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My thoughts go straight to Evelyn and Calista. They couldn’t possibly know they’re living with a murderer. They’ve gotten wrapped up in Frank’s carefully built world.

I step into the foyer and pull out my phone. My fingers tremble as I type.

ME: Where are you?

CALISTA: out

ME: Where? I need to talk to you

CALISTA: ophidia w wayne

I call her, but she sends me right to voicemail.

ME: Please answer, it’s important

My pulse is in my throat as I wait for her to say anything. When the three dots appear in her text, I stare at the screen, urging words to appear.

CALISTA: im busy

CALISTA: go talk to my mom

CALISTA: she likes you more anyway

My heart sinks.

ME: You know that’s not true.

I’m running out of time for a danger I can’t even name.

ME: Where is Evelyn?

A few minutes pass with no response. I call Calista again. This time it rings and rings.

ME: Calista, please. You’re both in danger. Talk to me.

She stops responding.

I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to bother Edwin when he’s this angry. I can’t sit here and pretend everything will be handled neatly.

It’s Saturday. There’s a good chance Evelyn is at the church setting up for Sunday service. I only need to see if she’s there. If I spot Frank, I’ll turn around.

The church is right down the street. A quick visit, nothing more. One that could save her life.

CHAPTER 42

ZAIYA

The first time I came down this road, I was barefoot and a mess. Convinced that if I reached the church, I would be saved. I never would have predicted a life like this.

The sun has started its descent behind the trees, dark red and bleeding into the horizon. The town is peaceful as ever below the bluff.

At least a dozen cars sit in the church parking lot. The Sacred Spirit sign has a note about the Believers of the Blood having a meeting at seven. I’m thankful it’s Bible study night. Relief offers some comfort, but it won’t last. Evelyn has to be there. I need a moment alone with her. I won’t be able to sleep until she knows what her husband has done.

I enter through the back door that leads to the basement. Their Bible study group always meets down here, but most of the lights are off now. The kitchen is the only room illuminated, yellow light spilling through the serving window and stretching across the empty floor. Tables and chairs haven’t even been set up.

I strain to listen until sound travels through the door at the top of the stairs. Someone speaking in measured phrases, like a sermon in the sanctuary.

Quietly, I make my way up. Each step is careful, placing my weight along the edges of the boards the way I used to when sneaking through my house as a kid. I press my palm to the railing, steadying myself, begging the wood not to betray me.