The girl didn't like swallowing them dry. That particular memory had been only a day before the visit to the jail.
What was strange about the mental representations was a keen sense of looking at herself from the outside in. There wasn't a filmy layer like when she tried to remember what had happened past kicking out at Lenny, or before finding herself wandering the parking lot of HM Holme House.
These weren't the mirror girl's memories being viewed, but Mallory's being infringed on.
The girl looked nothing if not victorious as they breathed rapidly at the realization, lungs aching again with the effort. They tasted blood with every exhalation, and spat onto the ground simultaneously.
Mutiny. This was a damned mutiny.
"You're not going anywhere," Mallory commanded, clenching her right fist closed.
The child trapped within the woman had the audacity to raise her eyebrow, just like her. "You wouldn't. I'll take care of you, just like you took care of me. It will be a good thing! You'll see – "
The dialogue was cut off by a right hook connecting with their jaw, and both she and Mallory were thrown onto their backs, gasping for air.
Mallory sat up, and launched herself on top of the distracted fragment. Battling the excruciating pain that blossomed in everywhere at her actions, she still managed to close her right hand around their thin, pale neck and squeezed.
Both mouths choked out identical screams of betrayal.
Just as Mallory's vision started to fade at the corners, Lilith's hand fell away from her throat. A single tear rolled down their cheek, while their eyes conveyed the suffering and torment of fifteen years worth of captivity.
Lilith's shell pink lips no longer moved, but Mallory heard her well. Heartache at what they considered base treachery cut like a knife.
"You're gonna kill us all."
_____________________________________
Dawn sat in the overstuffed chair by the fire, her hands cradling a cup of coffee like a lifeline. Tucked around her shoulders was the knit blanket that smelled like Mallory. Her bandaged feet were tucked beneath the dressing gown that smelled the same.
She cleared her throat. It was still sore from screaming for what felt like hours, even though the rescue assured her that it had only been just short of one. She hadn't stopped screaming when they arrived, but that was besides the point. That was only forty-eight hours ago.
The events of the past two days blended together like something out of a horror movie, and Dawn tried to make heads or tails of it. Some of it made sense, but then other parts made absolutely none – primarily that Mallory was not coming home with her. Both the hospital and Dr. Sheehan had been tight lipped about why.
Leaning her head back against the plush fabric of the chair, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. It was a gesture done in vain. Dawn hadn't slept since Mallory was torn from her arms by a swarm of police and medics –
– since Mallory's bloodied hand had been pried from her neck.
Mallory woke in Dawn's arms only minutes before the arrival of help, but her eyes had been vacant. Unaware.
Dawn rubbed against her neck, the tenderness a reminder. Her girlfriend had been so weak, it was almost laughable when the medics accused Mallory of attempting to hurt her.
The injured woman clearly had not a clue as to what was going on or where she was, let alone who she was trying to choke. The medics didn't understand that, and fought with Mallory as they dragged her away. Dr. Sheehan had put a heroic stop to that abuse.
While Mallory jolted and groaned beneath her tender touch, she had spoken calming words barely audible over everyone else talking. Whatever Dr. Sheehan said, it had been enough for Mallory to lay her uninjured arm into the doctor's lap, her barely lucid eyes imploring.
Dawn remembered how the shot made Mallory's head loll back into the doctor's lap.
The medics moved back in to administer to her broken body. They had set to work re-positioning a clearly dislocated left shoulder, while staunching the bleeding from a gunshot wound to her thigh. A laceration on Mallory's forehead still bled profusely, soaking through the coat Margaret had thrown over pajamas in her haste to arrive on scene.
The very same blood had soaked through Dawn's white lace dress. She opened her eyes to stare at the fireplace.
It had been the first thing to burn, unless she counted Lenny Brewster's soul. Dawn swore to God that if the man wasn't already burning in the deepest pits of Hell already, that there was no justice in the world.
The constables had hastily thrown a tarp over his body once the portable lights flooded the woods with their harsh incandescence. As they did so, they wondered loudly how a woman with only one good hand could have broken Lenny's leg and beaten his face in with his own pistol.
Dawn hoped for the first time in her life that someone's death had hurt. She prayed that Mallory made Lenny pay dearly; a pound of flesh for each ounce of pain he had ever inflicted on her.
There was a knock at the front door, startling her from her fervent petitions to both Heaven and Hell.
The very idea of walking on the soles of her feet made her jaw clench, and she hoped whomever was knocking had a key. "
Who is it?" she yelled, coughing when her voice cracked under the strain.
The doorknob wiggled. Whomever it was definitely had a key.
Still, Dawn reached for the fireplace poker. "I said, who is it!?"
As the door opened, two women could be heard bickering. Dawn sighed in relief and released her grip on the poker. It was only Elisabeth and Claudia.
They peeked around the entrance at her. Claudia looked stressed and angry, and Elisabeth looked shell shocked.
"Hi," Dawn muttered, turning her attention back to the fireplace.
It shouldn't be a surprise to Elisabeth Sørensen that Dawn was jealous of her ability to walk the halls of Cook Hospital, asking questions and pestering nurses for updates. Dawn would have liked to walk those hallways, too. She imagined that the nurses would have kicked her to the curb by now for constantly troubling them about Mallory's condition.
"Ah, Gud... Dawn," Elisabeth murmured, rubbing the back of her neck. She was ill at ease with Dawn's ire, and it showed. "I don't mean to bother you. We brought some breakfast."
Claudia rolled her eyes, and bustled into the living room. She gave Dawn a cursory hug, and ran warm hands over her pinked cheeks.
Not bothering to make uncomfortable talk, Claudia scooped up the coffee mug from the table to refill it, and the other reached for the rose-and-ivy decorated teacup that sat beside it.
Dawn nearly smacked Claudia's hand away. "Don't touch the tea!" she stammered, biting at her lower lip. "Just... leave it alone, okay?"
"O-Okay, Dawn," Claudia smiled nervously, while giving Elisabeth a sideways glance. "I'll just go and pour you a fresh cup of coffee, and toast you a bagel." She walked off to the kitchen then, relaxing more and more the farther she got from the living room.
Sitting down on the chair near Dawn's, Elisabeth looked around. She was stalling.
Dawn's eyes narrowed into a glare at the chair she sat in, and Elisabeth shrugged. It was Mallie's chair.
Her territorial positioning extended well beyond the teacup, but Dawn didn't care.
Choosing to ignore the pissing contest in favor for distracting Dawn with news, Elisabeth took a deep breath. "Hey now, I know. I know what you're feeling, even though you don't think I do."
"That's bollocks. What do you know? You haven't even texted me." Dawn looked away from Elisabeth's pitying gaze.
Elisabeth fidgeted in her chair, thinking a bit on how to word her response. "I can't even begin to understand how worried you must have been, but the investigators told us – absolutely no electronic communication regarding what's going on. Its too easy for anyone to hack into. The newspapers, your father's thugs... Dawn, this is huge; du forstår?"
"I know that!" Dawn snapped, waving her hand around for emphasis. "I was there when the guy I used to
call Uncle Lenny as a kid came to shoot her in the fucking head, Elisabeth! He slapped me around too!"
Hearing Dawn's raised and agitated voice, Claudia scurried back into the living room. "Is everything alright?" she warned more than asked. When both Elisabeth and Dawn looked guilty enough, she slid two steaming mugs of coffee and a toasted bagel onto the tea table. "As I thought," she grumped before heading back towards the kitchen.
Just as she was rounding the corner, she stopped and turned towards them again. "Ehm, I was just wondering. Where are the kitchen chairs?"
Dawn grinned, showing her teeth like an animal. It took both women present aback. "Oh, you know. I needed fire wood."
"In the middle of August?" Claudia wondered, looking uneasily at the fireplace. The central air was on, but Dawn kept it burning. Not only that, she was using the kitchen furniture for kindling.
"Mmm hmm," Dawn nodded, refusing to divulge her own reasons. She turned expectantly back towards Elisabeth. "So, you were saying?"
Taking a sip of coffee, Elisabeth gathered the strength she needed to break the news. "As I was telling you, we're not supposed to be communicating via mobile phone or computer. Even if I could have, I don't know anything about Mallie's condition except that she's stable. They removed the bullet from her thigh, and put her shoulder back in. That's all."
"What do you mean, that's all!" Dawn exploded, unfolding her legs and almost standing up before remembering the state of her feet.
"Dr. Sheehan," Elisabeth interrupted, holding her hands up in truce.
Gaping at those two words, Dawn settled back down. "What about Dr. Sheehan?"
Elisabeth sighed dramatically. "Mallie told Dr. Sheehan – she doesn't want to see me, or want me to know anything else. She revoked my proxy, Dawn."
Claudia sat down on the loveseat. "It's true," she whispered. "I didn't believe it at first, but yesterday's date was written next to Mallory's signature on the paperwork rescinding the proxy."
"But..." Dawn sputtered, "Then what about me? Why wouldn't the nurses tell me anything either?"
"That I don't know, but I hope you can tell us," Elisabeth said, pulling a thick manila envelope from her messenger bag. "Dr. Sheehan gave this to me, for you." She handed the heavy package over to Dawn.
She took it immediately, holding it like a prized possession.
In fluid script she would recognize anywhere was her name. Licking her lips in nervousness, Dawn ran her hands over the edges of the envelope, before tearing at the sticky closure. She shook the package gently to dislodge the contents.
On the very top was a letter addressed to 'Dawn Rose's eyes only,' from Dr. Sheehan. 'Read Last,' it warned.
She put it aside. Beneath that letter was another bearing her name, obviously from Mallory. This she unfolded right away, her eyes searching the paper hungrily for information.
"Well?" Elisabeth prodded.
Dawn read the letter aloud, both satisfied and disappointed that there wasn't much in it that would be considered too personal.
"Am Dawn,
The smallest key on my chain unlocks the safe beneath the desk upstairs. Inside is enough to get you by until I see you again..." her voice began to falter as she teared up.
"Dr. Sheehan will stop by to fetch the necklace to present it as evidence. Keep it in the safe until then. Please, spend the money inside – all of it. Buy whatever your heart desires, for I desire nothing than to see it emptied."
"How strange," Claudia reflected, cupping her chin as she leaned against a knee. "Of course, Mallory is strange."
"Shh-t!" Elisabeth hushed her fianceé, looking back to Dawn in anticipation. "Kjæreste... what else?"
Dawn was embarrassed by her tears, and the fact that there wasn't anything more. "I – uh, she just signed it 'M.'"
The resulting quiet from both Elisabeth and Claudia at that information felt ominous. Dawn's cheeks burned. She didn't want Mallory's damned money, and never had.
Now, she was at an impasse. Use it, or starve.
Even though it seemed like paying the cottage's bills and feeding herself were trifling matters compared to what they had gone through together, Dawn was hesitant. Perhaps she could just pay the bills in advance for the next few months, and empty the coffers more quickly. Maybe she wouldn't feel quite so guilty then.
"No lovey dovey Latin? No amare?" Elisabeth asked. If the recent events hadn't been so dire, she might have even joked about it. "That's just... not right."
Beneath the letter was a stack of lined paper, bound in a file folder and wrapped in rubber bands. A thick black marker had scrawled an instruction on the outside: "READ ALONE – Thank you, M."
A piece of the loose-leaf that stuck out from the file had scribbled script to the very edge, and looked illegible. If Dawn had to describe it, the words that poured from the page looked frantic. Frightened. It was so very different than Mallory's normal writing; the cursive that had adorned the front of the package and the letter.
"I guess she wants me to read this later." Dawn said, setting it aside from Elisabeth and Claudia's view.
"What about the note from Dr. Sheehan?" Elisabeth questioned. "I won't ask what's in it, if you don't want to share. She seemed pretty serious about it being for you only."
Grasping the letter from Margaret in her hand, Dawn frowned. "Hang on, let me read it."
She opened the standard sized envelope with her fingernail, and slipped the note out. Her eyes scanned it quickly – it was short, but told so much – and she understood clearly why it was for only for her to know.
Miss Rose,
Miss Moore is safe, and mending well in the secure wing of the hospital. I endeavor to make it my personal mission to you both: no harm shall come to her while in my care. At this time, I have advised her not to receive visitors, including but not limited to Miss Sørensen and yourself.
Please understand, Miss Rose – this is in no way meant to be hurtful to you.
In my professional opinion, it would only be damaging to both Miss Moore and yourself to see one another at this stage. She feels horribly guilty for hurting you, though I have assured her that you are physically well.
Furthermore – Mallory Moore is, as you know, left handed. She writes, lights cigarettes, and even opens doors with her left hand. Her left arm is currently in a sling, leaving her hand unable to do much of anything. And yet, she writes to you with her right hand – twenty pages of notes, along with the missive regarding monetary matters.
Please expect a visit from me soon to discuss this further. DS Reid will let you know of plans as they arise.
Warm Regards,
Dr. Margaret Sheehan, BCFT
_____________________________________
"It's not much, I know," Margaret smiled at the figure seated near the bedroom window. "I don't often have guests."
The patient turned her tired gaze from staring outside. "It is adequate," she dead panned.
The off putting, cool behavior was so typical of Mallory Moore. It would have offended any other person, but Margaret was delighted to see it. "Yes, well! I could gather some of your personal effects when I go to see Dawn in a few days – "
"That's not necessary," Mallory interrupted, waving her right hand sharply to halt the momentum of the conversation. "Dawn needs... She needs..." her lips trembled at the stuttering train of thought. She turned towards the window again.
"All right, then," Margaret agreed, not wanting to push her luck. Police custody had whisked Mallory away in the dead of night to avoid prying eyes, but Margaret knew that her patient's calm was tenuous at best. "How is your pain?"
Visibly flinching at the question, Mallory flexed the leg that was still wrapped in gauze and bandages, but did not respond.
Margaret sighed, and moved towards the door. "I'll just go about my business, then. Holler if you need anything?"
Mallory gulped audibly, giving the forensic psychologist pause.
"The pain... will someday be useful to me," she shudde
red between sobs.
"So I shall be patient, and tough," Margaret finished. "Ovid's opinion on revenge; how very appropriate."
Chapter 20: Amo, Amas (I Love, You Love)
Mallory knew this dream well. It would never stop filling her with fear; a twisting, awful feeling now that she was fully aware of what would happen next. The tattered pieces of what was and what had been paired up seamlessly with what had been hidden.
She supposed that was the strange thing about the subconscious mind, all the while watching the horrors of that night play out one more time inside her head.
Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1) Page 30