The Girl Before by Rena Olsen Page A

quick steps back toward the house.
    â€œClara.” His voice stops me, and I look back. “I love you.”
    â€œI love you.”
Now
    I only get one day of reprieve before they come to bring me back to the questioning room. I brace myself as I enter. My wrists are still sore from the restraints, and the red slap across my cheek has progressed to a greenish bruise. I can’t believe Meredith would hit so hard.
    Connor is the only one in the room when I enter. I sag in relief and sit, absently rubbing my wrists.
    â€œAre you still sore?” Connor asks, glancing at the motion.
    I shrug. “A little.”
    He sighs. “They were only supposed to restrain you when you woke if you were out of control. I apologize for Meredith’s decisions.”
    â€œIs she coming?”
    â€œNo.”
    I nod. Good. I hope they threw her in a small room like mine, chained down by restraints and slapped at least three times a day. A slap to go with each meal. I smile at the idea. Connor looks at me strangely, and I rearrange my features to a more neutral expression.
    â€œHow is Glen?” I ask before Connor can ask his questions. I want to take whatever opportunity I have to gather my own information.
    Connor continues looking at me for a moment, then leans forward. “He’s fine. We told him you had some problems, but didn’t mention Meredith. It’s probably best not to bring that up.”
    I agree. Guards or not, Glen would find a way to get back at Meredith for causing me harm. He does not tolerate others putting their hands on me.
    â€œI thought we’d start easy today,” Connor says, stacking some papers and knocking them on the table to straighten them. “To celebrate your found voice and to ease you into this.”
    I give him a small smile, but inside I am a jumble of nerves. I don’t know what to expect, and I still haven’t worked out what Glen said. I recite the rules in my head.
No clients. No Mama and Papa. No South Dakota.
    â€œState your name.”
    â€œClara.”
    Connor smiles. “Your full name.”
    â€œClara Lawson.”
    The smile falters. “First, middle, and last, please.”
    I am confused. Then I picture the ID I was given for South Dakota. My brain feels like it lights up, and I laugh. “Oh! Stephanie Ann Caraway.”
    Now Connor looks confused. “Stephanie . . . Ann . . .” His voice trails off.
    â€œCaraway,” I supply. I look at his paper, waiting for him to write it down.
    â€œYou have been insisting your name is Clara.”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œBut you said it was Stephanie.”
    â€œNo, my full name is Stephanie Ann Caraway. That’s what Glen said if anyone asked. That’s what it said on . . .” My mouth snaps shut. Three minutes into the conversation and I’ve almost given us away. I cringe as I imagine Glen’s reaction. He would make sure the other side of my face matched what Meredith gave me.
    â€œOn what?”
    â€œI forget.”
    Connor sighs, more loudly this time. “Clara, I thought this would be an easy question to start with.”
    I want to cry. I have messed up and don’t fully understand how. I place my head on the table, cooling my flaming face on the smooth metal surface. What is my name? Clara. Stephanie.
    Diana.
    I sit up. “Can we move to the next question, please?”
    Connor purses his lips. “Fine. How old are you . . . Clara?”
    I ignore the pause before my name. “Twenty-three.”
    â€œYour birthday?”
    â€œOctober sixth.”
    â€œHow long have you known Glen Lawson?”
    â€œSince I was fourteen.”
    â€œWhere did you meet?”
    â€œDance class.” These questions are expected. I rehearsed the answers. I decide the shorter the answers, the better, but I can tell that Connor is frustrated with my lack of elaboration.
    â€œWhere was the dance