“Bly is one of twelve men charged in connection with the events that took place in this clearing, where a religious group existed in total isolation and self-sufficiency for more than a decade. The world only came to know of the cult when a fire started here two months ago, killing the group’s leader. The group’s total population is estimated at over one hundred. The remaining women and children are being housed in undisclosed locations.”
The image switches to a slick-lipped woman talking too fast about an upcoming snowstorm. I stay kneeling in front of the TV, my head falling forward on my shoulders.
“You all right?” comes a voice behind me.
I turn and see a girl I vaguely recognize standing with a hand on her hip. She’s tall and big-chested with thin eyebrows. I don’t know much about her, but she wears Velcro shoes.
“Fine,” I say, standing.
“Your name Britney?”
My eyes pinch in confusion. “My name’s Minnow.”
She laughs like I just made a joke. “My name’s Krystal,” she says, placing a hand on my breastbone so I can’t turn. “I think you and I should get to know each other.”
I glance away. Angel’s eyes stare firmly at the TV screen. Rashida sits cross-legged on the duct-taped chair, her bottom lip between her teeth and a wrinkle between her eyes. Nobody in the room moves.
“You got real pretty hair,” Krystal says. She pulls a lock of my long, crooked hair out of the wild mop that cascades down my back. I shiver at the feeling of her fingers. In the Community, our hair hid inside bonnets and braids, never touched by anyone.
Slowly, she slides her hand across my chest until it reaches my arm. She squeezes.
“Don’t touch me,” I say, the words coming out mild and strange. Krystal’s smile stretches even broader.
I’m shuddering. This girl could be the Prophet. The fingers gripping my arm could be his rough and wire-haired fingers. The feeling in my chest is the same wasted, powerless feeling he always put inside me. I can’t break free, and I’m about to start dragging frantic breaths into my lungs when the girl’s head snaps back. I stumble backward, free of her grip.
Angel’s fist hangs in the air.
Krystal has miraculously managed to stay on her feet, but her cheek is crimson where Angel’s fist connected.
“Krystal, we’ve missed you in gen pop,” Angel says. “What a shame your latest attempt to off yourself was unsuccessful. Next time I suggest drinking the whole bottle of bleach.”
Krystal chuckles darkly. “I like your new toy, Angel,” she says, raking her eyes over me. “I didn’t think pink-bellied newbies were your type. I thought you went for older men.”
Angel slugs Krystal in the stomach before she can react. When Krystal is doubled over, Angel forces her to the floor, her knee pressing hard into her gut. One hand leans against Krystal’s forehead and the other is suspended in the air, ready to strike.
Angel’s next words come in a muttered breath. “You don’t get to hurt people,” she says. “Not here.”
Krystal twists her head to the side and screams, but is silenced when Angel lands one punch into her temple, then another, then too many to count. The room is quiet but for Krystal’s grunts. I glance around the room for a moment and everyone’s faces are still. Krystal’s arms flail against Angel’s face, but Angel doesn’t slow. Her jaw is set but otherwise her face is relaxed.
For a moment, I can imagine her killing her uncle, strangling him or stabbing him or shooting him with that look painted on her face, and it doesn’t seem so impossible anymore.
Finally, Angel stands, shaking out her wrist. Krystal is still on the floor, dazed, the side of her face blown up and purple.
Angel walks to the window in the metal door and knocks twice. Benny’s large face fills the meshed glass. At the sight of Angel, she opens the door.
Benny looks over to Krystal, who’s moaning on the carpet.
“She tripped,” says Angel.
Benny nods and grips Krystal by the armpits. “Get up, Krystal.”
Krystal shakily rises to her feet, darting an evil look at Angel with quickly swelling eyes. She and Benny shuffle out of the TV room as Angel falls back down onto the couch.
“Now, I’m changing it back to the science channel,” she says. “Anybody going to disagree?” The remaining girls exchange big-eyed, terrified looks.
Angel laughs.
Chapter 19
I don’t hear anyone talking about what Angel did to Krystal, but by dinner, it’s clear that everyone knows. They always avoided her; now they retract into themselves when she comes near, make themselves unnoticeable, turning their eyes to study the floor.
I wonder, at the back of my mind, how they would react if they knew what I did to Philip. A little pang jabs just beneath the breast pocket of my jumpsuit, somewhere near my heart, like it does whenever I think about that night beneath the bridge.
“I can tell you’re dying to ask something,” Angel says after we get our dinner. “Just get it out. I can’t stand looking at your face all folded up in concentration like that.”
I turn my head to the side. “Why does everybody do what you say?”
“You’re really asking that?”
“I mean the guards and everything.”