In my hand, I hold a brush. I think of my own little girl, a rose that grew in a violent storm. Marked, some would say, from the moment of conception. On my good days and my bad ones, I choose to believe something different.
An easel is propped in front of me. My brush lingers over the canvas, stroking her hair, brown like mine. I curve her lips into a smile, sharpen the point of the steeple that rises behind her. I throw gold into the sky, green onto the earth under her feet.
I know I will never convince myself she is safe, until she tells me so.
My little girl is not running. She stands on the hill, waiting.
Hundreds of miles away, at the edge of a Kentucky forest, he’s watching.
She’s barely visible, playing an elaborate game of pretend under the sheets blowing on her mother’s clothesline. She’ll turn five tomorrow.
He sweeps low, dropping a gift at her feet.
A plastic ring.
It is old and dirty, but she can see the promise of a little sparkle underneath. She slips it on her finger and scrambles up, waving, as the crow soars higher and higher into the clouds, an inky smudge, until he disappears.
Author’s Note
When I sat down to write Lie Still, I had no idea that the first sentence Emily spoke would be about a rape in college that haunts her. I didn’t know that this book would take me to uncomfortable places inside myself. That I would learn how much “date rape” or “acquaintance rape” is misunderstood, and how lasting are its effects. As I was putting the finishing touches on this book, two Congressional candidates confirmed that wild misperceptions about this crime are still alive, one by suggesting that a woman’s body is able to reject a “legitimate rape” pregnancy. I’d like to thank those men for bringing such ignorance about rape to the forefront (and the voters who kept them out of Washington).
Along those lines, my own knowledge was boosted by journalist Tim Madigan, who wrote a three-part series in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram last year debunking the myths of acquaintance rape. I’m also grateful to his sources, who are doing such excellent work in this area: sex crimes expert Russell Strand; University of Massachusetts psychologist and researcher David Lisak; Fort Worth police Sgt. Cheryl Johnson; and Roger Canaff, a former special victims prosecutor in New York and an antiviolence advocate.
A postscript: Clairmont, Texas, does not exist. None of the crazy, diabolical Southern women in this book are based on a real person. Most of the Texas women I know are quite nice, thank you, and don’t go around eating Little Debbie cakes with a rifle riding in the trunk of their cars.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to:
Pam Ahearn, my loyal and dedicated agent, who stood tough in all kinds of hurricanes this past year, including two churned up by Mother Nature. I’d link arms and face down a strong wind with her any day.
Kate Miciak, my editor at Bantam, for red-penning manuscripts until they bleed, for caring about every word, for that brilliant line about little girls in the dark, and for generally providing a master class in thriller writing for the last two years.
Katherine Armstrong and Alex Holroyd at Faber and Faber, for their enthusiasm and hard work in getting both Playing Dead and Lie Still into the hands of the British.
Kirstin Herrera, dear, smart, curious, tough, unselfish friend, who has supported me since Word One.
Stephanie Heppenstall, neighbor, friend, and fashion adviser, who makes me wear her good luck ring and gets the prize for actually jumping up and down over all of my book news.
Tommie and Sadie McLeod, strong, hilarious Southern women bursting with material, who hand-sell my books to every stranger they meet.
Christopher Kelly. A Yankee, but still the best. There aren’t enough words.
My mother and father, Chuck and Sue Heaberlin, to whom this book is dedicated, and to the rest of my extended Complicated Family who regularly encourage and make fun of me. I live in my imagination, people.
Cindy Knotts, for introducing me as her “author friend” long before I had a contract, and Dawn Cox, for marketing my books to people going in and out of anesthesia.
The three G’s: Gina, Geoffrey, and Gillian McPhail. Especially the uber-talented Geoffrey, an eighteen-year-old dreamer and actor, for providing video expertise and the occasional dramatic reading.
Taylor Stevens, for her generosity, hopefulness, and love of bacon.
Laura DiCaro, a small-town Texas girl like me who can have just as much fun when things go awry as when they go right. Because it’s all about laughing. Letty is for you.
My New Yorker best buds, who put me up, and put up with me: Deb von Glahn and Susan Stark. (Also, P. R. Stark for giving my characters midnight legal advice.)
Carla Buckley, author pal who keeps me sane, and Maddee James, a sweetheart who designs beautiful things out of air (including my website).
Jill Johnson and Dave Hogerty, photographers extraordinaire, for being there with a camera whenever I need it.
Every single reader and blogger who bothers to email, or post, or stop me in person to say something nice. Every enthusiastic librarian I’ve met, especially the ones with tattoos. The kind, supportive women in my own book club for ripping into “literary” bestsellers, but never into me.
My favorite guys: husband, Steve, for paying the bills, and for never asking, “What have you done all day?” And son, Sam, for his blunt writing advice, and for always asking: “When do we get a royalty check?”
And, finally: the entire team at Random House, including but not limited to: Jane von Mehren, Gina Wachtel, Libby McGuire, Loren Noveck, Pam Feinstein, Rachel Kind, Jennifer Backe, Angela McNally, Victoria Wong, Karin Batten, Susan Corcoran, Alison Masciovecchio, Leigh Marchant, Maggie Oberrender, Randall Klein, Beverly Leung, Eileen Carey, Kent Mathews, Beck Stvan, and Marie Killen. And a special bouquet of gratefulness goes to the enthusiastic and dedicated sales force that has worked so hard on my behalf.
About the Author
JULIA HEABERLIN is an award-winning journalist who has worked at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, The Detroit News, and The Dallas Morning News. Lie Still is her second novel set in Texas, where she grew up. She currently lives near Dallas/Fort Worth with her husband and son and is at work on her third thriller.
