I can outrun him. I’m little, and he’s too out of shape. I’ll hide in the jungle for a few hours, steal their boat, grab Molly, make it to the mainland, and call Ario—then I’ll find a way to call those FBI agents…

Good plan, Major. Awesome plan. That’s the plan.

As the incline levels out, the Reverend throws the Wrangler into park. I’m unable to take another breath before he stabs a meaty finger down on the automatic locks. Unblinking, he pulls out a taser. My back stiffens, but I don’t drop my smile. I nurse some vague, absurd hope that maybe he hasn’t brought me here to kill me. That his loyalty to my mom is too much to consider what he’s probably already considering:

Murder. Permanent injury.

“Tell the truth, Mr. Major,” he says. His glasses reflect the noon sun, his eyes disappearing behind a flash of blinding white. The effect is monstrous.

“Truth about what?” I ask, shrugging. In the ensuing silence, I shrug again. If I shrug one more time, I might collapse into tears.

“You went into the clinic, didn’t you?”

My heart caterwauls, begging for escape from my body. The Reverend knows. Somehow…somehow…he always knows. “I had a migraine and I needed—”

“You found out something about Ricky, didn’t you?” Sweat weeps down my ears, but I’m too frightened to wipe it off. Beads roll under my chin and inside my shirt for long, brutal seconds before I finally nod and the real tears come. I can’t stop them—nor do I want to. It’s about time I cried. “It’s okay, Connor. You’re not in trouble.”

I’m in nothing but trouble.

I want my mom. But my real mom—the woman she was before the Reverend sank his talons into her. Before I came out and permanently changed the look on her face whenever I walk into a room. The “I like guys” talk was horrific—it reminded me of the only other time I’d been in this much trouble. In seventh grade. It was winter. I’d thrown a snowball at this girl during recess. It must’ve accidentally hit her eye wrong because she wouldn’t stop crying. The principal let me finish out my day, but I had to bring a note home saying what I’d done and that I was getting detention. I walked the ten minutes home, trudging through sidewalks overtaken by dunes of hard, compacted snow. The brutal tundra separating me from my home was punishment enough…but when I walked in the door, my mom was so happy to see me. She had baked Christmas tree cookies with almond paste—the smell still triggers the memory of what came next. She sat me on the couch, humming carols as she pulled off my socks and warmed my frigid feet.