The Silent Girl: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller full of suspense, page 22
Last spring, when he called me after months of radio silence, I had been overjoyed to hear from him. In the first week of April, it was still gray and cold. The lingering snow mirrored the color of the sky. Miles called in the evening, after I got home from work, from a number I didn’t recognize. I hadn’t heard from him in months, and the sound of his voice brought tears to my eyes.
Miles told me that he had changed. New home, new friends, new job: “new man,” he said. He told me how good it was to get out of the city, and when I realized I’d spent my life in Brooklyn, that I’d barely even had the odd weekend away, something clicked. Miles needed money, which I’d never held against him. I told him the modest amount I had in savings, and he told me I had a home with him, that nobody needed money where he lived. That the air in the mountains was sweet and clean, that he woke to the sound of birds singing instead of traffic. He made it sound like heaven.
The next day, I told my boss I needed some time off, that I didn’t know how much. I paid out the lease on the room I rented and I left. I remember how they picked me up at the airport. I remember the truck, too, the same one I’m sitting in now. He sold my phone for cash at a pawn shop outside Charleston. I was surprised, since I’d already wired all my savings. Soon enough, though, I was distracted, wrapped up in Miles’ charm, entranced with the sweeping landscape as he drove us further and further from civilization. Just as I am being driven now. In the seat next to me, he sings with Iris, a song they both seem to know well, and I sit, bewitched, between them.
The first night I was there, everyone gathered around to meet me, as if being Miles’ sister was enough to make me special. We sat outside in a clearing, around a glimmering campfire. Miles turned to the bench adjacent to ours, where a dark-haired woman with smoky eyes sat cross-legged. She leaned over on a slender arm and gave him a kiss.
“This is Iris,” he told me.
“Dora, I feel like I already know you,” she said. “I’m happy you’re here with us. Oh, and this is Beckett.” Iris nodded at a man sitting on Miles’ other side, then reached over to tap his knee when he didn’t respond. “Always daydreaming, this one.”
“Oh! Sorry. Nice to meet you.” As Beckett shook my hand, his sudden smile seemed pasted over an expression of regret or worry. I felt almost that he studied me a bit too carefully, though it may have been more true that I was the one studying him, wondering why anyone here would be anything less than happy. Soon enough, the smell of food cooking distracted me.
“Iris,” Miles said, “would you get the girls to bring some dinner out?”
“Of course.” She stood up and rattled off a few names, her voice musical and sweet: Rose, Morgan, Ellie. The one she called Rose drew up close to her side, and as they walked away, I could see her glancing at me as she whispered with Iris.
“There are twenty-seven of us,” Miles told me. “Including two little babies, both less than a year old.” I couldn’t help but smile, basking in his glow. I couldn’t remember ever having seen him this happy. It was as though he was, finally, himself. Iris and the others returned balancing plates of food, one carrying a large pitcher and carved wooden mugs. Others appeared to sit, and they paused one by one in front of us, as if in a receiving line, each face lit with what seemed very much like genuine happiness. A bulky man who looked to be made of solid muscle appeared from the shadows at Miles’ side, greeting me with a cold stare. There was a scar through his left eyebrow.
“Dora, this is Sawyer,” Miles said. I sensed that he was important, but that Miles didn’t know exactly how to introduce him. “He’s also been with me here since the beginning. Associate, co-worker?” he asked. “What do you think, man?” He laughed uneasily, but Sawyer did not.
“Investor? I don’t know. Nice to see you, Dora.” Sawyer spoke with a Midwestern accent, devoid of the usual friendly ease of that region. For a moment, a sense of unease collected around me again, until Miles resumed the rest of his introductions. Iris returned, placed a wooden cup in my hand. I lifted the cup, but Iris shook her head.
“Don’t do that.” Miles’ voice was automatic, authoritative. “We’ve got to say a few things first.” I placed my cup back down and looked around at the others. In the firelight, I could see several of them had matching tattoos on their hands and arms. The dark was settling in around us when Miles stepped close to the fire and lit his cigarette. It seemed like magic that the flame didn’t touch his hair, that he flipped its length just out of the way with an impossible precision.
“Who’s thankful today?” Miles asked, his voice cajoling and kind. A few voices rose. “Who’s spoken with God today?”
Someone handed Miles a guitar and, at some cue that I didn’t recognize, cups were raised. Just like fire, which I remember him patting like a tamed animal, music had always laid down at Miles’ feet. I watched Iris and followed suit, sipping my iced tea. Iris slid close to me, but her eyes followed my brother. “Miles says that in most families like ours, only the leader would talk to God. But he lets all of us talk to him.”
“Families?”
“What?” Iris laughed softly, looking at me through her long lashes. “You think we’re a cult or something? Come on. We’re farmers, Dora.”
People volunteered bits of news and offered their thanks. There was a baby that took his first step. A man who received a message that he could forgive his late father for abandoning him. A pair of women told Miles that they found a patch of huckleberries growing wild in the forest, that there was more fruit than they could carry home. I felt warm and soft, strangely unworried. Miles was plucking at the guitar, playing soft chords and notes that seemed to wander in an upward spiral.
“And who,” he asked, studying the fretboard, “who has anything to testify to?” Beckett pushed a crate toward Miles’ feet, and he leaned over to look inside, all the while strumming the guitar. “And those who follow will be able to do these things as proof. They will speak my name to force out devils. They will speak in new languages. They will carry serpents and drink poison without being harmed.” As he spoke, voices murmured along with him. “Those who believe,” he repeated, alone. He set down his guitar. My teacup was empty, and I felt sleepy, but somehow, also, alert. “Baby, sit further back,” Miles said to Iris, who complied, moving to the back row. He reached into the crate. When he drew his arm out, he held two snakes, both rattlers. Miles reached into another crate, and a smaller snake, mosaic-patterned in shades of brown, curled around his wrist. His pale skin gleamed in the firelight, and the snakes seemed to gleam, too, as if otherworldly. I watched people step forward, one or two at a time, and when they held the snakes, they seemed touched with magic, or something else.
By the time the snakes were returned to their cages, my veins were thrilling with energy, as if the fear I ought to have felt had turned to diamonds, lighting up my veins. I was calm, and awake, and exhilarated. Miles clicked his tongue and Iris reappeared at his side.
“You okay, Dora?”
“I—” I didn’t want to tell her the truth, that it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I realized, then, that I felt funny, a bit lightheaded. “Is there something in this tea? Is this safe?” Iris ignored my first question and skipped to the second.
“The snakes won’t hurt you if your heart is clean,” she answered, that evasive smile still hanging on her face. “Clean from sin, clean from drugs, from all the poison that’s—out there.” She gestured with a look of disgust, and somehow I knew what she meant. Iris rose to her feet and began handing plates of food around.
“The world outside is nothing but sin,” Miles said. “These are God’s final people. We’re the last safe place.”
I didn’t question him, but my expression must have announced some curiosity. “This is all for you, Dora,” he said. “Don’t you see? All the things you went through? God used your suffering to lead me to the truth. Now, at last, we have a real family. A real home.”
He wasn’t talking only to me, but to a handful of people around us. He struck some chord, though, and I felt like a scared little kid again. I realized I had never felt that I had a family beyond Miles. For some reason, my mind seemed to skip over all of its usual steps, taking a shortcut straight to the middle, where it was soft and hurt.
“Dora, what is it?” Iris slipped close to me.
I felt too full of emotion to talk. “You missed your brother,” she said. “You didn’t realize how lonely you were. That’s it, isn’t it?” I nodded.
“I’m tired,” I said.
“Is there a room ready for her?” Miles asked. Someone answered yes, and I followed him inside the big building.
We passed a cabinet, full of plates and tools. On the top shelf, I saw dark metal and the handle of a pistol. Car keys hung on a set of hooks here, too. My room was on the second floor, with an open window to let in the breeze.
“Here.” Miles took a necklace out of his pocket and showed me the Sophia symbol. I leaned over to study it, but he gestured me closer and tied the twine behind my neck.
For weeks, I hung around the encampment, helping in the kitchen, watching young children while they played outside. I’m natural with children. I like them. But I was curious about where everyone went when they left in the morning. Finally, Miles agreed to take me. I figured they were farming. Dawn over the skyline was starry and violet-peach. I imagined that I had become a soft-focus version of myself, soaking in the quiet air and the simple food. I was seated in the back of a pickup, rattling over a trail through the forest.
“Beautiful sunrise,” I whispered.
“It’s the same color as your hair,” Iris answered, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.
“It is the same,” Sawyer agreed. He lacked Iris’ imagination, but at least he spoke his mind. I hadn’t managed to find any fondness for Sawyer, but I could see that he was close to Miles, and that meant something. Between us, Beckett sat silently.
“Look at those clouds,” Iris said. “There’s no place as beautiful as this. We’re far away enough from the world that everything is clean.”
Though I was anxious to see where we were headed, I followed Iris’ lead, leaning back against the side of the truck as we drove. When Miles went over a bump in the road, I grabbed her arm by accident and she laughed, but not unkindly. The forest woke up as the truck came through, and I heard birdsong greeting us as the sunrise began to turn to day. I saw the trees thinning ahead, which seemed strange to me, at this elevation, on these mountains.
“Perfect weather,” Sawyer observed.
The truck rattled to a halt and I slid against Beckett’s leg. He inched back, apologizing. I turned back to Sawyer. “Perfect for…?”
But then I turned and gasped. The sun had risen, pure gold, not a cloud in the sky. Before us the forest opened to give way to a field of poppies that swayed in the breeze, as if to an unheard melody. Something chilled in my blood, then I realized: there’s only one reason I didn’t suspect something like this, and that’s because I didn’t want to. Iris jumped over the side of the truck and walked right up to the edge of the field, like it was a body of water. She plucked a petal from the ground and handed it to me, like a coin or a blessing. “What do you think?” Miles asked. I drew in a deep breath, feeling the morning casting a spell.
“I think it’s beautiful.”
“We’re just farmers, Dora.” Miles smiled and opened his hands. “It’s natural. See—how could anything bad come from this? You know why it’s illegal?” Though I could think of a few reasons, I waited for him to speak. “Because the pharmaceutical industry doesn’t want any competition. That’s it,” he said. “Victimless crime. We would never hurt anyone, ever.” I saw Sawyer watching from a few yards off. Miles seemed to nod to him. “Everybody helps,” he said. “This is a family, remember?”
“You aren’t worried about not being able to come back? Live closer, work somewhere?”
“Dora, the world is never going to take me back.” His eyes darkened. He carried his pain just below the surface. I recognized this and began to backpedal right away. Miles is like a hurricane. There’s the charm, and then the storm. “I never got a fair chance. Not one time. Not after—”
“It was my fault,” I said. “Not yours. I know that. I—you showed up for me, and…” All I could see were blank eyes beneath a purple hair bow.
He accepted my response, eyes flashing. “Everyone helps,” he said. “You’re here, you help.”
“Okay.”
So I was surprised, a little, when Miles didn’t join us. He drove the truck back through the woods, saying he’d come pick us up before dinnertime.
For years, I had dreamed that I could one day see Miles this happy, this healthy. The poppies dancing in the fragrant breeze were more convincing than any words could have been, hypnotic and blood red. Maybe he was right. Maybe nothing could go wrong here.
Forty-Four
The truck jolts and I wake with a start. Swearing softly, Miles throws an arm out to catch me; I realize I’m not wearing a seatbelt.
“Flat tire?” Iris asks.
“Don’t think so,” he answers. “The wheel’s stuck in the ditch. Let’s get out and take a look.”
“Miles?” I blink, rub the sleep from my eyes.
“What?”
I’m looking at him, and he turns back to me as he climbs to the ground, as if he just noticed that I’m here. The poppies. The snakes. That sinking sense I had that he didn’t want me to ask any more questions. My brother would never hurt me, I tell myself. My brother would never let any harm come to me. That’s the only thing, in my entire life, that I’ve always known was true.
“Miles,” I whisper again. His mouth hardens into a thin line, as if he’s reading my thoughts. Maybe he is. I’m reminded of how unafraid he is of fire and of wild animals. He points at me and I cower back into the seat.
“Stay,” he says. “Stay put right where you are.” And I do.
“Hey, Dora,” he shouts a few moments later. “Put it in neutral.” I slide the gearshift as he and Iris begin to push the truck out of the ditch. “Now hit the gas,” he says. “Easy, though.” I do, just a bit, and it’s free. For a moment, I wonder what would happen if I stomped on it, left them both here in the road. But before I know it, they’re back in the cab, sitting on either side of me.
“Isn’t it heavy?” I ask, looking for anything to chatter about.
“Older trucks like these?” he says. “Not really. You’d be surprised. Iris could probably push this thing on her own if she had to,” he laughs. “Not so sure about you, though.”
I remember this long, twisting drive, around mountainsides, always upward, into the depths of nowhere. It’s disorienting, until I realize that it’s the land itself that twists: we’re on the same road the whole time. Until, finally, Miles pulls over, stepping on the brakes. Iris hops out of the truck to pull back tree branches that conceal the turnoff to a smaller road.
The first time I arrived here, a small crowd of friendly faces waited to greet me. But this time, the camp is quiet, just a handful of people sitting quietly around the fire. In the main building, I see a few faces at the windows, a few curtains hurriedly pulled aside. The sun is setting as Miles parks the pickup in a row of three or four dodgy-looking old cars. “Hey, everyone,” he shouts, clapping his hand against the hood of the truck. “Dora’s back! Let’s get some dinner going.”
There’s a weak chorus of voices. “Everyone welcome my sister back,” Miles says. “We missed you,” he continues. I see Beckett looking at me, almost miserably. Iris goes inside and returns with a pitcher of tea. She fills a glass and hands it to me. I nod and thank her, then, when she’s turned away, quietly pour it onto the ground. Someone carries out a platter piled with loaves of bread, a pot of soup and a stack of bowls. Bowls are filled and passed around. I know what comes next, though, before anyone is allowed to eat. In the light of the crackling fire, I watch Miles open one of the crates, and lift out a water moccasin. His voice projects calm even as he lets the snake near his face, closing his eyes, as he talks about faith and following God’s word. Maybe it’s the pangs in my empty stomach, but this time, I think I see it clearly. I doubt that Miles cares about holiness, or faith, or what I’ve heard him call divine femininity. Everyone is watching him, believing him, holding their breath with amazement. Maybe he’s convinced himself he’s here to sell opium or live according to some unforgiving reading of the Bible, but I’m pretty sure he’s here for the adoring audience.
The snakes’ crates are open, an invitation to anyone else who chooses to take part, and I peer in to see a copperhead. In the firelight, it’s almost iridescent, this mottled brown creature that blends so easily into the underbrush by day. It seems years ago, that day the copperhead in the ivy watched me with its furtive curiosity. I smile when I remember Nathaniel asking me: how long had you been sitting there by yourself, making eyes at that snake? Before I know it, I’m reaching forward, curling a hand under the snake’s belly when it moves, lifting it up. They’ll know if you’re afraid. But I’m not. A flash of memory chills my blood. I’ve been here before. These creatures aren’t strangers to me. I open my hand and let the copperhead slither back into its crate.
Miles stops talking abruptly. In the silence, I sense I’ve committed some faux pas.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He stands in front of me and I look past him into the fire.
“Just looking.”
“You weren’t just looking.” He pulls me to my feet. “You are not to touch those creatures.” I glance around at the wide-eyed faces and see that everyone’s watching me. Then, I notice that everybody except for me is holding a plate of food, waiting to eat.
“God’s command is for the faithful to take up serpents. Not you: you’re nobody. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
