She turned away from him, and they both pretended he’d never asked the question. She didn’t know what to say. The obvious answer was, of course, “Because you never would have believed me.” Her father was a smart man and a competent, solid police officer. But he lived in the real world. How would he have reacted if she’d told him that literal fucking evil was coming for all of them, that the Devil was real and so much worse than anything they ever taught in Sunday School? She wanted to say that he would have had her committed or searched her room for drugs.

The problem was, she knew that was not true. He would have listened. He might not have believed her, but he would have listened. She had earned that much respect from him. He would have been afraid for his daughter’s sanity, but he would have let her speak.

She didn’t tell him because she didn’t think he would be able to stop it. Or even slow it down.

And there was always that nagging little voice, asking the question she never wanted to face: what if he was in on it?

It seemed impossible to her, but she had to consider even the impossibilities.

She never told him. He couldn’t help. He might have made things much worse. He would have trusted her, but she didn’t trust him.

Now he’s telling her to leave town, to go away, to leave it all be. As if he doesn’t even know her. Which raises that same little nagging question again.

So, fuck it, she might as well ask. “Did you know about it, Dad? Did you know about the Followers?”

She could have shot him in the stomach for the pain and shock that flickers across his face. He seems to age another twenty years in the space of a second.

“God,” he says. “Damn.”

That look is all the answer she can bear. She wishes, not for the first time, that she could take back the words that came out of her mouth.

“Dad,” she says. “I’m sorry, I just wanted — ”

Compounding her shame, he tries to comfort her. “It’s all right. It’s all right,” he says quickly. “You had to ask.”

He takes a deep breath. “Everything I’ve ever done has been to keep you safe. You and your mother. I can’t lose either of you. I am begging you. Would you please walk away from this? For me?”

She looks at him, helpless. She would like to tell him what he wants to hear. But somehow that seems like it would hurt more than the disappointment and pain she sees in his eyes right now.

“Dad, come on. You know I can’t.”