Everything around me is in motion. After an endless bombardment of questions – names, addresses, times, identifying features, what I remember, what I don't want to remember – they finally seem to have forgotten us on a bench outside someone's office. Theo is miraculously asleep beside me, curled on his side. I wish I had a jacket to drape over him, or at least one to wear; not one person has noticed that I am chilly in last night's dress, tight and short-sleeved and ripped at the side.

There had been no time to change.

Everyone is in a flurry of movement. Phones are ringing. From what I can overhear, even more officers have been dispatched to the house, and I even think I hear the FBI has been called. A female detective crouches by us for a moment to assure me that our parents are on their way. She slips a watery, microwaved hot chocolate into my hands and when I tell her thank you the words just barely squeak out. She asks me how I'm doing and my throat squeezes and for the first time it feels like I'm going to cry like a fucking five year old if I answer so I tell her that the drink is too hot instead. My tone is like a brick wall, and she apologizes and walks away. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish I could ask her to come back without waking up Theo.

"Daphne McNamara."

I open my eyes. The detective who questioned me earlier is standing with a man I do not recognize from my hours in the police station beside him. The man is reedy and young and frankly doesn't look like the type to have such an important-looking badge pinned to his jacket.

"Miss McNamara, my name is Dr. Miles Dillon. I work for the FBI. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

I knew this was coming. My story until now has been fragments and facts, just enough to get the crime scene going. I stand, giving a significant glance down at Theo – I haven't let him out of my sight for a moment since we got here. The detective assures me he will stay with him and I give him a grateful smile, though it comes out more stiff and awkward.

Miles Dillon leads me into the nearest room, which is only slightly more comfortable than the typical interrogation room I've seen on TV. I sit down across from him at the little table. He seems to have whatever my file is comprised of at this point.

"Miss McNamara—"

"Daphne," I interject, and he smiles kindly.

"Daphne," he begins again, taking a few sheets out from my file folder, "I'm a profiler for the FBI. If you could begin by walking me through the events of last night, it would greatly help us to identify and locate the two assailants you described to the detectives."

My stomach clenches. I am not sure what the feeling is, exactly. As I am trying to make my vocal cords work, some bit of information catches his eye in my file and furrows his brow.

"When you were asked to recall any identifying features about the men, you described the one who referred to himself as Paul as being tall, lean, blonde with blue eyes, mole by the left eyebrow, large freckle on the right shoulder blade, freckle on the chest, freckle on the left thigh." He pauses meaningfully. I know how it sounds. "Daphne, were you sexually assaulted?"

My eyes are suddenly unable to focus on anything except the hot chocolate in front of me. I am quiet for a moment, a more purposeful quiet than before. It feels like a very personal detail. "Does that matter?" I ask carefully.

"Yes. It affects the profile we make to try identify him. It helps to figure out his motives, his patterns, in the long run helping to locate him or predict his next move."

I am consciously keeping my mouth closed. I'm still not sure what I'm feeling. Miles repeats his question, no less kindly. Did he sexually assault me?

"I don't…" I pause and try again. "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" I don't reply. He is trying to understand me, but he can't. He thinks the phrasing is throwing me off. "Did he rape you?"

I am remembering the feel of hands on me. I answer finally. "No."

Miles looks between me and the sheet that shows the details I could only have known one way, and my eyes lock on to his for the first time. He understands now. "Daphne," he begins, and he is trying not to sound too shocked. I can forgive him that, though. If our places were reversed, I'd be shocked. Shit, I'd be nothing less than horrified.

I look away from him again. The back of my neck is hot. I need to explain myself. "You have to understand, I had to do something. I had to make sure they wouldn't hurt my brother. I had to play the only card I had."

**

Aunt Deb adjusted her rearview mirror, spying Theo squinting at his comic book in the backseat. "I'm sorry you kids weren't having a good time. Kind of a boring party, huh?"

"I didn't feel good," Theo said, reminding her of his excuse. She smiled, and I took a peek at him myself. He didn't look too sick to me.

"Yeah, which is exactly why you're reading in a moving car right now," I teased, and he scowled, looking up from the page he was on.

"Shut up Daphne!"

"Theo," Aunt Deb warned him, but without much threat behind it. She knew she wouldn't need to step in. For siblings with such a large age different – I was seventeen, almost eighteen, and Theo was ten – our spats were generally few and far between. We all fell quiet again, and Uncle Nick's SUV turned on to the road leading back to their vacation home.

Our parents had flown out to attend a friend's wedding in San Francisco, and instead of leaving Theo and I to our own devices, our aunt and uncle had invited the two of us to spend the weekend with them down at their house by the lake. We'd only just arrived that morning, at which point we'd driven over to their friends' anniversary party across the lake. It was a dressy sort of event, which was to be expected from the wealthy crowd my aunt and uncle were a part of. I had seized the chance to be shamelessly girly by pulling back my hair in a clip and wearing my favorite dress, a silky reddish number with fluttery short sleeves, a cinched waist and a clingy skirt, printed with birds that looked like some kind of abstract floral pattern until you got up close to it.

Predictably, Theo had been less thrilled, refusing to change out of his jeans and wearing the only button-down shirt he owned. He was bored out of his mind the second we walked through the door, and by the time the appetizers were served he was faking sick in order to leave. I couldn't really blame him – there was no one there under thirty besides the two of us, and if the house's expensive décor could only keep me entertained for ten minutes, there was no hope for a ten year old like my little brother. Aunt Deb, though unfooled by Theo's fake stomachache, had kindly offered to drop us off back at their place, and I hadn't protested a bit.

"You guys know what you're going to do for dinner?" Deb asked as we pulled into the driveway. It was only a little past 5:30 and still light outside; we'd left before anyone had even sat down to eat. She looked up at Theo in the mirror as she stopped the car. "There's macaroni and cheese in the cabinet, if you think you can stomach it." She caught my eye and winked, and I smiled reflexively.

"I'll make it for him," I told her, unbuckling myself and watching as Theo practically launched himself out of the car. She rifled through her purse quickly, handing me a few bills before I even had my hand on the door handle.

"In case you want to order out," she explained, "And hey, if you get bored, the Kingsleys next door said you could feel free to drop by. They had some guests over earlier today, a couple of boys around your age. Not too hard on the eyes." She winked again.

"Gross!" Theo groaned, and I grinned. He was standing by my open window, waiting for me to get out.

"I'll keep that in mind," I laughed, folding the money into my bag and accepting a peck on the cheek as I climbed out of the car.

"We'll be back kind of late," Aunt Deb called out her car window as we crossed over to the front door, "Love you! Our cell numbers are on the fridge!"

We watched her turn the car around and begin to pull away before we headed inside. I made sure to lock the door behind me, never having felt totally comfortable being home alone – or in this case, alone with just my little brother. I couldn't expect a ten year old to be the man of the house, and he was even smaller than me; at five-foot-three and around a hundred and twenty pounds that were made up of almost no muscle at all, I was already a laughable choice to leave to defend the house. But what could you do? I was the older sister, and I was in charge. I eyed the metal baseball bat Uncle Nick had propped up by the closet as I headed into the kitchen, leaving my purse and cellphone on the counter nearest the doorway.

I opened a few cabinets in search of the macaroni, listening as I heard Theo flop on to the couch in the living room and switch on the TV. The poppy opening song of some preteen Nickelodeon show floated in through the doorway. I pulled down a pot from the shelf, squinting at the back of the macaroni box. "Yo Theodore, do you want to eat now or later?"

His voice echoed back at me. "Don't call me Theodore!"

I laughed, setting down the pot and coming over to the doorway where I could see him and leaning against the frame. It didn't look like I'd be pulling him away from the television just yet. "My deepest apologies, Theo. I'm gonna go upstairs; I'll make dinner in a little while, okay?"

"Okay," he echoed, not moving his eyes off the screen. I rolled my eyes and headed up the staircase, kicking off my high heels as I reached the guest bedroom I was staying in. It was bright and stylishly decorated, with a lot of furniture and modern touches that I guessed had come almost entirely from Ikea, but the only clue that suggested it was my room was the fact that my suitcase was open at the end of the bed. I set up my iPod in some speakers on the bedside table, turning on some music before digging for my hairbrush and moving to the mirror.

Singing softly along with the music, I took out the clip at the back of my head, brushing out my dark wavy hair so it hung smoothly to my shoulders. I took off most of my jewelry as well, suddenly bothered by my bracelets and necklace clinking together now that I wasn't in a formal setting. I froze suddenly, thinking I'd heard a faint knock at the front door, but when no sound followed I turned to my suitcase and started to unpack my things into the dresser across from the bed. Ready to trade my dress in for some shorts and a sweatshirt, I began to take it off.

"Daphne!" Theo's voice suddenly echoed up the entrance way and the staircase. He wasn't in the living room anymore. "Daphne!"

"What is it?" I shouted back.

"Just come here!"

"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered, rolling my eyes. All I wanted to do was change my clothes. I went out into the hallway, zipping the side of my dress back up as I came to the top of the stairs. Theo was standing by the front door – but to my surprise, he wasn't alone. A young man with light brown hair, about my age but still boyish looking, stood timidly just inside the doorway. He looked up at me, and I was suddenly mortified to think that I'd almost come out here with my dress half off.

"Hello," he said, smiling pleasantly up at me, "My name is Peter."