CAPTOR (V.O.)

You say you are strong, but I know you cannot stomach the polluted mess in the mirror. Cannot reconcile it with the beautiful fantasy world you created around yourself.

Captor examines a pair of calfskin gloves, a wallet. Captor finds photographs.

CAPTOR (V.O.) (CONT’D)

A world of unbridled hope, of answered prayers, of selfless goodness, of smiling children—

Captor flips through photographs, finding one of smiling children. Two girls, beautiful girls, their identities unknown.

CAPTOR (V.O.)

How sweet the photograph was, inside your ruined red purse.

Captor reenters chamber with clients inside and watches White Fox, now stone-faced.

CAPTOR (V.O.)

Evolve or die, White Fox, dear. Evolve or die.

Who is this captor? Grendl is staying mum.

“I simply thought it would be edifying for investigators and those who loved Mireille alike to understand her mindset prior to her departure,” Grendl explains. “It should be plain to readers that a troubled Mireille felt trapped and ran off.”

Read on for Grendl’s exclusive list of Mireille’s Viloxin haunts—ideal for those seeking a warm weather escape!

—The Viloki Sun, May 24, 2010

HERO TO HERMIT! “HE’S SICK, PARANOID, IRRESPONSIBLE—AND HE REFUSES TO LEAVE HIS STÖKÉWOOD HOME,” SAYS HERO PHARM BOARD MEMBER.

—The Viloki Sun, January 2014

NONI

NEW YORK, 2014

Two blocks from our home, an underground psychic was waiting for us with a secret message. Her basement shop blends into the row of dirt-encrusted town houses on West Tenth Street during the day, but at night the shop’s magical features come alive: carefully painted wood paneling; a neat row of budding, overgrown plants; and a buzzing neon sign of a purple crystal ball.

“You have the money, right?” Tai whispers to me, between blowing on her hands, that shock of cherry hair in her face.

It’s been five years since Mama disappeared, but strangers still notice us on the street sometimes, whispering “Is that…?” to their friends with that sideways-sneak look, so we had decided to wear plain brown wigs tonight to stay incognito. But then Tai wanted to use the red one from her devil costume, and Tai gets what she wants. You’re only thirteen, Aunt Marion cried, when she saw the crop top and leather miniskirt my sister was wearing. Mama wore a thong swimsuit in a movie when she was thirteen, Tai snapped back.

I hike up my loose jeans and pull the envelope out of my fleece sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket. “Two hundred big ones,” I whisper back. We had been saving for months.

Tai grabs my shoulders and squeals, this infectious grin spreading from one bubble gum–pink cheek to the other. There’s so much innocent hope in her lined-and-mascaraed blue eyes, so much it makes me quiver, but of course I’m smiling back before I know it. Tonight could give us clues, if not answers. My stomach hasn’t felt settled in days.