Lyric

Ten days later

 

Even though my eyelids were drooping with exhaustion, I managed to sneak away and come to my tree. Situated at the back of the eighteen-acre orchard, the massive walnut tree was one of the first ones my grandparents planted when they started the church close to forty years ago. It was a big, old tree with thick branches and tons of leaves, majestic in its own way. And it was perfect for climbing if you knew where to look. High up in those branches, far away from the worries of the world, I found solace in the gentle greenery of the leaves. The world was both shadowy and bright up there, quiet except for the occasional noise in the distance and the sigh of the wind.

It was my secret refuge, and I needed a moment to hide from my life. With careful planning, I’d managed to slip out from underneath the vigilant eyes of Pastor Middleton’s followers. Ever since the wedding, they’d been watching me closely and it had gone from beyond annoying to downright creepy. Losing my unwanted escort wasn’t easy, but I’d managed to do it and I walked as fast as I could through the rows of trees, past peaches, then plums, then cherry trees, and finally to the section of the orchard devoted to the walnut trees.

Scanning the familiar land, I didn’t see anyone nearby, so I began to climb my tree, grabbing knots and thick branches, pulling myself up with a quiet grunt.

The risk of being punished for disappearing was worth it, and my heart took flight with anticipation after I fished my phone out of its hiding spot. After I powered it up, I saw nine messages from Hustler. We’d started texting each other and talking the day he left for Austin. At first, it was just brief check-ins, but with every day that passed, we messaged each other more and more. He liked to talk to me, and while it might be slightly flirty, our conversations had more of a friendship vibe. For sure he never acknowledged the fact that we’d had erotic, mind-blowing, life-changing sex. Or that he wanted a repeat performance. At first it hurt my feelings, but I had to remind myself he was trying to keep me safe.

Too bad while he was trying to fend off the lions I was already locked in the tiger’s cage.

The pretty manicure I’d gotten for Sarah’s and Swan’s wedding was long gone, leaving behind nothing but short, uneven nails that I absently chewed on.

I spent most of my time inside, afraid to wander the grounds of a place I’d once called home. Almost all the families were gone now, leaving behind Pastor Middleton and his people. Though they called themselves a church, their Christianity was very selective, and very racist. They made fun of everyone that wasn’t white, and I had to hide my tears of rage and disgust around them. It was better if I just blended into the background; that way they didn’t really see me.

The memory of Pastor Middleton standing at the pulpit of my church flashed through me, and I rubbed my sore heart. Seeing him spewing his hate in the same space where my grandfather had preached about God’s endless love offended me on every level. Unfortunately, I was helpless to stop him and the only form of protest that I had was to avoid going to his sermons at all costs. The mood in the room would grow so hateful, so full of rage, that I couldn’t take it.

Hustler sent me a picture with one of his texts, smiling into the camera while he held up an antique solid jade dildo. He ran a pawn store in Austin, and some of the stuff people sold him were downright crazy. When he was at work, I always got at least a dozen photos of things he wanted to show me, or ask my opinion on. I liked that he valued my input and learned all kinds of cool facts from him.

Shaking myself to gather my wandering thoughts, I quickly read the rest of his texts, then answered them in order. No, I didn’t like cigars. Yes, I did like pipe smoke. If I could paint a room any color, what would it be? Did I like leather? How about leather slapping my ass in the form of a flogger?

For a moment, I hesitated to answer the last question, then typed in yes and pressed send. A tingle of hot, nervous pleasure detonated in my belly, burning away the negative feelings eating at me. As I waited for his reply, hoping he was able to answer, more of those wild sparks lit in my system until I felt alive for the first time in days. Lust, desire—they were powerful emotions and what I felt for Hustler was strong enough to free me from my sadness.

When he didn’t answer, my excitement dimmed, and I slowly wrapped my phone back up and put it in the tree, feeling so very alone.

Stroking the rough bark of the trunk, I rested my head against it and swallowed hard. I prayed for strength, prayed for my ancestors in heaven, and prayed for my grandmother. I prayed until the world had gone dark, and I knew I’d been gone too long, but I couldn’t stop pleading for God to help me. I’d cried so much my face felt stiff with the salt of my tears.

By the time I made it home, all the lights were on in my house and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Of course my absence had been noted.

One of Pastor Middleton’s men spotted me standing on the edge of the yard, and let out a yell that I was here. A moment later a tall, slightly portly man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair strode out onto the back porch as if he owned the place. Like his son Clint, he was handsome and charismatic, but he was also evil. He claimed to be a prophet for God, but he was as crazy as he was charming. The way he preached, the devotion he demanded from his members, it was downright creepy.

The sight of him defiling my grandmother’s home with his presence offended me. I wanted to scream at him to get the heck off her property, but he was the new pastor, so he controlled everything. Originally Marty, a kind and wise man who’d been friends with my parents, had been the new pastor. He’d stepped up and helped me through my father’s death, while my mother fell apart. Marty and his wife were perfect to lead the church, but they’d up and disappeared about a week before Pastor Middleton had arrived, at my mother’s invitation. Oh, they’d left a note saying they were going on a pilgrimage and wouldn’t be back for a while, but it wasn’t like them to flake out like that.

Late at night, when I was struggling to sleep, my mind liked to whisper that maybe Pastor Middleton had something to do with their disappearance.

The bright lights from the porch caught the silver in his hair and the white in his smile as he approached me.

“Lyric.” The false concern in his voice rankled me. “Where have you been? We were so worried.”

My mother moved to his side, her expression cold and stern. Not that I should be surprised. Our relationship had been strained at best over the last ten years, and after my father’s passing, it was as if she couldn’t even pretend to like me anymore. When I was younger, I tried everything I could to win her affection, was the perfect daughter in every way, but it was never enough. As I searched her face for some sign of warmth, I wondered what I did to make her dislike me so much.

Hoping for some kind of reaction, I said, “Hello, Mother, it’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“Hello, Lyric.”

Like I was a stranger to her.

“Where were you?” Pastor Middleton repeated, his lips tight beneath his thick mustache. “Stop dawdling and answer me.”

Since birth, I’ve been taught to be submissive to the male elders of the church, to let them lead and follow them without argument. Any back talk and I was likely to get my butt beaten with a belt when I was younger, and slaps across the face as I got older. When I’d come home from class at the small school on our property with a black eye one day from my teacher, my parents had done nothing. They sided with my teacher and said I shouldn’t have questioned him in front of the entire class about being wrong about a historical fact. Oh, I had been burning mad about that, the injustice of it eating at me, but I was only a kid so I took my punishment and learned the heartbreaking lesson that my parents wouldn’t stand up for me.

So far, Pastor Middleton hadn’t laid a hand on me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the potential for violence in him. Danger oozed from his pores like thick tar, the scent of madness on his breath. Dressed in a nice suit, he was the picture of genteel grace, but he terrified me.

My voice shook slightly as I said, “I was praying in the orchard.”

“Praying?”

“Y-yes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and I felt like he was laughing at me—and not in a good way.

“Well, I’ve been praying, too,” he said, while his eyes took on that manic sparkle that scared me, “and God sent me a message.”

I tensed, my spine stiffening and the bitter taste of fear filling my mouth. Nothing good seemed to ever come from these alleged messages from God, and I had a feeling it wasn’t the good Lord whispering into Pastor Middleton’s ear. If you believed in the existence of good, then you must also believe in the existence of evil, and I swore the devil had a hand on that man’s shoulder. Pastor Middleton was a liar, a manipulator, a thief, and a racist. And when I say he was a liar, I mean with a capital L. If not telling the truth would benefit him in any way, he’d say anything to get what he wanted. And if people argued with him, he’d go with the ultimate defense that God told him to do/say such and such.

I dreaded whatever terrible act he was going to justify in God’s name as I said, “And what was his message?”

“That you need a man to watch over you, to rule you and keep you from making poor decisions.” His judging, yet condescending look made me want to rip his eyebrows off.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“I heard about your indiscretions with that filthy spic biker.”

My mother’s upper lip curled in disgust. “Debasing yourself with him like a common whore.”

My lips were numb and my mouth dry as I whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar. We know all about you letting that foul animal put his mouth all over you at the wedding reception.”

My stomach clenched and I prayed that Pastor Middleton hadn’t found out that I’d spent the night with Hustler. When I’d come home the next day, I’d been yelled at for disappearing, but Mike and Mimi had covered for me, saying I was sleeping at their house. And no one ever mentioned Clint being there. I certainly hadn’t said anything because I didn’t want him to know I’d purposely avoided him, but at the same time I wondered why he was hiding his visit.

“Harlot,” Pastor Middleton snarled and got into my personal space, making my skin itch with his nearness. “Women are weak, stupid, and need someone to watch over them. God gave Eve to Adam because He knew she was created a sinner. Without a man’s strong hand, a woman will quickly fall to ruin. God told me you need a keeper, and that Clint would make a good husband for you.”

“Clint? You want me to marry Clint? Never!”

Spittle flew from his lips as he yelled, “You will marry him, and you will behave, or I promise you that you will regret it!”

“No, I won’t.”

“You will do what you are told.” My mother glared at me, her face pulled tight with anger.

Taking an unsteady step backward, I had to hold my hands out to keep my balance. “You’re insane.”

His lips thinned and a mean look came into his eyes, one I was only too familiar with. The real Pastor Middleton was about to make himself known. The man’s face tightened, a vein popping out in his forehead as he closed the distance between us. A shriek caught in my throat as he grabbed my arms hard enough to hurt, his fingers sinking into my biceps as I tried to pull away.

The scent of mint on his breath didn’t mask the lingering odor of cigarettes as he yelled in my face, “You are going to marry him, or so fucking help me, I will bring the wrath of God down on you.”

“Pastor Middleton…” An old woman’s voice called out from the porch. “We didn’t know you were coming to visit.”

I looked up to the porch and saw Tess and June, my roomies. The two women were in their late sixties and dear friends. When my grandmother had gotten sick, Tess—a registered nurse—moved in with us to help care for my grandmother. June came to stay in my grandmother’s big rambling farmhouse a few months ago, after her children had left the compound. They’d begged her to go with them, but she was adamant that this was her home, and she wasn’t letting anyone chase her out.

That had lasted for all of two weeks before she sought sanctuary at my grandmother’s.

They’d helped found the church together back in Corpus Christi, and June had helped plan the layout of our compound. She was a trained architect, one who’d left the real world and all of its heartache behind. When I’d googled her name one day, I was surprised by the size of the buildings she’d designed. There were blogs dedicated to her work, and she had fans all over the world. Yet she stayed here on the compound, a happy recluse.

June, her thick silver hair twisted back in a tight bun, glared at Pastor Middleton. Dressed in a long black skirt and white blouse, she cut an imposing figure. Everything about her screamed class and power as she used her formidable presence to break the tension in the air.

“If you’ll excuse us, Lyric’s grandmother is asking for her. She’s fading fast, so we don’t have a lot of time now when she’s aware of her surroundings.”

Pastor Middleton froze, then slowly released me from his grip.

I darted away before he could change his mind, clumsy in my fear.

June met my gaze as I raced past her, and the worry etched into her kind features added to my growing need to run.

Maybe I should do what I’d been avoiding; tell my grandmother the truth, and ask for her permission to leave.

Guilt pounded into me, but my fear was stronger.

I did not want to end up married to Clint against my will.

To be forced to accept him into my bed.

To bear his children and subject them to this life.

The walls were a blur as I charged up the stairs leading to my grandmother’s room. It would have been easier to care for her on the ground floor, but she loved the view from her window. It showed the sprawled-out community, set back from the other houses with a good acre of land on all sides. At night, the lights from the homes below glowed like candles. Little points of light and love in all the darkness.

By glory, did I need some light in my life right now.

I had enough sense to pause and gather myself before I barged into her room, not wanting her to see me upset. Like me, my grandmother was sensitive, but she hid it behind a shield of indifference. Where I struggled to keep people out of my heart, she’d mastered the art of emotional isolation for her own protection.

Then my grandfather had died and she’d changed. She said God had spoken to her, and told her she needed to open her heart. That denying her gifts and cutting herself off from the world was a sin. I’d had two really good years with her before her mind began to slip. Little things at first…then her whole life was gone for scary-long periods of time.

The thought of forgetting everyone I loved terrified me.

She rarely knew what year it was, that my father was dead, or sometimes even who I was. It hurt me when she confused me with people from her past. Most often, she called me Melody—some woman she knew from a long time ago. Whoever this woman was, my grandmother was very fond of her.

Opening the door to her room, I was happy to see her cloudy hazel eyes, so like my own, were sharp and focused on me. Her body seemed so tiny and wizened in the big bed, hardly the formidable woman from my youth. My grandmother had always been tough on me, but not in an unkind way. She was rough on me the same way Mike was rough on Sarah and Swan. They wanted us to be strong, independent women and they did whatever they viewed as necessary to make that happen.

While Mike trained his girls like special-ops forces, my grandmother strengthened my soul with her faith and love. She wasn’t a huggy, cuddly grandmother, but she was fair and she was kind in her own way. When I was younger, I’d bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t have Barbie dolls because their clothes were improper and my dad forbade it. My grandmother helped me get around this by sewing tiny doll dresses that were a replica of my clothes. She’d even braided Barbie’s hair into an approved hairstyle, and somehow removed the painted-on makeup.

My dad and grandfather had given her grief, but she stuck to her guns and was adamant that every girl needed dolls.

Tears filled my eyes as I made my way to her side.

“Hi, Grandma.”

“Melody?”

“No, it’s me, Lyric.”

“Lyric? My goodness.” She smiled, her bent and knotted hand wobbling as she lifted it to cup my cheek. “You’re all grown up.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty, almost twenty-one.”

She slowly shook her head, her eyes sad. “I should have known that. I’m sorry I forgot.”

“No, it’s okay.” I took her hand in my own, wanting to collapse into tears, but managing to hold them back.

“Darling? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay.”

“Do not lie to me, little girl. I can see something is bothering you terribly. There’s a darkness on your soul that wasn’t there before. Now I know this sickness is slowly taking me from this world, bit by bit, but I’ll do my best to ease your burden. Please, Lyric, what has you so distraught?”

“I…I need to tell you something.”

I gave her a brief rundown on what was going on, and she became so distressed I feared for her weak heart.

Her wrinkles deepened as she frowned, her gnarled hands restless as she plucked at the sheets. “Oh, Lyric, I am so sorry I’ve failed to keep you safe.”

“No, none of this is your fault. I shouldn’t have said anything, I—”

“Hush, child. I’m afraid my time on this earth isn’t going to be much longer. We’re all bound by God’s plan, and I can feel it in my soul that my time to return to his arms will be soon. I may not be able to protect you, but I know who can. Go to the Andersons.”

“But I can’t leave you behind.”

“You can, and you will. Why in the world would I want you to sit around and watch this mortal shell return to the earth at the risk of your own life? You’re my greatest blessing, and it hurts my heart to know you’re so unhappy. Please, my love, go. I can’t bear the thought of you being forced into a loveless marriage.”

My heart raced as she began to tremble, then shake. This had been happening more and more often lately, and I knew it was a mild seizure. Holding her hands in my own, I whispered soothing things to her, favorite prayers and passages from the Bible, until her jerking subsided. As usual, her gaze was cloudy and unfocused as she slowly returned to consciousness.

When she blinked at me in confusion, I knew her brief moment of lucidity was gone.

When she finally focused on me, she smiled. “Melody, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your mother, making Sunday dinner for the church?”

“Grandma, it’s me, Lyric.” Tears filled my voice and I swallowed hard.

“Lyric?”

“Yes, your granddaughter.”

“I have a granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

She patted my hand. “How old are you, dear?”

I closed my eyes, sadness overwhelming me as I whispered, “Twenty.”

“Twenty?” She blinded a few times, her gaze dimming. “You lived longer than your mother. Died at nineteen. Prettiest voice in the world. Sang like an angel.”

“No,” I said gently. “Mom is still alive and she is tone-deaf.”

Tilting her head to the side, she frowned. “No, Melody died during childbirth.”

“Who is Melody?”

Her faded, cataract-clouded eyes filled with tears. “Your father loved his Melody more than anything on this earth. Followed her when she fled the church, but returned as the prodigal son after he lost her. Evelyn was more than happy to claim you and your father; she’d always had her eye on him, and you needed a mother.”

I was torn, part of me thinking this was the rambling of her broken mind, but a small part of me thought it made sense.

“Evelyn isn’t my mother?”

Her lids began to fall and her hand rested in mine. “I’m tired.”

“Grandmother, please, is Evelyn my mother?”

“Mother of the heart, not the womb.”

She drifted off as I sat there, stunned, trying to make sense of the last hour of my life. Pastor Middleton was going to force me to get married to his odious son, the woman I’d always thought of as my mother might actually be my stepmother, and my birth mother was probably dead. A sick feeling filled me as I knelt next to my grandmother’s bed and sobbed.

A gentle hand stroked my head a moment before June said, “There, there. Take it easy, sweetheart. You’re crying so hard you’re going to hurt yourself.”

I let June help me off the floor and out of the room, her gray eyes kind and filled with worry as she scanned my face. “Are you all right? I saw Pastor Middleton manhandling you. What was he screaming about?”

“He’s going to force me to marry Clint. But that doesn’t matter. June, who is my birth mother?”

She startled, her face going pale and her gaze looking away from me as she licked her lips. “What are you talking about?”

“Grandmother said some woman named Melody is my birth mother. Is that true?”

Closing her eyes, she whispered, “I swore I wouldn’t tell you.”

“June! Who is my mother?”

“I can’t tell you. I swore a sacred vow before God. We all did.”

“I have a right to know!”

She placed both her hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with an intense expression. “Lyric, please, I can’t tell you, but I know someone who can. Mike Anderson.”

I clutched my chest. “He…he knows who my birth mother is?”

She gave a solemn nod. “He does. Tell him he has our blessings to share what he knows with you.”

A sharp pain ricocheted through my chest. “But…he knew and he kept it from me?”

“I’ll let him explain his reasons for his silence, but please try to forgive us for our deceit. I promise you, we never wanted to hurt you. We all thought we were doing the right thing, that we were protecting you.”

I let her lead me into my room, my whole body shaking as I tried to process the shock rolling through me. “What am I going to do?”

Her chin wobbled, but she kept her lips firm. “This place is no longer safe for you, Lyric. You need to leave and go someplace away from Pastor Middleton and his insane greed.”

“I can’t leave my grandmother.”

“Sweetheart, we both know she’s not long for this world. Tess and I will take care of her and make sure her final days are comfortable. I know she wouldn’t want you to stay in a horrible situation like this.”

I couldn’t think, my mind racing, yet not actually working, and I rubbed my face briskly with both hands. “What should I do?”

“We’ll figure out a way to cause a distraction, then you need to run. I’d let you use my car, but you’d have to take the main road out of the compound and they’d follow you. Your best bet is to walk. You know this land like the back of your hand and you know where the traps and cameras are on Mike Anderson’s property. Years ago, when your grandparents bought this land from him, he scared the heck out of me. At the time, he didn’t live on the property, and I was secretly glad. There’s something dark about him…” She gave herself a quick shake. “I never thought I’d be thanking the good Lord for putting a man like Mike into our lives, but once again His plan is grander than mine. A man like that will be able to help you.” She kissed my forehead. “Pack, quick as you can, like a bunny. Hop to it.”

I’d prepared for this moment, so I kind of went on autopilot as I grabbed my belongings. Soon I had my backpack and a duffle bag ready to go. As I did a slow circle in the center of my small room, a mournful cry left me, knowing this might be the last time I’d see my home. As I took in the framed pictures of my family, the stuffed animals I’d had since I was a baby sitting on a chair in the corner, and the pink and gray quilt my grandmother had made me spread out on the bed, I hurt deep inside. Even in my daydreams of leaving, I always envisioned myself coming back. But with Pastor Middleton in power, determined to force me into a marriage I didn’t want, I didn’t see that happening.

Hurt slashed through my stomach like a knife as I looked at a picture of my father and me in the orchard, his normally stern face split with a smile. I was around five or six in the picture, and he was holding me up so I could pick a plum. This was one of my favorite photos of us, but now I wondered how he could have hid the truth from me, why he’d want to keep me from knowing about my birth mother. Was she a horrible person? Was there something wrong with her? Was there something wrong with me?

For a long moment, I stood in the center of my room, held in place by chains of doubt, sadness, and pain.

“Oh, Dad,” I whispered, “why did you have to go? Why did you have to leave me behind? I need you. I need you to tell me the truth, I need to know why you lied to me, I need you here to protect me.”

For a moment, I swear I felt his arms around me, and my eyes and throat burned as a sob caught in my chest.

Gathering my strength, I took a deep breath and scrubbed my cheeks. As much as I wanted to just curl up in a ball and cry, I couldn’t. I had to be strong, I had to save myself. While God might not send down a flaming chariot to carry me to the promised land, He had given my grandmother the strength to give me permission to go. The strength to tell me a truth I needed to know, no matter how painful. I couldn’t waste this opportunity.

I wanted to take everything, but had kept it to what I knew I could carry. I’ve been on my fair share of Mike’s hard-core hiking treks, and had the muscles to prove it. Like June said, the Lord worked in mysterious ways. I’d cursed Mike some days, when my body ached and he demanded one more mile. Now I was happy as heck I had the endurance to run to the safety of his home. Once I crossed onto his property, no one could hurt me.

But right now, I was sick with doubt and fear.

I gave my bedroom one last look and tried to breathe past the pain in my chest.

Homesickness threatened to rob me of my resolve, but I forced myself to take that first difficult step on what would no doubt be a long journey.

I eased my door open and found all the lights in the house turned out.

My sense of time was warped by adrenaline as I eased into the kitchen, wondering how long I’d been packing, and if the sun would be rising soon.

June was waiting for me by the door, a small brown leather purse in her hand.

She handed it to me with a wavering smile. “Here, these belong to you. They’ve been passed down in your father’s family, grandmother to oldest granddaughter, for three generations. I don’t know if your grandmother ever told you, but she came from a very, very wealthy family. Old money, the kind that made their fortune back in the 1920s. These belong to you now. I don’t know much about jewelry, but I do know that’s the good stuff. Ask Mike to help you find a reputable jeweler and you should be able to sell it for enough money to live on for the rest of your life.”

I clutched the bag, then quickly shoved it into the bottom of my backpack. “Thank you.”

A car pulled up out front, and we both froze.

June sucked in a quick breath, then pushed me to the back door. “Go, now. Run to the Andersons. I love you, we all love you. May God shelter you in the palm of His hand and guide your heart.”

A sob caught in my throat and I managed to hold back the sound, keeping quiet as I slipped into the field behind my grandmother’s house. Large trees stood in the distance and I moved at a steady pace across the yard. Part of me wanted to run, to sprint to the trees, but it would tire my body out and make my trip longer. No, I had to put one foot in front of the other and carefully move through the night.

It was cloudy, and the woods were almost pitch-black as I felt my way through them. My imagination kept wanting to see shadows as monsters, and I was having a hard time keeping my cool. Finally, I reached the other side of the patch of trees and found the wooden fence that ran the length of our property. In the distance, I imagined I could see the red covered bridge that separated the Anderson’s compound from my own. It spanned a pretty deep creek, and Mike had honest-to-goodness spikes that would sprout up from the bridge decking and shred the tires of any vehicle trying to cross without his authorization.

Mr. Anderson didn’t mess around when it came to home safety.

I knew he’d receive an alert the second I made it to the bridge. He had cameras and all kinds of sensors all over it, and I felt the first tingles of excitement that I was about to finally, finally be free.

That happiness died a quick death as I heard the sound of an engine, and men’s raised voices, echoing in the still night air.

Breaking into a jog, I began to panic as the bridge seemed to get further and further away, not closer. My lungs began to burn and my feet ached as I picked up speed. The distinct sound of an ATV motor joined the voices and I knew I was in trouble. Stupid, stupid me—I forgot about the ATVs. A car wouldn’t get to me soon enough; I had a good lead, but an ATV could catch me in no time.

My breath came out in wheezing gasps as I ran like the devil himself was chasing me. The bridge finally came into sight, motion detecting floodlights illuminating the entrance as I sprinted inside. Leaning against the wall, I gasped, willing my lungs to work, to give me oxygen. Black spots danced around my eyes and I fought a surge of nausea.

“Lyric?” Mimi’s voice came from a hidden speaker. “Are you okay?”

“N-no,” I wheezed. “Chasing me.”

Mike’s voice came on next. “Run—keep going. The old tree, you know what to do.”

I wanted to cry; in fact, a few tears escaped, but I forced myself to move. Long ago, Mike had shown me a fake tree that was actually a hiding place. It wasn’t big, but it was safe. Steel lined, with a fingerprint entry, it was like a small bomb shelter. Swan and I had fun playing in it when we were younger, calling it our clubhouse. Now I pulled in wheezing gasps of air, my lungs and legs burning as I ran through the bridge, my footsteps echoing like a herd of elephants crossing the wood planks.

For one horrible moment, I forgot where the tree was, my panic rendering me dumb to the world around me.

The sound of cars came closer and lights flashed through the small thatch of trees about a hundred feet from the bridge, momentarily illuminating my legs. I waited for the cry to go out that I’d been found, but when the car kept turning, my paralysis broke. Uncaring of making any noise, I crashed through some bushes, finally spotting the fake tree hidden among the real. In the dark, finding the release lever became a terrible game, and my hands were shaking so hard that by the time I did get it, my sweaty fingers slipped over the latch twice.

A man’s voice yelled out, “Don’t cross the bridge, they got spike strips.”

The hidden door on the tree swung open and I dove inside, the cool darkness stuffy and slightly musty. Closing the door behind me, I huddled in the small circular space, the metal walls cold against my back, my duffle bag clutched to my chest. The shelter had seemed much bigger when I was eight years old, and now it felt constraining, like a coffin or a tomb. Vaguely I could hear raised voices outside. No doubt Mike was talking with whoever had come after me via his cameras and hidden speakers. It was irrational, but I kept fearing that at any moment Pastor Middleton would wrench the door to my hidden space open and drag me back to the compound.

I have no idea how long I remained hidden there, crouching like a scared rabbit in its hole, before the door swung open, momentarily blinding me. The sun was just starting to rise, and in the bright light, I saw the most loving pair of deep brown eyes staring down at me. Mimi Anderson was in her late fifties, and a stunningly beautiful woman. With long black hair and high cheekbones, she could have been a model if she hadn’t decided instead to become an assassin for the Italian mob run by her father.

“Lyric,” she breathed out in a rush as she pulled me into her arms, clutching me to her as I sobbed. “It’s okay, baby, it’s all right. I’ve got you.”