Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  Instead of being the one crawling on the blood stained rug and underneath her bed, she watched from afar. Near the window, she was able to take in the entire scene. What she couldn't have seen that night was filled in by her imagination, or was blurred.

  Repressed memories, Margaret had called them. She suspected that this nightmare was a lucid dream as well, and encouraged Mallory to try and escape it.

  Viewing oneself nearly dying was nothing short of horrifying. She had argued with the psychologist that there wasn't any way to escape. In order to do so, she would have to go through the group of men circling the prostrate form of a girl. She was broken, like a porcelain doll someone threw against the floor. Her back was arched, and some joints were twisted at odd angles from injuries.

  The girl was wishing for death, and every hoarse whisper begging for it to end slipped past her own lips as well – the Hail Mary. 'Pray for us sinners now...'

  Frustration and fury boiled scalding hot in her veins. "Don't you get it?" she yelled at the girl. "She doesn't care! God doesn't give a shit, you stupid idiot, because you're already dead!"

  Her words slurred towards the end. The dream would slow and change now. Mallory was thrust back into the body on the carpet.

  It was a dizzying sensation, and when her “vision” swirled back to normal, she was peering up at the night sky. The carpet was no longer soft, and jabbed painfully into the tender flesh of her thighs. It was grass, twigs, and leaves.

  Dawn's face filled the space where the stars had been moments ago, blue eyes screwed up in fear as she choked. The bloodied hand that held her still against the darkness fell away in shock.

  Gasping awake, Mallory then bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. She would have hit the right hand against the wood headboard until it hurt, but she'd not been as quiet as she hoped.

  Margaret Sheehan leaned forward from a bedside chair, and clasped a hand firmly around her wrist. "Real, or not real?" she demanded.

  "It might as well be real," Mallory hissed, tugging her hand back to rub at the wrist. She sat up and leaned against the array of askew pillows. After four minutes had gone by on the bedside clock, her heart stopped hammering against her ribs.

  "Yes, I suppose it does seem very real," Margaret conceded, motioning for Mallory to scoot over.

  The doctor perched herself onto the edge of the bed. "Do you need something?" she murmured kindly now that Mallory was again lucid.

  Annoyed by the pity, Mallory turned away. "I think that I should like a drink. I'll hobble my way down the damned stairs to get it, if you say no."

  Chuckling at her, Margaret produced two tumblers, and a bottle of apple brandy from the floor. She must been anticipating this particular request, having heard it for six nights on. "You won't be able to take the lithium until two o'clock in the afternoon if you drink now, but I think that's a sacrifice you're willing to make. Hmm?"

  Mallory smirked and reached for the bottle. "Who needs chemical happiness when you've brought the good vintage?"

  "Moderation," Margaret warned before she let the bottle go. Her eyes followed the hand that had reached out to take it. "Does your left shoulder not pain you tonight?"

  After opening the brandy and pouring a bit into each tumbler, Mallory shrugged. "Not too poorly since you let me out of the sling," she lied.

  "Not since you threatened to burn it and went without against my instructions, you mean," the doctor harrumphed sarcastically. Sipping her drink slowly, she tried not to wince as she watched Mallory down the first in one gulp, and pour a second.

  It was a knee jerk reaction on her part, Mallory thought. Since coming here, Margaret had regaled her with stories.

  She told Mallory about leaving the clinical profession behind after the heartbreak of losing too many patients – whether to self-medication or something else. However, as the years she worked for the unit wore on, it became easier for Margaret to understand the pain of seeing too much. It gave her a clearer mind when dealing with witnesses, suspects, and even the occasional close-contact assignment like this.

  Margaret was keenly aware that no matter how much Mallory denied that she wanted to run straight back home, her night terrors and subsequent verbalization told otherwise.

  "Do you want to talk about why you were calling out for Dawn?" she asked, not for the first time.

  A sharp intake of breath whistled through Mallory's teeth. "No."

  "It wasn't your fault," Margaret argued gently, taking the bottle of brandy to pour herself another. "It's been a week, dear. You cannot play at not remembering any longer, nor can you refute the fact that the two of you are absolute messes without each other. Once the trial begins, you'll be sequestered; no matter how much you wish to see her then, until both of your testimonies are finished, I won't be able to allow it.”

  "I am not safe for her," Mallory insisted, the corners of her mouth turning down fiercely into a scowl. How it hurt her to admit something like that. "Furthermore, how do I even begin to reconcile the emotions that rattle around my head when I think of her now?"

  Collecting her thoughts for a moment, Margaret played the devil's advocate. "Now that you've addressed the irrationality of hating her belongs to a part of you that no longer has reason to exist, I suppose that leaves the love."

  Offense seeped through Mallory's reply. "I don't hate her! I could never – "

  "Then shall I have DS Reid fetch her in the morning?" Margaret planned it out, a slyness giving away that she was baiting.

  "Absolutely not!" Mallory snapped.

  The doctor sighed deeply before standing up. If it was a stranger she was dealing with, and not someone she swore to protect and heal (and frankly liked, Mallory hoped,) she would have told them that they were acting the coward.

  Mallory was afraid, that much was clear. She would never admit to it outwardly, but it was as evident to Margaret as the sky was blue. It was easier to push love away and to curl up with the pain than to fight for it, and eventually lose it – whether to harm, accident, or natural death.

  She was falsely hoping that Dawn's age and inexperience would cause her to give up, and depending on her feigned ignorance at the hurt she was causing by her absence to drive a wedge between them. When it was obvious that protecting Dawn by holding her close had become the most dangerous thing in the world, Mallory now sacrificed her own happiness to protect Dawn. She was keeping her away.

  Shaking her head, Margaret collected the tumblers and the brandy. "If you were my friend, Miss Moore, I would tell you true. As a doctor, I'm bound to do so. Don't do this to her – to yourself," she implored.

  "If you were my friend, Dr. Sheehan, I would tell you to bugger off," Mallory lied, and gave a smile. It was completely fake, but it would have to do.

  "I see! Well, goodnight again," Margaret stifled a good natured laugh, and shut the door behind her.

  "Goodnight," Mallory whispered, but not to anyone present. Her eyes stared off into the darkness outside the window.

  _____________________________________

  It was a quiet Sunday morning in the suburbs of Darlington, North Yorkshire. Across the street from North Lodge Park sat a line of prim row houses, the early sunlight creeping into the windows over the trees. Also creeping were two blonde women, their heads bobbing just above the parked cars on the left side of the street.

  Crouching behind the cars had drawn the attention of some residents walking their dogs or headed to church, so the pair stood upright behind a tall lorry, and tried to look part of the scenery for a few minutes. They spoke in muffled voices and stared at the park, all the while shrugging and smiling at the wary townsfolk.

  "Are you absolutely sure, Elisabeth?" Dawn questioned her partner in crime once a group had passed.

  The taller of the two rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dawn. For the last time, yes. Do you think that Claudia would risk losing her job to get this information if she wasn't absolutely sure? If she was going to do it, she did it right. The discharge file she f
ound on the tablet while checking a patient in from the ambulance stated Dr. Sheehan brought Mallie back to London."

  Dawn groaned, and pressed a palm to her forehead. "Aaaaagh! Then why are we in the middle of Darlington?"

  Elisabeth shook her head while looking at house numbers. "How can you be so sneaky and so naive at the same time? The discharge file was a bunch of pisspreik, lille. Why in Gud's name would they take Mallie back to London? Dr. Sheehan told you she was going to care for her; so here we are at 109 North Lodge Terrace."

  "And that's what, precisely?!" Dawn spat, peeking around the other side of the lorry in confusion.

  "Dr. Sheehan's house. I'm tired of this, Dawn," Elisabeth nodded resolutely. She stood straight, and adjusted her leather jacket in an attempt to look serious. "You don't sleep, and Claudia had to bribe you with an entire chocolate bar just to shower today. I miss her too, and as much as I'd like to smack her myself for hiding from you, I won't. Mallie never runs from me, and I want to know why."

  At the reminder of her lack of sleep the past week, Dawn rubbed at her eyes. They had been cried thoroughly dry.

  Her father's arraignment was on the 21st, and the media had been agog at the charges "thrown" at Steven Rose – including but not limited to 'Murder,' 'Causing grievous bodily harm with intent,' 'Sexual assault,' and most recently 'Perverting the course of justice.'

  Of course, Dawn had barely seen the broadcasts. Instead, she was carted back and forth from the cottage to the police station daily, prepped for testimony by the Crown Prosecution.

  In two days, the Defense barristers would have their chance to examine her, and she was dreading every single moment of it. She had been warned many times that her words would be twisted, and her actions called into question by the Defense. The duty prosecutor was practically salivating at the chance to sink her claws in once that interview had been completed, most likely already formulating responses and rebuttals.

  Besides the abominable stress of preparing for the trial, the cottage had reminders everywhere of the only woman she wanted to see, and hold close. Mallory's scent was in the sheets of the bed, and when Dawn had attempted to sleep on the sofa, her scent had been there too.

  Opening the cupboards in the kitchen brought to mind her love's favorite teacup, and second-favorite tumbler – the preferred glass broken. When she tried to get dressed for the first time since her own discharge from the hospital, the closet was filled with Mallory's clothing. Dawn had stuck to a rotating choice of clothing since then: jeans, skirts, and shirts she'd grabbed in a whirlwind of tears and cursing.

  Dr. Sheehan had stopped by to discuss why Mallory was staying away, and to gather some clothing and toiletries. Each of Dawn's questions regarding the state of the current situation had been rebuffed and deflected by the doctor with shocking clarity and ease. She only managed to get one tidbit out.

  If it was as the doctor suspected, Mallory either didn't remember loving her, or was no longer comfortable loving her.

  Dawn would just have to show her. She would remind Mallory of their love, every single morning for the rest of their lives, if that's what it took.

  "What if this is like that stupid movie; the one where that couple erases their minds? They find each other again anyway, remember?" Elisabeth coached herself and Dawn into action. "She's going to be so pissed."

  Dawn stared longingly towards a familiar face that had appeared at the second story window of the row house. "I'd never erase Mallory. I love her, Elisabeth," she whispered. "No matter what."

  Sensing the hesitation not spoken, Elisabeth tried to follow along. "But what if she erased you? What if her amnesia is like that brain zapper?" She made a quick, buzzing noise, and snapped her fingers.

  "What if she hates me?" Dawn whispered again. "What if she remembers, but doesn't love me anymore?"

  "Now why in the world would Mallie hate you?" Elisabeth griped. She crossed her arms, and leaned against the lorry to fix Dawn with a stern glare. "You know, relationships aren't all rainbows, sunshine, and kittens. She's going to get angry with you sometimes, Dawn. There will even be a day where you want to choke the shit out of her. Maybe you'll want to brain zap her."

  Dawn puffed up what little height she had against the lanky teacher. "That's not even funny!"

  Elisabeth rose to height as well. "Wasn't meant to be, lille," she replied dryly. "Loving Mallie hurts. It's best you learned that by now."

  Throwing the bird seemed the better thing to do when all she wanted to do was deck Elisabeth, so Dawn did the first. She turned back towards the row house, her hands clenching and unclenching in indecision, anger, hurt, fear – so many emotions jumbled up together, there wasn't a name for the final result.

  Knowing the blinding joy of Mallory's love, if only for a moment in the span of her life, was far more gratifying than anything else Dawn had ever experienced.

  It was true, what Elisabeth had said; loving Mallory did indeed bring its own share of pain. But who else but Dawn could soothe that particular pain? Who else knew the torture that her father's insane maneuvering of their lives had wrought?

  Every one else thought they understood. Sure, they pitied Mallory's and her ill-fated, star crossed love. But sympathy was not empathy, nor was it compassion.

  It certainly wasn't comprehension, like knowing precisely the moment to run a soothing hand over bare flesh, or when to murmur hushed words of adoration into the curve of an ear. It was evenings kept quiet on purpose to cuddle beneath blankets, and read. Their love was a picture torn in two only to be found years later; the divergent pieces of the same puzzle coalescing to make it breathe life once more.

  Mallory was different than Dawn, but they were still part of the same reality. They had both been cut cruelly from what life ought to have been, by the same puzzle maker.

  After minutes of awkward silence between them, Dawn slowly turned to face Elisabeth again. "Don't pretend to know my pain, and I won't pretend to know yours.”

  Elisabeth was surprised at the sudden bravado, and then gave a satisfied grin. "There you are, feisty girl. Good, I thought we would be stuck with whiny you forever.”

  "Ugh," Dawn grumbled, and strode proudly across the street until she came to the shiny black front door of 109 North Lodge Terrace.

  It took a couple of seconds, but Elisabeth jogged up to stand beside her. They glanced at each other in support, and Dawn reached up to tap the brass door knocker.

  There was silence for several minutes, and Dawn began to worry that the door wouldn't be answered. Just as she was about to knock again, she heard heavy footfalls paired with a thunk in time with every other step advancing towards them from inside.

  "Identify yourself!" Mallory hollered from inside.

  Elisabeth snickered, and poked Dawn in the ribs with her elbow. She lifted a finger to her lips in a request for her to keep silent.

  "Open, says me!" Elisabeth teased, her accent heavy.

  The chain lock slid aside, and the deadbolt clanked before the door opened just enough for Mallory to glare out. "It's 'Open, Sesame.' How many times have I told you –

  "

  "Ja, hundreds." Elisabeth chortled. "Open says me, Mallie. Come on, let us in."

  At the mention of us, Mallory's gaze took in Dawn, her eyes widening. "Ama... Dawn," she stammered.

  Backing away from the door slowly, Mallory heaved a few breaths.

  Taking that as an invitation, Elisabeth pushed the door open just enough to slide through, and motioned for Dawn to do the same.

  Dawn didn't move from the small entry way, captivated at the sight before her.

  Mallory did the same, standing stock still just past the entrance to a dark sitting room. She leaned heavily against a cane, and flinched when she moved weight from one leg to the other.

  It was certainly not the reception Elisabeth had anticipated, and she frowned at the two before sitting on the stairwell.

  After staring at one another for a full thirty ticks on the entry way's gr
andfather clock, Dawn and Mallory began to speak their minds at the same time.

  "You shouldn't be here, it's not safe! What were you thinking, putting yourself in more danger just to come see me – "

  "I just wanted to see that you were alright, and to let you know how I felt. I miss you, I miss you so much it hurts – "

  Lifting a hand to her face, Mallory rubbed at her forehead and slid the palm over her eyes. To the two women present who knew her best, it was clear that she was attempting not to cry, or yell.

  "I love you," Dawn said, reaching a hand out towards Mallory. When no move was made to grasp her hand back, she let it fall back to her side.

  Her cheeks began to pink, and she looked nervously at Elisabeth before looking back to her love. "Te amo, in perpetuum," she pleaded more than declared.

  "You shouldn't be here," Mallory croaked. Her hand did not move from its place over her eyes. "It's not safe."