Unknown Location, Iraq – June 2004
"Good morning, sunshine." The man's voice is sing-songy today. That usually means he's in a good mood. Elizabeth has learned to read him. Her survival has depended on it. He's been letting her out of the room. Sometimes for showers. Sometimes for food. So far, she's managed to get a piece of fabric that can be a makeshift hijab when she gets out of here… when she finds a way out. Suppose she finds a way out. She still needs some clothing she'll be able to move around Iraq in. And a weapon. The knives are in the kitchen, and she can't take on a man twice her size with her bare hands. She's tried. She's tried many times, and there's always something that keeps her from succeeding.
"Good morning." She mumbles. She hasn't gotten good at faking happiness. But she's doing okay at faking politeness. Politeness is ingrained in her. She wonders sometimes if her parents knew one day it would help her get through this. Or maybe they had just been teaching her how to get along in society. At least the type of society she was raised in. The one where girls were expected to be polite and demure. And to not speak unless spoken to. Well, her mother raised her that way anyhow… Her father, he told her to take no shit. But here she is… taking all kinds of it.
"Did you sleep well?" He asks, as though they're friends. As though they're lovers. As if all of his violence is a figment of her imagination.
"Yes. Did you?" She asks. It's part of their script. Their strange relationship. She hates him with a passion. But if she's to survive, she must pretend otherwise. He has taught her this ritual… brutally taught her how to behave. The words repeat themselves over and over in her head. Be good to gain his trust. Be good to gain his trust. Be good to gain his trust.
"I slept well. I dreamed about you." He smiles at her, and it sends a shiver down her spine.
"What did you dream about?" She's asked this question many times, and it makes her sick. His answer is always graphic. He's set up his mornings that way. He likes to tell her about a dream he had about her and then leave her alone. He wants her to stew on it. He wants her to think about what he might do to her, what he's already done to her. And then he'll return in the evening and make good on his threats. She knows the pattern. He's a sadist, but he's a predictable one.
She's gotten a pretty good read on him at this point. He's a tyrannical sadist. Her CIA training hadn't included a ton of psychology, but it had enough. He fits all the boxes. Unmerciful, inhumane, brutally abusive. He's a control freak. And he loves the attention. He likes knowing that he can control the fate of a person. He's a true psychopath. He enjoys the torture way more than the kill. It's why he's keeping her here. It's why she's alive. There is a part of her that's grateful to still be alive. To have a chance to see her family again.
He keeps talking at her as she repeats her motto. He wants her to know exactly what's coming. He wants her to feel her terror, to feel his power. The longer he can draw it out, the more he's enjoying it. She no longer wonders why he's doing this. She knows he's doing it because he can. And because he likes it.
Pittsburgh, PA – June 2004
Henry stares at St. Paul's cathedral. He hasn't been inside a church since Elizabeth died. He's been too angry at God. How could his God allow Elizabeth to be taken from him? How could he allow the things that have happened in his name? Elizabeth was murdered in his name. There was a time when Henry would have been able to separate the act of jihad from his faith, but now he sees nothing but darkness in the world. And there is so much of it.
But today, he knows that he has to try to separate the act of terror from the act of God. According to Henry's tradition of faith, God gifted humanity free will. The terrorist killed his wife because he had hate in his heart. And Elizabeth was in Iraq because she had love in hers. That is the great tragedy that the good of humanity was not enough to make a difference in the end. That a life given in love was still a life wasted.
But he has new challenges in life now. He has to make right with his God. He's here alone. A weekday mass. He's starting small. The interior is magnificent. Henry is a fan of Gothic architecture but not for its beauty. He appreciates the strength. The pillars of the nave. They hold the roof aloft, and he is awed by the feat. The things people build to worship their gods. He walks down the center aisle. The silence is deafening. He finds a pew near the back and sits. He takes a deep breath and folds his hands.
He stands when the procession starts. Not that he wanted to, just that the actions and tempo of a mass have been ingrained in his body since he was a child.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." The priest starts, and Henry repeats the words, "Amen." He closes his eyes and listens to the rhythm of the mass. He recites the responses, but it doesn't feel like praying. It's just something his brain has done thousands of times before.
And then, the Gospel makes his head spin. John. Chapter 14. "My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am." Henry lives by a single rule: always willing to talk about religion but never about his faith. He used to talk about his faith with Elizabeth. And she never judged. She never thought less of him when he believed. One of Henry's core beliefs is that there is a place where at least part of us go. He has studied the gambit of religions and belief systems, and several believe this. It is a universal belief that crosses culture, geography, and history. There is something more than life on Earth.
Elizabeth's soul exists somewhere. She's out there somewhere.
So, he closes his eyes and says a prayer. It's the first real prayer he's said since his wife died. He prays that wherever Elizabeth is, she's at peace. That she's found her place in the universe. And then he prays for himself. For the fortitude to raise his children... all five of them. He prays for the expansion of his heart to include Jessica. Together, they can figure out a way to find happiness in their new arrangement. He prays for a way to separate his anger from his love. And then, he prays for the world. For war-torn Iraq and its people. For the troops. For peace. And he prays for forgiveness. For the world and himself.
But more than anything, he prays for a way back to God.
The mass comes to a close. The priest asks him to go in peace, and he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. He's on his road back to himself. But he doesn't move from the pew. He has some things to think about. So, he watches the mass attendees exit. The priest disappears behind a door.
Henry stands and walks over to the alcove that holds the prayer candles. He lights a candle for Elizabeth. He swallows and asks for her forgiveness. He knows what he's going to do. And he hates himself for it. But the ring is bought. There is a traditionalist that lives inside him. He needs to be married when he brings children into this world.
His mind is made up. After a long talk with his father. And then a long talk with Jessica. After an even longer talk with Stevie, it was decided. That is the plan. Henry is going to marry Jessica.
Henry takes a deep breath. He stares at the flames as they flicker against the glass—the light dances on the walls. He envisions the flames of rage burning in Elizabeth's eyes. He wonders how she would feel about how quickly this all seems to be happening, how she would feel about him introducing a woman into their children's lives. Would she approve?
He doesn't know. But he prays that she would. He prays her soul can rest knowing he is okay. Knowing the kids are okay and that they are loved and cared for. That he is with someone who seems to care for him genuinely. He is with someone good with their kids, even if they aren't warmed up to her yet.
He can only pray.
"I'm going to ask her to marry me," Henry confesses to the candle. "I need you to forgive me."
He takes a deep breath and walks away.
Washington, DC – June 2004
George sits down next to the stone. It still doesn't feel right. Nothing about her death has added up for him. There is still a lot he doesn't understand. Why was she somewhere alone? Why did Conrad seemingly close the investigation so quickly after?
He runs his hand over the stone. He's charged himself with keeping it clean since Henry moved. It's a weekly ritual for him. They used to have drinks every Friday after work. Well, she had drinks, and he had ginger ale. They would talk so freely on Friday nights. And then he would drive them to her place and have dinner with the McCord's. They were his family. She was his family.
"Hey, Bess. If it's you in there..." That's the first time he's said it out loud. The thought had been plaguing his mind for the last few weeks. He got new intel from an informant in Iraq, and something is off. He doesn't want to say that they got the wrong body. But he's worried they didn't get the right one. A French woman went missing two days before Elizabeth's death. She was blonde, five foot nine, and had a striking resemblance to Elizabeth. "I don't know how I can find out, but if you're still out there, I promise to do everything I can to bring you home."
George sits at her grave for a while longer, hoping he can feel her presence. If he can, it means they got it right. If he can't... Then, an innocent woman is buried beneath him... And Bess is out there somewhere.
Unknown Location, Iraq – June 2004
Elizabeth can't breathe. Her chest is moving, but her lungs won't fill. They can't seem to get air. She can't stop shaking, but she's not cold. It's almost as though the room is vibrating. She was so close. The knife was right there. And then it was as if he read her mind. He looked right into her soul. She can't stop seeing the moment in her mind. He smiled, and her heart sank. And then he picked the knife up, and she was sure her heart stopped.
Her collarbone is broken... again. This time, she thinks, it might have shattered. Her face is swollen. It hurts to swallow, which means she can't talk. He's going to leave her alone until her wounds heal. He doesn't like it when her face isn't pretty… or when she can't scream.
But a small smile plays on her lips. She has the knife. She managed to keep it hidden. And she took the beating. And she's getting out. She has no idea how she'll manage it. But she'll figure it out because she has a weapon now. She has a chance.
She looks over to her picture. "Mommy's coming home. I'm going home." She whispers.
