LITMIR.BIZ

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at a loss for words. They both looked away. It wasn’t what Raven had said about her dad, but the way she had said it. The way she always sounded when she talked about him.

       Like he was some sort of monster.

      Andie had the feeling there was something Raven hadn’t told her about her dad, something important. Something really bad.

      Andie shook her head slightly, as if to rid herself of the traitorous thought. What wouldn’t Raven have told her? They were closer than sisters; they shared everything with each other, they had from the moment they met.

      “Look!” Julie elbowed her hard. “It’s him!”

      Andie turned. Sure enough, a car was coming down the hill and turning into number twelve Mockingbird Lane’s driveway. Raven had the binoculars, although Andie doubted she could see much in the dark. As they watched, the automatic garage door went up; the car disappeared inside, then the door lowered.

      “Did you see his face?” Andie asked. Raven shook her head and Andie let out a frustrated breath. “Darn it.”

      “You guys,” Julie hissed. “Another car.”

      Andie and Raven turned. It was. Another car. Pulling into number twelve’s driveway, into the garage.

      Raven lowered the binoculars. The girls looked at each other. “Two cars?” they said in unison.

      “It’s a woman,” Raven said. “I saw her. She checked her reflection in the lighted visor mirror while she waited for the garage door to open.”

      Andie sat back hard. “Holy shit.”

      “It’s a romance,” Julie whispered. “A love affair.” She sighed. “That’s so cool.”

      Raven frowned at her. “Then why the scarves? Why the music late at night? Why meet in an empty house?”

      The three girls looked at each other. “What now?” Andie asked.

      “We go down there,” Raven answered. “We get some answers.”

      “And just how do you propose we do that?”

      “We peek in the windows.” Raven grinned. “How else?”

      “No way.” Andie looked at Julie who was already shimmying out of the tree. “You guys are crazy. No way am I going down there to peek in those windows.”

      Five minutes later, Andie followed Raven and Julie around the back of the mystery couple’s house. As they approached the first window, they ducked down to avoid being seen. When they reached it, they cautiously eased up to peer over the ledge.

      The room appeared to be empty.

      They crouched down and went to the next window, then the next, each time with the same results. Andie was beginning to believe the whole thing was going to be a bust, when Raven motioned frantically from the window just ahead.

      Andie went, though she couldn’t believe she was doing this. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard she felt faint. She continued anyway.

      She peered over the windowsill. The room was dark save for the glow from a single, flickering candle. It took Andie’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness; when they did, she saw the man. He sat in the lone chair in the room, his back to the window.

      It was him, she knew. The man from the other night.

      Then she saw the woman. She stood several feet in front of the man, arms at her side, still as a statue. She wore a conservative suit—knee-length skirt and short jacket. Her white blouse was high-necked and buttoned all the way up. Her shoes were low-heeled, her hair styled in a conservative bob.

      She fit the image of banker or accountant or president of the PTA. Except for one thing.

       She was blindfolded.

       With a black silk scarf.

      One of the ones they had seen the other night, Andie realized, a lump lodging in her throat. Maybe the one she and Raven had touched, the one they had run through their fingers.

      A funny sensation settled in the pit of her gut, queasy and uncertain. She looked at Raven and Julie. They met her eyes. The expression in theirs told her that they’d recognized the scarf, too. That they felt the same about it as she.

      Moments passed. Andie didn’t breathe; the woman didn’t move. Then the music started, the same stuff they had heard twice before. With it, the woman began to sway, as if in time to the music, though her movements seemed halting to Andie. Almost uncertain. Or frightened. She brought her hands to the lapels of her jacket. Slowly, she slipped the garment off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor.

      She tugged her blouse from under the skirt’s waistband, then moved her hands to the collar of her blouse, to the row of tiny buttons that ran from throat to hem. She struggled with them; Andie imagined that her fingers shook. One by one each button slipped through the hole; the delicate fabric parted.

       She was stripping. Being forced to strip.

      With the realization, Andie’s mouth turned to ash, her heart began to thrum. She wanted to jump up and shout—pound on the window to frighten the woman out of the trance she appeared to be in or to frighten away her captor. She told herself to look away or duck down.

      She did none of those. Instead, she continued to stare, paralyzed by shock and disbelief as the woman removed one piece of clothing after another.

      Stripped down to bra, panties and half slip, she stopped. In the feeble, flickering light of the one candle, shadows danced crazily on her pale skin.

      The man stood and left the room, walking past her without even a glance. Andie held her breath. Run, she silently urged. Grab your clothes and go.

      But the woman didn’t move. Not a muscle, it seemed to Andie.

       What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she—

       She wasn’t a prisoner. She wanted to be there.

      Andie brought a hand to her mouth and dared a glance at Raven and Julie. Their faces reflected each of her own emotions—shock, disbelief, a kind of fascination mixed with revulsion. She gazed at them, afraid to speak, willing them to look at her. Hoping if their eyes met, they would all come to their senses and leave this place.

      But they didn’t look her way, and Andie turned back to the window and the nearly naked woman, standing like a mannequin before it.

      Moments passed, though it could have been minutes—even hours—for all Andie knew. She had lost all sense of time and reality. It seemed like aeons that the woman stood unmoving, half-naked and alone.

      The man returned. Again, he strolled past the woman without looking at or touching her. As if she weren’t there, Andie thought. As if she didn’t matter enough even to glance at.

      Andie struggled to see his face before he turned his back to them and sat down, but came up with only impressions: of dark hair and features, of strength and beauty. And of evil.

      Rampant and blackhearted. Like the devil Julie’s dad was always warning about.

      Andie decided she hated him. Fiercely. The emotion reached up and grabbed her by the throat until she felt both choked and exhilarated by it.

      He lit a cigarette. The sudden, tiny flame illuminated his profile for a fraction of a second, then left it more inscrutable than before. Smoke curled, snakelike, through the light of the candle at his feet.

      The woman moved. She eased the slip over her hips and down. It puddled on the floor at her feet, and she stepped out of it. Next, she brought her hands to the back-clasp of her bra; she struggled with it a moment, then with almost agonizing slowness, she took the garment off.

      The panties, small and plain white, came next. She eased them off, then dropped her hands to her sides and stood completely still

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