Speaking slowly, I explain everything we knew about Alan. The way he’s manipulated things, the way he emptied out the bunker before the cops showed up to investigate the first time, then deposited contraband in it before they came back the second time.
I know it’s a long shot, considering how long she’s been brainwashed by this asshole, but if I can only get her to understand that Alan is a bad man—a cruel, selfish man who did this to her—she’ll see things clearly. I need to pop the lenses out of her rose-colored glasses.
“He doesn’t care about you the way that you care about him, Reagan,” I conclude. “And it’s not because you’re bad or you’ve done something wrong, it’s because he’s a bad man. If he really loved you, would he set you up like that? Would he let you go to jail for the crimes he committed and not you?”
“No,” she whispers, the word hollow.
“You’ve tried so hard, Reagan,” I tell her. “But bad men don’t care about us. They just want to hurt as many people as they can, and Alan wants to hurt you so that he can keep hurting other people.”
“Like you,” she says quietly, looking up at me again. She blinks slowly, as if she’s in a daze. Her throat works as she swallows. “He wants to hurt us.”
My heart jumps, excitement surging through me. She didn’t just say “you,” she said “hurt us.” This is the first time I’ve heard her admit that out loud. That not only was I Alan’s victim, but so was she.
I nod. “He does. He’s wanted to do that for a long time. And it’ll only get worse now, Reagan. Now he sees you as an enemy, just because you know things about him that he doesn’t want people to find out. Do you see that?”
“He doesn’t love me,” she whispers. Her face crumples, and she looks so much like the little girl from my dreams that it makes my chest ache. “It hurts, Sophie. I love him so much, and he… he doesn’t…” A tear slides down her cheek. “He doesn’t love me. Sometimes I think he hates me.”
“I’m sorry.” I fight the urge to press my hand to the glass. I want to comfort her, but I’m not sure how. I feel like I’m dealing with a sensitive, frightened animal. “But you can make things better by helping us, and when you help us, we’ll do our best to get you out of here, okay?”
“This place is awful,” she says, her voice trembling. “I hate it. I don’t want to be locked up again. I don’t… I can’t take it.”
My chest tightens. She reminds me so much of the little girl I once knew—only this version of Reagan does want to get out.
In my mind’s eye, I can imagine wrapping my little hand around hers and pulling her to safety, helping her leave the bunker we were both trapped in. I couldn’t save her then, and I don’t know if I can do much to help her now. But if I don’t bring down Alan, I know he’ll make sure she stays locked up for the rest of her life.
“I know.” I keep my voice even, although the backs of my eyes burn. “It is awful. But if you help us, we can try to help you. Will you do that?”
She nods. It’s such a small movement that I can barely pick it up at first, but it becomes stronger and more decisive as she nods again.
“Then tell me what you know about Alan,” I say. “What you remember. Why were we down there in the bunker? Do you know how we ended up there?”
Reagan lets out a shuddery breath, and when she speaks, there’s something different in her voice. She sounds older, more weary. But she also sounds more sane.
I hate that the trauma of being locked away again was what it took to break Alan’s hold on
her, but I can see the blind worship fading away a little.
“We were given to Alan as collateral.” Her voice is low, and she gestures between the two of us with her free hand as she speaks. “He has a way of… he helps people who find themselves in bad situations. People who need a favor only someone powerful can give them. But it’s not really a favor, because he asks for a lot of money in return. And if someone can’t pay up front, as security, he holds their children until their debts are paid. We were some of those children.”
I can feel all three of the Sinners tense behind me. I can practically feel their shock and anger bleeding into my body, but it’s drowned out by my own emotions. I can’t speak. I just grip the phone receiver mutely as I stare at Reagan.
“You were already there when I was given to him,” she continues. “I remember you, just like you remembered me. I got sent back to my parents a little while after you ran away, because they managed to pay their debts. They told everyone I was at a boarding school… for several years. No family visits, no holidays, nothing.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Her voice is so blunt and matter-of-fact as she speaks that it almost makes the words sound worse. As if she should never have expected better from the people who were supposed to love and protect her.
“Your parents never paid off their debts, and if they did, you ran away before they could get you back.”
My parents… debts… given up.
My head spins as I grasp the worn countertop that runs along the glass partitions on either side, trying to process everything Reagan has just told me.
My parents gave me up? Just like that? On purpose? They traded me as currency for a favor? And her parents did that too? What kind of fucked up world am I living in where parents will trade in their children to save their own asses? To protect their businesses, their image, their secrets?
“I remember you running,” Reagan says quietly. “You asked me to go, but I didn’t want to leave… I never wanted to leave. I thought that he wanted me, needed me. But he only ever saw me as a tool.” Her voice breaks. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I just wanted Alan to love me. I thought if I did what he wanted, if I made him happy, it would be…”
She trails off, tears slipping down her cheeks.