by Koethi Zan
She wouldn’t forget any of it.
‘The first step is to realize that there is no connection between the self of your past and the one of your present. Continuity of self is an illusion.’
Julie was nothing if not an excellent pupil. She would commit to memory this so-called philosophy so she could spout it back on command. She would win this battle of wits. She’d mastered deconstructionism, New Historicism and post-structuralism. She could take whatever these simpletons threw at her.
‘You think there is continuity of self because you have memories, but you remember only the tiniest fraction of what’s happened to you.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s true.’ Julie would agree with anything if it got her downstairs.
‘So how can your past actions have any bearing on the present when you have forgotten most of them?’
‘I’ve never thought of it that way.’ She had to choke out her disingenuous words.
‘You can break from that past. You must break from it to join the Divine Family. Only then can you experience true joy.’
‘I see what you mean.’ Why was she telling her all this?
The woman lifted up her arms and squeezed something cold and wet on top of Julie’s hair, then began kneading her scalp with her fingers.
‘You have nothing but pain now, the pain of missing your family, or feeling you have done wrong. To be free you must let that go, let all of it go. You lose some pleasure, yes, but you lose all pain. And then you will be born anew.’
A lock of wet hair fell over Julie’s shoulder and she dared to lift it up.
Sweet Jesus.
She was dyeing it brown.
Julie swallowed. She had to get through this. There was no other way out of this room.
‘Yes. I’m ready to do that.’
The liquid felt oppressive as it dripped down the back of her head, as if it were sinking through her skull into her brain, coating her, encapsulating her.
‘Good. Then our work can begin. I’ll have this done in a minute and then you’ll need to sit still for a while.’
The smell of chemicals permeated the room. Black blotches appeared in front of her eyes.
‘This won’t be good for the baby. I think we should do it downstairs, so I can get fresh air.’
The woman’s hands stopped moving, but only for an instant. ‘Nonsense. It will be fine. Nothing can harm this child. It is written.’
Julie shivered as the woman continued running her fingers over her head, working the dye through to the ends of each strand. When she finished, she gingerly wrapped Julie’s head in a piece of plastic that crinkled against her ears.
‘That concludes your first lesson. You have done well. Now don’t let your hair touch anything. You don’t want to go messing up your sheets.’
Julie moved slightly to face her, deciding to dare it.
‘Is he coming back after all? Is that why you’re doing this?’
The woman wiped her hands and took Julie’s chin between her fingers, turning her head side to side to check her work.
‘Hush. You don’t need to know anything more. The Revelation has been restored to its proper order. You must wait for your next instructions.’ She gathered up the brush, the bottle, and the box and shoved them into the bag.
‘I’ll be back in two hours and we’ll rinse this out. It’s going to be beautiful, Laura. You’ll look wonderful.’
She smiled, her eyes misty.
‘Like your old self again.’
CHAPTER 49
Cora took the Book down from the top of the refrigerator and placed it on the kitchen table in the center of seven white votive candles. The gold-and-red cushions were laid out beside them, a small pewter statue of the star and moon set in between. She’d unfolded the picture of the girl and spread it out on the table, the rolled edge weighted down by the heart medallion.
The cold winter darkness had descended outside, and it seeped in through the edges of the windows. She pulled her cardigan tighter and moved closer to the fire.
James had been dead for two weeks. The time had come.
She opened the Book, careful not to tear the delicate, yellowed paper. Her fingers trembled as she flipped through page after page covered in his scrawl, his orthodoxy, his rules: ‘Pain has no meaning in the punishment of the impure.’ ‘The power of the New Dawn and the black dark night shall unfold and envelop us, only us.’
Bitterness lodged in her throat as she heard his voice echoing in her head. Once, clinging to those phrases had helped stave off her loss and loneliness, but the Words only hurt her now.
She closed the Book and ran her hand over the smooth raised leather surface of its cover, then clutched it to her chest. James would have said she’d failed, that she’d lost her way on the Path completely because her mind was unclean. Yes, it was true that she’d clung to those old memories, to those lost stories and people, and to that young self. In the end, the past had been stronger than James’s vision. It had oozed out of her pores, floated from her ears and nose, surrounded her like a mist. She couldn’t contain it.
And then the girl had taught her that there was another way, if you were so chosen. She understood now that she could retrieve and recover a part of herself, like a precious artifact dug out of the earth, a jewel to be polished to glimmering perfection. Laura Martin could be revived and restored. She must rejoice.
This time her story would be completed another way under Cora’s careful guidance. Cora would build a new Path, would teach her to follow and endure. If only she could learn to cooperate in earnest this time, they could have a home, be a family, the two of them and the child who was always meant to be hers. The Revelation would be fulfilled.
She lifted her head and wiped a stray tear as she carefully closed the Book.
There was a sacrifice that must be made first, however.
She lifted up the creased picture of the girl and kissed it softly, thinking back to the whirlwind of images she’d seen of this girl’s life. The parties, the caring family, the adoring lover.
‘Good-bye, Julie Brookman.’
She tossed it into the fire and the heart medallion after it. She was sorry for this, but it must be done.
Meanwhile, James’s teachings would not be wasted. Day in and day out, he’d drummed his messages into her brain. He’d taught her over the course of years, in an unending cycle of punishment and reward, criticism and praise, logic and nonsense, violence and tenderness. He’d destroyed her way of thinking and restructured it to his specifications. It was incredible the lengths to which the mind would go to rewire itself for survival.
Well, she’d use his techniques once more. A last hurrah, a final honor.
He’d taught her to forget, and now she would forget him.
She lifted the Book above her head.
‘And so it is written,’ she whispered as she threw it into the flames. The fire crackled, a log shifted, releasing a curtain of sparks up into the air.
She sat there, calm now, with her fingers interlaced as if in prayer. Her heart tugged against this act too as she watched the Words burn, fragments of torn paper erupting above the flames before crumbling to black, but it was right and good.
She’d learned all she needed from them.
CHAPTER 50
Late yesterday evening the woman had come to her room with the white silk dress that was now draped over the iron footboard. Julie picked it up gently, letting the soft folds of silk run over her hands. Tonight she was going downstairs for dinner. This was her first test and she intended to pass it.
She slipped off her filthy sweats. The woman had left her with a sponge, a bucket of warm water, a bar of triple-milled lavender-scented soap, and a tube of shea butter body lotion. Julie held the soap to her nose and breathed deeply. She’d forgotten what pleasure felt like.
Leaning over the bucket, she washed herself slowly, enjoying the feel of the warm water against her skin. She squeezed out the sponge and watched the soapy suds drip
back in. This was heaven.
Perhaps things would be better for her from now on. Perhaps she could tolerate the situation as long as he stayed away.
She picked up the Pooh blanket from the bed and rubbed soap onto a spot in the corner in case she took the bar away after tonight. Pooh could use a good cleaning.
She lifted the dress over her head and let it fall down over her shoulders in a shimmer of softness.
She felt like a real person again.
Downstairs, things were buzzing. Pots and pans clanged together and water rushed from the spigot in fast bursts, setting off a cacophony of sounds in the pipes in the walls around her.
Eventually, she heard the footsteps on the stairs, the window slid open, and she got into position. The woman wore a nice dress too, made of pale blue Swiss dot, but there the celebration ended.
‘I’m sorry it has to be this way, Laura.’ She held a glistening pump-action shotgun pointed at Julie’s face. ‘Trust must be built slowly.’
Julie swallowed hard and nodded. Of course, the changes would progress over time. Even still, she felt grateful for this opportunity. She would leave the room after all, and there was a promise of more freedoms down the road if she only behaved. And she would. She would behave. She’d wasted her opportunities before, and this time she would be careful. She could still wait a few weeks before her belly would grow too large to run. She needn’t try anything tonight.
The two of them walked in a tight bundle side by side toward the stairs, the barrel of the shotgun nestled under Julie’s ribs. Before they reached the first step, though, the woman swung them around to look at the mirror on the wall behind them.
‘What do you think, Laura?’
Julie stood, stunned. She didn’t recognize herself. Her hair was brown, her cheeks were sunken, and her skin had lost its natural flush. Her body was emaciated except for the bulging belly with the fabric stretched tight across it. There was fear in the eyes of the girl in the mirror, her expression pinched and worn. She reached out to touch the image.
She was transformed. Had they managed to turn her into this other person, this Laura, after all? Julie closed her eyes, wanting to disappear.
The woman pulled her back and they started down the stairs.
Julie’s resolve faltered. If she’d changed so much, would her family recognize her, would Mark still want her? She wasn’t just different on the outside either. She’d never be the same. Maybe this was the only place she was fit for anymore. This house of horrors, this torture chamber.
Julie slumped down the stairs, feeling defeated, but as they passed the photographs on the landing, she stopped in front of one. The tip of the gun dug deeper in between her bones, yet she couldn’t move on. Why was this old photo so familiar?
Then she knew. It was the image that had come to her when she struggled with the knot. This was her guiding star, her guardian angel. Even now, this long-dead woman’s eyes seemed to be shining out just for Julie, urging her on. Telling her not to lose hope.
It was the reminder she needed.
Hold onto yourself. Don’t let them twist your mind.
She was Julie Louise Brookman from Mamaroneck, New York, majoring in English, with a minor in History. The girl who won the regional spelling bee in eighth grade. The girl who knew the words to every song by Amy Winehouse and who’d danced the Sugar Plum Fairy last year at the Westchester Ballet. She had eleven hundred followers on Instagram and fourteen hundred friends on Facebook.
These people couldn’t take any of that away from her.
She had to escape, whatever the price. She couldn’t lose her focus because of a few comforts and soothing words. She had to get the fuck out of here.
As they crossed the kitchen, Julie surreptitiously scanned the room for a weapon. The room was spotless, the counters and sink bare. She’d hidden the cutlery, the ice picks, the mallets.
Giving up on that front, Julie quickly assessed the security. There was a keyed deadbolt on the inside of the kitchen door, but none visible on the windows. A small anteroom divided the kitchen from the dining room, with a French door leading off to the backyard. As they passed she studied it for vulnerabilities. It too had a keyed lock, but the sash bars appeared delicate enough to break with a baseball bat. Or, better yet, with the butt of a shotgun if she could only get her hands on it.
Through the glass, she could see the snow piling up outside and further on, a gazebo. To the left she could see the corner edge of a large red barn with a silvery tin roof, and behind all of it, a huge open field enclosed by a split-rail fence with woods in the far distance.
Okay, so the property was enormous and the neighbors far away. That only meant she had to make exactly the right choice when the time came. She had to run in the right direction. It was too cold out there for mistakes.
As they reached the dining room, the tantalizing smell of roasted meat nearly overcame Julie’s senses. Real food. For a second the thought of it drowned out any strategy. She should eat, after all, to build up her strength and courage.
The woman poked the gun in the direction of a chair on the side of the table farthest from the door. The place was set with fine patterned china and frilly lace napkins, but no silverware.
Julie’s plate was already filled with meat and vegetables, cut up into finger-food-sized bites. Steam rose from the perfect rectangles of steak, red potatoes, and baby carrots. Julie couldn’t help but salivate.
‘Thank you. This looks so – so amazing.’ Her eyes had filled with tears. The smell nearly made her faint with desire.
The woman gave her the usual signal and sat next to her with her elbows on the table, the shotgun poised to fire.
‘Aren’t you having any?’ Julie asked.
‘I already ate.’
‘You don’t have to point the gun right at me. I promise I won’t run.’ She attempted a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. She tried another approach.
‘Do you like my hair? Don’t you think it turned out well?’
‘Yes, Laura. It’s almost exactly right.’
Julie took a bite of carrot. It stuck in her throat.
‘Everything will be fine,’ the woman murmured.
Julie took a sip of water and coughed.
‘Yes, it will. It’s going to be so much better from now on.’
The gun was only inches away. Julie could hardly keep her eyes off it. Should she dare it? The woman was talking to her, but she couldn’t focus.
‘I disobeyed James and everything got out of control. It was what I’d been afraid of for so long, but then it worked out for the best after all. Now we won’t need Followers to make a family. You’ve helped me, Laura. And you can help yourself by doing exactly as I tell you.’
The woman gripped the gun tighter as if she could read Julie’s mind. Julie had better answer.
‘You’re right. Everything has changed. We’ll be a family now.’ She used her gentlest tone.
It’s too dangerous. Let it be. Wait until next time.
Then the woman took one hand off the gun to wipe the sweat from her palm onto her apron.
Something told her not to wait. It had to happen now.
With a jerk of her body, Julie thrust her arm forward and grabbed the stock of the gun, pulling it out of the woman’s hands.
‘Laura, what are you doing?’
The woman managed to grasp the barrel and yanked it hard. They struggled over it and the shotgun waved back and forth in the air until both chairs crashed to the floor.
‘I’m not Laura, you crazy bitch.’
The two of them wrestled for control, their limbs entwined, faces grimacing with exertion.
Julie pinned her down for a moment, but she could tell the woman was strong as an ox. She wouldn’t last long in this hold. Then with a great surge of energy, the woman flipped them both over and wrested the gun out of Julie’s hands. Julie scrambled to her feet as the woman sat up and brought it back to her shoulder, aiming at her.
; Julie grabbed the dining chair next to her and pulled it into the anteroom. She threw it through the door, sending glass and splintered wood flying. She could hear the woman coming up behind her as she squeezed through the opening, careful to evade the sharp shards left behind.
‘Come back here, Laura,’ the woman screeched.
Julie jumped over the steps as far as she could and sprinted off, landing on bits of glass, her bloody feet leaving smeared tracks in the snow. The cold would numb the pain.
She darted for the cover of the barn without turning to see how far the witch trailed behind her.
Before she reached it, a loud sound boomed in her ears.
Jesus, she was shooting at her.
So much for family. Julie ducked down and put on speed. She had to reach shelter and a modicum of warmth fast.
Once at the barn, she slid the massive door open along its metal track, just wide enough to slip through. It was pitch black at first, but as her eyes began to adjust she took in the layout of the huge space with its stalls to the right and along the back wall, tools and storage to the left.
She raced toward a set of oak rain barrels in the corner, her feet taking solace in the warm prickly hay and thin layer of leftover manure that covered the floor. Her teeth chattered so loudly that surely she could be detected by their sound alone. She clamped down her jaw with both hands, trying to hold it still.
Then she realized that to the left of the door hung the greatest discovery of her life: a short row of heavy work coats covered in dirt and below them on the ground, miracle-like, two disintegrating pairs of work boots with broken laces. She threw on the jacket closest to her, though it swallowed her up, and stepped into a pair of tan lace-up work boots.
At just that moment, the barn door creaked open and Julie dashed into an empty horse stall, huddling low behind the feeder. She peered out between the boards to see the woman’s outline as she slowly circled the open space, perhaps waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark.
