“Okay, Megan. I want you to wake up now. We’re going to wake in three, two, one. And wake.”

Megan’s eyes blinked open and she stared at Dr. Mattingly. She was breathing short, quick breaths.

“Shit,” she said after a few seconds.

“We’ve discussed this, Megan. Not every session will end with a breakthrough.”

“It was right there. That thing I’m looking for.”

“Megan, it’s important at this stage of your treatment for me to protect you. To stop your mind from going too far in these sessions. Eventually, with each session, we’ll go a little further and that will be considered progress. But journeying too far too soon will bring regression. Instead of moving forward, your mind will retreat and our progress will be lost.”

“If I get close again, though, will you just leave me there for a minute longer? I hate it when you take control from me. You said I needed to feel in control for this stuff to work.”

“I’m always considering what’s best for you, Megan. When your body language and voice all coincide with it being the right time to take that next step, we’ll do it. I’ll leave you there. But when you’re hyperventilating and your pulse is racing, your mind is not ready for that step. This takes time, Megan. And since you’ve given yourself to the process, you’ve made great strides. It’s common to want to do too much. But as your physician, I need to keep you healthy throughout the process.”

Megan took a deep breath. “You’re the shrink.”

CHAPTER 24

His last visit, so anticipated and carefully planned, had gone poorly. She had been in a particularly defiant mood that evening, and he knew it as soon as he entered the cellar. He’d walked down the stairs to find her standing with one side of the dismantled bed frame in her hand like a baseball bat. It hurt him to see her like that, so ready to fight him and strike him. All he had done was offer to love this one and take care of her. He wanted to give her a fair chance.

It was a burden for him that evening, with his hopes high on a pleasant night of companionship, to have to repair her meddling. First he overpowered her, which he did without difficulty, but the process put a damper on the evening. Then he tied her to the opposite side of the room so he could repair the bed in peace and without fear that she would attack him. Finally, worst of all, he punished her. This, he hated most. Such high hopes for the evening, it was a pity to have ended it that way. But if their relationship were to survive, they each had to follow the rules. He was not outside of those rules. Certainly not. He laid them out for her when they first started together, and promised he would never break the rules unless she forced him to do so. Unfortunately, with this one in particular, they were broken often. Much more than the others.

After that last evening ended so badly, he feared things were at a breaking point for them now. They were at that proverbial fork in the road he had reached with all of them. Despite each of their journeys being unique and lasting various lengths of time, they all seemed to reach this fork. In one direction, happiness and bliss. In the other, sorrow and grief.

That night when he found her armed and ready to strike, he calmly repaired the bed and delivered a swift and appropriate punishment. Afterward, he offered one more chance to make things work. He trusted and truly believed she was willing to try. She told him as much that night, nearly begged him for another chance. So he arranged tonight, another special evening when he had all the time in the world and no one was waiting for him at home and no one would question where’d he been. They wouldn’t need to rush things.

When he descended the cellar stairs tonight, however, he knew immediately she had lied to him. He found her hard at work, having used the sharp end of the box-spring frame again to pry free one of the plywood boards that covered the window. It lay still on the floor, an open picture of her deceit. She had also pried apart the window frame—the heavy glass too thick to penetrate—to produce a gapping crevice through which she had managed to wedge half her torso until she trapped her head and neck and one of her arms outside the cellar window, her chest and lower body inside.

She looked pathetic, trapped, and helpless. Foolish, even, hanging halfway out the window with no means to go farther or to retreat back into the cellar. Did she even realize, in this wretched state, that he was her savior? The only one who could help her? He felt something for this one. Perhaps sorrow. Perhaps something different. But for the first time, he also felt fear. It would have been disastrous had she succeeded. Given more time she might have ruined everything for him. Panic washed over him at the thought of what her freedom would bring. The trail she would leave, like dropped popcorn kernels, would lead back to this place. The discoveries that would be made. It would spell the end, something for which he was not prepared.

As he entered the cellar, his mind worked quickly to correct his errors. She would no longer be granted access to the windows. He would rearrange her living quarters and restrict her movements. Sad, but necessary. Punishment tonight would be brutal. A statement that this behavior could not continue. The message would be delivered without remorse. He walked over to her and knocked softly on the window. Exhausted from her aborted escape, she lifted her head from the damp ground outside and stared at him through the thick glass block. She was stuck at the chest, with one arm wedged against her side and the other outstretched and supporting her head as she lay on the wet mud and pea gravel outside the window. He rubbed her bare leg, which hung inside the cellar.

He shook his head as he stared into her eyes. “Have you any idea how much it hurts me when you behave like this?”

With her teeth gritted, she violently kicked the side of his face. He recoiled in a sudden jerk, losing his footing and falling to the ground with his hand covering his cheek and a shocked look of insult on his face. He sat on the cold concrete floor and watched as she flailed, half in and half out of the cellar window—a feeble turtle on its back.

He stood and walked to the corner. On the table was a bottle of spray paint, which he shook violently, the small ball bearing rattling inside the bottle as it mixed the paint. He, too, gritted his teeth as he shook the bottle, staring at her as she looked back through the glass.

He walked to the far wall and pointed the canister at the concrete. In black spray paint he created a large X on the wall next to a previous one, whose thick black lines had dripped down the gray concrete to dry in frozen tears of paint. They both knew the rules. Three X’s meant the end of their relationship. The first had come last time, when he found her holding the dismantled bed frame and ready to fight for her freedom. Tonight, the second X. The rules were clear. After the third, a chance for redemption would not be granted, and a parting of ways would follow. The system was sophomoric and demeaning. But successful, too. History told him the second X brought them under control. There was always a joyous time after that second mark went onto the wall. It was a time of submission. A time of giving. A time when, in the past, he had fallen in love.

But love did not come easily. It needed to be earned. Betrayal needed to be snuffed out completely. He put the paint can back onto the table, inhaling the sweet chemicals as they saturated the air. Then he removed his shirt so as not to dirty it. Folded it neatly and placed it on the table. With his back to her, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then, removing his belt, he turned and walked to her, wrapped the leather around her ankles, cinching it tight, and then sadistically pulled her back through the window.

SUMMER 2016

“I’ll be home for every holiday.”

—Megan McDonald

CHAPTER 25

August 2016

Two Weeks Before the Abduction

He was seven years old when the man at the fair took his brother. With sticky fingers, Casey Delevan pushed cotton candy into his mouth and watched as the man with greasy hair placed his arm around Joshua and led him into the parking lot. There was no explanation to his silence that day. No way to explain why he didn’t run for help. He should have found his father. Instead, he allowed the sugar to dissolve in his mouth until the man led Joshua across the gravel and out of sight.