“Do you want to say something?”

She was looking at him, but there was no answer in her grey-blue eyes. And of course she couldn’t speak.

“Should I remove the gag?”

The ball in her mouth was held firmly in place by the leather harness. He’d removed it before to let her eat and drink. But to speak? He didn’t know her well enough yet.

He’d let a couple of the others speak too soon. That Laurelhurst girl, for example. They could’ve confirmed this themselves were they not buried in the dirt basement floor.

He touched the side of her face.

“Does it still hurt?”

Her cheek was purple where he’d punched her, and she had a black eye. But nothing seemed to be broken.

“I’m sorry I had to do that.”

She was lying in the bathtub, covered by a heavy blanket. Under the blanket she was naked, except for the nylon rope he’d used to tightly bind her hands and feet.

The knots in the rope were special. He’d learned about them in books. Not books he owned or carried in his store — that would’ve been foolish — but library books.

“I was teaching when Ryan was born,” he told her. “I used to teach middle school.”

He thought he saw a flicker in her eyes, like she was making the connection.

“That’s right. My students were your age.”

Then he remembered his own earlier observation about Michelle, that there was something ‘wrong’ with her. Perhaps a bit harsh, but it was often incredibly unclear what was on her mind. So he added:

“If that’s what you meant.”

He was sitting in a chair he’d brought over from the other room. One of the rickety wooden chairs that Ryan had used the day they’d all talked together in Walker’s den. He sat leaning forward with his forearms on the edge of the tub, looking down at her. He reminded himself to keep smiling. Girls this age, it was so easy to upset them.

“When I was in middle school myself, so many things seemed wrong. Not for me personally. I got along fine in school. I knew how to get along.

“And not for the other boys either. They were still ordinary boys, with no idea of what was happening around them.”

The bare fluorescent bulbs in the basement ceiling were dark. Instead the room was lit by candles that had been strategically placed to make Walker appear less menacing. Amy had helped him with that, when she’d seemed so promising. Before he’d realized that she was just playing along.

That was something Michelle couldn’t do. She couldn’t manipulate. She might’ve been difficult to figure out, but he was sure she wasn’t capable of tricking him.

“But for the girls,” he continued, “it was difficult. Very difficult. Physically they were women, but their minds hadn’t caught up yet. I tried to help them, but they wouldn’t let me. In their eyes, I was just another clueless boy. So they rejected me.”

He sat back, placed his hands in his lap. He’d given the same speech before, but he was always able to make it seem natural and honest. Because it was natural and honest. It was how he really felt, how he’d always felt. Only the girls were different.

“I thought that teaching was a chance for me to change things. I thought it would make a difference to the girls now that I was an adult and in a position of authority. I thought that I could reach them, let them know that they were women now, not children. I thought they’d listen.”

He frowned, unable to help himself.

“But you see, there’s something wrong with schools. They’ll let you teach out of textbooks, that’s alright, but you can’t teach life. If you try to make a difference, a real difference, it’ll always go wrong, guaranteed. It went wrong for me.

“There was a girl. She complained. I’d moved too quickly. I’d been too sincere, and in that setting there was no room for sincerity. Everyone was confused. I could’ve explained, but they wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t allowed to tell them what I’m telling you now. And so confusion reigned, and I was asked to leave.”

He took a moment to remember the disappointment. Michelle’s eyes were still on him. She was so focused. His smile returned, a show of appreciation. He hoped she understood.

“So I opened a bookstore. I told my wife that I had quit teaching. I told her that to run a bookstore had always been my dream and that I couldn’t put it off any longer. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The dream hadn’t changed. I still wanted to make a difference. What had changed was the means of achieving that dream.”

A clump of golden blond hair slumped forward, bothering Michelle’s right eye. The hair was greasy, drawn down from her scalp by sweat. She blinked, trying to chase the hair away with her lashes, but it was no use. Finally she reached up and pushed the errant clump away.

At first the action didn’t register with Walker. It was so normal, so natural, for a woman to brush hair out of her eyes. It took a moment before he realized that the action shouldn’t have been possible. Michelle’s hands and legs were supposed to have been bound.

Walker’s face darkened.

“Your hand is free,” he said.

Michelle’s expression didn’t change. She just kept staring at him.

“Why is your hand free?”

Michelle reached up and unfastened the strap under her chin. Then she grabbed the pair of D-rings over one ear and pulled them loose. The harness slumped and the ball dropped out of her mouth.

“My hand is free,” she said, speaking for the first time in nearly a week, “because I untied it.”

Ten girls, and not a single one had ever untied one of his knots. Now he was certain. Michelle was nothing like the others. Michelle was special.

From upstairs, the sound of knocking.

Knuckles on glass.

The front door.

“Where is Ryan?” Michelle asked.

Walker was already on his feet, ears trained on this new sound. Someone was knocking on the bookstore’s front door.

“What?” he asked, distracted.

“I’m waiting for Ryan. Where is he?”

The knocking turned into pounding, the insistent sound traveling through the store and the small office, down the stairs and through the den. Someone was at the front door. And Michelle had untied herself. Michelle had removed her gag.

“Where is Ryan?” she asked.

“This has nothing to do with Ryan.”

Walker moved quickly into the den to the small dresser he’d pulled out of the corner in order to move the shelves aside. He opened the top dresser drawer and took out a roll of duct tape.

The pounding upstairs grew more insistent. This wasn’t a potential customer wondering if the store was still open. This person knew he was there.

Returning to the other room, Walker peeled off a length of tape and wrapped it tightly around Michelle’s head several times, repeatedly covering her mouth. Then, clutching the roll of tape in his teeth, he lifted Michelle out of the tub and dropped her to the dirt floor.

Landing hard on her side, Michelle’s eyes shot wide and her face turned red, but Walker didn’t care. She might have been special, but his freedom was at stake.

He dropped to his knees and pulled her into a sitting position. He wrapped tape around her midsection just below her breasts, pinning her elbows to her sides. Her hands flapped ineffectually, trapped against her hips.

The rope that bound her legs looked secure, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Flipping her over, he tore off another long strip of tape and wrapped it around her ankles. Then he tossed the roll aside and stood.

It was incredible how quickly things could change. A moment ago, they’d been having such a nice time. Her in the tub, snug and warm under the blanket, candlelight dancing in her eyes. Him at her side, speaking warmly and freely, in a way that he rarely could, about the mission that had shaped his life. Now she was lying face down on the floor in a cloud of dust, shaking and breathing harshly through her nose.

He grimaced. Her nakedness now seemed crude and undignified. He took the blanket out of the tub and draped it over her. Then he leaned down, his lips close to her ear.

“I’ll be right back.”

He climbed the stairs and stepped into the small office, pulling the basement door closed. He glanced at the desk, on which sat a stack of publishers’ catalogs. One of the catalogs was spread open with a pen beside it, as if he’d been sitting there looking at future releases, deciding which books to stock. No, he hadn’t been in the basement. He’d been in his office, pouring over catalogs.

Stepping out into the dimly-lit store, he turned toward the front. Someone was slumped against the glass entrance door, their back to him. As Walker approached, they turned and raised their fist as if to resume their pounding. Seeing Walker, they stopped and lowered their fist.

It was Jane.

He unlocked the door and she slumped in, obviously drunk. Her cheeks were full of blood, her eyes shiny. And when she spoke, some effort was required for her to make herself clear.

“Matt Pullman didn’t show up at work today,” she announced as Walker closed and locked the door behind her. “He hasn’t been in all week.”

Jane moved toward the center of the store, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her overcoat. She did a slow turn, squinting at her murky surroundings as if she barely recognized them. Which to Walker made sense. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in his store.

“Matt Pullman didn’t come to work,” he said, still standing near the door, his arms crossed. “So you decided to get drunk and come bother me?”

Jane glared at him. It was an unconvincing, cartoonish glare, but in her condition it was probably the best she could do.

“First of all,” she said, speaking too slowly, enunciating too carefully, “I don’t need a reason to get drunk.”

“That’s true.”

“And secondly,” she went on, “you’re the only person I can talk to about this.”

Walker looked at her skeptically.

“About what? One of your employees not showing up for work?”

Jane shook her head and turned toward the fiction section, an elevated area in the back corner. Walker had had this area raised a few feet to be more visible from the front counter and thus less vulnerable to shoplifters.

Jane took a seat on the bottom step of the small set of stairs that led up to fiction. Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips against her forehead, as if trying to steady her brain.

“I think I’m in trouble,” Jane said. “I think he’s been arrested.”

Walker moved further into the store and stood a few feet in front of his wife. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that nothing was happening to him. No, this was all happening because of him. He’d been challenged, and he’d taken control. Jane was here because of his actions, and he would determine what happened next.

“You think he’s been arrested,” Walker said. “Based on what?”

“Based on the fact that he’s completely vanished,” Jane said. “No one’s seen him since Friday, he’s not at work, he’s not at home. He’s vanished!”

“How do you know he’s not at home?”

“Because I called and no one answered,” Jane said, hesitating. “And because I went over there.”

“You have a key,” Walker guessed.

“Yes.”

Walker smiled. It was one of the few things they had in common. They both had a key to Matt Pullman’s apartment.

“Okay,” Walker said, pacing slowly in front of Jane. “Let’s see if I can figure this out. You think Matt’s been arrested, and you’re terrified that he’s making good on his threat to implicate you as his accomplice.

“Of course if you were innocent, you’d be treating his failure to show up as if he were any other employee. But instead, and despite the possibility that you might be under surveillance, you decide to get more than your usual amount of drunk, drop by your lover’s apartment using your very own key, and then come bursting in here late at night in a panic to lay the whole story on your cuckold husband.”

Jane tried on a withering look. It was unconvincing, but the intention was enough to raise Walker’s ire and stop him in his tracks.

“You think I’m saying you’re stupid,” he said, his throat tightening. “But all I’m doing is saying what you did, describing your actions. If they make you seem stupid, that’s not my fault, it’s yours.”

Jane shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Walker was already reaching for her. He grabbed her shoulders and raised her to her feet, glaring at her from inches away, his eyes suddenly full of rage.

“This is all your fault,” he hissed. “And now it’s time for you to stop making mistakes. Tomorrow, go to work and report Matt’s absences in the normal way, whatever that is, and just hope that no one wonders why it’s taken you an entire work week to do your fucking job.

“And do everything else in the normal way, too. Do your normal amount of drinking, come home late for dinner if you come home for dinner at all, continue to neglect your husband and son. Everything as usual. You might even want to start another affair.”

His hand found the back of her neck and he led her roughly through the store. He could hear the sobs coming and knew she was about to explode, so he quickened his pace.

He unlocked the front door and shoved her out into the night. She stumbled at first but then found her footing.

For a moment she stood looking out at Vandeveld Avenue. There were people in the bars and restaurants, but the sidewalks were empty. They were, as much as they could be, alone.

He saw her shoulders heave as she took a deep breath. Then she turned to face him. Tears were dripping down her cheeks, and a stream of snot clung to her upper lip.

“Go home,” he told her. “Go to bed.”

And he knew she would. She had taken in every word he’d said. She had accepted his condemnation. There was no sign of the attitude she’d tried to affect just a few minutes before.

She was shattered.