Page 68 of Turn That River Red

“I thought I made it clear that I’m fond of you.”

Then he disappears back into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the dining room. For a long time, I just sit there, trying to process everything that’s happened. This is the murderer who terrorized the Church of the Well. This is the man who cut off Raul’s head and threw it in the Concho River, the man who cut Burl’s throat and then crucified him against Reverend Gunner’s fence.

The man who brutalized Deacon Price because he touched me when I didn’t want it.

It does not escape my attention, even though I feel strange about it, that Ambrose didn’t brutalizemefor giving in to Deacon Price. Because that’s what Reverend Gunner would have done. Well, not literally. He wouldn’t have killed me.

But he would have hit me. He would have called me a slut and a whore and reminded me that I belong to him. It wouldn’t matter that I hadn’t wanted Deacon Price, because it never mattered that I didn’t want Reverend Gunner.

But I did want Ambrose.

And Ambrose protected me.

Maybe that’s why I still—why I still want him.

how can you want him he killed Raul

I shove away from the table and stalk into the living room, my heart racing. I half-expect Ambrose to be in there, waiting for me, but he isn’t. The couch is, though. It’s still soaked with his blood.

I whirl away from it and sit down in the overstuffed recliner instead. Turn on the TV. The women aren’t allowed to watch TV on the Church of the Well compound, just as we aren’t allowed to have cell phones or learn how to drive.

I remember TV, though, from before my parents died. Hazy memories of cartoons and toy commercials. I flip through the channels, gazing at one image after another. Actors I don’t recognize. Commercials for drugs I wasn’t allowed to take. The Church of the Well compound?—

I freeze, my finger hovering over the channel button as I stare at the familiar entrance. A woman’s voice speaks over the image.

“—tragedy this month,” she’s saying. “The church’s leadership is urging anyone in the local community to come forward with information.”

The image cuts to Reverend Gunner, and I nearly shriek, seeing his face fill up the screen. He looks straight into the camera. His eyes are dry, but that’s not a surprise. He’s never wept in his life.

“Although three of our brothers have joined their creator,” he says solemnly, “we may still be able to save the life of our sister in Christ, Mercy Gunner.”

My whole body goes rigid, hearing my name When my photograph appears on the screen, I feel myself disassociate, like I’m rising out of my body. It’s the photograph from my marriage ceremony with Reverend Gunner, me in a simple blue dress with flowers braided into my hair. I’m smiling, but only because I had to.

“You don’t look happy to be there.”

Ambrose’s voice makes me scream. I jump up in the chair and turn to find him standing behind me, smirking at the TV.

“They’re looking for me,” I snap, changing the subject so I don’t have to admit to him that he’s right. “They actually went to the press about it. To thepolice.Reverend Gunner doesn’t do that.”

Ambrose frowns and walks around to stand beside me just as the screen fills with a police sketch of his face.

“Police believe this man, calling himself Ambrose Echeverría, may be responsible for all three murders and the disappearance of Mercy Gunner. They ask that if you have any information, please come forward.”

I’m petrified, staring at the line drawing of the man who did, in fact, kidnap me. But it’s a new fear, and a strange one.

I’m afraid that the police will find Ambrose—that they’ll findmeand take me back to the Church of the Well.

Ambrose picks up the remote and switches the TV off. The silence in the living room throbs in my ears.

“That made you afraid,” he says quietly.

I pull my knees up to my chest, staring at the black TV screen. I want to deny it because I’m supposed to be afraid of him, not Reverend Gunner. I’m supposed to want to be rescued.

Ambrose kneels down beside the chair. “Do you want to go back to the Church of the Well, Mercy?”

No. I don’t.

The realization hits me hard, as hard as Reverend Gunner’s beatings, and leaves me just as breathless. I wanted to be free of that place, and now I am. Maybe I’m not truly free here, either, but it’s?—

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