The older woman shrank back under her fierce gaze, like a flower getting hit by a sudden burst of frost. “I think about you a lot,” she said lamely.

  “You did some nice things for me, Wanda.”

  “But I never did anything about—”

  “No, you never did,” said Cain in a harsh voice, but then she shrugged. “It wasn’t your problem, right? And in the end I took care of it myself.”

  “I…Joe deserved whatever you did to him.”

  “I knocked Joe down when he tried to stop me, and he hit his head on a rock. If he died, it wasn’t my fault. Then I just ran for it. Somebody fired a gun at me and missed. Had to have been Desiree because Joe was already dead. Then I just ran harder. I kept going for miles and miles until I was able to hitch a ride.”

  Wanda looked at her with a startled expression.

  “What?” asked Cain.

  Wanda composed herself and said slowly, “Joe didn’t die because he hit his head on a rock.”

  “Well then, what happened to him?” said a now-startled Cain.

  “Joe died because someone stuck a knife in his back. He was deliberately murdered.”

  “A knife?” said Cain, now visibly stunned.

  “There’s no doubt. It punctured his heart.”

  Cain sat back, and it was like a great weight had been lifted off her.

  Then I didn’t kill him. So why is the FBI after me?

  “I didn’t stab him. But I bet you know who did.”

  “I always thought it. I mean, Desiree was so—”

  “—evil? Yeah, she was. Do you know where Desiree is now?”

  “I have a phone number, but no address.” Atkins looked nervously at her. “And you don’t want to go down that road, Eloise. It…it would not be good. You have to stay away from the past. I don’t want you to be hurt, not again.”

  “I was hurt a lot. While you stood by and did jack shit. I’m still hurting, actually.” She rolled up her sleeve so Atkins could see the knife etchings, the lumps, and the burns that would be with her till she died. “You think this shit ever stops hurting? Not to mention how she messed with my head. That was even worse than this crap.”

  Wanda’s eyes filled with tears, and she put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  “You can cry, Wanda. All you want. It won’t change anything. It won’t change how I feel about you or old Len in the wheelchair over there. You got to live your life. You got to walk in and out your door whenever you wanted. But not me. You ever think about that when you went home and left me where I was?”

  “Are you here to…hurt us?” Wanda looked over Cain’s large, muscled physique, her eyes swelling with the fear that physical harm was imminent.

  “Fortunately for you, no. But I know that the FBI is looking for me.”

  “They were here.”

  Cain looked alarmed. “Here? When? How did they find out where you were?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “She?”

  “A younger gal around your age, and an older woman. They were asking questions.”

  Cain thought about what Kyle, the teenager in the woods, had said about the tall FBI agent. “What sorts of questions?”

  “About what happened that night. They said they had a video of you.”

  “Yeah, I saw that on the TV. What exactly did they ask about?”

  “About you, how you got to where you did. What happened on the night you got away. But they also told me some things.”

  “Like what?” asked Cain.

  “That your real name was Mercy. And that a man kidnapped you from your house.”

  “Mercy? I…I was kidnapped?” said Cain.

  “Yes. A man named Ito Vincenzo. He and Len were in Vietnam together. He told us that your parents wanted you dead and that he, well, that he rescued you. But according to the FBI gal, he was lying. He took you from your parents for his own reasons. It had something to do with a grudge he had against your mother. The mob was involved or something or other. It was truly bizarre.” Wanda paused and said, “And he left the other child. He apparently did a little nursery rhyme to pick which one of you to take. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. How sick is that?”

  Chapter 35

  CAIN FELT HER HEART START TO POUND and an intense pain shot through her head along with a cascade of repressed but still ill-formed memories. It was like her brain was moving so fast, it was burning itself out, all safety valves blown right through. She glanced at Len.

  Am I having a stroke?

  She now remembered going berserk when she had read that nursery rhyme in a book while she’d been with Desiree. She had come upon those words and it was like something exploded in her head. She had never known why. But the other child? Then she felt stupid. The rhyme was a choosing rhyme. Of course there had to be someone else. And then something else clicked in her mind. The rare memory she had always carried with her that allowed her to survive Desiree.

  It’s okay, Momma, it’s just Lee being Lee. She’ll find her way down. She always does. Don’t be mad at her, Momma.

  “Eloise, are you okay?”

  Cain came out of her musings with a jolt and stared at the old woman, but her heart was racing like she’d just snorted a dozen lines of coke. “Something just occurred to me, that’s all. So my real name is Mercy?”

  “Yes. Do you remember that at all?”

  Cain shook her head. “Desiree did a really good job of making me forget things.” She looked darkly at Wanda. “But then you knew that, too, didn’t you?”

  Wanda quickly looked away. “I guess you hate me. And you have every right.”

  “I don’t think you’re important enough anymore for me to hate, Wanda.”

  Wanda glanced up. “What have you been doing all these years?”

  “Surviving.” She glanced at Len. “Will he always be like that?”

  “Yes. And it’s just me to take care of him, really.”

  “Well, I guess you both are living in your own little prison now, aren’t you? Tell me, how does it feel?”

  “I’m very, very sorry, Eloise.”

  “Yeah, you already said that. But then words don’t cost anybody anything, do they? What else did this FBI lady say? Why do they want to find me if I didn’t kill Joe?”

  “I think they want to help you. You were kidnapped, after all. And I looked that up after they left. The FBI deals with kidnappings.”

  “All these years later?”

  “It’s a cold case, that’s what they call it on TV. Maybe you should go and see them.”

  Cain eyed her closely, her suspicions running high. She wasn’t ready to believe any of this, particularly coming from this woman. “Are you sure they don’t want to arrest me for Joe’s murder?”

  “Well, I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? That’s not good enough.”

  “I don’t know any more than that.”

  Which means I’m still screwed.

  The weight of the world seemed to reappear on Cain’s broad shoulders.

  “What about Desiree?”

  “What about her?”

  “Give me the phone number. I want to call her.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t think you have any right to ask that. Just give me the damn number.” Cain rose and looked down at the woman.

  Wanda stared back up, obviously frightened.

  “It’s good to be scared, Wanda, when you’re around me. I’m not normal. No one would be normal after what happened to me. Give me the number. Now! Or I won’t be responsible for what I do to you or the prick in the wheelchair.”

  “Are you going to try to find Desiree? And hurt her?”

  “That’s my business. You don’t have a say in that, not now. Not ever.”

  Wanda rose, slipped an address book out of a drawer on a side table, and tore out a page. “Here, just take it. I never want to talk to that woman again.”

  Cain took the paper. “Does Desiree know about the FBI visiting you?”

  Wanda nodded. “I called her.”

  “Why, to warn her?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Blood really is thicker than water.”

  “Desiree is not a blood relative of mine,” said Wanda petulantly.

  “Really? Well, pardon me for being confused on that shit.”

  “Can you…can you forgive us?” asked Wanda.

  Cain shook her head. “The only reason I’m not going to hurt you both is because you’re not worth the trouble.” She held up the paper. “But if this number is not Desiree’s, then I’m coming back. And everything that bitch did to me, I’m going to do to you. And I haven’t forgotten a single thing. Trust me.”

  After she left, Wanda collapsed back into her chair, sobbing.

  On the way to her car Cain stopped and launched a powerful side kick against the lamppost next to the sidewalk, sending it crashing to the ground. Then she climbed into her car and looked down at the paper with the number on it.

  She had never been this close to Desiree before. And she knew she had to keep out of the range of the FBI. But now that she had made the decision to do this, there was no turning back. If she was going down, so was Desiree.

  Chapter 36

  CAIN HAD NO INTENTION OF CALLING DESIREE. She drove into Huntsville and stopped for something to eat. She also searched on her phone for a way to find the address attached to the number Wanda had given her. She quickly found it, and for a small fee to allow herself premium status, the internet search service she had found spit out the name Dolores Venuti and a physical address in Asheville, North Carolina.

  Dolores Venuti must be her new name.

  Cain plugged the address into her phone GPS. It was five hours if she didn’t stop.

  It was mostly interstate, and the hours went by fast as she drove through the Blue Ridge Mountains. The peak fall colors had passed and many trees had dropped their leaves, but it was still an inspiring sight. If Cain hadn’t been so oblivious to her surroundings.

  She listened to the radio for any additional mention of “Becky from Georgia,” but there was none. About an hour out she stopped once to pee at a rest stop, then sat outside at a picnic table and drank down a bottle of G2 and ate a banana she’d bought. She stretched out some kinks in her back and legs before she got back into the car.

  Before she drove off she opened the glove box and eyed the Glock in there. She’d had the gun for three years. She’d only fired it at shooting ranges. She pondered whether she could actually fire a round into Desiree’s head.

  She came away unsure, but that was progress, only Cain didn’t know what kind.

  The woman had tortured her for all those years, piling one despicable act on top of another. And Joe had done little to stop her, so she had no reason to feel any sorrow at his death. Yet she had been relieved to know that she hadn’t killed the man, after all these years of thinking she had. But the fact that his true killer and her years-long torturer, Desiree, had gotten away scot-free was just too much to take.

  What she was doing might cost her whatever life she had left. But she also knew she could never enjoy another second of living while Desiree breathed air. All those years ago Cain had simply wanted to get away. Now she wanted something more. You could call it payback, revenge—justice, even. She wasn’t sure which one was applicable, if any. But she was sure that, whatever it actually was, she had to get it, or die trying. It was like all the emotional bills pending from that time in her life were now coming due. And she was the debt collector.

  Within another hour she pulled into Asheville. The address was a shop. One of those weird-ass occult shops, observed Cain as she drove past and saw the sign.

  Figures.

  And there was a police van parked in front of Desiree’s place. The front door of the occult shop opened and two people dressed in blue scrubs and booties came out carrying what looked to be trash bags, while a police officer stood guard at the front door, his fingers curled around his gun belt. The scrubs opened the rear doors of the van and put the bags in the back.

  She pulled down the road and parked a block away. Then she got out and walked back toward the shop. A woman came out of another storefront about four doors down. She was in her fifties, heavyset and with gray hair tied back in a bun. She had on jeans and a long green apron with the name “Organic Alley” stenciled on the front. It matched the sign over her shop.

  Cain walked up to her and said, “What’s going on there?” She indicated the occult shop.

  The woman looked up at her. “Dolores Venuti was arrested, at least that’s what I heard.”

  “Dolores? Really?”

  “Yes. She owns that shop.”

  “What was she arrested for?”

  “I walked over there earlier and asked some questions. They really wouldn’t tell me anything, but I hung around and I heard some of the policemen talking.”

  “What did they say?”

  “And who are you and what’s your interest?” said the woman, her look now suspicious.

  “I’ll tell you. I drove all the way up here from Alabama because Dolores offered me a job in her shop. I’ve done occult retail before. I’m sort of into it.”

  The woman looked over her appearance and said, “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

  “So I quit my job and came here. And now it looks like I’m SOL. So, that’s my interest.”

  The woman clucked in sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing. But it might turn out to be a good thing for you because I heard the police say that they found drugs in her shop. You don’t want to be caught up in all that. And they mentioned something about a young girl that Dolores had done something to. I even heard the word ‘kidnapping.’ I mean, you think you know people. But she always gave me the creeps, to tell you the truth. And between you and me, she struck me as being a little bit mean.”

  “Wow, who knew,” said Cain with feigned surprise, which was maybe the most complex bit of acting she’d ever attempted. “So I guess Dolores is in jail?”

  “Yes, the detention center on Davidson Street. It’s not that far from here.”

  “Well, hopefully they keep her behind bars, right?”

  “Oh my God, yes.”

  Cain turned and walked back to her car and sat in it. She looked up the detention center address on her phone, drove there, and stared up at the place.

  This was the closest Cain had been to the woman in a long, long time. She felt chills all over her body.

  She can’t hurt you anymore, El.

  El?

  Apparently my real name is Mercy. That’s what Wanda said the FBI had told her, and I suppose they wouldn’t lie about that.

  She sat back against her seat and closed her eyes.

  “Mercy.” She said the word out loud. It was a strange name. Why would her mother have named her Mercy? And the other child. The one on the other side of the nursery rhyme?

  Cain scrunched up her brow as though that would make her damaged memory suddenly light up and tell her all. It didn’t. Nothing came out. Except for one thing.

  It’s okay, Momma, it’s just Lee being Lee. She’ll find her way down. She always does. Don’t be mad at her, Momma.

  Was Lee my sister? Was she up a tree and I was telling our mother not to be mad?

  The weight on her chest was suddenly crushing. It felt like when she had overdosed the first time. She was panicking; she felt she couldn’t breathe.

  She got out of the car and proceeded to run. She ran faster and faster down the street, turned right, then left, and reached what looked to be a small park. Cain plunged directly into the thicket of trees and ran until she could run no more. She stopped at one massive oak, wrapped her arms around it as though to prevent herself from lifting off the ground, and slowly slid to the dirt.

  She lay there for she didn’t know how long.

  Cain wept so hard, it got to the point where she could form no more tears. Her chest stopped heaving, and she was able to stand by gripping the tree trunk and hoisting herself a few inches at a time, like she was climbing a slicked pole.

  She composed herself and walked unsteadily back to her car; she almost couldn’t find it, but when she climbed in and shut the door, she felt a bit better.

  She hadn’t been this way in years. After escaping from the Atkinses, every fourth or fifth night of freedom would end in night terrors. She would awake certain that Desiree was right on top of her ready to drag her back to hell.

  She drove off, found a hotel, and checked in. The place was more than she could really afford, but right now she wasn’t thinking about that. Later, Cain had a drink in the bar and some dinner at a restaurant a short walk down the street, because she just needed some brisk air to chew on. After that, she walked back to the hotel and wondered what she was going to do now.

  Desiree was in jail. There was no way to get to her. And even if she did, what was she going to do? Kill the woman with her bare hands? Scream at her? Torture her like she had tortured Cain? And then what?

  I go back into another prison for the rest of my life?

  Has all this been for nothing?

  Chapter 37

  FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME, BUCKLEY STUDIED the frozen image on his computer screen. His first viewing had filled him with curiosity and even sympathy. The woman, who he now knew had been called Rebecca Atkins, was obviously scared; he could easily see that in her features. The wild eyes, the unnatural stretch of her jaw, the bulge of her cheeks, the chaotic gap in her mouth—all spoke of crisis. But there was also just the tiniest hint of something else there too—exhilaration, perhaps?

  Her physical state was deplorable. The long, thick hair was bushy and filthy, the clothes were near rags, her skin was dirty and scarred; clearly the woman had been through a long ordeal.

  Next, Buckley had researched online an “incident” related to the Atkinses in the early 2000s, in a rural Georgia county. It had not been hard to find the account of Joe Atkins having been found dead, and his wife, Desiree, missing and either presumed to have killed her husband or else been a victim of his murderer.

  He reclined in the desk chair in his hotel room. There was an extremely curious point to all this. These news accounts had made no mention of a Rebecca Atkins. The most obvious reason for this would be that the authorities were not aware, back then, of the woman’s existence. So how could that possibly have come about?