Sara’s encounter with Curtis cast a shadow of uncertainty over my world. In Synanon I had not worried about rapists in the night or child molesters hanging around churches, luring young girls like Sara and me to their homes to do sleazy things under the guise of an interest in our hobbies. Curtis had seemed harmless, but he wasn’t. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Fearful thoughts clamored through my mind, a parade of every possible thing that could happen. I finally got up and went into the kitchen, opening the drawer where Theresa kept the spatulas, serving spoons, and kitchen knives. I took the biggest knife I could find and went back to my room, where I shoved it under my pillow, climbed under the covers, and finally drifted off to sleep.