She hadn’t picked at her skin in a long time. It was something she did often after her mother’s death. That’s when religion swooped in to soothe the pain, and talked of resurrection, and that one day they would be together again, when all Isabel needed was to scream until the pain exhausted itself. But she didn’t scream, and had constructed a career and life as a barrier to that anguish.

But with this young girl before her, and with wisdom beyond her age, Isabel couldn’t shake the feeling there were more than Ley Lines that had brought them together.

61

61

Dominique stared at the text on her computer screen. She’d finished writing another piece for The Washington Post, the first since she’d returned from Iraq.

She’d read much about the core from which extremism comes. And wasn’t alone in the way she’d examined the paradox of “the two jihads.” The lesser, of the sword. The greater, of the soul.

She knew it was a risk to speak of it, as it had been with others who’d dedicated themselves to grasping the causes of this particular brutality, and that there would be those who would take it as a defense of terrorism.

She was about to send it to her editor. But didn’t. She had the thought she would show it to Isabel, as a way to introduce her to the possibility of how she might get inside Hashim’s head. By sharing her work, she believed it would bring them closer. Because of what Nazir had told her of what the voice said to him in the desert, Dominique believed Isabel was the lawyer she needed to talk to regarding “the girl.” Too much had evolved to deny that she had been led to Isabel. She also knew she needed to be strategic, and didn’t want to approach the question of the girl in a way that might shut Isabel down, if indeed she was the conduit.

She knew Isabel was curious to get her perspective on the experience with Hashim, and that the prosecution needed to fill gaps in their case in order to expand the portrait of this mass murderer. Perhaps, her article was a way in. And maybe it wasn’t meant to be published, but a way to further her bond with Isabel. And so, she sent her a text asking if they might meet again, as there was something she wanted to share.

Dominique was also eager to know what part this “girl,” whoever she was, might be playing in the path unfolding before them.

62

62

Isabel was sitting at the desk in her makeshift office. She finished reading Dominique’s article, looked up at her, and then read a few sentences she’d highlighted, aloud.