Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake)(79)

I’m regretting my choices when she picks up the bowl and takes it away, but I eat the rest of the bread. Bread that probably isn’t drugged, if she ate it first, or at least that’s what I tell myself because I can’t stop eating it. Sister Lyrica brings me a plastic bottle of water that’s still sealed, and I drink that.

“The bread’s really good,” I say, and finish the last bite. “Uh, is Sister Harmony your boss?”

“She is the elder wife,” Lyrica says, and blinks. “She is responsible for all the sisters.” She clearly thinks it’s weird I don’t know this. I wonder if she’s ever been outside these walls, seen even a little bit of the real world.

“Elder wife?” I ask. “How many wives does he have?”

She seems confused by that question too. As if it’s obvious. “We are all the brides of Father Tom,” she says. “As God intended.”

Harmony has noticed us talking. She comes striding over, long skirt flowing behind her, and snaps, “Sister Lyrica, back to your work, please. The young brother has no need of your conversation.”

Lyrica hurries off, taking my empty bread plate and bottle of water. I got to drink only a little bit of it. Harmony stares at me for a long moment, then starts to leave. It’s weird. She doesn’t look like my mom, but there’s something about her. Maybe it’s the angry look. I don’t feel like she’s angry at me. Just . . . angry.

I ask, “Do you think all this is right?”

She turns to face me. I’ve kept my voice low, the way she did hers when she warned me.

“Do I think what is right?”

“How he treats you.” I look around the room. “All of you.”

“The Lord says, Ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands,” she says. “I obey the commands of the Lord.”

Yeah, but she doesn’t like it. I can see that. I wonder if Father Tom sees it, too . . . but if he does, why would he put her in charge?

Then I remember what Lyrica said. She is responsible for all the sisters.

Just like Sam’s responsible for anything I do wrong here. Putting her in charge means she has to cooperate, or other women get hurt.

The bread was delicious, but now it feels heavy in my stomach. Like I’ve eaten in the underworld, and now can never leave.

She leans over to sweep crumbs from the table into her palm, and while she does, she whispers, “Don’t go to the falls, whatever you do.” Then she straightens up. “Now come with me. I’ll show you where you are to sleep.”

“I want to see Sam,” I tell her.

“That area is off limits.”

She’s not going to argue about it. She just moves off to dust the crumbs into the trash, and looks at me, waiting for me to move. I have to decide whether to follow her. I remember what Lyrica said again. If Harmony is responsible for the women, she’s probably responsible for me, their guest, while I’m in her company. Which means if I take off on my own, she’ll be punished along with Sam.

I can’t take that chance.

I follow.





21

GWEN

There’s a pressure inside me like a scream. It squeezes my heart and lungs, and no matter how deeply I breathe the pressure doesn’t ease. Driving away from this strange, temporary alliance feels like being stripped bare. We need real help. Real options.

J. B. may be able to give us that.

We drive away from the Belldene compound, bouncing over the rutted, narrow track that leads back down to a logging road; Belldene boys are stationed at the gates to open them and lock them up after us. We eventually come to a two-lane country road, which is practically civilization compared to where they live. It’s so remote that they have plenty of warning for anyone coming up there; if law enforcement shows up, they have plenty of time to hide evidence.

I hate that I owe these people.

Lanny’s been quiet, too, but she suddenly says, “Mom, what if Sam and Connor get away? What if they come home and we’re not there?” My whole body aches from a sudden rush of emotion, because the idea of them coming home is so powerful. So impossible right now.

“If they do, they’ll let us know,” I tell her. “Either one of them would call us, or call the police, and we’d hear immediately.” I pull my phone out. “It’s always on, honey.” I realize that’s a risk. The kidnappers could have Sam’s phone, unless they trashed it as Mike Lustig thinks they probably did; if they didn’t, they now have a powerful tool to trace me. He’s got an app on it that allows tracking of my phone. I have to breathe through another surge of anxiety. Normally I’d ditch our phones and get new ones.

I have to remind myself that if they have the phone, if they turn it on, I can track him.

I check. It’s off.

I have a flash of Remy Landry’s mother baking cookies for a son who doesn’t come home to eat them, and my mouth goes dry, my skin cold enough to show gooseflesh. No. That’s not going to happen. Not to us.

“We should go home,” Lanny says, but she doesn’t mean it, not really. Our home’s been made toxic by the men who broke into it. By the shotgun blasts in the drywall. By memories. She’s imagining walking into a place without that lingering damage, and the reality would be very different. Neither of us could feel safe there now.