Envy's Kindness (Seven Deadly Sins Book 2)

by R. A. Pollard

  Shock registered on every face except the molester’s. He roared and attempted to lunge at her, trying to prevent the truth from coming out.

  “The hell you say!” Disbelief, mixed with rage, rushed through the room, but the man’s actions spoke volumes. He was pulled to his feet by the police chief, and Sera could see the pain in the man’s eyes. Undoubtedly this had once been a trusted and respected colleague, the betrayal burned within the chief’s eyes. The description was still clutched in his fist. He glanced down at it, then back up at the older officer. It was evident he didn’t want it to be true.

  “It isn’t true, Jerome. Right? She’s got it all wrong, right?” Oh, if only that were true.

  The Baby Doll Killer struggled in the officers’ grip. “Little bitch! They belong to me, you can’t take them away! Let me go! They need to stay innocent, you understand! They were tainted! Now they’re perfect! You won’t take my dolls from me!” The silence stretched in the room as the madness seeped from the old man.

  “Take him away. Someone get me a car. We have a little girl to find.” The police chief lowered his gaze, shaking his head. Then he looked at her, all professional, with his blank face, but she could read the hate, fear, and revulsion that shone within his eyes. As happy as he was that they now had a lead, he couldn’t understand why it had to be someone he knew. In a way, he blamed her; she could feel it in his gaze.

  Sera didn’t stick around. The fear and accusation bombarded her from everyone. Even if they had only partially believed her reading of the bloodied shirt, now they had no doubts. She saw on the news later that night the child had been found safe. The evidence was stacking up against the old officer. They showed pictures of his own kids when they were young, his grandkids, he even had pictures of the girls he had taken from this world. No mention of her, of course. Good, she liked to keep it that way.

  That was the last time she helped the police. She decided at that moment she couldn’t do it again. His sickness seemed to stick to her like glue. Never had she actually touched one of the evil people she sought. Determined that she would keep her gift a secret from everyone, she moved into the middle of nowhere to start again, hoping in some way to wipe herself clean of the remnants of that evil.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The mind of that child murderer had been so sick that it had weakened her for months. Retreating from the world had been her only recourse. She needed to get as far away from people as she could. So moving away from the city, cutting ties with the police, with everyone she knew, had been about saving herself. Moving to the middle of nowhere had been about preserving what little sanity remained in her fractured mind. Still, the memories came back. They haunted her night into her waking hours.

  Day in, day out, the same routine, until a month ago, after a particularly brutal trip down fucked-up memory lane. She had felt something, an unfamiliar presence at the edge of her mind. Calming, warm, yet it was as if Sera knew this person somehow. The endless black turmoil had been pushed away from her soul by this being of light. She wanted more of it. Sera reached for that cooling energy.

  But it had dissipated, leaving the bittersweet taste of what could have been. She remembered that voice, like a whisper on a breeze, a promise that she would come. A small glimmer of hope had blossomed in her chest, but slowly, after each day, it had diminished. The voice must have just been in her head. She was sure of it now. There was no one coming to help her.

  Yeah, she was definitely certifiable, hearing voices in addition to the hell of her unwanted little ‘gift.' All she desired was to be normal, to touch the skin of another without her mind being pulled back into their past. Damn. To just pick up a cup with her bare hands and not get flashes from the last person who touched it, seeing their history in glaring Technicolor, all the good and the bad.

  Today was going to be hell. She had to go into town to get groceries, and mail out the small pieces of jewelry she’d made. Thank God for the internet. If not for Facebook and Twitter, she would have no contact with anyone. She would have no way to make a living out here in the middle of nowhere Iowa.

  Brushing her hair behind her ear, Sera took in a deep breath. It was not like she hadn’t done this before, but people were too interested in her. She was a young woman living alone on the outskirts of town. The people here just wanted to be friendly with her, make her welcome. Well most of them, anyway. Yeah, that was not happening. This was the Bible Belt, and she was a single woman alone. It was quite the scandal.

  When the need to go into town arose, she would dress like it was the middle of winter, huge coat, hat, and gloves. She wasn’t going to risk accidentally touching someone or something and being pulled back into the past again. In her home, she was safe. Everything she touched here had been cleansed of any energy from others.

  No one had set foot in her home since she had spent a small fortune on it. Not since the movers had shut the door, complaining about her odd requests that they not touch the furniture with their bare hands and not use the bathrooms within the home. Typically, she had been labeled an eccentric weirdo. One who paid a small year’s salary so the movers would do as they were told.

  It hadn’t stopped her from using white sage to cleanse every single object she unpacked. Each one hung in the smooth smoke for a good ten minutes before she was willing to touch it with her bare skin. It had taken weeks—hell, months—if she was honest.

  Finally, she had a home that was all hers. All the old energy had been removed from it, nothing remained. This was her sanctuary, but as wonderful as it was, it was still a prison. One of her own making, but a prison nonetheless. With her laptop, her music, her books, and the surrounding forest, however, she was in a prison she could live with.

  Sera slid her legs from the blanket and stood on the back patio gazing across the yard toward the edge of the forest. She hoped the deer would return tonight. Maybe she could get some deer feed. The idea made her heart flutter in worry. Damn it, she was turning into an agoraphobic. This was not how she wanted to live, but it was how she was forced to live. She reached out for the large jacket that covered her neck to feet and pulled on her long, buttery leather gloves, shoving her hair under a cap.

  Into town, get food, drop off the packages, then back home to have a panic attack in the comfort of her own bedroom. Yeah, so not the life she had dreamed of when she was ten years old.

  The old dirt road kicked up dust as she drove toward town. Her truck was way past its prime. Rust made up more of the paint job than actual paint. She really needed to get a new one, but hell, the idea of buying a vehicle touched by so many people dropped the bottom out of her stomach. So she struggled to keep the rust bucket running. It was a good thing it was just as stubborn as she was and refused to die.

  Steering the truck off the dirt road onto the main road, she took in one breath, let it out, and repeated. It was her usual mantra, not to panic, she could do this. She just had to go to the store and get her food. Mr. Dunham always had it waiting for her. He seemed to understand her issues with being around people, and catered to her eccentric ways.

  The small town of Battle Creek had less than a thousand people registered as living there. Only during hunting season did it get busy, and the start was only days away. There was one main road running right through the middle, boasting a post office, library, two bars, and the BC Diner. Not that she had ever been anywhere but the grocery store and the post office.

  One good thing about living alone is that you got real good at fixing problems yourself. Sera had her own small hardware store in the garage with enough tools, nails, and duct tape so that she could keep her rust bucket of a truck going for the next five years. Who needed diamonds? Give her duct tape any day.

  Pulling into a parking space, Sera checked around her. The street was quiet this early in the morning. Good thing, too. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, the black gloves tight against her fingers. “Get the food, get it loaded, and get to the post office,” she repeated to herself. Sl
iding from the truck, she moved quickly into the grocery store, trying to remain as much a ghost as possible—if a person could be a ghost dressed head to toe like a black and gray Michelin Man.

  Mrs. Dunham was standing behind the counter this morning. Her frizzy blonde beehive belonged back in the fifties. Across from her stood Mrs. Marshall, dressed like she was going to church, impeccable as always. The pair were the eyes and ears of the town, and despite Mr. Dunham being so kind, this fifty-something God-fearing woman had done nothing but spread rumors. The pair of old harridans stopped talking when they saw her, and Sera pulled her coat tighter around her as if it could ward off the old bitches.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Dunham, Mrs. Marshall. I’m here to pick up my groceries.” Sera kept her hands deep in her pockets. The women looked down their noses at her like she was some kind of bug to be squashed. Harpies.

  “I see. You know, Sera dear, I’m not sure Phillip knew you were coming today. I’m afraid it might not be ready. Let me go and find out for you.” Mrs. Dunham’s voice always sounded like it was dripping with scorn. Sera just gave her a small smile, keeping her distance. Today was not going to go as planned, she knew it.

  Mrs. Marshall sniffed very loudly and strode toward her, her high heel shoes clicking on the wooden floor. Her sharp brown eyes scanned Sera before dismissing her with a curled lip of disgust.

  “Sera, you’re looking well. You know, my dear, you should really get more sun, you look very pale under that coat. You can’t live out on that farm all alone. It’s not decent, you know. You could be doing anything out there. Not to say you are, of course, but one must do what’s best for the town.” Sera kept her hands in her pockets and shook her head at the woman before her.

  How could someone who appeared to have everything they wanted be so spiteful? Then be able to pass it off as an underhanded comment about protecting the town? Sera wished that she could just slap the woman. One day she just might decide to do that and worry about dealing with the memories of the old bitch after the fact.

  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Marshall, but I’m happy by myself. I don’t need people hanging around messing up my home.”

  The woman sniffed again. “You know they have pills for these anxiety disorders, dear. You should research them. It’s just not proper you spending all this time alone. You should really come to church as well. You know people are talking.”

  Sera backed up a step, shaking her head. She just wanted to be left alone, not forced to come to church or be social with people. She just couldn’t risk it.

  “Sandra, will you leave the poor child alone? You and my wife are going to drive her from this town if you don’t quit it.”

  The warm voice of Mr. Dunham filled the room, and Sera let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. An older man with a short white beard and mesmerizing blue eyes stepped toward them. Cleaning his hands on a cloth, Phillip was covered in dust and what appeared to be flour. His blue eyes locked on the harpy tormenting his customer. Sera always felt better around Phillip Dunham, as if he emitted a calming presence. Hell, after having married Margery, he needed the patience of a saint.

  Sandra Marshall just huffed her nose in the air and moved to the rear of the store, where her gossip buddy was no doubt fuming over her husband’s involvement. When she was gone from view, Sera took a step forward and gave Mr. Dunham a smile.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dunham. She is a tenacious one.” Sera tried to keep her voice light, but it was evident the worry showed through.

  “Sera, how many times have I told you? Call me Phillip, would you? Mr. Dunham is my father.” He gave her a smile and began to gather her usual food order. Sera could almost read his thoughts at that moment. The look he gave her was the same one most people bestowed upon her. ‘Poor child has no doubt been through some kind of trauma and is trying to deal with it.’ She had to bless the man. He knew it was his wife that kept spreading silly rumors around town, so he always treated her kindly. He helped her every time she came into town, even with his wife making her life harder than it needed to be.

  Her voice held a smile as she spoke. “Phillip, yes, of course. I wonder if you have any deer feed at all?”

  He nodded and moved off to get what she needed. Sera milled around the old store. Phillip claimed his great grandparents had started it back when they first moved to town at the turn of the century. She was pretty sure he was just making up most of the stories, but it was sweet of him to try and make her smile.

  “I’m going to drop some packages off at the post office. I’ll be right back. Thank you, Phillip.” Sera took the opportunity to get out of the building. When had she turned into such a coward? Oh yes, that’s right. When she woke up one morning to discover that her mother wasn’t really her mother simply by touching her hairbrush. Everything went downhill from there.

  Finding out you were adopted was one thing. Finding out you were adopted by seeing it through your adoptive mother’s eyes…yeah, not so much. What made it worse, her adoption hadn’t even been legal. It had all been under the table. Hush, hush bullshit. What had scared her real parents so much that they had abandoned her? Maybe they knew what she was, or what she would become? Get rid of the problem child before she became a problem? What a solution.

  Not that Sera could blame them. She didn’t even know them, but she was pretty sure she never wanted to know them either. Janice Holt may have been lying to her about where she came from, but at least she had shown Sera what love she could. Not that poor Janice could understand what was happening to her daughter any more than Sera could. So Sera hid it, pretended it wasn’t happening, pretended she didn't see things whenever she touched objects or people.

  It was easy at first. She just ignored the visions, but they gradually increased in strength the older she got. Soon she was wearing gloves to protect herself, then long jackets. Before long, Sera stopped going out other than school. Janice just pretended it wasn’t happening, that nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. She pretended Sera was away at college when she was at home. Watching the woman who raised her, real mother or not, have a nervous breakdown because Sera was a freak did a number on her. So Sera left, letting Janice make up whatever story she liked about where her daughter was. Perhaps she was off saving elephants in Africa, or on a humanitarian mission in Haiti. Apparently, Sera’s doppelgänger was off living a much better life than she was.

  Perhaps that was why she started helping find criminals in the first place. So she could use her ‘gift’ for good. Maybe one day her mother would be able to say, “That’s what my daughter does. She stops bad people.” Yeah, look how that turned out. She knew exactly when her life turned from her brand of semi-crazy to agoraphobic crazy—ever since that day when she was forced to endure the depraved mind of a child killer through direct contact. She had been unable to break out of her circle of pain.

  Being able to come into town like this was a vast improvement, but still, she couldn’t risk touching anyone again. Not even accidentally, and especially not someone like Sandra Marshall with all her haughty looks and cruel veiled words.

  Phillip waved her off, and quietly she slipped out of the store. The street was starting to become busy. She didn’t have long to get her errands done. Hunting season was just around the corner, and already people were arriving in town, setting up their temporary storefronts to sell to the yearly influx of boys with big guns playing at being men. The motels on the outskirts of town would be packed by the weekend, and the bar would be hopping with incoming businessmen throwing off their suits for one moment of ‘country’ life.

  It was all very stupid in truth. Each person kept their lives under such tight control. Once a year they grabbed guns and bows, donned camo gear so they could show off their prowess to their fellow man by killing a deer with a high-powered rifle after they baited it from a tree. Good thing the vast majority of the hunting land was far from her home. No one could come after the deer that grazed on her acreage—she would never all
ow it.

  Grabbing her packages from the truck, Sera quickly ate up the distance to the post office, sliding in as someone exited. Keeping her head down, she began dropping packages into the quick drop, each one carefully bound tightly so as not to damage the glass jewelry within. It was busy today, members of the community milling around, catching up on gossip from the weekend.

  A few gave her polite nods, then leaned in to whisper about her gloved hands. She could hear the words, mostly spread by Mrs. Dunham. Things like her whole body being scarred because of a fire as the reason she wore the gloves. Someone had even said she was on the run from the mob and didn’t want to be recognized.

  Geez, these people needed to get a life and find someone other than her to talk about. She had been living in town for nearly two years. You would think people had moved on. But no, as long as she remained a recluse on her property, tongues would wag, helped along by women like Margery Dunham.

  Completing her package drop, Sera made a quick exit from the building, jogging across the street, desperate to get her groceries and get back to her home. Then the rhythmic sound of a low humming motor drew her attention to the road.

  Pretty much everyone stopped to stare at the bike sliding down the street with a thrumming purr. The male sat upon the back, his head moving back and forth as he inspected the town. His bright silver hair caught the morning sun, eyes hidden by a pair of dark glasses.

  People were staring at him, but Sera was staring at that bike, a custom black and chrome Harley Davidson Fatboy 300 with custom wheels. She had just died and gone to heaven. Her guilty little pleasure was bikes—Harleys to be exact. She was saving up for one. Then she could travel and never risk having to run into anyone or have too many hands on a car. The male on the bike was impressive, but the bike was her candy.