by Sansa Rayne
I grabbed my keys and flew out of my apartment. I jogged down the block to a newsstand and scanned the papers. I had to slow down and examine the selection twice before I spotted the tabloid The Lookout. There I was, confused and angry, decked out in evening finery in the middle of the day. I barely recognized myself. I hadn’t seen a photo of me wearing anything but a plain dress. The headline read, Cult Kook Walk of Shame!
Without thinking, I grabbed all the copies on the stand and hurled them into the air. I watched them settle into the street as the pudgy newsstand clerk yelled at me in a language I didn’t speak.
I forgot about the tabloids months ago, thankfully because they forgot about me. For the first week after the raid on Good Souls, the photographers had been present at every stop. If not for the police escorts, they would have swarmed us and the other girls. However, they stopped trying to get snapshots of me when I kept on wearing the same dress; all the pictures looked exactly alike.
I ran back into my apartment and slammed the door. I fell into bed and squeezed my eyelids shut, as if I could keep the tears from slipping out. Too exhausted to bawl openly, I rested my head on my pillow and listened to my breathing.
The headline didn’t upset me. I’d been called worse by the tabloids. I didn’t even mind them printing my picture and running the story. I liked the idea of having the world know that I was shedding my mistaken convictions and seeking a normal life. I just didn’t want them to get the wrong idea, like Elspeth. Do they think Mason was some guy who bought me a drink, and I immediately spread my legs for him? I may have renounced the doctrine imprinted on me at Good Souls, but I didn’t blindly jump into the arms of the first man willing to take me, and I didn’t lie about who I was to him.
But it was the first man.
I sat up and cleared away my tears. Was it strange that Mason had been the first person I met while seeking companionship? I hadn’t thought so: we met outside the kind of club we were both interested in visiting. That was the point of going there!
After cooling off, I stepped outside and paid the man in the newsstand. He nodded politely, then held up a copy of the tabloid. “You?”
I nodded.
“Don’t throw my papers again,” he said, handing me the last copy.
“Sorry,” I replied.
I took the paper back inside and flipped through it. Inside several photos showed Mason and I out on his street. The paper speculated about who he was, and tried to identify the maker of my dress. In truth, seeing the photos made me happier than anything else. I looked so… normal.
“Back again?”
I smiled to the clerk and shrugged. Keep smiling. They don’t expect somebody like me to smile. “It’s right along my route.”
There weren’t enough gas stations in this fucking town. The clerks were starting to recognize me. That’s not what I want them thinking about, because then they might figure, No, I could swear I saw him somewhere else too. Was he on the news or something?
I made up my mind to leave in two days as I gathered up my newspapers. Then I saw it. A sign I couldn’t ignore, written in big, bold letters. It was a message, calling to me. It wanted me to answer. I studied every single detail; I memorized all of it.
“You a trucker or something? I don’t see a rig.” The cashier pushed his glasses back to the top of his nose and gazed out into the parking lot.
“No,” I muttered. I barely heard the man; his voice came from somewhere worlds away. I knew I should be acting natural, but how could I? Whether it made sense or not, I’d been given a second chance at the life I’d lost. I couldn’t let it go.
“So what do you do then, if this is on your route? You a courier or something?”
Too many questions. Snap out of it!
“It’s a custody thing,” I said blankly. “Lot of back and forth.”
The sign meant risking everything, but I had to. How could I ignore it? I nearly laughed. Now, after everything I’d done, I was being tested? Is that how it works? Every minute of your life leads to one moment, and at the end you’re given the one test you’re doomed to fail? How is that fair?
Not that I was one to complain about fairness.
“Oh, I gotcha. It’s tough on everybody,” said the man.
I paid for my papers and supplies, nodding as the cashier spoke about his estranged little shits, but as long as he was talking about himself he wasn’t wondering about me.
“Nick,” I said, checking out his name tag. “Thanks for everything, but I gotta go.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” he said. “Nice talking to you…”
He trailed off so I could fill in the blank. Like I was going to tell him. “Have a nice night,” I said, turning to go before he could react.
Let him think I’m an asshole. It didn’t matter. I was leaving tonight.
—
The girl didn’t react this time when I entered the motel room, not even a whine. She could have been asleep; I’d left the lights off. Plus, she knew the drill: make a peep while I’m out, and she’d pay for it. I wasn’t bluffing either: the first few times I’d “gone out” I stood right outside the room, waiting for the muffled whines to get loud enough to be audible through the door. I didn’t go back inside right away though; no, I let her think her cries had gone unheard.
“Did you behave?” I’d ask.
She’d nod. Of course she did. Each time, thinking this time I’d believe her. So I punished her for misbehaving, and then again for lying. Each time the punishment got more and more severe, leaving her skin a mess of welts and bruises. She wept for hours after the last time.
Did I enjoy doling out her torment? A little, though not because I enjoyed causing pain. Disciplining the girl reminded me of my past life — the one that ended before its time.
When the girl finally obeyed, I rewarded her with candy and soda instead of stale sandwiches and water. I tested her a few more times after that, but she’d learned the consequences of crossing me. She’d thank me for the lesson in her next life, though I didn’t tell her that. No need to scare the poor thing.
“Change of plans,” I said, hitting the light. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “We’re leaving tonight.”
She spied the white bag still in my hands and inhaled deeply through her nose.
I gave the bag a quick shake so she could hear the french fries rustle. “You’re going to behave, right?”
She nodded.
Sitting down on the bed next to her, I peeled back a corner of the tape above her lips, and in a single motion tore it off her face. “What would you like first. Fries, the burger, or the drink?”
She didn’t say anything, but when I unwrapped the burger and held it to her lips she took a bite. At first she didn’t take her eyes off of me, but as her appetite returned she ate ravenously.
Poor thing.
“Finished?” She ate the entire meal, but there were more snacks lying around. “I want you full up. We’ve got a long trip ahead, and I’m not stopping.”
“I’m full,” she rasped after I wiped her mouth with a napkin.
I swished around the cup of soda, but it was just ice. “Very well.” I opened the nightstand drawer and took out a small kit I’d stashed away. “I want you to know that I’m sorry in advance for what I have to do now.”
She moaned softly as I placed the cup of ice on her lips, holding it until she had it balanced. “I know it’s cold; trust me, you’ll be glad. Keep that there until I’m ready.”
Ready for what? her eyes asked as I opened the kit and took out each of the tools I’d need: gloves, tweezers, needle, thread and disinfectant swabs. The ice wasn’t really necessary, but I thought it might calm her down when she comprehended my intention.
“I want you to relax,” I said. “This is going to seem unpleasant, but it’s perfectly safe. And I’ve performed the procedure several times.”
The cup of ice fell as her lips trembled. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered immediately.
She complied, knowing enough to be afraid but not why.
I swabbed the inside and outside of her lip, then held up the needle and pink thread so she could see them.
“I can’t risk other drivers on the road reporting a woman gagged in a car. This will be inconspicuous and effective,” I explained. “Now hold still, because you really don’t want me making any mistakes.”
She whimpered, but didn’t move.
“Good girl.”
—
She stopped crying once she realized she had to keep her nose clear enough to breathe through. Untying her from the bed improved her spirits, but I bound her hands behind her back as soon as I got her into the car.
“Try to sleep,” I said. “Twelve hours and you’ll be somewhere nice, and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise. Just behave a little while longer.”
I turned the radio on and found a news station. Stopping for coffee or bathroom breaks was not an option, and I needed something to keep me alert. Nearly three hours sped by in total monotony, punctuated by panicked groans as the girl slipped out of her snoozing and recalled her predicament. If I had to free her lips, I had a short knife in my pocket, but it would have to be an emergency.
It happened outside of Indianapolis. I wasn’t speeding, but the cruiser’s lights went on anyway. In seconds the squad car caught up, riding my bumper and blaring its sirens.
“Stay calm,” I said to the girl. “I don’t want this to get ugly. It won’t go well for you.”
She groaned as I pulled over. I transferred my subcompact Beretta from my pocket to under my thigh, barrel pointed outward. I rolled down the window and took long, slow breaths. From the glove compartment I retrieved my papers. They’d cost a lot of money; now I’d see if I’d been ripped off or not.
The trooper approached at a deliberate pace; I watched in the rearview mirror his silhouette in the flashing light. In one hand he bore a flashlight, held at shoulder level; his other hand rested on his holster, ready to draw.
“Good evening,” he said, shining the flashlight in my face. “How’s everyone doing?”
“Very good, officer,” I replied. The girl stared straight forward, barely moving.
“Wonderful. License and registration, please.”
I handed him the documents, donning a faint smile. My hands didn’t shake; my heart didn’t thump. There was no fear. Just options.
He tilted the flashlight, illuminating the girl. “Evening, miss. Everything okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t turn to look at the cop.
“Is there something wrong?”
“She’s just scared,” I cut in. “Never been pulled over before.”
“That true?” he asked. The girl nodded again.
“All right. I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Thank you, officer.”
Did this trooper know that he was going to die if he didn’t send us on our way without incident? That his life depended on the quality of a fake ID I bought in Scranton? No. I didn’t even think he had a reason for pulling us over; he was probably just bored. When he returned, he still had his hand on the holster, though he seemed more at ease.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me back the forged papers. “Where you headed this late?”
“We’re visiting-”
“Miss, could you please answer?” asked the trooper, interrupting me.
Don’t make me do this, you idiot.
The girl nodded again; she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. She was about to break; I could tell. Too much stress, too much fear. She was a brave girl, but she’d been through so much already.
“Miss?” he said again, popping the lock on his holster.
“Officer it’s very late and we’re already behind schedule.” Last chance.
The trooper raised his gun, saying, “Sir, I’m going to need you to put your hands where I can see them and step-”
Two shots rang out, staccato blasts amongst a chorus of nocturnal chirps. The trooper hit the ground, screaming; I popped open my car door to see blood oozing from his knee. Before he could react I lifted my thigh off the gun, aimed and fired again, placing a round through his throat. The pained grunts turned to gurgles, and then I heard his weapon clatter to the asphalt.
I shifted into drive and floored the gas, shooting out into the road; momentum slammed the door against my side. Air whistled through the bullet hole left in the door, a constant reminder of the changed circumstances.
“We’ll have to ditch this car,” I said to the girl. She gave no reply.
I passed the first exit I saw, figuring they might expect the killer to flee the freeway at the first opportunity. Pressing onwards another five miles I exited, lucky to have found a small town. I parked in the lot of a strip mall that was completely shuttered save for a single pizzeria.
Turning to the girl, I said, “Okay, the plan is-”
I stopped. After the shootout I’d been so focused on the road, on escape, that I never checked on the girl.
Crimson stained her t-shirt and her eyes hung open, staring at me.
Three shots, I realized, replaying the fight in my mind. I fired twice; the trooper once.
“I’m sorry,” I said, though she was long gone. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Acting quickly, I popped the trunk of the car and got out. I opened the passenger door and unbuckled the girl, then lifted her out. Hurrying, I dumped the body in the trunk, then retrieved my briefcase. I’d need that. I’d needed the girl more, but the briefcase would have to be enough.
Truly, I’m sorry, I thought, giving her one last look. Then I closed the trunk and started walking.
On Monday Dr. Davis welcomed me into her office warmly, though I could tell there was something on her mind. “How was your weekend?” she asked as I sat down on her worn couch.
“Strange. Confusing.” I sat up straight, effecting a smart posture. My body yearned to lie down and get comfortable, but I’d get drowsy, and it didn’t seem right to waste the therapist’s time if I couldn’t be fully present.
“In what way, Abbi?”
“Did you see The Lookout yesterday?”
Dr. Davis nodded. “Those papers can be needlessly cruel, Abbi. How did you react when you first saw it?”
I smiled. “Not very well. Tossed a newsstand’s supply of them into the street.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. The people who print those papers thrive off others’ humiliation. They’re disgraceful, Abbi.”
“Thanks, I know. I think what really got to me was seeing the phrase ‘walk of shame.’ The term was new to me, but I could tell immediately what it meant.”
Dr. Davis nodded, anger creeping into her normally passive expression.
“The idea of shame had been beaten into me by Brady at Good Souls, and for the same reason. It pissed me off to be reminded of that so blatantly. But I had been forewarned that the paper was out there, so I wasn’t totally blindsided.”
“That’s good.”
Sort of, I thought. “After I calmed down, I felt very happy, believe it or not. I resembled a real person in those pictures. Annoyed and embarrassed, but real — not like some weird, cult freak.”
“That’s important to you, Abbi?”
I stopped for a moment, surprised by the question. “I guess so. I’m trying to write this college essay, and it’s really hard for me to figure out what to say. I want to find some kind of normal life, but it’s hard to write a personal essay that doesn’t relate back to Good Souls. You know?”
“Of course.” Dr. Davis retrieved her pad and took a few notes. “I find it interesting that being on the cover of a tabloid actually made you feel more normal. Most people would have the opposite reaction.”
“It wasn’t the first time.”
“That’s true. And those other times-”
“I wo
re my farm clothes,” I said, finishing the sentence. “This was an improvement. But not just that, Kerri. I don’t want the world thinking I’m still some brainwashed idiot. I want them to know that I’m learning, that I won’t be fooled again. This isn’t how I imagined them finding out, but it could be worse.”
Dr. Davis beamed proudly. “That’s excellent, Abbi. I think that’s a healthy outlook.”
“Thanks, Kerri.”
I allowed myself to lean back as the doctor wrote another line of notes. “Tell me,” she said, “How are things with Mason? From the photos, I’d say…”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I spent the night at his place. He convinced me to give him another chance, which I did.” I told her all of it: the fancy restaurant, how he won me over by echoing her understanding of trust, and the night we spent at his place.
“Wait, Abbi. Why did he want to know about the other women at the farm?”
“I don’t know that he did, Kerri. He said I would feel better if I talked about them, and he was right. It really helped.”
The doctor tried to hide the hurt from her face, but I saw it.
“I’m sorry, Kerri. It just felt good to get it out.”
Dr. Davis shook her head quickly and set her notebook down. She leaned forward. “Abbi, I’m not upset about that. I’m glad he’s helping you, but I’m concerned. You don’t think his questions are a little… probing?”
I shrugged. “I thought he was interested. I do have a pretty unusual past.”
“Perhaps. What happened after you finished talking about the other girls? What did he do?”
Chills climbed my vertebrae and held fast. What if she was right? “He left me in his dungeon, went upstairs and had a fit.”
“He left you tied up, alone?” Dr. Davis squirmed uncomfortably. “Did he threaten you at all?”
“No,” I snapped, upset by accusatory question. “He left the room and took out his anger on practically everything but me.”
“All right, that’s good. Did he say what was wrong?”
“I didn’t ask. Maybe I should’ve. I just thought he was angry about all the girls. There were so many of them. Maybe he didn’t know.”
