So she didn’t believe the Bible.
But the scrolls still had power for her. They were harsh sometimes, even brutal, but there were no stories in them, only prayers and entreaties, and, in her experience, many of the requests had been answered. That lent them authority. She didn’t want to believe in the world shown in the scrolls, particularly not the persistent prejudice against Outsiders, but she’d spent her entire life rolling scrolls, writing them, reading them, and old habits were hard to break.
Joan hesitated for a moment, then picked up the prayer scroll from the table. Rolling it open, she automatically read the words aloud:
“O Lord our Father! Praise be to You for rescuing me from the Outsiders. Forgive me for consorting with evil and show me the light once more. Welcome me back to the bosom of Your love. Damn the Outsiders for eternity and protect me here in Your Home forever and ever. Amen.”
The second she finished reciting the words, the door opened and there stood Absalom, smiling. It was as if he’d been waiting outside the door for her to say the prayer, as if its recitation allowed him entry. She had not thought of Absalom since she and her parents had left, so Joan was surprised at the warm feelings of nostalgia she experienced upon seeing him again. Like Father, he was older than she remembered, but the sincerity of his smile and the kindness of his eyes were as far from Father’s stern visage as it was possible to get. A memory came to her: Absalom tying her shoes for her when she was five or six, using a thick, rough finger to wipe the tears from her cheeks and telling her to ignore Luke, the bratty little boy who’d made fun of her because he could tie his own shoes and she couldn’t.
Absalom stepped into the room. “Welcome back,” he said in the Language, holding his arms open wide for a hug.
She knew why he was here. It was his job to smooth things over, to try to make her forget that she had been drugged and kidnapped and taken to the Home by force. He was supposed to make her feel missed, wanted and loved. He was supposed to let her know that all was forgiven, that she was back and everything was fine. She wanted no part of that. At the same time, she did like Absalom and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and she compromised by smiling and saying, “Hello.” She said it in the Language, surprised and a little bit frightened by how easily it came back to her.
Behind him, in the hallway, she could see the girl who’d been bringing her meals. The girl hung back shyly, though her face lit up when Joan’s eyes met hers, as if she was remembering when Joan had thanked her. If Joan recalled correctly, the Children didn’t receive many compliments or kind words.
“It is nice to see you,” Absalom said in that formal way of speaking that adults always used in the Home. “When Father told me you had come back to us, I was overjoyed.”
I didn’t “come back” to you! Joan wanted to yell. I was kidnapped and brought back by force! I never wanted to see this place again! But she forced herself to answer with a slight acquiescent nod.
“You have been given your old room back!” Absalom told her enthusiastically. “I will take you there. Everything will be as it was.”
That was what Joan was afraid of, but she nodded and smiled and followed him out into the hall, the girl moving aside to let her pass. She looked first to the left, then to the right. She didn’t recognize this corridor and wondered if it was part of a new addition, though it was also possible that she’d simply forgotten it. Not only had she been gone for several years, but there were doubtlessly things that her brain had blocked out.
“You will be able to eat with us in the dining room again,” Absalom continued. “And you may participate in all of the joyous events Father has planned for us.”
Joan was filled with a sense of welling panic. She remembered all too well how difficult it had been for her and her parents to escape, and she knew that once she had been reintegrated into the fold, every minute of every hour of every day would be accounted for. She would have no privacy whatsoever. Each move would be watched; each word heard and reported back to Father.
They walked past a series of closed doors. Did any of them lead outside? Even if they did, they would not lead out of the Home, only out of this building—although that might be enough to allow her to get her bearings and, if she could think fast enough on her feet, find an escape route.
She eyed the door on her right, trying to determine whether or not it was locked. If it was and she tried to open it, her attempted breakout would be over before it began. Likewise, if it was open but led to a closet, she would be out of luck as well. She had to be careful. She could afford no mistakes.
Ahead, on the left side of the corridor, a door was open. Joan continued to face forward but glanced surreptitiously to the left, prepared at a second’s notice to run through the doorway if it happened to lead outside. There was a tapping sound, a click. In her peripheral vision, she caught movement on the opposite side of the corridor and, surprised, she swiveled her head to the right, where another door was opening to reveal two men standing in a small room filled with skeins of recently spun yarn piled next to what appeared to be a broken loom.
“Absalom!” one of them called.
Absalom paused. “Wait here,” he told Joan, shooting a significant look at the girl behind her. He walked into the room to speak to the men, and Joan took a step forward, peering into the open doorway on her left. It looked like an office. Not the type of primitive office she would have expected to find in the Home, but a regular, if bare-bones, office with chairs, a desk and, atop the desk, a computer.
And a phone.
There was no one inside the room.
Joan took a chance. As fast as she could, she ran into the office, slamming the door behind her. She dashed across the floor, grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the number of Gary’s cell.
In the hallway, the girl was screaming, though no words issued from her mouth, only harsh atonal cries. Joan knew she had only seconds to pull this off. There was one ring, two—and then the girl had thrown open the door and was in the room, trying to slam her hand down on the phone and cut off the call. Joan managed to push her away with her left hand while holding the phone to her ear with her right, but the girl fell back and came at her from another angle, still screaming, still calling for help in the only way she could.
Absalom and the other two men entered the room just as the ringing ceased and Gary’s voice mail message came on: “Hello. This is Gary. I’m not able to…”
One of the men lunged for her while the other guarded the door. “Gary! I’m—” Joan shouted, and the phone was ripped from her hand. She was shoved against the desk with such force that the wind was knocked out of her, and then her arms were being pulled back as she was restrained by both men. The girl was still screaming and Absalom was calming her down as the two men dragged Joan back into the corridor.