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The pedals under his feet rumbled, the tyres of his beloved car trembling as the vehicle left the road and mounted the thin strip of vegetation before meeting the dark forest proper. Keeping her face down, Samara tightened her grip on her bag strap and ducked out of the queue. Stepping around other commuters, who hurried to the various bus stands to escape both the cold and their day, she emerged under the appearing stars and twilight sky. A car park was nestled between the bus station and Job Centre. Beside it, the ever-burning and welcoming lights of The Scholar pub beckoned. The body beneath is female. Rounded-shoulders and motherly hips; a triangle of greying fire at her thighs. Need to throw all that rubbish out, said her father, subtle as a sledgehammer and tucking back into his food. It takes more than this to come between a working man and his dinner. Youre bang on, Brenda, bang on. Its not normal for an eighteen-year-old girl to be into all this macabreguff. You want to be out there, making friends, having some fun. Living life. I…I had no idea. I thought they were warriors, killers. Ready? Bit weird isnt it? confides Freya. I mean, I just go wherever but this feels a bit like were in a cult or something. I did the morning yoga session my first day – all that downward-facing dog stuff with my arse right up in the air. There was only me and the teacher! You buggers could have told me it was optional. Good thing she doesnt fit the profile. Max shook his head. Stupid bitch. If she goes missing, I wont lose any sleep over it. Whats wrong? Were going south. She opened her eyes, swayed where she stood with the enormity of it. Every ear around her was straining to hear what she might say, everyone studying her, waiting for the cracks to show. Were going to stop Gilliad. Samara pulled the strap over her head and laid her bag to rest at the base of the tree. Dropping to a crouch, she opened the plastic clasps and lifted the main denim flap. In the darkness under the canopy, she searched by touch, her fingers skipping over pencils, balled up sketches, and the few coins shed hoped would scratch up half a Coke. Youre building up your tolerance, says Violet, trying to sound matter-of-fact. In truth, she doesnt know why she keeps giving her best friend dead-arms. She doesnt know why Daddy used to do it to her. He seemed to enjoy it more than Violet does when she inflicts them on Catherine or the other girls at the boarding house. She supposes she just likes the feel of it. Likes the way soft skin responds to her own hard knuckles. Samara grinned and slammed the glass down on the table.Fucking grand. So Im not normal. Her fingers hovered from the spent shot over to the neck of her bottle of Metz. She lifted the chilly lemon drink into the air. “This is more fun. To you, dear mother. Deaghlan, please .., begins Derrick. No, sir, I just didnt tell you the truth..