Summer imagined herself standing on a tall ledge, balancing her weight so she didn’t fall. Her mother was en route to Florida, and she was stuck here for the next few months on her own. She would make it hard for herself by picking a fight with Taured. She’d seen what happened to the people who did it. Her dad, her drug-loving con man of a father, used to say, “Tell an honest lie when you need to.”

  “You were welcoming our new family members.”

  “That’s right,” he said, locking his eyes on to hers. “And what were you doing?”

  She shrugged, trying to flatten her tone, but her heart was racing. “I left dinner early. I didn’t eat because I’m fasting. I didn’t want to be tempted, you know?”

  He seemed to consider this for a moment, and then in a gentler tone, he said, “Was your mother upset that you were fasting?” His eyes were scanning back and forth across her face like he was trying to read her.

  “I don’t know,” she lied. She tried to look bored.

  “Come with me,” Taured said, his eyebrows raising in concern. “I think we need to have Doc look you over.”

  Her head jerked away from the wall. “I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t like Sara’s father; his eyes and hands lingered where they shouldn’t.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion, Summer.”

  “Okay,” she said. She would have said anything he wanted in that moment; she just wanted out of that room with its pressing walls and suffocating air. Feeling small and afraid, she ducked her head in shame to hide her tears.

  “Can I call my mother?”

  He didn’t answer. She fell into step behind him. He was walking quickly, like he wanted to be done with her. Summer had never felt lonelier than in that moment, following a man who meant her harm—who meant her mother harm. When he was speaking to Sammy, he’d sounded like a different person. Summer had the urgent idea that maybe it wasn’t Taured all along; maybe she’d just thought it was Taured and she’d been listening to someone else entirely. Her hope fizzled out when she remembered that Sammy had called him by name. Just yesterday morning she’d trusted him, probably more than she trusted her mother. How long had her mother known that her daughter was a traitor, ready to rat her out? She was as bad as Sammy. The shame Summer felt was consuming. She could barely look at Taured now. When had she made him her most important person? Her mother said they were to be foreigners in this land, but here she was, lapping up the hometown honey.

  Mama, help me. Summer could try to summon her mother all she wanted, but she was not there.

  Summer was alone.

  Taured stopped walking and faced her. Summer looked around. She’d been so focused on her thoughts that she hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going.

  They were in the hallway, near his office, but he’d walked past it. Only two doors stood on this side of the hallway, which dead-ended at a brick wall. Taured opened the closest one. He stood with his hand on the knob, smiling at her.

  “Go on in,” he said. “I’m going to get Doc.”

  Fear drove her feet forward, through the doors and into—

  Darkness.

  She looked back at Taured and for a second he smiled. Then the door closed.

  Summer was alone in the dark.

  11

  Then

  A year later

  “You swing like a rookie, Summertime.”

  Her name sounded wet in his mouth. She didn’t like it when he called her that anymore.

  Her hands gripped the bat, her breathing hitching in terror as she stood over home plate; she wouldn’t look at him, but she could always feel his eyes as they probed. It was a sixth sense she wished she hadn’t acquired on that terrible afternoon a year ago. Since the day she’d overheard his conversation with Sammy, everything had been...different. The change was noticeable to everyone; she’d gone from being attentive and eager to sullen and rebellious overnight.

  “We don’t have all day.” He scratched his chin, eyes narrowed, focused on her.

  She took the stance he’d taught her, and it pained her to do so—to obey him—even if it were something she cared little about, like softball. Softball was merely the newest way he’d found to torture them. Before that, Taured had become obsessed with the chemicals companies were putting in food: he made lists of bad foods and good foods, posting what they were and were not allowed to eat on the doors of the dining hall.

  “Isn’t that very Luther of him?” her mother had mumbled when she first saw them nailed to the door. As the weeks went by, Taured had added to the list, saying that anyone who ate what was on them would be sent to isolation, insisting they work together as a community to bring about change in their own bodies. The list grew and their meals shrank. For three months they ate one meal a day consisting of nothing but broths and the vegetables they grew at the compound. Taured called it detox fasting. The crux: people started passing out, falling down while they worked outside, malnourished and dehydrated from the laxatives he made them take. When productivity went down, the food came back, this time in the form of potatoes, which they also grew themselves. When he got something in his head, Taured’s obsession would overtake the compound.

  They were less hungry than a year ago, but as his focus shifted to softball, he was learning more creative ways to break their bodies.

  He’d keep Kids’ Camp on the field behind the compound from sunrise to long past dark, suspending schoolwork, with no exception for the heat. They sat beneath the unrelenting sun, waiting for their turn to be “conditioned.” She heard the boys refer to their long days of softball as boot camp. They woke, they ate, they ran two miles in the desert, and after that Taured would have them work out in the obstacle course he’d created, having them do sit-ups and push-ups at various points until it was time to break into teams and play softball. In the evenings, they’d have more games, during which the parents would gather to watch. Most everyone was pretty okay at it, but there were a couple kids who largely sucked. Summer was one of them, and she was on this week’s rotation of humiliation.

  “What’s the matter with you? I’ve never seen a more useless woman.” He was rough when he repositioned her, his eyes glassy. She recognized the look inside of them; his eyes got like that when he was in his bad moods. When he was in one of these moods he was dangerous; he’d put words in your mouth if he needed to punish you, create conflict where there was none. Her dread picked up speed when she looked over at third base and saw that a kid named Skye was pitching. Kids’ Camp was divided into the boys’ side and the girls’ side, and the two sides didn’t interact much as a rule. But what she did know about the man/boy who had eyelashes that looked like pale spider legs was that he was cruel. And worse than that: Taured liked him. Skye made eye contact with her, and she felt a plunging in her belly as his flaxen hair lifted in the slight breeze. There was a look of solid determination on his face. He wound the ball above his shoulder in little circles. Taured had told him what to do, she realized, and he wasn’t going to take it easy on her. She licked the sweat from her upper lip and glanced to her left, where Taured had the men set up the makeshift bleachers with benches from the cafeteria.

  She pictured her mother’s pale face, her expression earnest and solemn like the statues of saints she’d seen in Taured’s education slideshows about idol worship. But education was for Wednesday nights, she thought. Tonight, they were here for Taured’s amusement: to play his favorite sport and be his favorite sport. She positioned herself over home plate, holding the bat like she’d been taught. She could hold the bat, but she couldn’t hit anything with it, that was the problem. He’d put her up here week after week until she did. People were getting antsy, sensing the tension; they were out here sweating, and they wanted to be paid in drama. Summer braced herself for the imminent show in which she was to star. Taured looked cool as a cucumber. Happy. And why not? He wasn’t the sport.

  She glanced around at the faces watching them: the people she’d come to know over the last four years. Some of these people were doctors and nurses. Gary Hoeff sat in the front row of the bleachers, his arm around his wife Paula’s shoulders—they’d been owners of a gymnastics academy in their former life. But then something had happened, and they’d come here. Next to them was a young family: a pretty mother and a baby on her knee, her husband a former marine, discharged—for what, Summer didn’t know. None of these people thought this was strange: a grown man using his power to bully a girl. And if they did, they didn’t let on. Everyone here seemed to enjoy it when someone was being humiliated, so long as it wasn’t them.

  Fuck you all, fuck you all, she thought, the sweat running like fingers between her breasts.

  “Another week of the rookie show!” Taured declared with charismatic good humor. His hair had been freshly cut, and with his blindingly white teeth, he looked like a TV game show host. There was laughter from the makeshift bleachers; to Summer, it sounded relieved. They weren’t going to care what happened next because it wasn’t happening to them. This was going downhill fast. She shut her eyes. You can do this, she thought. You know how. She could sense the building aggression in his movements; he was fixated on her. It was her newest role in their fucked-up “family”: torture pet. He’d liked her so much at the beginning. But things were so different now.

  The sins of the parents. New meat. She couldn’t stop thinking about that, and about how her mother’s entire attitude had changed after a few weeks of being there. Maybe this wasn’t about Summer at all. She saw Feena in her mind’s eye, naked in the photo and lying spread-eagle on a gray bedspread; she saw it as if the photo were in front of her and not buried beneath Charlie Cactus a dozen miles away.

  Glad her mother wasn’t there, she clamped her jaw, resigned. It would be fine; she could do this. If her mother got involved, he would hurt her and then he would send her away again. The thought of being alone at the compound for months at a time was frightening. Lorraine was in the infirmary tending to two sick toddlers, though when she’d seen Summer earlier in the day, she’d grabbed her hand meaningfully and told her to be careful.

  Softball was a dangerous sport when played with a maniac.

  “You have to want to hit the ball, Summer!” He clapped his hands, once, twice, and looked at Skye, who was watching him like an attentive puppy.

  Yes, yes, yes—she nodded, agreeable. Like she wanted to miss it and be humiliated in front of these people. She’d tell him anything he wanted to hear. She felt the strong urge to pee and clenched her thighs together, ashamed of her own fear.

  He was in her face now, his own features alive with the same fervor he had when preaching one of his sermons.

  “Watch it, Summertime. Don’t take your eyes off the ball.” And how pleasant did his voice sound to those who could hear him? Just a guy coaching the local softball team. Could they hear the threat beneath the words, or was it just her ears it was meant to sting? When she’d stopped complying, stopped journaling, stopped worshipping, he’d changed. She’d quickly become his favorite person to humiliate. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, Summer, though sin is embarrassing, and you’re filled with it.”

  She gripped the bat harder, her palms sweating. If she missed the ball, she’d be deemed unteachable. Unteachable people were shamed publicly. Was that what he was after? She had to think fast. The adults watched with smiles on their faces; they were excited because Taured was excited. She could smell her own sweat and fear.

  “Watch it...watch it.” His voice a low hum like a mosquito. She tried to block him out and concentrate.

  Don’t tell me what to do! That’s what she wanted to say, to scream, but she didn’t have the guts. His presence was unnerving. It made her chest feel tight and uncomfortable. With her vision blurring, she couldn’t focus on the ball even if she wanted to. Skye wound his arm and then the ball was hurtling her way. It seemed like a fist was coming to punch her in the face—Skye’s or Taured’s. She dropped the bat as she swung; it slipped out of her slimy fingers, landing with a plunk on the ground. The ball hit her on the shoulder, and she was too stunned to cry out. Her shoulder was hot, a dull sting that grew into fire. She stood there, cradling her hurt arm, tears stinging her eyes. A strange sound was coming from somewhere behind her and she swiveled, confused, the pain so intense a single line of tears was soaking into the neck of her T-shirt. Taured was laughing so hard he was bent over. It was a belly laugh, so filled with joy that anyone who heard it would suppose he’d heard the most fantastic joke. You’re the joke, Summertime, she thought.

  “You dropped it!” he shouted like a madman, spittle flying from his lips. He walked away like he couldn’t stand to be near her, clapped three times, then suddenly turned around and came back faster than he’d left. He was angry now. She’d seen him like this before, with other people. Why hadn’t it bothered her then? She’d thought they’d deserved it, just like most people probably thought that now about her.

  “You know what to do, Summer, pick up the bat. You can’t afford not to.” He swung around to everyone else, spread his arms wide as if he were an Old Testament prophet. Perfect for The Taured Show. “None of us can afford to drop the bat when God hands it to us. You cannot let fear dictate what you do.” He turned back to her, the smile still on his face, but something else in his eyes. When she just stood there, staring at him, he said it again: “Pick up the bat, Summer. Swing again.”

  Her fingertips tingled as she bent to obey him. Her face felt funny, like it was frozen despite the heat. She tried to arrange her expression into something besides horror, but everyone was staring at her and it felt like too much. Taured’s eyes on her felt like too much. She covered her eyes with her palms, pressing. She didn’t want to pick up the bat, she didn’t want to do it again.

  “Pick up the bat, Summer,” he said. “Or else...”

  Or else what? She’d have to eat broth for a month? Did she care what he punished her with? She thought of isolation then, and a small shiver crept up her spine; she did care. She was afraid—especially for her mother.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t pick up the bat—she couldn’t, she was clutched in anxiety’s grip, her heart racing so quickly it felt like it was going to rap right out of her chest—ra ta ta ta. Taured’s hands circled her wrists, gently at first, and then his grip bit down harder and harder until she wanted to scream out for him to stop. Before she could open her mouth, he yanked her hands away from her face. She could smell his breath, the soap he’d used to wash himself that morning. His face was suddenly so peaceful, and she hesitated, thinking that maybe he wasn’t mad at her, but then she looked into his eyes and the pupils almost felt like they were reaching for her. She tried to look over his shoulder to find her mother, though she knew Lorraine wasn’t there. The silence alarmed her. Everyone was watching to see how this would play out.

  “Pick up the bat,” he said again, this time so close to her face his spittle landed on her cheek. She tried not to have a reaction, because that’s what he fed on. Keeping her face stony, she bent to retrieve the bat from the ground. Her fingers scraped across the dirt, and then she was upright with the bat in her hands. The grains of sand steadied her grip, soaking up the damp on her palms. Taured stepped back and Summer took her position, her back as straight as the endless Nevada horizon. The strain of holding back her tears was stinging her nose.

  Taured delivered one curt nod to Skye, who looked to Summer like he couldn’t wait to do it again. The next time the ball hit her in the stomach. The third time, it broke her nose.

  * * *

  There was blood; Summer wasn’t sure where it was all coming from, but when she touched her face, her hands came away dripping.

  “Taured, she needs to see a doctor, a real doctor.” Her mother’s voice was pleading and urgent.

  “Is our doctor not good enough for you, Lorraine? Is there a reason you’re so eager to leave here?”

  Summer was barely able to see through the pain. His voice was loud, agitated. They were inside the cafeteria; she recognized the lights on the ceiling. Someone had propped her in a chair and her mother was holding a towel to Summer’s nose.

  “M-kah,” Summer said. “I’m okay” gone wrong. “M-kay.” She didn’t want her mother punished because of her. Grabbing the towel out of her mother’s hand, she held it there herself, crying out when she nudged the wrong place and lightning-sharp pain careened through her head. She looked at Taured first. He was still in one of his cat-and-mouse moods; she could see it on his face.

  If Lorraine argued with him, she’d be taken away from her injured daughter and punished in isolation. That’s how it had been: to disagree was to be sent to solitude for a day or two, “to cool down,” or so he called it. What he meant was: here’s a few days without food, water or light to reconsider your stance. When her mother had come back from her last mission trip and had confronted Taured with what Summer told her, Lorraine was sent to solitude for four days, after which she wouldn’t speak about what had happened to Summer or about her time in solitude. “There’s nothing to say,” she said when Summer asked. “We need to get out of here. And when the time is right, we will.”

  Summer had immediately understood that she and her mother couldn’t talk about their plans to leave for fear of being overheard. She stared at him silently, the answer burning in her eyes but held wisely on the tip of her tongue.

  * * *

  Their old Tin Crap had been sold long ago, “for the financial benefit of the compound.” So Lorraine, with no access to a car and being twenty miles from the nearest hospital, took her fifteen-year-old to the infirmary, where Sara’s father had seen to her.

  Summer would remember his words exactly, the hard-to-cover excitement on his face as the latex of his examination gloves slapped cheerfully against his skin.