She wished Cody were here. Cody, who was rock-solid, his viewpoints on life and marriage and family as unshakable as his faith in God and the greater good. Cody, who loved her unconditionally despite her best efforts to push him away at times because, deep down—let’s face it—didn’t she at times feel unworthy of his type of love? And wasn’t that because she had deliberately chosen not to share a certain particular burden with him?

Thinking about that burden made a part of her feel glad he wasn’t here. Relieved. That part of her said, Call and tell him not to come. The LAPD had confiscated her phone. She couldn’t call him unless she borrowed a phone from someone.

She wanted to call him and yet didn’t want to call him. Why couldn’t she make a decision? Why am I so confused?

You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Vickers had said to her. In these situations, victims—

“I’m not a victim,” Ellie whispered into the fading sunlight. Her hands balled into fists and she shook uncontrollably. “I am not a victim.”

Ellie marched into her house and headed upstairs. She stood in the shower until the hot water ran out. She felt scrubbed clean but cold all over, even after she got dressed.

Two glasses of bourbon fixed the problem.

Her little house, with its vaulted ceilings and clever use of space, felt like a mansion to her. After she fixed herself a fresh drink at the breakfast bar, she paced back and forth across the carpeted family room, her ice tinkling against the glass.

Her gaze kept drifting to the stairs.

Tonight wasn’t a good time to take a trip down memory lane. Cody, she was sure, would arrive at any minute to check on her—and besides, memory lane always led to the same dead end.

And yet it didn’t surprise her in the slightest when she stepped up to the refrigerator and pulled open the bottom drawer of the freezer and fished out the key she kept tucked underneath a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream. She didn’t fight the urge or question it when she carried her drink up to the second floor and used the key on the doorknob lock for the spare bedroom. It certainly didn’t surprise her when she flicked the light switch and felt a wave of relief wash through her. She had come home, back to the person she kept hidden from the rest of the world.

Cody had not stepped foot inside this room, thought she used it as a storage area for her mother’s old things and kept it locked because she said she was embarrassed by all the clutter. He would have been surprised if not outwardly shocked to discover that this boxy room, with its white walls and light beige carpeting, was just as neat and organized as the rest of her house. The shades were drawn, always, to block out wandering eyes, because if someone looked inside and saw what was in there, they might be inclined to call the police. The room looked like the lair of some diabolical serial killer.