Though why they were exasperated to the point of leaving the room, grumbling under their breaths, she had no idea. They all knew she’d never even seen a television until the day she’d reacted in horror when one had been turned on in the first safe house where she’d met Eliza and Wade.
She felt foolish about her reaction, and when she realized that she was still avoiding the TV—her only other encounter with it being when she’d seen the news footage of the horrible massacre of every single member of the cult—she’d been determined to stop spending so much time in the bedroom or the kitchen and actually see what television was all about.
Although her kitchen visits had been among the high points of her enforced confinement. Not only did the guys spoil her ridiculously, taking turns preparing her their self-proclaimed specialty to the delight of her taste buds, but they also took turns teaching her to cook simple dishes. They were exceedingly patient and never seemed to get irritated when she pelted them with dozens of questions.
For the most part, she seemed to amuse them with her childlike enthusiasm. Even the men who hadn’t drawn the short straw for cooking lessons that day usually gathered in the kitchen to watch, indulgent smiles on their faces when she beamed after a successful attempt.
Yet even Isaac, who never strayed far from her side, had abandoned the living room after being treated to her constant channel changing. But how could she decide on one before knowing what there was to see on every channel? What if she settled on one program and something more interesting and educational was just a few clicks away?
Admittedly the concept of television still confused her, especially the sheer number of channels and programs. What happened if two programs you really enjoyed came on at the same time? But she had found a practical use for it.
What she had discovered was that television was a good source of knowledge and information about the modern world. Some of the programs were fascinating, while others were downright horrifying. One night the guys had tried to get her to watch something they’d referred to as reality TV and explained how it differed from other television shows. Only a few minutes into something that was reportedly happening in real life and wasn’t a fictitious program meant for the entertainment of others, Jenna had fled the living room, so appalled that she hadn’t ventured near the television for the next three days.
But now she was in command of the remote. There was a certain sense of satisfaction in being able to push the button to change the channel as many times as she wanted. Now she understood why the guys fought over who got to control the remote for the night.
She snuggled deeper into her nest of pillows, sighing at how nice it was to do anything she wanted or nothing at all. Never had she enjoyed the freedoms most everyone else took for granted. For the first few years at the compound, she’d considered her life normal and it hadn’t bothered her. It wasn’t until she was around the age of nine or ten that a voice in the back of her mind started quietly nagging her. She began to really look around and more closely observe the other members of what they’d always referred to as a religious organization.
She hadn’t known any better. It was what she’d been taught she belonged to. But when she started paying closer attention to the goings on, she realized how differently she was treated than the others.
While she couldn’t say any woman in the cult was ever treated well, she could certainly state with assurance that the other women had been treated far better than her.
Jenna frowned, focusing back on the television, where she’d momentarily stopped on a channel while her thoughts had drifted. Angry for allowing herself to drift back to her life as a prisoner, she shoved aside the painful, humiliating memories and chastised herself for dwelling on events best left in the past.
She was about to change the channel again when she paused, recognizing the news show as the one that had aired the footage of the mass killing of the cult members. News changed from day to day. It would be interesting to tune in each day so she could follow current events. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel quite so lost in the world she’d been so afraid of.
But when the lead-in for the next story began, Jenna went rigid with shock, her eyes glued to the screen. Frantically she turned up the volume, wanting to hear every single word because surely she’d misheard the reporter.
“Tonight, a mother’s plea for information leading to the whereabouts of the daughter taken from her twenty years ago. We go live to the press conference, where Suzanne Wilder is speaking out after hearing the tragic story of the murders of what appears to be all the members of a mysterious cult that was located in a rural area north of Houston and apparently was there for the last twenty-five years.”
A visibly distraught woman appeared on the television surrounded by several reporters, all holding microphones to catch her every word. Jenna shot up from the couch and stood directly in front of the monitor, not believing what she was hearing or seeing.
Jenna’s mouth widened. She attempted to call out to Isaac, but no words would come from her tightly closed throat. She was inhaling rapidly through her nose and it felt as though the room was spinning around her, except the television remained fixed. She wanted to close her eyes and look away. Wanted to cover her ears so she couldn’t hear. But she couldn’t do either of those things. She was so numb that she felt paralyzed, a mixture of fear and hope roiling in her stomach, making her feel even sicker than she already did from the motion of the walls spinning.
The woman held a handkerchief delicately to her nose, which was red and swollen as if she’d been crying. She stared into the cameras, her expression desperate and pleading.
“My name is Suzanne Wilder and twenty years ago, my daughter, Jenna Wilder, was violently taken from me. Her father tried desperately to save our daughter, but the kidnappers shot and killed him before running to a black van with Jenna in one of the kidnappers’ arms. She was screaming and crying for me as they shut the door and drove away with my only child,” the woman said, her voice breaking as a sob welled, and she pushed her fist into her mouth in a visible battle to control her emotions.
“I’ve searched for my daughter for the last twenty years, never giving up hope of her being returned to me. Despite the many investigators I hired and the investigation I launched myself, I never knew where the cult had established their compound, where they lived or were located,” she said, stumbling over the words as though she wasn’t sure what to call the place where Jenna had been a prisoner for nearly her entire life.
“It wasn’t until I saw the news story last week that reported the mass killing of what was reported to be the entire cult at a compound north of Houston that I realized this is where my daughter had been held, where she’d been raised. I wondered if she even remembers me or knows who I am,” she said tearfully.