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Defensiveness carved into Craig’s face. “It’s not going to happen again.” He gripped her hands until they hurt. “You are not going to tell anyone.” His gaze flicked around the room. “As you can see, there’s nothing to tell.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The woman on my bed, Craig.”

“Gone.”

“They’ll find her soon, like they did the rest.”

“Not this time.”

“Why did you bring her here?”

“Shut up, Kaitlan.”

“Why?”

“I said shut up!” He shoved her backward.

Kaitlan stumbled two steps and turned away from Craig. Crossing her forearms, she laid her palms on opposite shoulders. She focused out the sliding door to the black forest beyond. Was the woman buried out there?

If the body wasn’t found, what could she and her grandfather do? They’d have nothing for the police.

“I’m leaving.” Craig jerked her around to face him. “Tomorrow you’ll go to work as normal. Tell the door story to anyone who asks about your face.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you fully understand the situation you’re in, Kaitlan? Telling anyone, anyone, will do no good. Because no one will believe you. Even if they did, they’d be as powerless as you to prove it. And then”—he pushed a finger against the base of her throat—“I’d have to take care of both of you, wouldn’t I.”

He was going to get away with this. And there wasn’t a thing she could do. Her grandfather’s schemes—useless.

Craig exhaled and ran a hand down his face. “Please, Kaitlan, don’t even think of running away. Don’t ruin us. If you try running, I’ll have to stop you. Before you know it, you’ll have a warrant on your head for drugs found in your apartment.” Determination flattened his features. “That is, if I don’t catch up to you first.”

He surveyed her. “Plan on running?”

“No.”

“Telling someone?”

She shook her head.

“Good girl.”

Abruptly he turned away. “I’m taking your cell phone with me. And your car keys.”

“No! How am I supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?” He halted in the doorway. “Call someone tonight? Go somewhere?”

If she couldn’t phone her grandfather … “No, I wouldn’t. But how do I get to work in the morning?”

“My shift starts at six. I’ll drive by on patrol and give them back to you. Just for the day.”

Kaitlan stared at him, picturing the face of her childhood friend as he gloated over the pinned and dying moth.

“See you then.” Craig shot her a tight smile. “Sleep well.”

OBSESSION

twenty-nine

In the weeks that passed after that infamous night, my mind dulled out. Scenes of what happened after the party sank to the bottom of my memory. Not gone. Just covered by the daily issues of life. Sometimes when I fell into a masochistic mood, I’d fish out the memory, turn it over in my hand. Examine it like some disinterested onlooker, barely able to connect myself to the events.

I hid the black and green silk fabric in the bottom of a box of books in my bedroom closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

It was some months before the cloth called to me again.

One night I came across an envelope of old family pictures. Didn’t even know I had them. I dumped them out on a table, started flipping through the stack.

One stabbed my attention.

I felt the pierce go right through me—even before my brain registered what I’d seen. Mouth open, unable to move, I stared at the photo. Sweat popped from my pores, chilling on my skin.

The picture taunted me.

Thoughts flitted and knocked through my brain. Why was I rendered so helpless at the sight of that photo? Why did it have such power over me? I couldn’t find the answers, only knew the strength of the questions. This picture held the key to who I’d become, what I’d done. And it wasn’t about to give up its secrets.

It was as if the thing had some ethereal power all its own. The power to lead me to the envelope, make me open it. The colors of the photo looked overbright. Greedy. They wanted more of me, and they would get it.

I racked my brain for understanding. None came.

My initial shock gave way to anger … bitterness… and finally, the dread of a soul inevitably bound for hell.

There would be no end to this. To what I’d become.

Strange, how I knew that just from seeing the picture. I can’t explain how—and certainly still couldn’t fathom the whys. But I knew.

The fist of this reality clutched me for over an hour. I paced from room to room, trying to shake it off, telling myself I could overcome. Eventually the anger returned. I never asked for this. Never expected to be some unwilling and hapless pawn. Was it my fault I was born?

What about the other people on this earth? Didn’t I see scarred and struggling slobs every day? They were all around me, fish floundering on a dry beach, shriveling in the sun. If, indeed, a perfect God created the world—was this the way he intended it to be?

Something, somewhere had gone terribly wrong.

I pitched and whirled around my place, cursing God, cursing my own futile existence. Emotions built up inside me until I thought I would explode. My muscles were steel tight, heart ramming against my ribs like a frantic prisoner.