Father wasn’t here yet, but the door to his sleeping chamber was open, and everyone was obviously awaiting his arrival.
How old was he now? It was hard to tell. He had fathered her mom and had fathered her mom’s mom, and though both her grandmother and her great-grandmother had been young at the time, in their early teens, that probably put him somewhere in his eighties or nineties.
When was he going to die?
Not soon enough, she thought.
She should be grateful for small favors. At least he had not fathered her. And he had allowed her mom to marry someone else. Although he had wanted Joan to—
She pushed the memory from her mind.
The people in the room, seated on the benches, seated on the floor, standing in the corners, were talking among themselves. Their eyes kept returning to her, though no one would look at her directly. How many? she wondered. Twenty or thirty, at least. Not everyone who lived in the Home by a long shot, but enough that the big room seemed crowded. Father had probably called them here specifically to view her perceived humiliation, to drive home the point to both them and her that escape was not possible, that even those who managed to get out would be brought back for punishment sooner or later.
Joan had lost track of Absalom, but she saw him now, standing before the bookcase next to the door to Father’s sleeping chamber. He was with one of the other Teachers, a man she recognized but whose name she could not recall. The two men conferred for a moment; then Absalom moved so that each of them was on an opposite side of the door. “Quiet!” they announced in unison, speaking the Language.
The room was silenced.
All eyes were on Father as he emerged from the darkness.
Kara was by his side.
Kara?
Joan stood there, shocked. The last thing in the world she expected to see here was her roommate. The juxtaposition was jarring, her new life intruding into her old life, the Outside world coming into the Home.
And Kara was with Father? How was that even possible? It made no sense on any level whatsoever, and Joan was filled with a profound despair as she saw how her friend was wearing not a look of fear, panic or even coerced cooperation, but an expression of blind contentment.
Converts, Joan knew from experience, were often more hard-core than people who had been born and raised in the Home, and although that had not been true of her father, she had the feeling that it was for Kara. Something in her friend’s eyes bespoke not just belief but a willingness—no, a need—to impress that belief upon others.
How had this happened? Joan could not seem to wrap her mind around it. Had Kara been a plant all along? Was she the one who had reported Joan’s whereabouts to Father? Or had she been recruited because she was Joan’s roommate?
It was possible that she’d been kidnapped at the same time Joan had been, subjected to brainwashing indoctrination once she’d been brought to the Home, and that was the scenario Joan chose to believe.
Anything else was too depressing and demoralizing to contemplate.
His hand on Kara’s shoulder, Father strode between the haphazardly arranged furniture until he was standing directly before her. He was taller than Joan remembered and, as much as she hated to admit it, there was a powerful aura about him, a charisma he exuded that was only intensified by proximity. He smiled at her, but the smile was sharp and dangerous, not warm and welcoming. “It is good to have you back,” he said. He spoke in English. For Kara’s benefit, no doubt. “I am glad you have returned to us.”
Joan wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to announce loudly that she hadn’t returned, she’d been kidnapped , but while she was angry enough to confront him with the truth, doing so might make her situation worse. She was all alone here, at their mercy, and perhaps it would be smarter right now to lie low.
So she said nothing.
Father smiled, holding his arms wide as though to give her a hug, though neither he nor she made any effort to move closer to the other. “We have always known you would come back to us, and it is a blessing that you are here again. You have experienced the horrors of life Outside, away from the Home, and your inevitable return has brought a new member to our growing family.” He put an arm around Kara’s shoulder, squeezing.
She couldn’t sit still for this. She wouldn’t.
“I have seen your joyous future and know why you have come back.” He paused. “You are to give me a son.”
Joan shook her head.
“Ruth—”
“My name is Joan now.”
Father’s face hardened. “Ruth. I forgive you for leaving the Home. It was not your fault and you are back now, so I—”
“Where are my parents?”
There was stunned silence in the room. She was not supposed to interrupt Father while he was speaking. She knew that, and she’d done it on purpose, to show that she would not be intimidated. But Father’s expression was one of rage and hate, and she could tell that he was about to yell at her. Before he could utter a word, she asked the question again: “Where are my parents?” Her eyes met his defiantly.
“You will never see your parents again.”
The words were whispered fiercely, not shouted, were meant to serve as a threat, but her heart leapt with joy as she heard them. Her parents were safe. If they had been captured, Father would have told her so, would have bragged about it. If anything, he would have used them as leverage, would probably have had them here for her to see. But instead he offered only this vague threat, and inwardly she rejoiced. She didn’t have to worry about them being hurt or retaliated against, didn’t have to figure out how to help them escape. They were free. She could concentrate on herself and getting out of here as quickly as possible, in any way she could.
Father must have realized that it made him seem weak to be so upset by something she said. She was a nobody. He was Chosen. He smiled at her with newly regained equilibrium. “The Lord our God has instructed us to be fruitful and multiply, and that is why I have created this haven. So we may follow His wishes and do exactly that. The Home is not the Home unless it is ever filled with the voices of new Children.” He smiled at Joan, but there was a hint of a threat in it. “Wouldn’t you like a child of your own?”
“Not with you.”
“Only with me!” he roared.