Page 60 of Corpse Roads
Silence and predictability are my companions, the controllable comfort of computers and code that lies within my manipulation. People? Not so easy to control.
I avoid other human beings out of sheer necessity. Even the guys—my teammates and supposed family—are intolerable to me. My social anxiety has always been bad. It’s ruining my life now.
The woman in question dominates the huge screen stretched out across the wall of my office, playing a live feed of Hunter’s interrogation. Rather than overwhelm her, we opted to play this another way.
Doctor Richards sits by my side, twirling his cufflinks as he listens intently while taking notes. He agreed to watch from here, on standby if needed.
“How long were you held captive?” Hunter asks.
“I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t held in a cage.” Harlow stares past them all. “But I know things… stuff that I shouldn’t. So I have no idea.”
“Do you remember your childhood?”
She shrugs. “Beatings. Being starved and tormented. The girls didn’t start showing up until later, when they got bored with hurting me. I was so happy to have some company.”
“Nothing before that?” Hunter presses.
Harlow shakes her head. “Just the cage. When the girls started to come, they spoke to me, taught me things. Reminded me that I was real. It felt so good after being alone for so long.”
“Jesus,” Richards mutters. “Poor woman.”
I press my lips together, glancing back down at my laptop screen. The last known sighting of the latest victim, Laura, was way up north. That’s the direction from which Harlow hitchhiked.
I’m still working to pin down her exact route. She hopped across more than eight vehicles over several days, sneaking in undetected. She’s damn lucky the journey didn’t kill her.
“Still think this is amnesia?” I ask the shrink.
Richards nods, his eyes bleak. “She’s disassociating. Fight-or-flight mode kicks in, changing how traumatic experiences are stored in the long-term memory. Unfortunately, memory loss is to be expected.”
“Who held you, Harlow?” Hunter draws our attention back. “I want names.”
Her fingers worry her hoodie sleeve. “Pastor Michaels and Mrs Michaels aren’t good people. They like to hurt others. God sent them to punish the sinners and prepare for the rapture.”
I can’t help but wince. She’s been indoctrinated, a warped reality bruised and beaten into her. The medics placed her age at approximately twenty-two. That’s a long fucking time.
“Was it Pastor Michaels who hurt the other women?” Enzo asks gently. “Did he kill them?”
Harlow nods, biting her lip. “Mrs Michaels was in charge of cleanup. Pastor Michaels is God’s servant. He does the Lord’s bidding.”
“Clean up?” Hunter repeats.
“The bodies.” Harlow looks a little green. “They left a lot of mess. She’d sometimes make me help. If I refused, something was usually broken.”
“And how did he kill these women?”
“You’ve seen the bodies, haven’t you?” she replies numbly.
Hunter stares, demanding her answer. He’s being pretty rough with her, despite the doctor’s warnings. Anyone can see she is traumatised. I’m surprised by how well she’s holding up.
I’ve witnessed plenty of people break down in Hunter’s presence. He isn’t one to mince his words or tread carefully through life. That’s what Enzo’s here for.
“Pastor Michaels punished them for their sins,” Harlow whispers hoarsely. “To make them repent.”
“How?” Hunter pushes. “Tell us.”
“Ease up,” Richards whispers.
Harlow stiffens, retreating inwards. “You know how.”
