Quickly she bundled everything into the box, hoping she’d put it all in the right order. She wedged the lid on, fastened the padlock, replaced the box exactly where she’d found it hidden in the wardrobe. Finally, she wiped the padlock and the wardrobe door where her prints might be found. Paranoid, perhaps, but she’d seen just how far Gregor would go to keep tabs on her. The idea of him routinely dusting for prints seemed perfectly plausible now.

CHAPTER

32

The Injured Man

Remembers

THE GIRL IS running ahead of him through a field of maize, her small form disappearing into the high stalks, reappearing again in flashes of white cotton and yellow hair. It’s a game: he’s laughing as he chases her. She ducks to the left and disappears. He stops to search the rows. He can’t find where she’s gone, but then he steps forward and sees a foot quickly drawn away under the low leaves. He creeps along. He can feel himself grinning, the sun on his back, stalking his prey, the thrill of a good chase. She’s hiding, perfectly still. She thinks he can’t see her. Then, the crops shudder as she realizes he’s there and takes off, running chaotically, here and there like a startled rabbit, and he’s after her. She’s an arm’s length away, and he reaches for her, grabbing her wrist and turning her to face him. She stares at him, her mouth wide in a scream. Up close, the white dress she wears is covered with uneven red spots. She struggles to get away, so he goes to take hold of her with his other hand but can’t because he’s holding something already. He opens up his palm to reveal a severed finger, and in that moment she twists and slips out of his grasp.

Next, he is standing at the edge of a deep hole, looking down. There on the distant bottom, the girl’s limbs make a star, still and pale, with a fan of yellow hair in an angel’s aurora around her head. She stares in his direction, but the eyes no longer see.

He is pushing the front door open, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

His mother is saying, “Where’s your sister?”

He turns, looks her in the eye. “I haven’t seen Dora all day.” As he leaves the room, he slips his hands in his pockets. His left hand grips his penknife that he knows he must wash. His right hand caresses the nestled finger, a gruesome treasure, his first and his best.

CHAPTER

33

NOW

Joanna

Sunday, December 23

STREETLIGHTS SPREAD WEAK orange light on the paving between the apartment buildings. Jo followed Atkinson to where the cars were parked, her breath billowing in puffs of vapor, though she didn’t feel cold. When she reached the car, she paused in the act of unlocking it.