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T he smartest thing for me to do was call the police.

Any sane person would’ve done it. But the sheriff was the Reeds’ uncle.

There was no way in hell he was going to believe me enough to investigate them.

I had no proof that they’d done anything to Eve other than having her purse, which was an easy out.

Eve’s purse could’ve been anywhere. They could easily lie and say they’d never seen it.

The charred necklace was also an easy out. Eve could’ve been distraught and tossed it into the fireplace out of anger. They’d probably not find any fingerprints on it other than mine now. I stood in the bedroom with all the curtains closed as I paced back and forth.

It wasn’t safe to stay in this house anymore.

Not when they could access it so easily.

What did that family even have to do with Eve?

I had no clue who those men were. I’d never seen them before, not a day in my life.

Eve knew a lot of people, but I had reason to believe she didn’t know the Reeds before her visit to Aquilla Lake.

Her camera was still on the bed. I picked it up and powered it on again. The battery was at an even lower percentage. I turned it off, tucked it into my overnight bag, then started packing up all my shit. I’d be damned if I stuck around just to go missing too.

I carried everything with me to the living room where my purse and keys were.

After double checking that I had everything (including my gun), I left the cottage and jumped into the car.

Screw cleaning up and emptying the trash as a courtesy.

They could do it themselves. I turned the key fob to start the car but the unexpected happened.

My engine stalled. I tried again. The engine sputtered.

“ What? No. Come on.”

I tried once more to no avail. A knock sounded on my window and I shrieked.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” Alex took a large step back with his hands raised. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

My hands shook as I blew out a breath. “It’s . . . it’s fine. What, um . . . why are you here?”

“What?” he cupped his ear.

“Why are you here?” I repeated in a louder voice.

“Oh. You told me to come and check in with you if I remembered anything. About Eve.” His voice was muffled but I could make out what he was saying.

“Okay?” What was he playing at? I glanced at my purse, where my gun was tucked away. I had every urge to take it out and place it on my lap, just so he wouldn’t try anything reckless. I resisted though.

“Are you coming out of the car?”

“No. I’m good in here.”

He gave me a funny look. Then he put on a crooked smile, huffing. The smile was charismatic, almost boyish. A deceptive display.

“Um, okay. Well, like I told you. I didn’t personally run into your friend,” he said loudly, “but Damian just told me that he saw Eve hanging out around the lake with some guy. I remember now because Damian was so pissed about it. He said he caught the guy peeing in the water or something.”

“What did he look like?”

“He said he was tall. Short, dark hair. Native American or Hispanic maybe?”

I swallowed. That sounded just like Lincoln. He was of Native American descent. God, I was so confused now. “Great.” I forced a smile. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Sure.” He paused. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Everything’s fine.”

He glanced at my bag on the seat. Eve’s purse. There was a mild twitch to his right eye. “Are you leaving?”

I scoffed. “I don’t think that’s any business of yours.”

“I was just asking.” He threw his hands in the air again. “I know your check-out is in the morning.” He stepped back some more, shrugging. Then he gestured to the car. “Do you want me to take a look under the hood?”

“That’s okay. I’ll call triple A.”

“Oh, please. They’ll take forever to get here. I’m happy to look. I work with cars all the time.”

“Alex, really, that’s okay. I’ve already called.”

Alex blinked with his lips pressed. Then he stepped back again, swinging his arms forward and clasping his hands together. He appeared to be praying as he brought his hands in front of his chest. This man was no saint.

“Alright. Well, if you need anything at all, feel free to reach out.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

He turned away, hesitant at first, like he was trying to make sure that I was sure. When he finally put some pep in his step and found his way around the bend of the path, disappearing into darkness, I sucked in a breath and dug into my purse for my phone.

I sent another text to Diana.

If something happens to me, tell the authorities to look into Alex and Damian Reed.

It was dramatic, sure. But it was better than nothing. Even if the message wasn’t sent now, it would eventually . . . I hoped.

Besides, I didn’t need Alex’s help checking under the hood.

My dad was all about teaching us girls how to be independent.

If a tire needed changing, I knew how to swap it out.

Battery dying? I knew exactly how to replace it.

He didn’t want us roaming this world helpless or relying on a man to rescue us. He wanted us to be our own saviors.

I popped the hood and then climbed out of the car after taking a visual sweep of the area. The culprit became very clear when I checked the engine. One of the spark plugs was loose.

I fixed the spark plug, slammed the hood, then climbed behind the wheel again. The engine started with ease, and I drove away, but not without thinking that someone had purposely loosened my spark plug. Probably because that same someone didn’t want me leaving.

Eve Castillo journal entry

I think about my mom a lot. Sometimes I catch myself feeling guilty about what I did to her.

The problem with Ma is that she was so easy to manipulate. To me, she was like a lump of clay: easy to mold and shape into whatever you wanted.

I remember a time when she was actually nice to me and Zoey.

I recall her braiding our hair, and even taking us to Cici’s Pizza so we could eat however much we wanted and then play arcade games afterward.

The cinnamon rolls were her favorite. She used to bring some home with her and eat them while she watched telenovelas.

The thing is, Pa left her for another woman when Zoey was born.

We were okay for a few years. But that other woman he was with kicked his dusty ass to the curb.

When she did, he came running back to Ma.

And Ma took him right in. At first, it didn’t bother me that he was around.

Pa worked and helped her with the bills.

He ate dinner with us most nights but avoided me and Zoey for some reason.

Then something changed. It started with the slamming of doors.

A quick beer that led to two, three, four, five even.

Punching holes in the wall after a bad day at work.

When I was eight, I remember him coming into my room, grabbing one of my braids, and yanking me off of the bed. Zoey was on her bed, sound asleep.

Pa looked down at me with his fists clenched and said, “Why the fuck didn’t you wash the dishes?”

I was too stunned to speak. He’d never hit me before, never been rough with me.

He took my speechlessness as disrespect and hauled me up, just to steer me out of the bedroom.

Ma came out of her room with a robe on, her hair all over the place, and bleary eyed.

She worked the third shift, and it wasn’t time for her to get up yet. She asked what was wrong.

“She didn’t wash the fucking dishes!” Pa yelled as he stormed into the kitchen with my arm in his tight grasp. I cried for him to let me go. I kept telling him that he was hurting me. He didn’t care.

He shoved me forward to face the sink. It was already full of water and suds. There was only a bowl and a spoon next to it. Zoey had cereal when she got home from school. We didn’t even eat dinner that night at the house. We went to McDonald’s.

After taking out a wooden spatula from one of the drawers, he stood beside me as I started crying and said, “Pick up the bowl and wash that shit.”

I grabbed the bowl and washed it, then the spoon. I rinsed both and put them on the drying rack. He took them back off and placed them in the soapy water again.

“Wash it again.”

“But I—”

I couldn’t even protest. He raised the flat end of the spatula and smacked my behind with it so hard, it felt like it was on fire. I cried harder and picked up the bowl, washed it again, rinsed it, then put it on the drying rack.

He took it back off and dropped it into the soapy water again.

“Amor,” Ma called, staring at him with pleading eyes. I hated that she referred to him as love. He was filled with nothing but hatred.

He ignored her and continued staring at me, all vicious and angry. I was glad Zoey was still asleep. I didn’t want him hurting her too.

“You’re going to wash that bowl as many times as I tell you to until you get it through your thick fucking skull that you don’t leave dirty dishes in my sink.

” I’m paraphrasing here, but that’s how I remember it.

Then he said something like, “You’re the oldest. We work too hard for this shit. Take care of your fucking house.”

I was only nine at the time. I was just starting to learn how to take care of myself.

He made me wash the bowl five more times.

Ma stood and watched the entire exchange.

I hated that she didn’t stop him, that she didn’t at least try to intervene.

When Pa grew bored, he stepped away from me and took her by the arm, heading to their bedroom.

My hands shook as I wiped the counters. I checked to make sure no other dishes were around, then went back to my room.

Along the way, I heard my parents in their bedroom making noises.

They were having sex. I knew what that was, even at the age of nine.

I knew a lot of things I shouldn’t have.

I guess that’s what happens when you’re forced to mature ahead of time.

I lay in bed and cried for hours. When I think about it now, I assumed he probably got off on that—being in control.

Abusing others and shouting at them. It made him feel bigger than he was and that’s why he’d dragged my mother with him to their room and had his way with her. He had a sick, twisted mind.

You’d think as I grew older, I would’ve done the opposite of my mother.

Instead of giving myself to a man who’d hurt me constantly, I would run.

However, as you get older, you realize that you aren’t too far off from being your parents.

There’s always some part of them inside of you.

You can’t fully escape what you were once surrounded by.

That noise that took up a large portion of your life will always linger in the back of your mind.

That’s why I hate my brain sometimes. It feels like a prison.

When I was nine, Ma started hitting me too, just to see Pa nod and praise her for disciplining their kids.

They found a thrill in hurting me. I told them I’d tell someone what they were doing but they constantly told me that if I said anything, Zoey and I would be separated from each other, and we’d never see one another again.

I didn’t want that. I love Zoey so, so much.

Soon after, they were going after Zoey too.

I couldn’t stand to see her get hurt, so I bit the bullet.

At that point, I didn’t care if we wound up separated.

It was better than seeing her cry with welts on her legs.

At eleven, I had the courage to tell Abuela.

I showed her the marks from the spatula and the bruises on my arms. I begged her to make sure me and Zoey stayed together, and she promised me we would.

That same day, Abuela called the police and our parents were investigated.

She couldn’t believe her own daughter could hurt us that way.

Ben was assigned to our case and I remember thinking he was a really nice person. And it turned out he lived only a block away from Abuela. He invited us to his place often for dinner. That’s how I met Rose. Ben made sure he had enough evidence to have them arrested.

When I think about that short era when Ma smiled, hugged us, kissed our foreheads, and shared cinnamon rolls with us, I couldn’t believe it either. It’s astounding how much a good woman’s whole life can change because of one bad man.