I looked at Leslie, at this woman I had called a friend for nearly half a year, this woman I had shared some of my most intimate secrets with, and she suddenly seemed like a cruel and desperate stranger with another woman’s lipstick smudged across her blouse. She turned to the rest of us—Honestly, I don’t even think Nora ever felt it. I think she was faking it the whole time.

And then we noticed, on Damian’s laptop screen, the live television feed of Nora pushing past reporters at the end of the driveway. Damian unmuted his computer, and we watched as they descended on her with questions.

Someone has finally emerged from the house. Let’s just—ma’am?

How many are in the house?

Ma’am, what’s your name?

How many are inside?

Were you a hostage?

Jo exhaled beside me, shaking her head at the screen.

My god, Mia murmured.

What’s happening inside? asked one of the reporters. Can you describe the situation?

Are you a member of a sex cult?

Nora looked dazed—What?

Emily looked up from the screen at the rest of us with horror. Did he just say—?

No. No, no, Nora said, shaking her head, and doing her best to push her way through the crush.

Is it a sex cult, ma’am?

Ma’am, who’s inside?

Jo just continued to shake her head—Wow.

Did he say a ‘sex cult’? Emily asked.

Where the fuck did they get that from? Damian muttered into his fist. Though the moment I heard those two words, I knew exactly who had formulated them, and said them to the press. My heart felt like a time lapse of a rotting orange, mouldering and imploding.

Who are they? asked another reporter.

What does that even mean? Emily asked, searching our faces.

Can you give us names? asked a reporter.

They are my neighbours, Nora said, looking into the camera, her mascara smeared. They are good people.

And so it begins, Howard said, to himself.

As Nora disappeared from frame, a reporter stepped back in front of the camera. So as you just saw, we’re still not sure who that woman was, but she seems to be either a member of the Sequoia Crescent Cult, or possibly someone being held hostage by them. What we do know so far is that seventeen-year-old Kyle Francis—at the mention of Kyle’s name, his yearbook photo appeared on-screen—a recent graduate of F. G. Saunders High School, is inside the house at this moment, allegedly being held against his will. Also inside the house is his former English teacher Claire Devon—a somewhat blurry close-up of my face in the group photograph of the school’s teachers appeared on-screen—who was fired earlier this year after it emerged—

Leslie slammed the laptop shut—I can’t.

Thank you, Howard said.

Shawn pointed to Leslie and Jo—That was fucked up.