Prologue

April 7, 1990

Carmen sat as far away as possible from the driver of the sports car she’d just spent a horrifying hour in. Both hands gripped the door handle in anticipation, and as the car approached her house, she opened the car door and watched the blur of gravel below. When the car slowed enough that she was reasonably sure she wouldn’t break her neck, she stumbled out of the prison.

She scuffled to her front door, her quivering hands held tight to her belly in an effort to keep the pain and nausea at bay. She picked up her pace when she heard footsteps behind her.

The boy came up beside her and walked nonchalantly, as if this was just any normal date on any normal Saturday night. As if. She couldn’t even remember his name at that moment, which was good. Maybe some day she’d be able to forget the entire evening. She kept her head down as she reached for the doorknob.

“I had a nice time,” he said, casually, rubbing his hands together.

She gasped and pushed hard on the door. She didn’t use the kind of language that comment deserved.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. She stiffened, frozen with fear. “Can I call you?”

She yanked her arm out of his grasp, stepped inside, and slammed the door, wincing at the possibility that her parents might have heard. With a quick glance at their bedroom door, no light, she turned the rarely-used dead bolt, and stayed poised, her body against the door, listening for him to slink back into the hole he’d climbed out of.

It was several minutes before she pulled her cheek away from the door and started down the hall to her bedroom. She should wake her parents. Her mom would want a full report. But she’d just have to come up with an excuse in the morning. Maybe she’d say she tried and they were too dead asleep. But what if they were awake, listening right now? She never was good at the lying thing. She’d think of something.

 She tiptoed past their room with her fingers running along the wall on the embossed wallpaper, aware of the familiar sensation of soft then smooth textures against her fingers. She’d done it for so many years that most of the fuzz was missing at the height of her hand.

Yet somehow that familiar feel was different tonight. Everything felt different. As if the nightmare world she’d just been in had stayed with her, turning her real world into an illusion.

She made her way into the bathroom, cranked the hot water faucet all the way open, then let her prom dress tumble around her feet. Yellow chiffon. So pretty. She and her mom had driven to Las Vegas to get it for the Junior Prom last December.

The thought of that dance, and Jared, caused a whimper to catch in her throat. She swallowed it back and kicked the dress aside. She’d have to get rid of it. Her mom would croak if she saw the rips and bloody stains. Maybe she could bury it. Or put it out right before the trash came. For now it would have to go in the back of her closet. It didn’t matter. Just a dress. Nothing mattered anymore.

She stepped into the steaming tub and watched her skin turn red as it came in contact with the near-scalding water. She held her breathe as she slipped down into the water, sensing the searing heat on every part of her—her toes, her knees, fingers, arms, shoulders, neck. She took a large gasping breathe, closed her eyes, and let the hot cleansing liquid surround her face. Her once-coifed hair floated eerily around her head. It was then that she realized nothing could ever wash away what had just happened.