Part 264 (1/2)

forgetting not to look at the faces, not to see them. It seemed vital

that she answer the question. ”I don't know,” she said again. ”If, two

years ago, anyone had told me that I would allow myself to be

brutalized, I would have been furious. I don't want to believe that I

chose to be a victim.” She sent Michael a quick, desperate look. ”And

yet I stayed. He beat me and humiliated me, but I didn't leave. There

were times when I could see myself walking away. Getting in the

elevator, going out to the street and walking away. But I didn't. I

stayed because I was afraid, and I left for the same reason. So it

makes no sense. It makes no sense,” she repeated, and turned away. This

time she ignored the questions.

”You did fine,” Michael told her. ”We're going to get you out the side

here. McCarthy's got the car waiting.”

They drove to Malibu, to the house on the beach that her father had

rented. Emma rode in silence, with that one question echoing over and

over in her head.

Why did you stay?

SHE LIKED TO Srr on the redwood terrace in the morning, watching the

water and listening to the gulls. If she tired of sitting, she could

take long walks along the sh.o.r.e. The outward side of abuse had healed.

Her ribs still troubled her occasionally and there was a thin scar just

under her jawline. It could have been repaired easily enough. But she

discarded the idea of a plastic surgeon. It was barely noticeable. And

it reminded her.

The nightmares were another legacy. They came with daunting regularity

and were a montage of old and new. Sometimes she walked the darkened