Pete comes in from his run, looking breathless but happy. He’s been running a lot the past two weeks and getting stronger. The VA in Worcester got him into a methadone program, which allows him to ease the opiates out of his system gradually. It’s working so far. And it would have to keep working. Her family is the priority. Pete knows that.
Pete kisses her on the lips.
“Good run?” she asks.
He looks at her. He can tell. “Bad dream?” he whispers.
She nods. “The same,” she says.
“You should talk to someone.”
“You know I can’t.”
They can tell no one that they have gone through the looking glass and into the world where nightmares are real.
Pete gets himself coffee and sits next to Rachel at the living-room table.
He had never formally asked to move in. He had driven to Worcester and brought the stuff he’d wanted—which wasn’t a whole lot—and then just sort of stayed.
Out of the three of them, Pete perhaps is doing best.
If he has bad dreams he doesn’t mention them, and the methadone keeps away the worst of his cravings.
Out of the three of them, Kylie is definitely doing the worst.
That night at the Appenzellers’, Kylie went down to little Amelia. The girl had woken up and Kylie had comforted her and told her that everything was going to be all right. But that isn’t the point. The point is that she went down there. She was part of the apparatus keeping Amelia prisoner. Thus Kylie had been both victim and abuser. Like all of them. Victims and accomplices. That’s what The Chain does to you. It tortures you and then makes you complicit in the torture of others.
Kylie hasn’t wet the bed since she was four years old. Now nearly every single morning, the sheets are soaked.
When she dreams, the dreams are always the same—she’s thrown in a dungeon and left to die alone.
Everything is changed on Plum Island. Kylie doesn’t walk to school or to the store or anywhere by herself.
Before, they seldom locked the doors; now they always do. Pete has reinforced and changed all the locks. He cleared Rachel’s devices of spyware and his friend Stan came in and professionally debugged the house and put coin-size GPS trackers in Kylie’s shoes. They monitor Kylie constantly when she goes anywhere, especially when she stays with her dad in the city.
Kylie knows she can’t tell her father about what happened. Not her father, not Stuart, not the school counselor, not her grandmother. Nobody. But Marty is no fool and he sees that something is wrong. Maybe something to do with a boy? He isn’t going to press it. He’s having his own problems. Tammy had suddenly moved back to California to take care of her mother who had recently been in an accident. Tammy wasn’t interested in a bicoastal relationship. A few curt e-mails, and just like that, so long, Marty.
Pete wasn’t too surprised. Marty had bailed Tammy out of bankruptcy, restored her credit, sorted out all her legal woes, and then she’d said, Thank you very much, I’m off to the coast. She socially engineered them, Pete thinks. He’s seen Tammy’s type before; in fact, he married a girl almost exactly like Tammy. And he knows plenty of male Tammys.
Kylie finally comes downstairs. She’s changed out of her pajamas into sweats and a T-shirt.
Rachel knows what that means. Her pajamas are in the laundry basket.
“Oh, hi, Stuart,” Kylie says.
She looks so very sad. Thanksgiving will hopefully give her something else to think about. Rachel watches her while pretending to look through her philosophy books. Stuart is talking and Kylie is giving him vague, halfhearted answers.
Finally Stuart says goodbye; they all have breakfast and then get dressed.
At one o’clock, Pete drives them down to Marty’s new place in Longwood, which is almost within home-run range of Fenway Park. Good neighborhood. Lawyers, doctors, accountants. White picket fences, well-kept lawns. “Whatever Marty’s giving you in child support, ask for more,” Pete says, parking the Dodge.
Marty hasn’t even tried to cook. He ordered in everything from a gourmet-delivery app, which is fine. The house is barely furnished and he does not have a new girlfriend in tow, which surprises Rachel a little. Marty always seemed to be a plan A and plan B kind of guy.
They get the lowdown on Tammy’s sudden departure and Marty’s career. He’s upset about Tammy breaking up with him via text message and then ghosting him from California, but Marty’s not one to let something like that get him down. He riffs about clients, tells a hilarious story about a will reading, and then does some of his better lawyer jokes.
He doesn’t ask about Kylie’s school. He already knows about the collapse in grades and he thinks it’s best not to bring it up.
Kylie is distant, and Rachel is too exhausted to say anything, but for once Pete keeps up his end of the conversation. He says he’s thinking of kayaking up the Intracoastal Waterway and he talks about the intricacies of the Cape Cod canal and the Chesapeake.
Rachel’s mom calls from Florida, and Marty insists on speaking to her. There’s a heart-in-mouth moment when Marty asks her about Hamilton, but Judith remembers to lie about that.
Judith tells Rachel privately that she needs to make a clean break from that awful O’Neill family, and Rachel listens, agrees, wishes her a happy Thanksgiving, and hangs up.
“What did you do for Thanksgiving last year, Uncle Pete?” Kylie asks.
“I was in Singapore traveling. Didn’t do much. Couldn’t get turkey.”
“What was your last proper Thanksgiving at home? With family?” Rachel wonders.
Pete thinks about it. “It’s been a few years. The last Thanksgiving I remember was in Okinawa at Camp Butler. Mess hall had turkey and mashed potatoes. It was pretty good.”
Rachel listens and smiles. She holds Kylie’s hand under the table and moves the food around on her plate and pretends to eat. She looks at Kylie—now laughing at her dad’s jokes but almost always on the verge of tears. She looks at Pete—broody and quiet but trying his damnedest to keep the convo going. She looks at Marty—handsome and ebullient and funny. Tammy is an idiot. Marty’s a keeper.
She excuses herself to go to the restroom.
She catches her reflection in the hallway mirror.
She’s fading away again. Dissolving into the background. She goes into the bathroom and plucks at that annoying red thread on her favorite red sweater.
She sits there on the toilet with her head in her hands, thinking.
The bell sounds on her phone. A new message on the encrypted Wickr app. She had only gotten messages from one person on Wickr: the Unknown Caller. The Chain.
She opens the message.
You have a lot to be thankful for this year, Rachel. We have given you back your daughter. We have given you back your life. Be thankful for our mercy and remember that once you are on The Chain, you are on it forever. You are not the first and you will not be the last. We are watching, we are listening; we can come for you at any time.
Rachel drops the phone and stifles a scream.
She bursts into tears. It will never be over. Never.
She sinks to the floor and after a few seconds remembers to breathe.
She weeps and washes her face and flushes the toilet and takes a deep breath and rejoins her family.
Everyone looks at her. Everyone knows that she has been crying. Two of them guess the reason why.