Текст книги "Water Walker"

Автор книги: Ted Dekker

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

24

THE FIRST sensation I felt was a sharp pain in my knee and I think it was the acuteness of that discomfort that jerked me out of a dark, peaceful oblivion.

Immediately memories flooded me. My escape attempt with Bobby had failed miserably. Back in my room, I’d lost all hope and fallen into a deep despair, recalling all of the torment I’d suffered since I’d been kidnapped by my own mother five years earlier.

Every hour of forced prayer. All of the guilt heaped on me for not being perfect. Every day in the closet, every meal withheld from me, every turn of my mother’s psychological screws, all of the abuse.

I was a slave. I had no rights. I was being used like an animal, a lamb, an offering . . . By whatever name, it was all the same to me.

And for that I realized that I really did hate Kathryn.

The moment this realization came to me, my hatred grew into something more. I loathed her. She disgusted me. Rage boiled in my veins as I lay staring at the wall, unable to sleep.

Then Kathryn had come in and injected something into my arm and my world had quickly vanished. Only to be jerked back into my awareness when the sharp pain hit my knee.

It was strange. I was unconscious, I knew that much. But I could hear and feel my mother standing over me, breathing hard and applying terrible pressure to my leg, as if she was trying to hurt me.

At first I dismissed the thought—Kathryn had said and done many cruel things to me, but she’d never struck me or injured me. But as her straining persisted, I realized that she was.

And then it hit me: she was trying to break my leg. My own mother was carrying out the very threat that monster, Zeke, had alluded to in the field. She was trying to break the leg of her wayward lamb so that I couldn’t run away!

I was in a deep sleep, so I couldn’t react at all, much less try to stop her. I could only lie there and let her do whatever she liked as great waves of anguish and revulsion rolled through me.

What exactly happened after that is a little dim. Outrage blinded me. All I knew was that the pain shifted from my knee to my ankle, then shot up my leg before she finally let go and left me alone in my room.

She might have broken my ankle, I wasn’t sure. But it hardly mattered any more. In fact, a part of me was glad that she’d finally shown her truest offensive nature—it only validated and further justified my hatred of her.

Whereas before I might have had a sliver of doubt about my rights, and a tinge of guilt over my rebellion, I was now unequivocally certain that I would run and I wouldn’t stop running until I got away from Kathryn and Zeke forever. I would go straight to the police and send them right to prison where they both belonged.

This was what I was thinking as I drifted in a sea of darkness for what felt like many hours, because a part of me was aware the whole time. I distantly wondered if it was the drugs that made it all so strange. Or maybe my own fear was keeping me half aware—she might come back.

But she didn’t. I lay on my back for a very long time without dreaming or forming coherent thoughts. Swimming in bitterness.

No . . . not swimming. Floating. Yes, I was floating on a black sea.

Gradually, much later, I thought to myself: This isn’t a black sea. It’s the lake. And I’m not on my bed, I’m lying at the bottom of a small boat.

I jerked up, heart lodged in my throat. Spun my head. The calm, dark lake water stretched out to the distant shore in all directions. I was dreaming that dream again. The water walker dream.

But it felt so real, you see?

The lake was still and deathly silent, and waves of panic washed over me, as threatening as any storm. I was stranded in a boat without oars. There was no one to help me! The water was pitch black. A storm could come up and drown me!

The moment I had the thought, the wind began to blow and immediately the boat started to roll with the rising waves.

I scrambled to my knees and grabbed onto the side of the boat to steady myself. I still knew that I was in a dream, but the wood under my palm and the wind on my face felt so real that I was tempted to think I really was stranded in a storm. And as soon as I had that thought, I was.

It was actually happening! I really was going to drown.

Oh no! No, no, no!

“Eden . . .”

The familiar voice reached me from far away over the pitching waves and I twisted toward the distant shore. I could just see him when the boat rose up on a wave, then lost sight when it dropped back down.

It was him. It was the Outlaw!

“Walk to me, Eden . . .”

Then he vanished behind a wave as the boat dropped. The wooden hull smacked the water and shuddered.

It was getting worse!

“Eden . . .” Outlaw’s distant call was whipped by the wind. “Step out of the boat and walk to me . . .”

“I can’t!” I screamed.

“Walk to me, Eden . . .”

“I can’t!”

The boat was bucking in waves so high now that I knew one was going to crash into the boat and crush me under its weight. And I now was certain that I was no longer dreaming. It was real! I really was going to die.

“Eden . . .”

Panic overrode my thoughts as a massive wave lifted the boat high into the air.

“Step out of the boat and . . .”

But his ‘walk to me’ was lost as the boat crashed back down into the water with enough force to rip my grip free and send me sprawling.

I began to scream. Then was pitched forward and smashed my head on the boat’s side.

“Help me!” I was out of breath and sucked at the night air, but spray slapped my face and stopped my breathing short.

“Help!”

The wind suddenly stilled and the lake calmed. I was breathing hard, steadying myself with both hands outstretched, sure that another wave would come.

Instead, the boat’s rolling slowed to a gentle rocking.

I got my knees under me and pushed myself up so that I could see the water. The lake was flat again, and I immediately saw why.

Outlaw was walking toward me. On top of the water. Moving with even strides in boots that kept him afloat.

But no . . . No, he wasn’t wearing boots. His feet were bare, splashing with each step.

Slap . . . Slap . . . Slap . . .

I was too astonished to move. All the while, he kept his gentle eyes on me.

Slap . . . Slap . . . Slap . . .

He’d stilled the water. Only then did I think, Oh yeah . . . this is a dream. You can do things like that in dreams. So I stood up and watched him all the way, amazed by just how real my dream looked. Only the fact that he was walking on water reminded me that it wasn’t real.

Or was it?

He stopped ten feet from the boat and stared at me. Flashed a smile.

“Hello, Eden.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I see you’re stuck again.”

I looked at his feet and saw that the water only came up half way to the top of them.

“Is this real?”

“Of course it’s real. It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but in a dream. I’m dreaming.”

“Are you?”

“I think so. Yes, of course I am. How else could you walk on water? I’m just seeing this in my mind.”

He walked a little closer, eying the boat now. “You’re right, it’s in your mind. But aren’t all thoughts? Just in your mind, that is. And your memories, aren’t they just in your mind? And your fears? And your hopes? Aren’t they all just thoughts in your mind?”

“I guess so.”

“And you guess right. Change your mind, and change what’s real for that moment.” He lifted an eyebrow, as if slightly amused. “How did you get out here?”

“I . . . My mother drugged me. She tried to break my leg.”

He cocked his right brow. “And you found that quite disturbing, I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

“Just like the waves and the water in this dream. Quite a threat, wouldn’t you say?”

I immediately knew where he was going, but it didn’t stop me from saying how I felt.

“I suppose. Yes.”

“You’re threatened. Offended.”

“Wouldn’t you be if someone tried to break your leg?”

“No. But this is about you right now. It’s up to you whether or not you want to be offended or threatened. And yet you feel threatened by your mother. By the water and the waves.”

I didn’t know what to say to this. He might be right, but it sounded crazy to me.

He ran one hand along the hull’s wooden bow. “You’re afraid of the thought that the water will drown you, so you stay in this boat which you are certain will keep you safe. But when the storm comes, you still tremble with fear, don’t you? Because you’re afraid of the water.”

My last dream flashed through my mind.

“I sank last time.”

“Of course you did. Because you were afraid and took offense at its threat. But what if there was a way to change that? What if you could see that there was no threat?”

“Change it? How?”

“Metanoia,” he said.

“Metanoia?”

“It’s a secret word. Greek. It means repent.”

His use of that word struck a chord of fear in me. How many times had I begged God to forgive me from my sins and tried to correct my behavior as demanded by Mother? And look where it had gotten me.

He slowly shook his head, as if anticipating my objection.

“It doesn’t mean to change what you do. It means to go beyond your thinking. To change your mind. To let go of what you think is true for a greater knowing. For instance, to let go of the belief that if you step out of that boat which keeps you safe, you’ll only drown in all the troubled seas of your life. See? Metanoia. It’ll be our secret word.”

“But that’s not true. I will drown!”

“So you believe. That’s why metanoia requires faith, a tiny bit at least, like maybe the size of a speck of dust. Everyone believes what they believe, right? Only those who go beyond what their mind tells them can walk on the troubled waters of life.” He winked. “Like me.”

Metanoia. It had a ring to it. I suddenly liked the word.

“As long as you keep your eyes on the troubled sea, and believe that the wooden hull under your feet keeps you safe from that sea, you’ll never be a proper water walker. And you are, Eden.”

“I am what?”

“A water walker. Just like me.”

“I am?”

“Sure. You walked on water before, didn’t you?”

He was talking about the first dream I had with him. “Not really. I was walking in shallow water.”

“Well then it’s time you learned to walk on deeper water. To do that you have to let go of the knowledge that the boat keeps you safe and the water is a danger.”

Hearing him explain it that way, it almost felt like I’d heard it before, a long time ago. Not from Kathryn, that was certain. Maybe before. Or maybe it only felt that way because I was in a dream.

“Let go of your fears of what can’t hurt you, Eden. Find no offense in the water. Turn the other cheek, surely you’ve heard that before. Forgive the offense. Do that and it won’t swallow you.”

“Forgive?”

“It means let go.”

The idea drew me. What if I could? What if I could just up and walk out of all the troubles in my life? But it was also absurd, wasn’t it? I mean . . . How could I just let go of everything I knew to be true?

But then . . . that was my mind telling me it was absurd.

Then again . . . he was saying that metanoia was going beyond the mind. Using faith.

Outlaw held out a hand. “Wanna try?”

“Now?”

“Why not? It’s the only way you’re getting to shore. What do you say?”

His smile was infectious. And we were just in a dream. I could change my thoughts here. Anything was possible, right? I just had to change my mind.

“Okay.”

A grin split his face and he slapped the edge of the hull. “Jika, jika, jawa! Now you’re talking, dead man walking!” He thrust his hand out again. “Take my hand, and step on sand.”

I couldn’t help but grin with him. But looking at the water, I couldn’t see that it was sand. We were in the middle of the lake—the water had to be a hundred feet deep out here. I was afraid.

“No need to be afraid, Eden,” he said. “See no trouble. Have faith.”

Now he could read my thoughts?

“No, I can’t read your thoughts. But I read faces pretty good. Now step on out here before that hull goes up in smoke.”

“Why would the hull go up in smoke?”

“Well . . . the boat’s only an idea, right? A thought. All thoughts vanish. So waste no time. Walk with me.”

I looked at the water, then back into his bright eyes, then at his hand. I reached for it and he held my fingers firmly but gently.

“Now you’re talking.”

Using my left hand on the hull and supported by his strength, I cautiously drew first my left leg, then my right over the side, so that I was seated on the edge. I kept my eyes on the water, struck by the fact that, even knowing that my mind was only making this all up, that wet, glossy surface rolling gently a few inches under my feet looked so real. So much like water.

And I knew that if I stepped on water I would sink. I just knew it.

My breathing came shallow and I frantically looked up at his smiling eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you close your eyes. Trust me, if you can’t trust what I’ve told you.”

I nodded, thinking that his hand was strong and if I did sink, he would hold me up.

So I closed my eyes, held my breath, and scooted-stepped-fell into the water, feet first.

But I didn’t fall. The surface under my feet was firm. I was standing! I really was on solid ground and I was so stunned by this that I opened my eyes to see what had changed.

Nothing had. The moment I saw the glistening water, fear washed through me, and the moment I felt that fear, I became convinced that I was going to sink, and the moment I was sure I’d sink, I did.

Right up to my knees, gasping, squeezing my eyes shut.

He chuckled. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I stopped sinking and he gently pulled me up. I was standing again. Once again relief flooded me.

“Walk,” he said, guiding me.

I took a step, keeping my eyes closed.

“That’s my girl. Look at you.”

“No . . .”

“No, you’re right, don’t look.”

I took another step. The water squished under my feet but I didn’t sink.

“You see, Eden, it’s not the water that changes. It’s what you make of the water that changes. It’s finding no offense in the water that keeps you safe, because there’s nothing to be kept safe from when you’re already safe. One step at a time. Walk.”

I took another step, and then another, and another, and suddenly I could not stop grinning.

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah, wow. Now we’re talking; dead man walking.”

“You keep saying that.” Dead man walking. “I’m not a man and I’m not dead.”

“Just an old saying I learned in the jungle where I grew up. But actually, you are dead. At least the old you is. A good thing, because it’s the only way you can walk on water.”

“To die?”

“To let the old self die. To let go of the known patterns of this world and be transformed by a renewed mind beyond those patterns.”

“Hmm . . .”

But my mind was on the thrill of walking. So I just kept walking with my eyes closed, trusting that he was leading me to the shore.

Slap . . . Slap . . . Slap . . . I was walking on water, filled with courage and feeling so elated that I thought I should scream with joy.

Instead, I breathed out another thought that had entered my mind.

“I’m so glad this is a dream,” I said.

“But in some ways, it’s not,” Stephen said. “Open your eyes, Eden.”

I pulled short. “Now?”

No answer came. I suddenly realized that no one was holding my hand. Without thinking about it, I snapped my eyes wide and stared into the darkness.

It took me a couple seconds to recover my orientation and see that I was lying on my back, in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, covered in sweat.

The reality of my situation crashed in around me and I jerked my head up.

It was night again. White bandages bound my right leg, from my knee all the way down around my ankle. The bandages were wet.

I’d been on the lake. No . . . I had sweated through the bandages.

Kathryn had tried to break my leg. She’d actually injected me with a drug, climbed on the bed, and done her very best to break her own daughter’s leg.

A terrible rage washed over me and I swung my legs off the bed, not caring if or how much it would hurt. I placed my feet on the ground and put some pressure on them.

Pain cut into my right ankle, but not enough to keep me from standing.

I hobbled around the bed, favoring my right leg. It was too sore to walk much, but that would change in a couple days.

I sat back down on my bed, clenched my jaw, and let a quiver work its way through my bones. I had courage now. If there was one thing my dream had shown me it was that I could face all my fears. I could march right out of this hellhole, even if it meant walking right over Kathryn.

She was the troubled black water, but I was a water walker.

That’s what I was going to do. As soon as my ankle could support a good walk, I was going to go, and this time, I was going to go all the way.

25

LIFE CAME in cycles. Some days were hard, others a blessing; some brought death, others life. For every sin, a lash was dealt, and for every moment of holy courage, a jewel stored up. Spare the rod, spoil the child. And they were all God’s children.

Kathryn had lived her life by many principles, but none rang so true as the ageless law of compensation: you reap what you sow.

Although she hadn’t found Abraham’s courage to break Eden’s leg, she’d faced terrible fears and done the next best thing by spraining it. Even doing that had been horrifying, followed by hours filled with terrible pain and heartache. How Abraham had found the courage to put his own son on the altar she could hardly fathom, but then he was the father of nations.

Perhaps in her failure to fully obey Zeke she would miss out on a blessing as great as Abraham’s, but even for her small act of obedience, Kathryn was reaping the fruit of her faithful sowing.

Three days had passed since that dreadful morning—the first of which had been dreadful, the second, peaceful, and the third, today, quite beautiful.

She’d tenderly wrapped Eden’s swollen ankle and leg with a splint to make it look like a break. Every hour thereafter, she’d gone to check on her daughter, making no attempt to hold back her tears of empathy while Eden slept in peace.

Looking upon the wounding she’d administered to her daughter was hard, but since when had being righteous not been? Didn’t punishment hurt God even more than it hurt his beloved children? Was it God’s fault that he had to level vengeance upon those who’d strayed from his love? She was only following his example, both in vengeance and in love. Her precious lamb was in a time of correction—hurting for her was appropriate even if it was best done in secret, just like God hurt in secret.

Zeke came by that first afternoon, took one look at Eden’s heavily bandaged leg, and, clearly satisfied, walked to the front door where he’d turned and offered his gratefulness.

“Your obedience doesn’t go unnoticed, Kathryn. When the time comes you will see that.”

“Thank you, Zeke.”

He nodded once. “I’ve cut the phone line.”

“Of course.”

He withdrew a small black cell phone from his pocket and gave it to her. “It’s programmed to call only my cell. Just press send. Keep it in your dresser and use it only if you find yourself out of your depth.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Zeke.”

“I want you to hide the truck keys in the shed. Somewhere neither Bobby nor Eden would think to look.”

“Why? Eden can’t drive.”

He drilled her with a dark stare that had filled her with shame. For a moment she wondered if he already knew she hadn’t broken Eden’s leg and was only toying with her.

“Forgive me, Zeke. I didn’t mean—”

“She won’t be able to walk without a cast, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try driving out again. I would appreciate a little trust from you.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Hide the keys.”

“Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you, Zeke. You’re very . . .”

He’d turned before she could finish and was gone without another word. It was just as well, because really she was just stumbling all over herself and that wasn’t a pretty sight, even for someone as understanding as Zeke.

Eden hadn’t awakened that first day, which was a small blessing. Kathryn wasn’t up to facing her daughter yet. When she’d gone in to check on her the next morning, she’d been filled with trepidation, afraid to see hatred and anger in those soft brown eyes.

She’d found Eden lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, fully awake and seemingly at peace. When Eden had turned to face Kathryn, her eyes showed none of the bitterness she’d feared. Her daughter hadn’t smiled or said anything that might show her repentance, but neither had she voiced any frustration at waking to find her leg in bandages. It was a very good sign.

Kathryn had approached her bed and studied her daughter lovingly.

“Are you okay, darling?”

Eden had slowly nodded.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Mother.”

She smiled at Eden and, although Eden didn’t return her smile, there seemed to be a light in her eyes.

“I think that you’ll be glad to know that I’ve decided to lift my restriction on food. Your body needs to mend. Would you like some chicken soup?”

“That would be nice, Mother. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Kathryn left the room flooded with peace, quickly heated up some soup, and took it to her daughter on a wooden tray so she could eat it in bed.

Eden had spent the rest of the day in bed except to use the toilet, which Kathryn had also allowed. Watching her hobble to the bathroom had filled her with sorrow. It would have been easy to question her act of punishment, but Kathryn did her best to ignore the tempting whispers of the accuser.

Weren’t they both already seeing the fruit of repentance? Eden seemed to have finally found some inner peace. The resurrection always followed the crucifixion.

By the third day, Eden was getting around better, though still limping noticeably. More importantly, she’d found her pure self, taking time to kneel beside her bed in prayer unbidden by Kathryn. A gentleness and kindness had come to her eyes—a look that had always melted Kathryn’s heart.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Mother.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

Kathryn had gone about the rest of the day humming with gratitude. The blessing that came after obedience and suffering never ceased to amaze her.

Bobby seemed quite distraught to learn that Wyatt would be gone for a while and, without a playmate, he was far too fidgety. So Kathryn had allowed him to spend some time in Eden’s bedroom that afternoon. She’d listened at the door while Eden answered Bobby’s questions about why she had a bandage on her leg.

“I hurt it,” Eden said. “But don’t worry, it was actually a good thing.”

“Why is it a good thing? Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts, but sometimes you need to feel pain so that you don’t get hurt again. Like putting your hand in the fire—you feel the pain so you don’t get burned again. Isn’t that right?”

“Fire will burn you.”

Eden had hesitated for a few moments before speaking.

“That’s right, Bobby. Fire will burn. That’s why we stay away from it.”

It was all Kathryn needed to hear. Why it had taken a measure so severe to finally show her daughter the full nature of righteousness after so many years of faithful service in purity, she didn’t know. God knew how it pained her more than it pained Eden. The important thing was that her correction had taken hold.

Zeke would be proud of them all.

On that third night, Kathryn had knelt at the side of her bed before retiring and offered a long prayer of thanksgiving for the great blessing, once stolen by the locusts, now being returned a hundredfold as they all humbled themselves and walked in obedience. Then she’d climbed under the sheets, folded her hands on her belly, and drifted into a peaceful sleep for the first time in many days.

She dreamed of Wyatt, because she missed him. He was walking with her as she approached a towering cliff and at first she thought the cliff was an obstacle she had to climb to reach the top where heaven awaited.

“Where are you going?” Wyatt asked, in the echoing way people speak while dreaming.

“To the tomb,” she said, and she thought, that’s right. I don’t have to climb the cliff. I’m just going to the tomb at the base of the cliff.

“What’s in the tomb?” he asked.

Jesus, she thought. But no, it wasn’t Jesus. It was someone else. And suddenly she was very curious about who exactly was in that tomb.

The dream was interrupted by another, this one about a dog and Bobby and she was thinking that Bobby should have a dog as a friend. But then she was somehow back with Wyatt, at the base of the cliff, looking at the tomb with its stone rolled away.

“Are you going inside?”

“No.” Her answer surprised her.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m already inside.”

Why she said this, she didn’t know. Dreams were just that way. But then she stepped up to the tomb and looked inside anyway.

Inside lay the body of a woman, arms and legs bound in strips of cloth. She blinked and saw that she was right—it was her, lying on her back with her hands folded over her belly.

“That’s you,” Wyatt said over her shoulder. “Are you dead?”

Was she?

She was no longer looking down at herself: she was herself, lying on her back, arms and legs bound. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. Tried to free her hands, but the strips of cloth held them together.

“Where are the keys to hell?” a voice asked.

I’m in hell?

Everything started to get muddled up in her head.

“Wake up!” The voice wasn’t Wyatt’s. It sounded more like an angel.

“Wake up!” Something pushed against her arm and she opened her eyes.

“Tell me where the truck keys are.”

Kathryn twisted and stared up into the face of her angel. Only it wasn’t an angel. It was Eden!

“Tell me!”

She was dressed up in a dark-brown wig Kathryn hadn’t worn in years. Wearing one of her dresses—a white one with yellow flowers that Kathryn had recently outgrown.

The truth crashed over Kathryn like a tidal wave. Eden was running again! She’d only pretended to have changed. And now she stood over her mother, glaring, demanding to know where the truck keys were.

Kathryn jerked up, outraged, and it was then that she found that her hands had been bound—wrists and fingers, so she couldn’t use them. And her ankles. Twine, the same she’d used on Eden, had been tied to the bonds on her ankles and to the bedpost.

“Tell me where the keys are!” Eden demanded again.

Kathryn stared at Eden’s work, hardly daring to believe. She’d managed all of this without waking her. She’d planned it all along?

“What have you done?” she stammered.

“What I should have done a long time ago.”

“You untie me this second, Eden Lowenstein! What in the depths of hell has possessed you?”

“You have,” Eden bit off. “You’ve come out of hell and tormented me! Tell me where the keys are.”

“Don’t be a fool! You can’t just drive out of here! Have you completely lost your mind?”

“I don’t know, Mother, have I? You should know. You’re the one who tried to break my leg.”

“I had to! Don’t you understand? I had to!”

“Of course you did. And if God—oh pardon me, Zeke—tells you to kill me I suppose you would do that too. But actually you won’t, because I won’t be around to kill.”

“I would never . . .” Kathryn felt the first waves of a panic attack coming on as the full scope of Eden’s intentions settled into her mind. It was getting light outside. The dogs would be tied off soon. Eden was going to drive out dressed up like her and she might very well make it. If she did . . .

Kathryn set her jaw and leveled her sternest warning.

“Now you listen to me, young woman. If you do this there will be hell to pay! Do you understand me? You will reap death if you sow death. An eye for an eye.”

“I don’t think you understand. I’m leaving hell. I’m going to drive the truck out of here and this time there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

The hatred spilling out of her daughter could hardly be measured. What was this evil that had come over her? How dare she repay her mother with anger after all the years of loving kindness?

You, Kathryn. You’re the evil.

She swallowed deep and pushed the thought out of her mind.

“I’ve looked everywhere for the keys and can’t find them,” Eden said. “So now you’re going to tell me. And if you don’t I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Kathryn couldn’t comprehend those words. They weren’t from her daughter. She had to remain strong and stand up to this demonstration of evil if she expected to save Eden.

“Never,” she said.

There was no wavering in Eden’s glare. Her daughter had learned to stay the course in the closet; that same resolve now directed her on a new path.

“Fine.” Eden stepped up, jerked Kathryn’s pinky finger from the binding, and tugged it back toward her wrist.

Kathryn gasped—a deep, guttural cry as much in shock that Eden could do such a thing to her own mother, as in pain.

“Tell me, Kathryn!” Eden said. “Or I’ll break it.”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Tell me!”

This was her punishment, she thought. She was reaping what she’d sown. But that thought was immediately overridden by righteous rage.

“You’re hurting me!” she cried.

“Have it your way.” Eden applied more pressure and excruciating pain ripped up Kathryn’s arm. Panic overtook her and she lost all bearings but those pointing to survival.

“Okay, okay, okay, let go!”

“Tell me!”

“In the shed!”

“Where in the shed?”

“By the lantern!”

“If you’re lying to me . . .”

“I’m not, I’m not! For heaven’s sake . . .”

Eden released her hand, stared at her with fixed inquisition, then crossed to the door, barely limping, and twisted back.

“If the key’s where you say it is, the next time you see me will be with the police. If it’s not there, I’m going to come back and break all of your fingers.”

Eden turned and exited the room, leaving Kathryn breathing heavily, fighting back waves of dread. How dare Eden do this! How dare she!

It’s what you taught her to do. An eye for an eye.

Kathryn let out a sob. Her mind wasn’t working correctly. She couldn’t seem to get enough air in her lungs. She had to stop Eden, she knew that much, but the horror of what was happening seemed to have turned her thoughts off.

If Eden got away . . . Dear God, she couldn’t let that happen.

Then she remembered. The cell phone.

She had to get to the cell phone in her dresser across the room.

Sitting, Kathryn lunged for her feet, grabbed at the string that tied her off to the bed, and dug at the knot. “Hurry, hurry, hurry . . .”