The drive out to Rowan's is uneventful. I listen to the voice mail message: Williams letting me know he's coming to get me, promising to be peaceful, telling me to put my guns away and wait for him. I hear a note of humor in his voice, confirming he thought it would be easy to manipulate me, taking advantage of the fact that I heard The Loop. I regret not having taken the call. I could have been more prepared. I could have put Lucy in the car and waiting for the fuckers to come to my place and shot each one dead.
I call Rowan to make sure she's alright. She says she's heard from Ben, knows he's fine, understands why I'm headed her way; says she'll have the guest room made up for us.
Lucy sleeps the whole way. I alternate between worrying about deprogramming her, worrying about Rowan and Ben being considered a threat by Reynolds, worrying about Ray escaping The Loop's programming and having his revenge by kidnapping and enslaving Rowan's daughters.
When I'm not worrying about those things, I think about the lame-ass honey pot liberation Ben's been a part of. When one honey pot would disappear, Ray would just kidnap and brainwash another woman. And then those women Ben rescues end up as comfort women in the military. Whether intentional or not, it's just a pipeline to pimp army hoes. Ridiculous.
The more I think about it, the angrier I get. I have to stop myself from digging grooves into the steering wheel with my fingernails.
I get to Rowan's. I drive around the block a few times, looking for weird shit but I don't see anything out of place. Ben's car isn't there. It's a long drive and he often sleeps at an apartment in town three or four days in a row before coming home. Chances are the New Ray needs Ben there to help revamp the business plan.
It's late but Rowan's daughters are still up. They bring in the suitcase, the toiletry bag and Lucy's garbage-bag of clothes. Rowan carries the ammo. I carry Lucy, her body warm and relaxed under my brother's quilt.
"In here," Rowan says, leading me to the bedroom. I lay Lucy on the bed. She moans softly, brows knit together.
"We'll need to use The Loop on her," Rowan says, "It was patterned after the nightly programming Ray uses on his honey pots. It works well enough to keep her comfortable and pliable."
I look at her. She's not looking at me. She's looking at Lucy. Her eyes are soft but her mouth is in a hard line. The daughters are in the room, too, standing against the wall near the door. We're all silent until Lucy moans again and turns her head toward the light of the lamp on the dresser.
"Here," Rowan says. She reaches into a back pocket and pulls out the smart phone with The Loop on it. From a front pocket she pulls out a pair of earbuds. "Have her listen to it. Fifteen minutes or so."
"I know," I say, remembering the fifteen minutes of torture I experienced in her car earlier in the day.
"Right," Rowan meets my eyes, a defiant look on her face.
Fuck you, I think, but I take the phone and the earbuds and get it all set up before dialing a random number. I drop the phone quickly when I feel the oscillation of the The Loop through its case.
"Let's go to the kitchen," Rowan says. Her daughters and I follow her. The kitchen is as ugly as I remember. My nostrils flare as I take a seat.
"I told the girls about what's going on," she says as she sits across from me. I glance at her daughters, still standing in the doorway, their impassive faces fixed on mine, and try not to let my nose wrinkle.
"So now they know their dad is trying to help women, that you were sent here to stop it. They know what The Loop is, that I used it on you, and that you went back to town to save Ben."
"Yeah," interrupts the oldest, "Now we know why we live way out in the middle of nowhere."
"Because it's near the dairy where they save the ladies," the youngest explains.
Rowan nods at them before continuing, "You gave us the opportunity to shut down Ray's kidnapping and brainwashing thing. I'm glad Ben was able to take advantage of you putting Ray in The Loop. As much as I love him, I know Ben usually needs two weeks of planning to put anything into effect. Now we just need to make Reynolds make the time to actually help those women rather than recondition them for service elsewhere."
"What's service mean?" the youngest interrupts, "Is that like church service?"
My lip curls but Rowan speaks before I can illuminate her daughter, "It means that they serve people, but like slaves, not servants, because they don't have a choice."
"Sounds like you've got it all covered, so Lucy and I'll just take that phone and be on our way in the morning," I say. I can feel The Loop fading, and I can feel my gun against my hip. I see freedom ahead and it makes me giddy.
Rowan looks at me.
"Kneel, Rebecca" she says. I find myself on my knees next to the chair I was in. Anger surges through me so quickly, I find I can't breathe.
"Stand, Rebecca," she says. I stand. I can't help it. Inside, I'm raging. I'm tearing apart my own body.
"Whoa, mom!" The oldest shouts, jumping a little, "You can make her do anything!" I want to slam her fucking head down on the linoleum and stand on it.
"Fuck you," I manage to whisper. I hear her youngest gasp.
"Bend over and touch your toes, Rebecca," Rowan says. Her voice is calm, even. I do it. Blood is rushing to my face. Everything is red. I can't see.
"You can sit down now, Rebecca," she says. I sit. I close my eyes. I can feel the heat from my flushed cheeks, embarrassed and violently angry.
"I can still control you, and, as long as I exercise my power through The Loop, The Loop stays strong. Ben and I have plans for you. We need you for this next part. And, anyway," she continues, her voice growing more passionate, "It's not like I was just going to let you keep Lucy for your little toy."
I open my eyes to stare into hers. They're hard, calculating.
"Lucy is mine," I manage to whisper, my hand reaching for my gun, "And I will find a way out of The Loop to fucking kill you if you take her away from me."
"No violence against me or my family," she says quickly. My hand falls into my lap. Another leap of anger and my heart is pounding hard. "I'm not taking her away from you," Rowan says, her voice as fierce as mine, "I'm going to set her free. If she chooses to stay with you of her own free will, that's fine."
A deadly silence fills the kitchen. I'll be damned if I'm going to admit to her that I, too, want Lucy free. That I'm scared shitless that Lucy won't choose me, if and when she's free to choose anything. I manage to hold Rowan's gaze until she says, "I'm your alpha, Rebecca, and you will do as I tell you." That sentence is enough to make me look at the formica tabletop, defeated.
"Mom, make her hop on one foot!" the youngest daughter begs. I snarl helplessly at her. She shrieks and jumps back.
"Tilda, it's time for bed," Rowan says. She sounds tired, not angry, but not amused, either, "And, anyway, she's not our clown."
"But --"
"Bed, Tilda. You, too, Reba. Dad's not coming home tonight so there's no point in waiting up for him."
"Aw, mom," the older, Reba, starts, "I want to know what happens next!"
"What happens next is that we all go to bed," Rowan says, standing up, "Now that we're all on the same page we'll get some sleep, let our brains work on tomorrow's puzzle. In the morning we'll start planning on the dairy and helping Lucy and the rest of the women."
I sit until the three of them have disappeared around the corner and down the hall. I take my gun out -- Ben's gun, I remind myself -- pull the clip out, then reload it. My hands are shaking and I'm blinking furiously.
It's so unfair, I think to myself, a few hours knowing Lucy's mine, then she's taken away from me again. All I want is to ride into the metaphorical sunset with her. That's all I want. Why can't I just have that?
I curl my lip at my own whiny self-centeredness.
"I'll take the first watch," I say to Rowan when she comes back from whatever the fuck she does with her kids at bedtime.
"Thank you," she says. I sneer at her but she doesn't react. She looks old and tired as she take the kettle to the tap and fills it with water.
"Tea?" she asks.
"Fuck you," I say.
"I'll take that as a 'no, thank you,'" she replies in a soft voice.
My nostrils flare in irritation but I don't say anything. I don't feel like talking.
Rowan puts the kettle on the stovetop but doesn't turn it on. She turns to look at me. I don't look at her. I examine my fingernails, pretending to be cleaning imaginary dirt from under them.
"We'll take three-hour shifts. It's midnight now, so wake me up at three."
I say nothing. She says nothing. Finally she sighs and leaves the room, leaves me alone. I focus on the nighttime sounds of the country -- the singing and whirring, the occasional scream of a barn owl. I feel bereft, for the first time in a long time, and I cannot muster the energy to imagine a backup plan for the situation now.
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