Free All Fall Down by Megan Hart

high-fashion models on a Paris runway compared to Sunny, who wore a long-sleeved, high-necked shirt and an oversize jean skirt that hung shapelessly to her ankles. She’d let Liesel give her one of Christopher’s old college sweatshirts to replace the one with the broken zipper, and it further obscured her body.
    Now, standing in front of a rack of sweatpants and turtlenecks, Sunny shook her head and stared at Liesel with bleak eyes. “I can’t wear any of this.”
    “What’s wrong with— Ah. You don’t wear pants. We can get you some skirts. Don’t worry.”
    They’d already been up and down the children’s section, loading the cart with things for Happy. Becka had stopped by earlier with an old car seat and a couple bags of clothes for both Peace and the baby, along with a few toys her kids had outgrown. Ever the true friend, she’d given Liesel a look that said “call me later,” but hadn’t asked any questions.
    Sunny stopped in front of another rack. This one had long, elastic-waisted skirts in dark colors. She held one up. It hung from her hips to her toes. She scrutinized it, mouth pursed, and held it up to the light. She fingered the material, then shook her head.
    “It’s very thin,” Sunny said.
    “We can get you some winter-weight tights. That’ll keep you warm.” Liesel tried to give her an encouraging smile, but Sunny wasn’t looking at her.
    She spread her fingers under the material, showing Liesel how the hint of her flesh showed through. “It’s immodest.”
    A funny complaint coming from a girl who’d stripped down seemingly without a second thought in front of a stranger, Liesel thought. “We’ll buy you a slip.”
    Beyond them and across the aisle in the electronics department, all of the flat-screen televisions had been tuned to the same local channel, now showing the news. A petite brunette bundled into a trench coat and scarf stood in front of a tall, chain-link fence. The sound was off, but Liesel could see the banner running across the bottom of the screen.
    ONE HUNDRED DEAD IN CULT SUICIDE
    Sunny dropped the skirt and ran toward the televisions, leaving a stunned Liesel alone. She followed quickly, pushing the cart. By the time she got to Sunny, the girl had begun frantically pushing the buttons on the biggest television.
    “Make it louder,” she said. “I need to hear what they’re saying!”
    Liesel pushed past her gently to turn the volume up, her stomach already sick with anticipation of what they’d hear. The reporter gestured at the fence, emblazoned with Keep Out and No Trespassing signs. She pointed at the gates, wide open, and the cluster of buildings barely visible at the end of the long driveway.
    “That’s Sanctuary,” Sunny said in a strangled voice. “Oh. They did it. They did it. Oh, no. They left. They all left.”
    “Did what?” Liesel asked stupidly, since the explanation was right there in the reporter’s clipped nasal tones and the banner still running along the bottom of the picture.
    CULT LEADER ORDERED MASS SUICIDE, AUTHORITIES BELIEVE
    “They left,” Sunny whispered. She pressed her palms flat against the TV set for a second, and when she pulled them away, left a wet mark behind that for an instant made the picture beneath it extraclear before it faded.
    Liesel didn’t know what that meant, but suddenly the reason that Sunny’s mother had sent her and the children to Christopher was no longer some strange secret or whim. “Oh, my God. They’re all dead?”
    “They did it,” Sunny repeated and turned a stricken, vacant-eyed face to Liesel. “They left without us.”

Chapter 8
    T hey drank the rainbow and went through the gates, just the way Papa had said they all would. Her mother had spoken with a liar’s tongue and sent Sunny and her children away. Why would Mama have wanted them to be left behind?
    Had her mother known of all the dark things inside her, the ones Sunny hadn’t made reports on? All those thoughts and desires