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Back Love and Other Lies
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Imagine a girl
  4. Prologue
  5. The Foreigner
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. The Skeptic
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. The Spectator
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. Twenty-Nine
  37. The Assassin
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. Thirty-Six
  45. Thirty-Seven
  46. Thirty-Eight
  47. Thirty-Nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-One
  50. The Hunter
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Imagine a girl
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. About the Author
  60. Also by Ben McPherson
  61. About the Publisher

I handed her my phone. “Watch this. In the bedroom. Away from the girls.”

Licia’s room was immaculate. She had removed from it everything that she did not want. There was one chair, one table, one reading light on the table, another reading light by the bed. On the wall above the bed was a small devotional picture that showed a knight’s tomb, lit by a shaft of sunlight. Beside the picture was the plain card with the verse on it, ripped after the last word:

Be simple

Be pure

Be true to the faith

Be mindful

Be kind

Be true

She was sitting in the chair in her gray shift dress, a long bolt of plain gray cloth spread out before her, sewing.

I said, “I thought your mother lent you some dresses.”

She looked down at her gray shift. She smiled. “I like this one.”

“Sure.” I watched her work for a while, her fingers nimble and quick. And even now—now that I knew—a part of me tried to explain away the film. Though I had seen it with my own eyes. There could be no doubt that she was the girl in the video.

I crouched down beside her. “The police are at work today. We need to get things started.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Your mother and I realize coming home is very hard,” I said, softening my voice. “We realize you’ve experienced things that you aren’t ready to talk about. But I need you to come with me so we can at least let the police know you’re home.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“You’re officially missing, presumed dead. We need to do this, honey.”

Then Elsa was standing in the doorway. “There’s so much we don’t know about what you’ve experienced, Licia.” She said it calmly, but her face was colorless, the worry lines etched deep. She had seen the video. She knew.

“Because you can’t, Mum. Because you don’t understand the praxis.”

Elsa’s eyes met mine. That word. Bror’s word.

I said, “We all need you to help us understand.”

“The police are not on our side,” said Licia. “You know this.”

“Love, these guys are human beings. I know we said we’d give you time, but there’s a process.” I looked at Elsa. Elsa nodded. “Your mother and I agree we need to get things started.”

Licia changed back into Elsa’s white sundress. Around her waist she wore her small cloth bag on its cloth belt.