All these things sounded so personal. It made my skin crawl, and yet I leaned in.

“Tell me what you need.”

The call lasted a long time. We spoke softly to each other, intimate as whispers in the night. I wanted to keep talking with her, keep the line open to wherever in the world she had my child. She was gentle with me, perhaps sensing how near the edge I was, and I was gentle back. I did not think of her as a witch, or a stalker, or a kidnapper. I tried to speak to the part of her that was like me. Mother to mother.

But when she was finished talking, she hung up. It closed my only live connection to my son. It was like the breaking of a spell.

I cried out, “Wait!”

She hadn’t told me when or even how I would get Robert back. But she was already gone.

My legs stopped working. I fell down. I was no longer inside myself. I floated up until I pressed into the ceiling, watching my body writhe and beat at the floor. It spun and bucked, shoving and kicking its way into the den, where it rolled to scream and bite at the carpet.

When my body calmed enough to let me back inside it, I was in my bedroom. It was dim and quiet. I sprawled on the floor beside the bed, the cheap cell phone still clutched in my hand. Even in my fugue state, I had been obedient, keeping it close. It was my only link to my son.

I stood up, creaky and slow, and the Bree I saw in the full-length mirror was a monster. Eyes puffed nearly shut. A swollen face streaked with mucus and mascara. As I stared, and long seconds ticked past, I realized I’d stopped crying. My throat was raw, hoarse from screaming, but I was calmer. I was ready to do what I had to do.

“I’ve given you six Hypnodorm. It’s the same thing as Rohypnol. You know this drug?”

“Isn’t that roofies?” I paused, confused. “That’s a date-rape drug.”

She snorted, then said, “You think I want you to—” She sounded almost offended, as if in the hierarchy of evil, rape was a thousand times worse than snatching my child. My spine tensed, but her voice softened again on the next sentence. “Well. That is what it’s known for. I picked it because Hypnodorm steals memories. On this drug people do things they don’t remember. Things they’ll never remember.”

I washed my face, then spent a few minutes rolling an ice pack back and forth across my swollen eyes. I also texted Mom, needing to know the girls were safe inside her building for the night. She texted back a pic of them in her tidy kitchen, mixing up a batch of oatmeal scotchies. They were laughing, Peyton’s cheek dusted with flour.