Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake #4)(76)

Vee rolls down her window and says, “Hey, Olly. You’re out.”

“Yeah,” he says, and looks past her at me. “Thanks for that, girl.” He gives me a grin he probably thinks is pretty charming. I nearly give him the finger.

“Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”

“See you later!” Vee shouts to him as Mom hits the gas and speeds us away. Vee flops back into her seat after waving, and looks at my mom. “Where are we going now?”

“Knoxville,” she says.

I tense up. “But—what about Connor? And Sam? Aren’t we going to get them?”

“Of course we are. But I need leverage, and that means I need Carol. She’s the only one who knows where this compound is really located, and what we’ll be up against when we find it.”

“But how are you going to—”

“Lanny.” She reaches over and takes my hand. Her fingers feel strong, but cold. “Just trust me. I will.”

I hang on to her.

And I try to believe her.





20

CONNOR

When they take Sam away they hit him, and I know Caleb’s doing it to scare me. It would have worked except for how Sam looks at me, like he’s telling me to be strong. I’m not strong. I feel cracked all along the edges. As I watch him being taken off to a low concrete building that looks like a prison, a guy dressed in white starts walking over to me.

It’s weird. I can feel him as he comes closer, like heat. Sun. Something like that. He makes me feel . . . safe. And I know I shouldn’t, obviously I shouldn’t. I remember this feeling because it’s how my dad’s—Melvin Royal’s—voice made me feel when I was little, and when he talked to me on the phone.

All the while Dad was lying to me, planning to kidnap me and use me to hurt Mom, he made me feel just like this.

Safe.

Some people have that talent, I guess. And I already know how dangerous it is to believe it, even for a second.

“Connor,” the man says, like he’s known me all my life. “I’m Father Tom. I know you’re worried and scared, but there’s no reason to be. We’re so happy to have you here. I’m going to introduce you to our church members and get you settled. You’re not a prisoner here. You’re a guest, and, I hope, a friend.”

It sounds stupid, but it’s almost like the whole abduction never happened. Like he’s invited me here. He pats me on the shoulder. He acts like I’m here on a school retreat or something instead of dragged away with a knife to my throat while my mom was fighting to get to me. Like Sam wasn’t just put in some kind of prison.

I need to remember what’s true. Being around him, reality bends. I wish I could do that. Because if I could, I’d make myself bigger, stronger, nobody to screw with. Sam would be free. We’d be home.

Father Tom is still talking, and he’s steering me at a slow walk toward a big main building. It sort of looks like a church, but there’s no steeple or cross or bell, and the windows are just plain clear glass. I’m not sure I ought to go with him.

Maybe I should run? Fight? But there’s nowhere to go. The gate is closed, and there are big guys with guns standing next to it. The wall is pretty high, and there’s wire along the top. Mom taught me to look for these things, to think before I do anything. Run if you can. Wait if you have to. Do what you have to do to survive. She’d meant it for people coming to get us because of what Dad did. But it works for this too.

Right now, making Father Tom think I’m listening to him is the best thing I can do. It’s easy. He thinks he’s smarter than everybody else anyway. If I just agree with him, he’ll start trusting me.

It’s weird how calm I am. I remember how helpless and trapped I felt in class, with the gunshots blaring over the loudspeaker and everybody screaming and knowing all I could do was hide. Here, I am trapped, I am helpless . . . but I can also think for myself. Somehow that’s different.

I haven’t said much to Father Tom, but he doesn’t seem to care; maybe he sees it as normal. He leads me up the steps into the building—church, I guess—and inside there are people standing on either side of a path that’s marked by a narrow carpet running down the middle. They’re in neat rows, and I realize after a couple of seconds that all the men are on the left side, all the women on the right. The women are standing with their hands clasped and their heads bowed. There are a few kids, too, but they seem just as quiet and serious as the adults. Even the littlest, who can’t be more than three years old. They all turn to look at us, and as we pass, the men say, all together, “Hello, Brother.”

I think they’re talking to Father Tom, but no: they’re looking at me. Smiling. Nodding. The women and kids don’t say anything, they just keep looking down, and all of a sudden I remember how the ladies looked down in that basement in Wolfhunter. They stood just that way, very straight, very still, heads down, hands clasped. Like little dolls waiting for orders.

It makes me sick.

Father Tom takes me all the way down the length of the church—and I guess it has to be one—and at the end there’s a wooden platform about a foot high and a big leather armchair sitting in the middle. It looks strange. I was expecting to see a podium, maybe. Or an altar, like in a real church. But it looks more like a . . . stage.