It was something Birdie had never heard from anyone. Not her parents, not teachers in high school. She’d always been trouble—or troubled—however you wanted to look at it. One seemed a little more fun than the other, she thought. But she’d always felt that she had a gift for writing.
“You have what it takes,” Dr. Wolsieffer said. “I want to take that and make it blossom.”
His words were electric. Her skin hummed like the conversation had more to do with sex than anything.
“But you can’t see her anymore,” he said.
Birdie knew who he meant. She’d known the moment she’d accepted the award that things would never be the same—maybe never even okay—between Ione and herself. She’d known there would be a choice, he was just laying it out in front of her in words.
“She’ll try to drag you down, Birdie,” he said. It was a plea. “She’s weight in a world where you can’t carry other people. If you want to fly, you have to let her go.”
Birdie had thought of Ione as many things, weight not being one of them. The times they’d shared hadn’t been weighty, except in moments where they’d revealed slivers of themselves that other people would have gotten cut on. But she cherished those moments. She felt like she’d made a mistake in letting Holly hand her that award.
“I don’t know—”
“Do you want to be a writer? Do you want to have your name on the cover of a book?” he asked.
“I—”
“You either want it or you don’t. And sometimes to get what we want, we have to make sacrifices. Sometimes the people that start with us don’t make it to the finish line. This isn’t a cute news clip where you can carry her to the end of the marathon when her legs give out. The real world doesn’t work like that. And certainly not the publishing world.”
Birdie thought about it for a moment. She knew what he was saying was true. She couldn’t carry Ione through this. If she wanted it, she’d have to get it for herself. And here was Birdie’s opportunity to have everything she’d ever wanted. From the moment she’d first written a story in high school, she’d known that she wanted to tell them for the rest of her life. The magic in creating a narrative—telling lies to tell the truth, as it was said—had sucked her under like a strong wave. She was at the mercy of the tide now.
“Sometimes we have to want things for ourselves more than we want them for other people,” he said. “She deserves to succeed, too, but not like this.”
“You mean not as your girlfriend?” Birdie asked.
“That’s not what I said,” Dr. Wolsieffer tried to clarify. “What happened—”
“I saw what happened,” Birdie said.
His eyes narrowed, a threat looming there.
“What happened tonight probably destroyed her,” Birdie said. “And what do I have to show for it?” she laughed. “A trophy and…you?” she pointed at him with the Ford.
“You have an opportunity to change your life,” he said evenly. “Let me guess. No family, few friends—mostly acquaintances—and little else going for you outside of your creative life.”
The words stung, like an antiseptic in a wound.
“You don’t know me,” Birdie barked, her voice full of false bravado.
“I know enough,” Dr. Wolsieffer said. “Meet me in my office next Monday if you want to keep the award. Think about it. This could be the beginning of everything for you.”
He left her there in the closet. The door swung shut on its hinges as he exited. She looked around at the stacks of cleaning supplies, toilet paper, and paper towels. Then she looked down at her hands where the Ford replica hung at her side, impotent without Dr. Wolsieffer’s push to hot wire the gears.
Birdie had a hell of a choice in front of her.
VANESSA
Vanessa stands at the edge of the pig enclosure. The one she had slaughtered has already gathered flies in the corner, its pink snout losing the color of life quickly. The blood had been useful, though. She would have done well as a pioneer, she thinks. The Donner party might have made it if she’d been in charge.
If only Tom thought the same.
In the days since the shooting, Vanessa has seen him weaken in ways that she’d never thought possible. She could have led this group better than him from the beginning, not just now. She knows that. And Tom knows that. For every way that he is brutal, she has him outdone. You can’t marry the devil and remain an angel.
She leans on the edge, thinking about disposing of the pig carcass. She could ask Jeff to do it. She’s already dirtied her hands as much as she cares to for the afternoon.
As flies buzz the deceased animal, something buzzes inside her mind. Something in there is rotting, just like the porcine specimen in front of her. The idea that Birdie’s baby might not be okay. She needs to do something.
There isn’t a doctor here. Of all the people that they’ve attracted, doctors haven’t been among them. Vanessa would have thought that it had to do with critical thinking if it hadn’t been for the people of various other professions they’d lured in. Lawyers and engineers. People who had master’s degrees and whose jobs depending on their ability to make critical choices.
A cult, it was called in the news now. Its humble beginnings never whispered of a cult. But Vanessa can’t deny how it looks out here. Away from society, they’ve constructed a compound. The very word was dirty. The ranch is their home. It’s more than just a collection of people following a philosophy. It’s become a community.
And now their leader is wanted for murder.
A better wife might be more concerned for Tom than the future of what he’d built. But
