.
I’ve been fed pills twice since he brought me back the other night from my escape attempt. He says they’re Xanax, and I’ve seen them before, so he’s not lying. I welcomed them after the first night when he broke my pinky finger for running. It throbs with a sharp ache, and it’s black and blue and swollen.
He told me if I obey, he wouldn’t have to do these things. I’ve heard the same garbage before. I know it’s gaslighting. All abusers use it to make their victims believe they’re crazy and that it’s their fault they were abused.
I will not be one of his garden girls.
He outweighs me by over a hundred pounds, and when I flee again—and I intend to—I’ll need brains over brawn.
I sit on the cold concrete floor in the room he calls mine. I will never take ownership of this prison no matter how well he feeds me or whether he gives me a luxury bed. A bed he has yet to enter himself. I’m relieved, but my heart stays in a constant stutter that in the middle of the night when the door creaks open, he won’t enter to tattoo my body, but he’ll violate me in other ways. No, he’s not been in my bed.
But I have been in his.
I remember it all now that the initial drugs—not Xanax—have worn off. I came of my own volition.
I trusted him.
I had no reason not to.
I can’t think about the events that led me here to this mansion on an island I can’t escape without a boat. We’d taken one from the marina. Then, from a private dock, we switched to a canoe to manage the narrow channels of water that lead to the house. I know it’s out there, bobbing in the water, and I will find a way to get to it. He never leaves me alone with the other women—his garden girls. When he can’t be with all of us, I’m confined here. I’m okay with that. I do not want to be in that cage. I don’t know what happens in there, but I know it’s something sinister and sick. Maybe my nice comfy bed is a teaser. The violation doesn’t happen in here where I expect it to, but in that room, in a cage...in front of those other women.
My belly hiccups at the thought. I have a small bathroom with a toilet and a sink. No shower. I’ve thought a thousand times about drowning myself. Cupping water and inhaling it. It’s my last resort. I’m going to find a way out of this place unless help comes first, and I know people are looking and contacting resources who can find me. Aren’t they? The days and nights have blurred and I’m not exactly sure how long I’ve been here.
But he’s hoping for my rescue, and I’m not sure why. It sends little caterpillars inching along under my skin. Was I some kind of decoy? I don’t know. There are other women. Women who have been here longer than me.
They didn’t speak or even look up when we were together, which has only been that one night. He forced me in the cage and sat in a chaise only to stare at us in silence. At least I now know these women sleep in those rooms behind the other six black doors, but there are not seven women in the cages. Two are empty, so two rooms might also be empty. I’m not sure if he’s killed them or if he’s hunting new prey.
He’s not the man I knew before. But knowing him doesn’t bring me any comfort. Having slept with him brings me no comfort either. He’s an evil monster hiding behind an attractive face, money and culture. The man I knew is gone. He’s flipped a switch or snapped. Either way. This man... This man I fear.
I hear the secret door creak open as I’m sitting on the bare floor. His footfalls come toward my door, and my hands tremble. I jump up, the chain clinking on the concrete, and pounce on my bed, drawing up the covers to hide my body.
We have no clothing. Not even a robe.
