Johan grimaced. ‘You’re being unfair, Olivia. It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand.’
‘You’re right. I never understood how you could be with Ashlynn of all people. What would Kimberly say? Did you ever think about that?’
‘You’re wrong about Ashlynn.’
‘Johan, she told me she stopped seeing you a month ago. You two were over. Why didn’t you let me help you? If you were hurting, you should have come to me. You know that. I swore I would never stop loving you, and I never have.’
She stroked his face. His skin was smooth, and his jaw was angled. Instinctively, she ran her fingers into his thick blond hair and leaned in to kiss him. Their lips touched; his mouth felt dry. She expected him to respond, to wrap his arms around her skinny back and pull her into him. Instead, he jerked away and pushed her arms down.
‘How could you let me see her like that?’ he asked. His voice cracked. ‘How could you let me find her that way?
Olivia felt as if she’d been slapped. ‘Are you kidding? Is that a joke?’
‘Did she want to get back together with me? Is that what she told you?’ He took hold of her shoulders and demanded, ‘Tell me the truth, Olivia. Is that why you killed her?’
She wanted to speak, but her chest was empty of air. She could hear the words, but she couldn’t say them.
‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me,’ he went on. ‘Tell me it was an accident. Tell me you didn’t do this deliberately. I was a jerk to hurt you like I did, but I never dreamed you’d go so far.’
Olivia said nothing, because there was nothing she could say. She was furious with herself, and she felt like a fool for trusting him. She spun on her heels and marched toward the bridge. She didn’t want more lies. She wanted to go home and wallow in her grief. She felt as she had six months ago, without Kimberly in her life, when Johan threw her over for a girl who symbolized everything that Olivia detested. The betrayal had almost killed her.
When she heard him behind her, following her, she started to run.
‘Olivia,’ he hissed, ‘come back!’
‘GO AWAY!’ she shouted, not caring who heard.
Drizzle made the ground slippery, but she didn’t slow down. Her long hair flew behind her. The water passed under her feet. She cleared the end of the old bridge, and as she passed through the gap where the tracks cut through the trees on the river bank, they came for her.
Six of them. At least six.
They were dressed in black, hidden behind masks. They burst from the brush on both sides like commandos, and before she could scream she was caught up in the vise of their arms. She opened her mouth, and a wet towel choked her as someone pushed it between her teeth. She felt her neck squeezed in the crook of someone’s arm. A pillow case draped her head; she was blind, and as they pulled it tight, she could barely breathe.
Behind her, she heard Johan shout as he tried to rescue her, but the shout was cut off in his throat. They descended on him, too, and she could hear the pummeling of blows as they fought him to the ground. He struggled in defiance, and several of the boys groaned in pain as he broke free and retaliated. It wasn’t enough. He screamed the O in her name, but that was all, and they had him again. The beating was vicious. Relentless. When he gagged, she heard a gurgling mix of air and blood. Even when he was silent, they didn’t stop; the blows rained down, boots landing on flesh.
She heard a muffled voice. One word. ‘Go!’
She flailed with her arms, and her fingernail scored one of the boys’ face and drew blood. He screamed, but his cry was cut off by one of the others. Wounding him was a hollow, temporary victory for her. Four or more strong arms pinned her with iron grips. She felt herself swept off her feet and carried over their heads in triumph, like a roast pig dug up from the ground. When she tried to kick free with her long legs, they grabbed those, too, and she was frozen in place. She was a prisoner. A sacrifice.
Her senses blurred into terror and chaos. She smelled sweat and heard the rasp of their breaths. She felt their fingers clutching her and knew her skin would be purple where they held her. She heard car doors. Running footsteps. Murmurs of laughter and anger. She was thrown inside, surrounded by invisible bodies, and they crushed her down below the seats as they fired the engine. Their shoes were on her head. Her neck. Their hands mauled her.
It wouldn’t happen here, she realized. It would happen somewhere else.
It would begin, and it would never end.
13
They split up to search the town.
Hannah stayed at home, calling her neighbors. Chris and the ex-cop he’d hired went in different directions to hunt through the streets of St. Croix. The town was confined to a few blocks surrounded by miles of open rural land. There were only so many places to go on foot.
He saw lights inside the Lutheran church, making the arched stained-glass windows glow in multiple colors. The church was the largest building in town. It felt like a church that immigrant farmers would build, with an understated beauty, rather than showy ornateness. The walls were lined with white wooden siding, and the panels were in need of fresh paint. The most prominent feature of the church was its steeple and bell tower, rising over the peaked roof, tall enough to oversee the entire community.
The glass doors were unlocked. Chris went inside. The lobby was cool and smelled of oiled wood. On his right, narrow steps led upward toward the tower. On the opposite wall, near the stairs leading to the basement, he saw a large cork bulletin board lined with notices of fundraisers, farm equipment for sale, free kittens, and chili dinners. It was like a local, handwritten Internet to connect neighbors to the goings-on of the town. There were five eight-by-ten color photographs of teenagers thumbtacked to the board, too, and he had no trouble guessing their identities. He could see the disease in their faces, despite their youth and bright white smiles. These were the five who had died.
He opened the door into the sanctuary. The ceiling angled sharply over his head. It had the silence of sacred places, magnifying the echo of his shoes. Empty, varnished pews, stocked with black Bibles, lined the main aisle. The chancel was illuminated, and he saw Glenn Magnus at the lectern, head down, as if he were praying for an invisible congregation. Beside him was the elaborate wooden altar, draped in green silk, highlighted by a brass cross that glinted under the hanging lights. Jesus stood behind the altar on a carving that dominated the wall, his arms spread wide.
The minister looked up as he heard footsteps. Chris approached apologetically. ‘I’m sorry to intrude.’
Magnus stepped down from the pulpit and met Chris at the front of the church. ‘You’re not intruding. What can I do for you, Chris?’
‘Olivia sneaked out of her bedroom. She’s not answering her cell phone.’
‘I haven’t seen her, but let me look downstairs. Johan’s apartment is in the basement. Maybe she came to see him.’
The minister marched past him. Chris followed, but he stopped halfway, imagining the church filled with devout worshipers on Sunday, dressed for God with chins shaved and fingernails cleaned. Like him, Olivia had never been particularly religious. Hannah was another story. His ex-wife hadn’t tried to impose her values on Chris, but she had always been passionate about her religious roots. She was equally passionate about a woman’s right to control her body, and he wondered if that belief caused problems for her in a conservative small town.
He left the sanctuary, and the door closed softly behind him. In the lobby, Glenn Magnus was at the top of the basement stairs. He’d grabbed a flashlight from the lower level.
‘She’s not there.’ He added, ‘Neither is Johan.’
‘Was he here earlier?’
‘Yes, he got back from the motel two hours ago. He was downstairs doing homework.’ The minister took a cell phone from his pocket and dialed. After listening for several rings, he hung up. ‘No answer. Maybe I’d better join
