The Girl Before (27 page)

“And what did you find out?”

My shoulders droop. “I am not a good person. I should not meet my family because they deserve better than a dark, used-up version of the girl they lost.”

Tori taps her chin, lips pursed. “Who said that?”

Eyebrow raised, I stare at her. “Pam?” Tori was there. She heard everything Pam said.

“Okay. Who else?”

I search my memory for another hostile face, but come up empty. I shrug. “I guess that's it. But she said it all.”

“So one person's opinion matters more than the other ten of us who were there? That seems a little harsh.”

When she puts it that way, I feel a twinge of guilt. “But she said everything that I feared. It was like my worst nightmare coming alive.”

Tori reaches out and grabs my hands. “Listen, Clara. There are going to be people who see you as the bad guy. They are going to question your choices. They are going to paint a crazy dark caricature of you and try to convince everyone, yourself included, that you purposely tried to hurt those girls. That you wanted them to be miserable.”

“That's not true!” I say, yanking my hands from hers. “I loved those girls. Every one of them. I wanted them to be happy. I believed Glen when he said they would be. I mean, sometimes I questioned . . . but I never wanted bad things for them. Never.”

“Then there's your answer.” Tori leans back in her chair. “Everyone
does things they're not proud of. Everyone makes bad choices. But your intentions were never bad. And no matter what, the only thing you can control is what you do now.”

“But I should have—”

“Stop it.” Tori sounds impatient. “I've mentioned the house I was kept in a few times during group. Did I ever tell you how I ended up in that house?”

I shake my head.

“I wanted to go to a concert and my parents wouldn't let me. I stayed over with a friend, and we hitched a ride into the city.”

“And the guy who gave you a ride took you?”

“No.” Tori laughed, but the sound was bitter. “A security guard. He told us we could go backstage to meet the band. Except once we were in the back hallway, some big guys jumped out and forced us into a van.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Tori shakes her head. “That's not the point. The point is that for years I beat myself up over my choice not to listen to my parents. I thought it was my fault. If only I had listened. If only I had told them where I was, since they didn't even know to look in the city for days. But it was never my fault. Sure, I made bad choices, but the guys who took me? They are the ones at fault.”

“But I did things. I helped them.”

“Clara. You have a choice now. Focus on what you did and how bad you feel about it, or focus on how you can start the process of healing, not only for yourself, but for your family, and for the families of the girls who were taken.”

Jay taps lightly on the door frame. “Time's almost up, Clara.” I nod at him.

Tori stands. “I hope you'll come back, Clara. And I hope you'll see your family. I was terrified the first time I saw my parents after I was
rescued. I thought they would be angry. But they were just so overjoyed to have me back and be able to tell me how much they loved me.”

I nod as I stand as well. “I'll think about it. Thank you.”

She moves as if to hug me, but then steps back and smiles. “See you soon?”

“Sure.”

She turns and walks to the exit, sending a small wave before slipping out the door. As Jay walks me back to my room, my mind is tumbling with a mix of confused emotions. I have a lot of thinking to do.

Glen shakes out the blanket and snaps it so it floats to the ground, perfectly smooth. I clap in delight. “Nicely done, Mr. Lawson.”

“I do what I can, Mrs. Lawson,” he says, settling down on the blanket and pulling me to sit between his knees, my back to his chest. His arms wrap around me and I snuggle in, happy and content. This is the first time we have had the opportunity to be together like this since we moved into the house. There always seems to be something to do, another crisis Glen has to take care of. And Joel has brought in several new girls over the past few weeks, almost more than I can handle. Thank goodness Passion has been helpful, and Mama even came by to help get everyone settled.

But tonight, it's just us. Just Glen and me, by ourselves, enjoying a late picnic. The girls are asleep, Joel is keeping watch over the house, and Passion is in charge within. Glen brought me along the lake path to a small clearing away from the compound. It's like our own little world out here, and the stars shine even brighter away from the floodlights around the house.

Glen kisses my hair and reaches for the picnic basket. I sit up and turn to face him, and we take turns feeding each other bits of chicken and fruits, all finger food for this very purpose. And we talk, as we have not talked in months. About the girls, about the future, about the past.

“Tonight is extra special, Clara,” Glen says, glancing up at the sky. “Do you remember the first time we went out on the roof?”

Of course I remember. Everything changed that night. That's when our relationship really began, the obedient girl and the rebellious boy. I nod. “Yes, the meteor shower.”

He grins. “The meteor shower.” He takes my shoulders, his hands gentle as he turns me around and pulls me back against his chest.

Streaking through the dark sky, I see first one, then two, then countless shooting stars, blazing triumphantly for but a moment, then fading to nothing. The other stars, which I had before seen as bright and stunning, pale in comparison to their fiery cousins. I grip Glen's arms, which are wrapped around me, mesmerized by the show Mother Nature is putting on for us. It is glorious and exhilarating and also a little sad, watching those tiny lights pulse and die. I say as much to Glen.

“But what a gift their short lives are, baby,” he whispers in my ear. “Their purpose has been served. What a way to go.”

His breath tickles my ear, and when he stops talking, his lips remain, moving down to kiss just behind my ear and down my neck. I close my eyes and focus on the points where his skin meet mine. His hands stroke across my stomach, then divide and conquer as one moves up and one moves down. He guides me to lie down on the blanket as the kisses and caresses continue.

As Glen rises above me, his face framed by the falling heavens behind him, I see the boy I fell in love with. The boy who was eager for the future, who was excited about what the world had to offer. This is the Glen I remember, not the cynical man he has become, so much
like the father he both revered and despised. I pull his lips to mine as we come together and I pour all my feelings into him, all the words I am not brave enough to say.

In the afterglow, I am afraid my Glen will disappear again, but as we lie entwined, sweat cooling on our skin from the breeze coming off the lake, he holds me close, whispering words of love. I want to stay in this spot forever, just the two of us, the way we both always wanted it to be. The way we were meant to be.

A rustle in the bushes startles me, and I curl into Glen, trying to cover myself. His body stiffens.

“Who's out there?” Glen growls, and I am fearful for whoever has interrupted our time.

“Sir, Mr. Lawson, I'm sorry to bother you . . .” A timid voice floats out from the trees.

“Then get the fuck away,” Glen says, pulling the blanket up over our bodies.

“Sir, there's been a breach at the training camp. Joel sent me to find you.”

“Fuck.” Glen mutters a few more choice expletives before responding. “Fine. Give me five minutes. Wait by the south guard station.”

“Yes, sir.” Hurried footsteps fade into the forest, and Glen rests his forehead on mine.

“I'm so sorry, baby,” Glen says. “I hate to cut this short.”

I manage a small smile. “Duty calls.” I flinch, hoping Glen does not reprimand me for my flippant comment. I didn't mean for it to come out sarcastic.

Instead of getting angry, Glen turns thoughtful. “Why don't you come with me? See some of the other things I do? I know you don't see much of my other businesses. Maybe you should.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I've seen the brothel.”

He laughs. “No, I mean the training camp. If you promise to do as
I say and stay out of the way, you can come along and check it out.” He pauses. “If you want to, that is.”

Glen wants to show me the training camp, and he's giving me a choice. I'm not sure what has gotten into him tonight, but his mood is a gift I am not willing to waste.

“I would love to go.”

We pull on our clothes, fabric and zippers rustling in the quiet night, and Glen grabs my hand and leads me along the path. A guard shack comes into view in minutes, and I realize that our picnic spot was not as private as I had first assumed. The young guard who interrupted us waits by the building, standing tall, but a flush creeps up his neck when he glances in my direction. My cheeks grow warm.

Glen looks between the two of us, smirking. I am thankful when he doesn't comment. Instead, he goes into commander mode as we climb into the jeep waiting along the dirt road that wraps around the lake. I know the training camp isn't too far, within walking distance, but the guards use vehicles to get between the cabins and the camp in a short amount of time.

The boys who are brought in go to the training camp and participate in a rigorous program to build their physical strength and train them to be obedient workers. When they graduate the program, they are sent to be laborers or bodyguards elsewhere. Those at the top of the class move into the cabins as part of Glen's guard. I know Papa had a similar program, and I shudder when I remember my few visits there.

When we pull up, it's clear that there is something going on. Boys are running toward a tight knot of men. I cannot see what they are guarding, but they all look down to the center of their little circle, arms crossed. Glen hops out of the van and strides toward the crowd, the guard who drove us scrambling after. I hesitate before climbing out, the rock in my gut telling me I should have stayed back at the picnic site.

Everyone grows quiet as Glen approaches, and the men part for him. His power here is palpable, and I have the throwaway thought that I wish Papa had lived to see Glen really step into his position and own it. I think Papa always believed in Glen, but Glen snarls if I ever mention Papa these days.

I creep forward, the only sound now the rustling of the trees, the insects chirping, and Glen's solid footsteps against the dirt of the clearing. As I move closer, I hear another sound, a whimpering. Glen is now part of the circle, hands on hips, staring at the ground. He moves to the right and I see it.

A boy, who looks to be in his early teens, though he is quite small, is curled into himself on the ground. He is covered in twigs and dirt, and I realize that he must have tried to run away. Quite brave. Some of the boys they bring in are not cut out for such a rigorous program.

Glen crouches, signaling to the men in the circle. As one unit, they grasp the boy's limbs and pry him out of his tiny ball. He struggles, and his whimpers turn into high-pitched screeches, his voice cracking.

Smack.

Glen's fist falls across the boy's face, and he is shocked into silence. I cannot hear what Glen says as he speaks in a low voice to the boy, but the boy's eyes grow wide, and fresh tears track mud down his dirty cheeks. Glen grabs the boy's shoulders and shakes him, and I swear I hear his teeth clatter. I gasp, and the boy's bright eyes snap to mine. There is pleading in them, and I start forward without thinking.

An arm snakes around my waist, yanking me to the side. The assailant drags me into the shadows of the trees until I can no longer see Glen or the boy. I can still hear the murmur of voices.

The thick arms release me, and I whirl on my attacker. Joel. Of course. The look on his face is serious this time, no hint of humor, and my sharp words die on my tongue.

“Not this time, Clare,” he says. “This is Glen's domain. I don't . . .”
He runs a rough hand through his hair. “I don't know what he would do to you if you interfered here.”

A caring Joel? Concerned for my well-being? Or saving his own skin? I search his face for signs of mirth, but find only sincerity. Perhaps the only time I have seen Joel so serious. I nod. “Okay.”

Screams pierce the air, and I turn back, ready to run back to the camp despite my agreement to stay out of it. Joel grabs my arm.

“Let me walk you back. I'll tell Glen where you went.”

I strain against his hold, but he is stronger. He pulls me away, and the wails grow quieter with distance, lost in the wind in the trees and the occasional hoot of an owl. Joel and I do not speak. He walks me to the foot of the stairs, and I go straight into the house and up to bed without looking back.

Sleep is hard to come by, but I pretend to be unconscious when Glen returns. He climbs into bed and pulls me close, and I will myself to forget how the evening turned out. Maybe it is better not to know all of Glen's secrets, because despite them, he is my home.

I sit on my bed, staring at the picture of the smiling McKinleys, trying to place myself there, to dredge up any memory of their faces. As it has for the past several days, my head begins to ache as soon as I dig deeper into the past, the two laughing girls from my dreams the only memories I can conjure. I am almost certain now that they are memories, memories of my sister and of myself. My eyes are sticky. I haven't been sleeping. The lights brightened a while ago, so I know it's morning. They haven't brought my breakfast yet. I wonder if anyone is watching me unravel. I feel myself slipping to that place, the
place where I do not think about things, do not answer questions, do not have my own questions begging to be answered.

Oblivion beckons, not the true oblivion of death—with my Nut I still have so much to live for—but the oblivion of not thinking, not caring. I can go through the motions. I can eat, sustain myself for the life growing inside me. But I do not have to talk anymore. I do not have to cooperate.