Chapter 1 #2
Guilt weighs heavily on my heart, knowing that fleeing means I can no longer act as an informant. How many more victims will fall beneath his wrath after I leave?
No, I can’t think that way. I am not responsible for my family’s actions, and the DAU can find other ways to gather the evidence they need. I’ve spent eleven years building this case with them. It’s time for me to retire and put my safety and the safety of my children first.
Two white pills clink against the bottom of the mortar, their presence a symbol of hope.
For freedom, for escape from the cult I was born into.
My wrist twists, moving the pestle until a fine white powder is all that remains of the drug.
The repetitive motion is relaxing, smoothing the harsher edges of the anxiety rolling through my body.
Staring into the bowl, I take a steadying breath. I can do this. I have to do this. There is too much at stake to risk staying any longer.
Tiny kicks against my ribs bring a smile to my face.
The painful but welcome movement of my unborn son is another reminder of what I have to lose if my plan goes awry.
Resting one hand on my swollen stomach, I hum the words to a song I should never have heard.
One that speaks of ideals my family would beat out of me if they ever discovered them.
The baby moves each time I fall quiet, spurring more soft hums to vibrate up my chest.
As I gather the rest of the ingredients for our dessert, a head of brunette hair peeks around the corner of the cabinet.
Grinning, I pretend not to notice my four-year-old daughter, letting the mixing bowls clatter loudly onto the counter when she pops into the open area behind me and whispers, “Boo!”
“Little Bug, you scared me!” Her answering grin is so precious. I would do anything to keep it on her face. “Would you like to help me?” Kaitlin’s head bobs rapidly, tiny curls bouncing around her face.
Pulling a chair against the counter beside me, I help steady her on it and then hand her an egg to crack into the bottom of the mixing bowl. I pick the broken pieces of shell out, repeating the process when she adds another. Step by step we work together to make a rich chocolate batter.
Baking is rhythmic and calming, but my heart races as I strain my ears to listen for tires on the drive.
Colin hates the mess Kait makes when she helps me in the kitchen.
Chocolate smears her tiny cheek, and flour sprinkles the floor and counter.
Both are easily cleaned, but to Colin, it doesn’t matter.
Any mess a child makes is unacceptable, and I won’t risk his anger being directed at her.
He’s never hit us, but words can hurt as deeply.
Something my daughter has learned too early in life.
With our batter mixed and ready, I spray a pan full of liners before carefully filling each slot.
When the bottom of the mixing bowl only holds enough batter for one more cupcake, I carefully mix the crushed pills inside.
I slip a piece of folded tin foil between the liner and the pan, marking the drug-laced confection, and slide the tray into the pre-heated oven.
Tonight, after dinner, I will serve the cupcake to Colin for dessert. My research shows the sedative is fairly fast-acting, often kicking in within an hour depending on the dose, and can last upwards of six hours. Time we will use to flee this wretched place.
My heart races as I hear the car pull down the drive.
I rush to wipe Kaitlin’s face and hands, sending her back to her bedroom to play quietly while I clean the rest of our mess.
The kitchen door opens as I shove the empty mortar into the sink, unwilling to risk Colin seeing evidence of my betrayal.
Nothing can go wrong tonight. It just can’t.
“Wife.”
Slowly turning on my heel, I face him, eyes downcast in a falsified display of respect for a man I would rather see smothered in his sleep. “Yes, sir?” It’s always sir, never his name. Even calling him husband is seen as a sign of disobedience.
He’s silent for far too long, eyes roaming over the kitchen. Nothing remains but a sink full of dishes, so he has no cause to be suspicious. When he glances at the oven and sees the tray of cupcakes and pan of cabbage rolls I threw in for dinner, he scowls.
“I’ll be out of town for work Thursday and Friday. Make sure my bags are packed.”
He means he’ll be helping traffic Alphas and Omegas into the state, but I don’t mention that.
If he’s leaving at the end of the week, I could wait and flee while he is gone.
Sadly, the last time I considered doing that, my mother showed up less than twenty minutes after he departed.
My family always keeps a close eye on me when I am home alone.
As if they are afraid I will run and take their only working womb for heirs with me.
“Of course.” I dip my head in a brief nod.
He doesn’t glance at me again as he turns and leaves the room, heading to his office. I return to the sink full of dishes, mentally preparing a list of things Kaitlin and I will need to take with us tonight.
In a few more hours, we will be free. Leaving Whitlan and the cult my father created behind.
The pounding of my pulse drowns out the creaks of our old house as I lie alone in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Counting the minutes until the medicine I slipped into Colin’s dessert should kick in. There are no footsteps on the stairs; no movement on the lower floor.
Did they work? Is he already asleep?
Anxiety makes my nausea worse, threatening to have me rushing to the bathroom before I can contemplate checking on my husband.
Being pregnant and stressed out isn’t great.
It’s downright dangerous if my blood pressure spikes too high.
But that is a risk I must take if I want to get away from this awful place.
Slowly inching from beneath the covers, I keep my steps light as I make my way to the doorway.
I’m barely breathing as I move down the hall, careful not to hit any squeaky spots.
Light still shines from Colin’s office, but the door is closed, and I cannot see inside.
I press my ear against the wood, asking Fate to grant me this one small reprieve and let him be asleep.
Inch by inch, I push the door open. Terror threatens to overwhelm me, my instincts screaming to run, to hide away in bed where we will be safe.
Fighting back those urges takes tremendous effort, but I stay rooted to the spot as Colin comes into view.
His body slumps over his desk, eyes closed.
Taking a careful step into the room, I wait for his eyes to flicker open or his hands to twitch from the scraping of my feet on the floor.
My breath whooshes from my lungs when he doesn’t react. It worked!
Scrambling back out of the office, I let the door click shut behind me.
It’s a race against time as I run up the stairs and change out of my pajamas.
After shoving a few days’ worth of clothes into a duffel bag, I sweep through the bedroom to grab anything I cannot easily replace.
My daughter’s baby pictures. Childhood photos of my sister and me.
Any evidence of my connection to the DAU.
It all gets packed away. Material things like clothes and toiletries can easily be replaced once we are somewhere safe.
Kaitlin’s soft snores fill the air when I step into her room, tossing several outfits into the bag with mine.
I make sure to grab her favorite blanket and stuffed giraffe, not wanting to leave them behind when I know they will comfort her during our escape.
She stirs slightly as I slip her out of bed and into my arms, but quickly settles as I tuck her face against my neck.
Buckling her into her car seat is difficult with my baby bump in the way, but I make it work.
She stays asleep throughout the entire process, worn out from a day of playing outside in the heat.
Pausing, I press a kiss to the crown of her head and whisper that I love her. Just in case this all goes wrong.
Settled into the driver’s seat, my hands shake as I press the button to raise the garage door, terrified the noise will somehow penetrate Colin’s drug-induced sleep.
Nothing moves in the house as I turn the engine over and shift into reverse.
The headlights automatically turn on, flooding the garage with bright light.
My grip on the wheel tightens, breaths coming in ragged puffs as we slowly inch out of the garage.
Every second is agonizing, but as soon as we pull out onto the road, I let go of all my fear.
We’ve made it this far, so I won’t let anyone get in our way now.
As soon as we reach the end of the road, I dig into the side of the duffle bag and pull out the small flip phone hidden there.
DAU agents will meet us closer to the border so we don’t have to risk taking Colin’s car out of state.
He won’t have any way of following us, not without asking for help from someone else in the community, but he could easily report the vehicle as stolen. That’s trouble I don’t need.
The phone powers on, bright in the darkness. I press the only number saved in the contacts and type out a quick message, attaching the location of the motel we’re heading to.
Pull us out.