Page 178 of Zero Chance

Sprout.

My stomach churned with unease.She’d been one of Gerald Sprout’s victims.I knew it with every fiber of my being.

But I still found myself blurting, “Are these girlslocal?”

Leaning toward me, Amelia scoffed and muttered, “What?Recognize one of your victims?”

I sent her an icy glare, telling her to fuck off with my eyes, while Waverly’s mom frowned atme, saying, “Where these stories come from are of no consequence.It’s thetraumathey’ve experienced that we’re focusing on.”

As she pushed play again, I returned my attention to the screen, unable to stop staring at that silhouette.

I could still remember how shocked and betrayed I’d felt when I’d seen the story hit the news.The leader of the very center I’d attended to get help for the loss of my mother had destroyed the lives of thirteen girls.The director had raped and groomed them the entire time I’d gone there.

I’d met my best fucking friends in that place.I’d learned how to deal with my grief there.I’d grown into the man I was now because of that center.Nothing had helped me likeithad.

It’d been so unbelievable and surreal to learn that the very place that had been a salvation and safe haven for me had been hell and damnation for others.

Anger flamed up my throat as I listened to the girl in the video feel envy for all the special girls who got alone time with Sprout.

“And then, one day, he finally called me into his office,” the shadowed figure announced, and I closed my eyes briefly, shaking my head.

“At first, he was just really nice and understanding.He gave me candy.He listened like he cared and rubbed my shoulders to put me at ease.It started so subtle and painlessly.But the touching grew gradually more and more with each week until it became hard, if not outright impossible, to tell when things went from acceptable to outright inappropriate.There was never some hard line where I realized, here, this is when it went wrong.He just kept telling me we had a special bond, so it was okay to do things no one else did together.He’d get me to take off a new article of clothing every week, just to get comfortable.It never actually made mefeelmore comfortable, but I did it so I wouldn’t disappoint him—so he wouldn’t know something was wrong with me for not liking it.Because, clearly, something had to be wrong with me if I—if I didn’t want to do what my hero was asking me to do.Ihad to be the problem, right?”

I shook my head, wanting to tell her no.No, it hadn’t been you, darlin’.It had never been you.

“I’d always thought rape had to be a violent act.That the victim had to struggle and scream, and the man had to hit her and leave bruises all over her poor, battered body.But I never struggled.I never said no.He never hit me.I never actually thought I was being raped.I mean, sometimes I’d be sore for days afterward, and I wouldn’t know how to get myself to stop bleeding down there?—”

Lifting a hand to my mouth, I squeezed my fingers around my lips and tried to keep my breakfast in, all the while damning Gerald Sprout to a long, painful death, full of fear and the removal of many,manybody parts.

“But I never told him no,” that disembodied, mechanical voice repeated.“I started to hate myself for not wanting to visit his office anymore, for no longer wanting to be one of his special girls.And yet, I’d feel abandoned when he’d pick someone else to visit him.When he’d finally call me back again, I’d put more effort and energy into learning how to give him the perfect blowjob, how to widen my legs just the way he liked, how to bite back the sounds of pain he disapproved of.So he wouldn’t forget me.So I wouldn’t be useless.”

I hissed out my anger.

I’d had no idea the motherfucker had done so much more than just rape them.He’d fucked with their heads and made them think they’dhadto do it—willingly—to be important, that something was wrong with them for not wanting it, thattheywere the problem.

God, I wanted to kill this bastard.Badly.

“He always said I had to learn how to do it right if I wanted to have a happy husband someday.I’d need to be able to please him too.So he’d love me.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.This shit was fucked up.

Needing to disconnect, I looked away from the screen, inadvertently making eye contact with Ms.Breeker.

She stared back at me stonily, making sure I kept paying attention.

“When I was fifteen, his actions finally came to light to someone who wanted to stop him.This person went around to people he thought might’ve been targeted by the director.I still remember the day he showed up at our house and sat down with me and my parents in my living room to ask if I was a victim too.Except I didn’t feel like a victim.I felt like the villain.Like a dirty, nasty, awful person.”

Fucking hell.This poor girl.I just wanted to hug her and tell her she wasn’t bad.Not at all.

“There was so much shame and self-disgust inside me when my mother looked at me and knew what I’d done.And I just—I couldn’t live with that.I couldn’t—” The shaded outline on the screen shook her head.“I tried to kill myself within the month.I went back to the center one evening after it closed, and I overdosed on some pills I found in my dad’s medicine cabinet, trying to end it all.”

When she paused to lift her trembling hand to her hair and tuck a piece behind her ear, I caught sight of a slim wrist that briefly left the shadows, and in that one moment, my entire life changed.

Because there was a black feather tattooed to the side of that wrist.

41

KEENE

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