Curtis would join him once a day and explain his wickedness to him. In those dark moments, when he couldn’t see her face or smell her intoxicating scent over the musty earth, he wondered why he was there. What his true purpose was. Why the woman he loved so dearly was hurting him.
This, he learned, was the Great Darkness, meant to strip away the evil within, and it wasn’t something he ever wanted to experience again.
People of Eden rarely misbehaved, and he understood why. If they displeased Curtis in any way, from a scorched meal or a weak harvest to a miscarriage or reluctance to engage in the Reasoning, even dressing in a way she found provocative, or speaking to another member when it was not allowed, they were sent into the Great Darkness.
Adrian finally came to understand the Great Darkness had little to do with being left alone for three days in the dark. To be without Curtis’s love and favor was painful. She was the most intelligent, gracious, loving person he had ever met. She would do anything for him, allow him transgressions the others were punished for. She kept him above the rest of her flock, exalted, at her side all the time outside of the Reasonings.
And after ten years of living and loving and Reasoning, their numbers growing, their flock content, Curtis announced to the gasps of the crowd it was time for the Reckoning.
This was a dark time in Eden’s history, one he didn’t like to think about. It went against his nature. But he was bidden to do all of Curtis’s work on this earth, and so he obeyed.
It all started with a child named Kaylie.
Chapter
35
Bethesda, Maryland
CLIVE AND MAUREEN Rousch’s house was tired and worn, a one-story redbrick rambler with overgrown shrubs blocking the windows. The sun was gone, but there was still enough light to see the home’s disrepair. The driveway was concrete, weeds forcing their way up through multiple cracks, and the lawn was yellow and burnt after a long summer without water. It was a thoroughly depressing scene.
Sam and Xander got out of the car, Baldwin pulled up behind them a second later. Xander took one look at the house and said, “I’ll be around. Call if you need me.”
Sam and Baldwin made their way to the front door. The porch lights didn’t work. There was shattered glass beneath them and no lightbulbs in the sockets. The doorbell was broken, too, the button missing and wires sticking out, so Sam knocked hard, three times, with the side of her fist.
After a moment, the door opened slowly. A bloodshot eye appeared, then two, then a downturned mouth and wispy gray hair tucked under a faded red bandanna.
“What?”
Baldwin flashed his creds. “Mrs. Rousch? I’m Dr. John Baldwin, FBI. This is Dr. Samantha Owens. We are involved in your daughter’s case. There’s a new development, and we were hoping we could speak to you.”
The face twisted. “New development? Our girl’s been dead for a long time. You find who did it?”
“No, ma’am. Can we please come in?”
“No. I don’t want you here. You don’t got any justice to talk about, go away.”
She tried to slam the door, but Baldwin put his foot in the gap. “Mrs. Rousch, we have reason to believe we made a mistake sixteen years ago. We think Kaylie is still alive.”
The woman’s eyes widened at that bit of news, and the door swung wide open. Sam caught a gust of sandalwood and vodka, smells she immediately associated with the old, unwashed and drunk. Great. Granted, it was late in the evening, but Sam had the distinct impression Mrs. Rousch had been tippling since well before dinner.
“If she’s alive, where is she? Why hasn’t she come home?”
“We don’t know for sure, ma’am. Perhaps we could come in and talk?”
She stepped away from the door and gestured toward the living room. “Want something to drink?”
They both shook their heads. “No, ma’am,” Baldwin said.
“I do. You sit. I’ll be right back.”
The floor was carpeted with white shag so old and dirty it had turned gray, and there was a thick layer of choking dust on all visible surfaces. Newspapers littered the corners, and a bowl partially full of old, dried-out dog food sat forlornly in a corner.
Sam made a mental note to make sure someone came in and tidied up the house before the reporters started banging on the doors and windows. If they found Kaylie, this shouldn’t be the homecoming she got after seventeen years away: a drunk mother, a fetid house.
Maureen Rousch came into the living room carrying a tall, clear plastic cup with green bamboo leaves on it. It was filled almost to the brim with clear liquid. With anyone else Sam would assume it was water. From the fumes that drifted out, this clearly was not.
Once the woman was settled on the couch, Baldwin asked, “Is Mr. Rousch home?”
“Yeah. In the bedroom. He had a stroke last year, doesn’t get around much anymore.”
“Should we go in there to discuss things, then? I’m sure he’ll want to hear what’s happening.”
“He’s asleep. He sleeps most of the time. Don’t want to disturb him. He doesn’t like it.”