The living room tells its own story: a haphazard collection of castoffs and secondhand finds, each piece with its own history, none of them belonging together. Americana kitsch sits uncomfortably beside religious iconography—a plastic eagle perched next to a wooden cross, vintage Coca-Cola advertisements sharing wall space with framed Bible verses. The furniture floats away from the walls as if preparing for some ritual, creating a strange island in the center of the room. The effect is disorienting, like standing in a thrift store after hours when no one is watching. Madison sinks into the couch, eyes fixed on the kitchen doorway with the intensity of a predator. Or prey. The line between the two blurs in this house. Faith emerges, balancing a tray in her hands, her movements soft as a breath, steady as a pulse. "It's so boring out here," Madison says, voice pitched to sound casual but carrying an undercurrent of accusation. "I miss the city, my friends... I miss Dad." The tray lands on the table with a soft thud. Two paper cups, each with its own stirring stick—identical twins with potentially different fates. A plate of biscuits, pale and dry-looking, completes the tableau of forced domesticity. Madison's gaze locks onto the cups, searching for some tell, some way to distinguish one from the other. "In the Bible," Faith begins, settling herself into a chair, "there are one hundred and seventy women mentioned, but Jesus specifically instructs us to remember just one during the end of days: Lot's wife." Faith's voice takes on the cadence of someone reciting a lesson they've memorized, a script they've performed many times before. "All we know about her is that she looked back and turned into a pillar of salt." Madison's laugh is short, sharp. "So, are you saying I'm salty?" "At this stage in your life, yes." Faith's eyes soften, but the set of her jaw remains firm. "Teenage angst fades. Eventually." Faith sighs. "Living in the city may seem amazing, and the people who live there exciting, but as you grow older, you realize it's not exactly the good life you thought it'd be. And the people — the people aren't who you think they are." Faith extends a cup toward Madison, who takes it without breaking eye contact. A small battle won, or lost—it's unclear which. "Is this how it's going to be?" Madison's voice rises, edges hardening. "You going to constantly whine about how my life Dad sucked?" Faith settles into her seat, her posture too perfect, too controlled. "You know I love you, right Maddy?" Madison stares into her cup, stirring the liquid in slow, hypnotic circles. The tea swirls, a miniature whirlpool that might suck her down if she looks too long. "I know there's a chemical reaction that tricks your brain into feeling love. Drugs can give you the same effect. Ever heard of Molly?" Faith's smile tightens at the corners. "I'm not sure where you're getting your information about love, but it's much deeper than that. And relying on someone like Molly for advice may not be the best idea." "You're so clueless," Madison scoffs, the words falling between them like small stones. "There's so much you don't understand." Faith mirrors the scoff, a perfect imitation tinged with mockery. "Says a child. I know that drugs wear off, but true love never does. It never goes away." "Then why'd he send me to the middle of nowhere?" The question erupts from Madison, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, her carefully constructed façade cracks, revealing the wound beneath. Tears threaten to spill, but she holds them back through sheer force of will. Faith moves closer, the sofa cushion dipping under her weight. "It's not a punishment, Madison. Your dad... he has his own issues to deal with." Her fingers brush absently against the bare spot on her ring finger, a pale band of skin slightly lighter than the rest—a ghost of something once there. "It doesn't mean he doesn't love you. He just—" "Never said he doesn't love me," Madison interjects, voice quiet but razor-sharp. "But it's obvious, he doesn't love you." The words land with precision, a dart finding its target. Faith's breath catches, almost imperceptibly. She takes a moment and rebuilds her composure brick by careful brick. "You're upset, and I understand that," she says finally. "Let's try to relax and enjoy our tea." Madison grabs a biscuit and bites into it with unnecessary force. Faith lifts her cup and takes a tentative sip. The room falls into silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of consumption. "Wow, that's good," Faith says, her eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise as she eyes her cup. "The sweet really compliments the bitter." She takes a larger gulp, as if suddenly thirsty. "I don't know anyone out here," Madison says, staring at a point somewhere beyond Faith's shoulder. Faith retorts, ”You know me." "Do I?" Madison's eyes snap back to Faith's face. "You've been 'born again'... and as who?" Faith's mouth opens in a yawn so sudden and forceful it seems to surprise even her. Her hand flies up to cover it, too late. "Am I boring you?" Madison asks, her eyebrow arched. "Oh goodness... sorry." Faith blinks rapidly, as if trying to clear fog from her vision. "Look, Maddy... I just... I just want what's best for you." Madison chokes suddenly on a bite of biscuit, crumbs spraying from her lips. She reaches frantically for her cup, gulping down tea to clear her throat. Mid-swallow, she freezes. Her eyes widen, fixed on the liquid in her cup as if seeing something horrifying beneath its surface. "Are you okay?" Faith asks, concern creeping into her voice. Madison lowers the cup slowly, deliberately, back to the table. "Yeah... I'm... I'm fine. I'm fine." The repetition undermines the statement rather than reinforcing it. "You put the scare in me. Dear Lord." Faith's hand presses against her chest. "Relax. No need to pray for me." Madison's words slur slightly at the edges, barely perceptible. Her eyelids begin to droop, as if suddenly weighted. "One day, you're going to realize I only want the best for you." Faith's voice seems to come from farther away than it should, the words echoing strangely in Madison's ears. The struggle to keep her eyes open becomes visible—a battle Madison is rapidly losing. The room tilts sideways, then rights itself, then tilts again. "I'm going to pray you find..." Faith's voice wavers, concern breaking through the haze of Madison's perception. "Maddy, are you all right?" The question goes unanswered as Madison slides sideways, consciousness fleeing like water down a drain. Her body meets the floor with a thud that seems to come from very far away. Then nothing. Darkness. Silence. The tea has done its work.
Chapter 2