“Fables,” she said. She didn't get the connection, but it seemed to make sense to Emmanuel.
“Where did these tests take place?”
“The basement. There’s a room down there, the door is hidden in the wall.”
“Can you tell me about these tests?” Matthew asked gently.
For a moment she munched on her fries, needing a few more seconds to get herself together. She wasn’t proud of the things she’d done, but she also knew she’d do it again if she had to. Survival meant doing whatever it took to live.
Whatever it took.
“Grace, if it’s …”
“No, it’s okay,” she told Rylla. Then she focused her attention on Matthew because he provided her with the stability that she needed to be able to do this. “The games were based on fables, at least they were in his mind. His favorite one was the tortoise and the hare, but he also liked the ant and the grasshopper, the gnat and the bull, the lion and the mouse.”
“How did he turn the fables into lessons, tests?” Matthew asked.
Her mind wandered to her nightmare. The water test he’d done several times, but it was just one of many. “The tortoise and the hare he would throw us both into a pool of water. They were separate pools or large plastic boxes, maybe ten feet tall. He’d throw us in, then fill it up. You had to swim or drown. The trick was not to panic because if you panicked and went too fast then you’d tire out. Slow and steady wins the race,” she murmured, how many times had she heard him say that.
“Were all the tests like that?” Matthew asked. His appearance didn't change but again she felt rather than saw his anger. He was furious about what she’d been put through, and while she appreciated it, it didn't change it.
“Yes. Variations of things like that. Ropes, knives, nooses, all sorts of horrible things.” Grace hesitated, she didn't want to tell them, but if it was important and she didn't, and Emmanuel hurt more people because of it she would never forgive herself. Straightening her spine, she set her food down and met Matthew’s gaze squarely. “I …” This was harder than she thought it would be. “I …” she tried again. “I …”
Matthew stood and came to crouch beside her chair. He took her hands and held them in his, his thumbs brushing across her knuckles. “Grace, if he made you do something to those women it wasn’t your fault. Whatever you did you did to survive. It is not your fault. Emmanuel is the one responsible, he’s the one to blame, not you. Okay?”
When he said it, she almost believed him.
“Did he make you hurt them, Grace?” Rylla asked, her voice just as gentle as Matthew’s had been.
She nodded. “Sometimes. Not always, it depended on the lesson.”
“I'm so sorry that happened,” Matthew said, and he sounded so sincere that she couldn’t not believe him.
“Yeah, me too.” There was a dullness to her voice that even she could hear, but she shoved it away. This was too important to mess up because of her feelings. She could deal with them later. Maybe. But right now, the cops needed her, and she wasn’t going to let them down. She owed it to the women whose lives she had played a part in ending to make sure Emmanuel paid for what he had done.
“Do you know the names of the other victims?” Matthew asked.
“No, I’m sorry. He never told me their names. We were both kept locked in our rooms, I never had a chance to talk to them. But I remember their faces, I’d know them if I saw them again,” she said fiercely. There was no way she would ever forget those faces. It was the only way she had been able to do her part in keeping them alive somehow.
“Hey, Grace.” Matthew’s thumb hooked under her chin and tilted her face so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. There was no judgment there only a kind of understanding that told her somehow, he did actually understand. “You did good.”
A weight eased slightly off her and she found her smile was genuine. He could never know how much those words meant to her. “Thank you.”
July8th
12:03 A.M.
Nervous energy buzzed through him.
That was wrong.
He was never nervous.
Well, at least not anymore.
Emmanuel had been doing this a long time now, seven years. Before that, he’d dreamed about it. For as long as he could remember, he’d had a fascination with fables, with learning lessons, growing, and attaining a higher level of consciousness.
It seemed only fitting that he help others.