Fifteen

I’d been moved. The soft quilt tucked around me and the smell of hot food told me that much. A quick scan of the room confirmed my suspicions. The cinderblock walls were gone, beige plaster boxing me in. Two plain beds without headboards sat side by side, and I was lying in one. The other was neatly made, with a white-and-gold quilt covering the sheets. There was a nightstand, two wooden chairs, and a pine dresser with some sort of big glass bowl sitting on top of it. Above me was a clock and a window. Full-sized. No bars. Just a plain old wooden window covered with lace curtains.

Slowly, I sat up, my eyes immediately trailing down my arms. Bandages covered my forearms from wrist to elbow. I pressed down on one gently, wincing as pain shot through me. The throbbing in my head had given way to a dull ache. It hurt, but at least I could think past it. Reaching up to the back of my head, I swept my hair aside and uncovered yet another bandage and an extremely tender section of scalp.

My mind raced back to the basement, to Joseph’s whispers, to the footsteps and the pinch in my arm that had sent my entire world reeling into darkness. I struggled through the haze, trying to remember how I got here, who’d carried me, and what route they took. But it was all a blur. One horrific, migraine-inducing blur.

I scooted back, pulling the quilt with me. A quick peek under the blankets let me know I was completely dressed. It didn’t mean anything, not when I’d been unconscious for God knows how long. But for some reason, that extra layer of cotton made me feel safer.

The door eased open and Joseph walked in, eying the bed before taking a seat across the room.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“In our reintegration facilities.”

I stared at him, trying to wrap my head around that word. Reintegration.

He laughed, a familiar sound that did little to relax me. “Stop thinking so hard. It’s nothing more than a fancy name for the rooms behind the chapel.”

I gazed back at the window, honing in on the small metal bracket on the top of the frame. It was a standard latch, one that locked from the inside. I glanced at the door. No visible lock there at all. Nothing. Absolutely nothing preventing me from bolting.

As easy as it appeared, I doubted it’d be that simple.

Joseph saw my wandering eyes and guessed what I was thinking. “It’s not the locks you need to be worried about.”

I ignored his warning and got up to test my balance, half expecting to topple over from the blood loss. I didn’t, which meant I’d probably been out of it longer than I wanted to know.

I moved toward the door, and Joseph placed himself squarely between me and my escape route. “What I meant was that the door isn’t locked, but it would be a bad idea to try to walk out. Believe me, you won’t get more than five feet down that hall before he sees you.”

I looked up. No cameras, no blinking red lights, and no strange men peering in the window. Which meant whoever he was, he was waiting outside that door. S’okay, I’d deal with him too.

“Mm hmm,” I said as I did a quick sweep of the room for my shoes and socks. My bare feet were freezing, and if I had a prayer of escaping, I’d need them.

Joseph’s hand was on my shoulder in an instant, his eyes dark. Troubled. He pulled back quickly, like a man who’d touched a hot coal. “I’m serious. The only reason you’re conscious now is because I agreed to stay here and keep watch over you. He would’ve made me keep bleeding you if he’d had his way. I’m supposed to keep you from walking into the chapel or making contact with anyone else until I’ve had a chance to explain things to you. Until he can see for himself that you understand your new role here.” He maneuvered me back toward the bed. “Please, Dee, sit back down.”

I tried to yank myself free from his grip, but Joseph was every bit as strong as he looked. Maybe stronger. “So you’re the only reason I’m conscious?” I yelled. “That’s ironic, considering you’re the one that bled me in the first place!” I stumbled backward as he released his hold, then snatched my shoes and socks from beneath the bed and jammed my feet into them. “And explain what to me?”

“I don’t know … things. And I didn’t want it to be this way,” Joseph whispered, his attention darting nervously be-tween me and the door. “There wasn’t a choice.”

“Who are you trying to kid? You had a dozen other choices. Dozens! And you made the wrong one.”

“I made the only choice that would save my sister.”

“Whatever,” I said, completely uninterested in debating the morality of kidnapping. “Where are Luke and Mike?” I hoped they were in the next town by now, telling the police all about the Purity Springs and their community of deranged freaks.

Joseph’s voice was so low, so quiet I had to strain to make out his words. “I already told you, they’re not here.”

I racked my brain for any bit of useless information, anything that might help me get out or make contact with Luke. I knew what to do if the man with razors on his hands attacked me in my dreams. I could tell you which way to run if an awkward kid rose from the lake, fully grown and wearing a hockey mask. I was even prepared to get off the damn plane when seven random kids from some stupid French class went nuts over the fear of it crashing. But I had no idea what to do when faced with a self-proclaimed prophet and his entire batshit town.

The sound of a door opening and closing outside my room interrupted my thoughts, and Joseph shoved me toward the bed. “Take your shoes off and get back into bed,” he hissed. “Now!”

I half-debated staying right there to meet his father, but I didn’t get a chance. Joseph shoved me again, harder this time, and I fell onto the bed. I fought him as he went to pull the quilt over me. Eventually he gave up and left me there, my shoes hanging off my feet, my legs tangled in the quilt.