Chapters (41)
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- PART TWO
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
She turned off the faucet, slumped onto the bathroom tile, head in her hands. What proof was a batty old woman’s story? Mara was an artist, what she described was a child’s PTSD fever dream. Whatever she’d gone through during the war, she’d explained away or transformed through fantasy—that’s what children do, what imagination is for. It was not for grown-up mothers who needed to find their child. Calliope couldn’t give in to fantasy now. It hadn’t worked for Bisabuela when she’d prayed for healing. The Ancients hadn’t come to her when she’d refused Western medicine and died as a result. Why should they have come now? Myth was just that. Hell, Bisabuela and the Suuke were probably a result of Calliope’s exhaustion, dehydration, and terror. She’d seen a woman almost raped in front of her, had almost killed the rapist. What she’d seen in the hangar—that was PTSD not reality.
Now that she’d gotten some sleep, in a warm and familiar place, she could sort out fact from fiction, could piece the puzzle together with critical intellect and not wishful thinking. Chance had been a bad influence, with his stories just like Bisabuela’s. If she were inclined to believe in such things, she’d wonder if he was some kind of shaman or witch—if he’d slipped her something and brought on the delusions through a hallucinogen. When had she drunk that bowl of earth-tasting clay water “Bisabuela” had “given” her? She thought back to the strange encounter. The apparition in the rebozo had offered it to her right before she saw the “Suuke.” Or maybe she’d never seen anything at all. Maybe she’d described a hallucination and the others had taken her word for it. Eunjoo was an impressionable child, susceptible to wild beliefs at adult suggestion. What about Amy? Had she seen the Suuke? Calliope couldn’t remember now. Memory was blurring. She’d been so confused and scared in the hangar.
And yet, what motive could Chance have possibly had for drugging her? It didn’t make sense. He’d protected her several times. He’d had ample opportunity to harm her and Eunjoo—if he’d wanted to.