Nothing Sacred

And, as of his phone call an hour before, his mother was still alive.

That meant there was still hope.

A very good thing.

He’d just begun to relax, to enjoy his drive into the desert, when his optimism took another hit. Up ahead, a group of kids were wandering away from a nearby hill, carrying blankets. He had no idea how they expected to get home. They were miles from anywhere, with no cars in sight.

Some of the teenagers were laughing uproariously; others seemed to be using up every bit of concentration placing one foot in front of the other.

David recognized one of the laughers.

She was better dressed than the rest, forgoing the black leather and chains most of her companions were wearing.

Slowing, he waited until he was close enough to see that they were passing around a bag of name-brand potato chips as they walked, before calling out, “Shelley! Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

He could have been a breeze on the desert for all the attention she gave him.

“Shel!” He tried again.

The girl kept right on walking—and laughing—as though she hadn’t heard him. But David had seen the tightening in her shoulders.

And knew that she had.

ELLEN STARED STRAIGHT ahead while Mom drove them home from her counseling appointment in Phoenix on Thursday morning.

Staring out the windshield was what Ellen had done every other time she’d been in a car, or out anywhere, since the attack.

She was scared to death she was going to see that man again. That he was still around, watching her. Waiting to see if she’d told on him and he’d have to come back and kill her.

Or waiting to get her alone so he could do it again.

She wasn’t sure which she’d hate more. If she was alive, there was always hope. Pastor Marks had been talking to her a lot about that. About the happiness she could make for herself. About a higher power that was always with her, ready to help if asked. And she believed him.

But the thought of ever having a man between her legs again, forcing her to accept things she didn’t want, that she hated, touching her most private parts with greedy hands and fingers, was more than she could bear. She would rather he killed her.

This was the kind of stuff her counselor wanted to discuss. Ellen understood that.

She just couldn’t talk about it.

“Sweetie, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Ellen’s hand on the door handle tightened. “What?”

The tension in her mother’s face made Ellen’s heart ache. She probably hated the man most for this—what he’d done to a woman who’d spent her entire life giving, only to have everything stolen away.

Her strong and optimistic mother had already lost so much of her faith. If she gave up, if she spent the rest of her life alone and unhappy because she couldn’t believe in hope and love after what her father had done, and now this, then Ellen was going to hunt down her attacker herself and kill him with her bare hands.

“There was an article in the paper this morning about the assault.”

The little bit of strength that had just buoyed her last thoughts slid away as Ellen sat there, feeling the cold spread from her face, through her chest and down to her toes.

Aaron was going to know.

And Barbie. And Anita. And everyone at church. And at school. All her teachers.

She was dropping out of school. And quitting her job. She only had another week on her leave of absence from Wal-Mart, anyway, and she’d never be ready to go back in a week. She needed her room. Her bed. Sleep.

She was going to throw up.