The Never List

closely as possible. I wanted to give myself as much running time as I could. For all I knew, he had these woods under video surveillance, and this whole setup could be just the latest game for him to amuse himself with. I knew I wasn’t free yet.
    I ran toward the woods. Going down the driveway would have been more direct, but I couldn’t risk running into Jack’s car if he decided to make an unexpected return.
    I paused for a moment in front of the house. I thought about saving the others then, but it was too risky. The house was a trap, and I was sure he had coded locks on the doors that I would not be able to open. I would send someone as soon as I could make it back to civilization. I hoped those four days would be enough time before he made it back and discovered I was missing.
    So I ran. Stumbled is more like it. I was naked, and the bottoms of my feet had lost whatever protective coating of skin they’d ever had. I felt every rock and stick. Soon my feet were bleeding. I was running hard down the hill, not caring. I felt … I felt uplifted.
    Near the bottom of the hill, there was a stream, and I drank from it like I’d never drunk from anything in my life. It was then that I knew I’d survive. Then that I felt the first joy I had felt in three years. After that it seemed I had the strength of a thousand women, and I ran down the hill like a colt in an open pasture. I was still afraid, but I could see a large field at the bottom of the hill, and beyond that a dilapidated old farmhouse. Surely there would be someone there to help me.
    When I reached it, I discovered it was empty and locked, but inthe barn beside it I found a battered coat and some heavy work boots. Both were absurdly big for me, but I put them on and started out down the road, disoriented by the open space, yet determined to put distance between Jack’s house and me.
    A car stopped at last, a young couple with two small children in the back. I asked for directions to the police station. They looked slightly terrified of me, a dirty stick woman in a clownish getup slurring her words, but they seemed genuinely concerned. The woman hesitated, glancing at her husband questioningly, and finally told me to get in the car so they could take me for help. I started crying and said I couldn’t, that I was too afraid. I couldn’t get in a car with strangers. They asked what happened to me, and all I could say, over and over again through my sobs, was that I’d been in the cellar for a long, long time.
    At that they looked horrified and told me to stay where I was and they would send the police. I figured I’d scared them off, and I’d have to find my way on my own. But I couldn’t move anymore. I nodded at them, clutching the stiff fabric of the oversize coat, and sat down on the side of the road as they drove off.
    I must have passed out, because when I came to, two police officers were lifting me into the back of the squad car.
    On the way, in the back with one of them, a gentle woman who listened with pity in her eyes, I whispered our story in a garbled mishmash of words and phrases. I knew I was hardly making sense, but she was patient and managed to piece it together. I told her then about Tracy and Christine, and they called it in to headquarters right away. Hours later, at the hospital, I saw them being carried in. The police insisted, however, there were no bodies on the premises.
    The doctors had me hooked up to an IV, pumping fluids into me. I could barely move, and I must have passed out again, but not before realizing our captivity, at least, was finally over. Over.

CHAPTER 35
    Tracy continued to stare at her knees, as she had been through my whole story. Christine had stopped crying and was actually sitting up straight now, listening attentively. Adele, meanwhile, had been taking notes and was still writing feverishly when I stopped.
    The silence was thick around me. I waited. Would this help Tracy understand why I hadn’t gone back for them first? Would she believe that I sent help as soon as I could? I waited a full minute more in the silence, the only sound Adele’s pen scratching on the paper.
    And then Tracy looked me in the eyes and said, very softly, “Adele, put the fucking pen down.”
    Adele stopped writing and looked up. I let out my breath.
    It wasn’t much, but I’d take it.
    “Sorry,” Adele said, putting the pen down.
    “What difference does it make?” I said quietly. “Now that we’ll just die in