Cain wanted to smoke some weed for the chronic pain she suffered from, but that would get her fired if her employer somehow found out. And she couldn’t afford to blow such a cushy job. She doubted after her last fight, and bust-up with Sam, that she would be getting any cage matches for a while. Besides her rotator issue, one doctor had told her she had an irregular heartbeat. She should be on meds for it, but meds were for people with insurance. She also needed some dental work done and she had to take care of a few other medical issues, too. But without health coverage, you just had to deal with it until you had the cash. She had already spent pretty much all her savings on having an old back injury remedied. She’d refused to put it on her plastic, not that her credit limit would have been enough. She’d asked the surgeon if she really needed to do it. He had told her, “Not if you don’t care about being in a wheelchair in five years.”

  When she got really sick she went to the emergency room. They did what they did, then billed her a shitload of money that she couldn’t and didn’t pay.

  It is what it is, I guess.

  The Atkinses had not believed in doctor and dentist visits, at least for her. The first time Cain had seen either was when she had been on her own for two years. Three rotted teeth had come out of her mouth and two implants had gone in, and a month later she’d had surgeries for a hernia, a torn muscle, and a broken arm that dated back to when she was ten and had never gotten proper medical attention. The dentist, GP, and surgeon, respectively, had quizzed her as to why her parents had not addressed these issues before then.

  She had lied and told them her parents were dead and she’d been raised by her grandmother who was not quite right in the head. They all had let that pass, which was good, since she didn’t have a backup lie at the time. She’d since gotten much better with her web of fabrications. The dentist, GP, surgeon, and hospital had then sued her for the unpaid bills because her checks bounced like basketballs. She had skipped town, which was the only thing she could think to do at the time.

  She looked down at her left foot and quickly wriggled it as the pain shot through. The copperhead had bitten her there when she was thirteen, while she’d been picking up wood from a stack to carry into the house. Her damn foot had swelled up, the venom started eating her skin away, and a serious infection had set in. Desiree had poured what she called “magic water” over it and spoke some gibberish Cain couldn’t understand, and she doubted Desiree could, either. Three weeks later Cain had come out of a coma, a term she had learned about later. Wanda had been there when she came to. Wanda apparently had some medical training. Cain’s foot had been heavily bandaged and there were some bottles of medicine next to her bed. The dressings smelled strongly of what she now knew was antiseptic. The skin on her foot would never look the same, but she didn’t care. Cain had lived. What more could she hope for?

  These musings abruptly stopped when Cain heard the announcer on the radio.

  Rebecca Atkins. The FBI was looking for a Rebecca Atkins from Georgia in connection with a matter from the early 2000s. Anyone with information about her was to call the number provided by the FBI, and there was also an email address provided.

  When she had been held captive all those years, a cold dread would come over Cain whenever she heard the footsteps coming closer. This was when she was younger and unable to defend herself. What would happen when the door opened? What was Desiree’s mood? Cruel? Batshit? Drunk and docile? Or doped up and mean? Was Joe going to be regular Joe or monster Joe? How bad would it hurt? Would she cry? It was a feeling like your stomach had turned in on itself. That your blood had solidified, and where your hearing became so acute you could hear grass bending into the wind at a hundred yards. Your entire world was condensed to the shape of a door with your heart pounding at the thought of what would come through it. The monster of every fairy tale nightmare, only this monster lived in the house with her.

  She hadn’t felt the “freezies,” as she had called them, since she had turned fifteen. When she had grown to her full height and was as strong as a horse, the comings of the Atkinses no longer terrified her. After that, she had terrified them. But she still had been a prisoner.

  Now the debilitating freezies were settling in all over her body.

  The FBI was looking for her about an incident in Georgia from the early 2000s. There could only be one incident involving Rebecca Atkins from Georgia during that time.

  She took out her joint and lit up, sucking the smoke into her lungs like these were the last pops of weed she would ever take. The PSA ended and the radio channel went on to something else, but for Cain there was no going on to something else. Headlights suddenly slammed against her windshield like a wave of water. When she saw it was her colleague in the other Steele Security clown car, she lowered the joint out of sight, but did not roll down the window, though he opened his. She held her phone up to her ear as though she were on a call. He smiled, nodded in understanding, and drove on.

  For the next six hours Cain drove around and around like she was on some giant carousel that didn’t have an Off button. But she wasn’t seeing any of the houses, or random car or person, even though they were all there. All she could think was: The FBI was looking for her in connection with an incident. Her shift ended, and she aired out the car before dropping it off and getting back into her ride in the Steele Security parking lot. She had a sudden thought and used her phone to go online and Google “FBI” and “Rebecca Atkins.”

  This took her to the FBI’s official website, and caused her another shock as a fuzzy still photo came up on the screen. It was her after she had just burst through that door on her way to freedom.

  I…I look batshit. And I probably was. No, I definitely was. But I was also cunning. I was focused in my total madness. I just wanted out. Who wouldn’t have?

  She looked in the mirror again and then stared at the image on her phone screen. She breathed a sigh of relief. There was no way anyone would think those were the same person. Her hair was long. Her face was thinner and drawn and filthy. She looked like a lifetime member of some insane asylum. While she didn’t necessarily look normal now, she didn’t look like that anymore, either.

  Cain sat back and thought about those first few months of freedom. She had hitchhiked across the country, putting as much space between her and Georgia as she could, finally stopping at the Pacific Ocean, which she didn’t even know was called that. She didn’t even know how many states there were. She didn’t know what California was. It had taken her years to build up even a semblance of basic knowledge.

  I had to teach myself to drive a car, take medicine, and read something other than picture books, though the librarians over the years had helped me a lot with that. I had to learn how to write my name in something other than block letters. To add and subtract. Hell, what was a credit card? Or a rent payment? Or an email? Or a smartphone? Or a computer and the internet? Or a million other things that everyone else took for granted but I never could?

  She leaned her head into the steering wheel. You’ve overcome so much, El. Think about that.

  She drove home to get ready to go to work. She would sleep later, after her forklift gig. She would bag working out and being a cheap chauffeur today.

  She didn’t like people looking for her. She didn’t want to be found. Only bad things could happen from that.

  And haven’t enough bad things already happened to me?

  Well, apparently not.

  Chapter 13

  SON OF A BITCH!

  Cain had returned to her home to find that the padlock she used had been removed and another put in its place. And her clothes, books, and other possessions had been tossed on the ground right outside her residential pod. That included her beer and what little food she had up there and that was now rotted and also torn up by animals. Tacked on the wall next to the lock was an official-looking notice proclaiming that any trespassers would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  Still in there, under the floorboard, was all her cash, her stash of pot, and her Glock.

  “Assholes,” the voice said.

  She turned to see the elderly man walking up to her. He was too thin, too shaky, and he looked ready to drop dead at her feet. He was also her neighbor and a good, kind person.

  “What in the hell happened, Saul?” she asked.

  “They came last night, El. Tossed all my stuff out along with me. Ruined my only good pair’a pants, and all my bottles of Ensure are for shit. And that cost a pretty penny. Assholes.” He spat on the ground.

  “Who are they?”

  “Said they were hired by the folks that just bought this place. Some people on the West Coast, they said. Plan to turn it into ‘luxury condos’ or some such.”

  “But my rent’s paid through the end of the month.”

  “So’s mine. I told them fellers that. They told me it wasn’t their problem. I could go to court and sue.”

  “Right, like we can afford to hire lawyers. But I still got stuff in there.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, El. They threw my ass out last night around midnight. Scared the shit outta me. Just cut my lock clean in two. They done it to everybody here. Had the cops with ’em, just in case.”

  “Cops! But how can they evict people if they’ve paid their rent? I thought there were laws.”

  “Hell, laws are for the rich folks. You think anybody gives a shit about us? And when I tried to argue the point one of them said the rent money we ‘supposedly’ paid wasn’t. That we were illegally squatting.”

  “That’s bullshit. What else did these guys tell you?”

  “Told me if I come back they’d toss me in the can.”

  “But you are back.”

  “Hell, I never went away. I slept next to the dumpster.”

  “Where are these ‘guys’ now?”

  “I think they’re coming back tonight. They said something about fencing in the whole kit and kaboodle then.”

  “What are you gonna do now?”

  “This was the only place I could afford. Just got my Social Security and whatever I can earn. Guess I’ll check out one of the homeless shelters. But last time I did they was full up. And they got some mean suckers in there. Do stuff to you, take your things, what little you got. I’ll probably go to the underpass. Or maybe down by the river. They got a little shantytown there. Least till I find something else. Well, good luck.”

  He tottered off to move on with his life. She had to admire his pluck in the face of losing basically everything he had.

  Cain picked up all her things and carried them to her car. She returned to the building and looked at the padlocked door. She was calculating how best to do this.

  “Hey!”

  She turned to see the man striding toward her. He was in his thirties, about her height, around two hundred muscular pounds. His blunt expression was as serious as a man about to go to war. He had a holstered pistol and wore the uniform of a private security service.

  “Hey right back,” said Cain.

  He stopped cold when he saw her uniform. “Who are you?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Dwight Talbot. I’m on duty here to secure this place.”

  “Well, so am I. Name’s Donna White. I just got called up to come here. And that’s after pulling a graveyard shift.”

  He looked at the logo and name on her uniform. “Steele Security? I used to work for them. They lowball the guards.”

  “Tell me about it. When did you make the switch to Douglas?” she said, noting the name and logo embroidered on his sleeve.

  “About six months ago.”

  “Smart man. I might do the same.”

  “I didn’t know Steele was on this job, too.”

  “I just go where I’m told, you know how it is.”

  “Yeah, I damn well do.”

  “West Coasters putting up luxury condos here, so I heard,” she said smoothly.

  “Hell, I was wondering what they were doing with this pile of crap. When I was a kid they made furniture here, least I think.”

  “Well, we’ll never be able to afford to live here. I don’t have luxury in my future.”

  “Me too. That’s the damn truth.”

  “Look,” said Cain. “I know they cleared everybody out last night, but have they checked out all these buildings?”

  “Dunno, why?”

  “Because when I got here, I could have sworn I heard somebody inside this one.”

  “Shit, really?”

  “Yeah, but the door’s padlocked. You want to call the cops? Although if I’m wrong we might get our asses handed to us. But if I’m right and we score the prick ourselves?”

  “We might cop a bonus,” said Talbot.

  “What I’m thinking.”

  “How you want to do this?”

  “You got a key for the lock? I was supposed to get a copy, but in all the rush they never got it to me.”

  Talbot pulled out a key on a large ring from his pocket. “This is a master. Fits all the ones they put on last night.”

  “Cool. Okay, hand it over. I’ll pop the lock and let’s go in. You got the gun so you cover my back, okay?”

  “Okay.” He passed her the key and took out his pistol.

  “Just don’t shoot me by accident, Dwight.”

  He grinned. “Hell, Donna, that ain’t gonna happen, hon.”

  “Just checking.”

  She unlocked the door, and they quietly made their way inside and up a short flight of steps. The interior was tiny with only two doors. Cain knew one led to her bedroom, the other to the bathroom.

  “You check that door,” she said, pointing to the bathroom door. “I’ll do the other.”

  “You sure you want to split up?” said Dwight. “You don’t have a gun.”

  She slid out her baton. “I got this and I do MMA.”

  “For shit, really?”

  “Yeah, just won a match the other night.”

  “Well, you look like you can take care of yourself, that’s for sure. Just holler if you need me, hon.”

  He went left and Cain entered her room on the right. She eyed the floorboard and thought quickly. She opened the window and then stepped back. “Hey, Dwight, come quick,” she called out.

  Talbot bolted into the room. “There was nobody in the bathroom,” he said. “What’s up?”

  Cain pointed at the window.

  “Just saw the asshole running into the woods behind here. He must’ve gotten in and then out through this window when he heard us coming. You look faster than me. Go after him and I’ll call this in.”

  “Right! I’ll get the son of a bitch.”

  Talbot bolted outside. As soon as Cain heard the door bang open she lifted up the floorboard, took out her cash, gun, and pot, put the board back, and ran down the stairs and out the door. She put all her stuff in her car and was back at the building when Talbot came huffing back.

  “H-he must’a got away,” said Talbot, bending over and sucking in air. “Y-you call it in?”

  “Been trying. Damn cell phone’s got no bars. You’re going to have to do it.”

  “O-okay.” He straightened and made the call.

  When he was done, Cain looked down at her phone. “Hell, now I get a call coming in? I hate AT&T.” She put it to her ear. “Yeah? What, yeah, this is Donna White. You’re shitting me, right? No, really, you’re shitting me? Okay, well screw you, too.”

  She put the phone away in her pocket with a disgusted look on her face.

  “What was that all about?” Dwight asked anxiously.

  “Steele just canned my ass. And you want to know why? Because they saw on the film from last night that I dozed off for like ten seconds. Like no rental cop’s ever done that.”

  “Sorry asses,” exclaimed Talbot.

  “So, they just told me to get my butt back and turn in all my stuff. Yeah, I’ll turn it in. I’ll throw it in a fucking dumpster.”

  “What I would do, no lie, hon,” said Talbot.

  “Well, hang in there, Dwight, don’t let them screw with you.”

  “Okay, Donna, hey sorry, gal.”

  “Yeah, everybody’s got problems. But I’m still breathing, right? And look, don’t even mention I was here to anybody, okay? They’ll probably try to pull some bullshit about something that happened so they can screw me out of my last paycheck.”

  “Hey, my lips are zipped.”

  She fist-bumped him, went to her car, climbed in, and drove off.

  Oh, Dwight, what a dumbass you are. And thank you for that, hon.

  She settled her gaze on the road. Now she just had to find a new place to live. And she still had the little matter of the FBI looking for her.

  She needed to do something about that, only what?

  Chapter 14

  ATLEE PINE AND CAROL BLUM PULLED into Huntsville, Alabama. Located in the Tennessee River Valley, it was a stately, historic southern town with a growing population and a modern veneer over the aged, antebellum underbelly. It had rich parts, poor parts, and in-between parts, just like every other town. Its economy had moved from cotton mills to textile plants to the space program and now centered on biotechnology. It was an interesting mix of old and new, storied families with long lineages and old sprawling homes with pillars out front and water views out back, facing a wave of diverse newcomers coming for good-paying jobs, interesting work, and cheaper housing than could be found in the Northeast, California, Florida, or Texas.

  After skirting the downtown area and driving for a while, they pulled into the gravel drive of a one-story brick-and-siding rancher. It covered about twelve hundred square feet in a neighborhood of seventies-era homes that had probably cycled through several generations of families, and would probably cycle through several more before all was said and done.

  Pine knocked on a door that had peeling paint and a tarnished and dented brass foot plate. A few moments later they heard a woman’s raspy voice through the closed door. “Yes?”