Girls In White Dresses: A Detective London McKenna Novel

by Alex Gates

  “It’s the only solace I can take.”

  Anna sighed. “You are not betraying me, Jacob.”

  He didn’t answer. Not immediately. The air rasped through his lungs first. Harsh and unforgiving.

  “I won’t betray you, Eve. I am not an unfaithful man. Like you, I’ll protect my family. Just as I will do anything to save my blood line.”

  “And that’s why I love you, Jacob.” She spoke through tears. “We are meant for each other, my love. Years from now, when we are old and grey, we will look upon this family in joy. Together, we can live as God wills. Together—”

  I sensed the shift in his words. The coldness.

  The vile hatred.

  Anna didn’t.

  And that’s why she died.

  “Eve, there is no together,” Jacob said. “I must be faithful to my wife.”

  “Jacob?”

  “My new wife.”

  The gunshot crashed, deafening in the cement cellar.

  Anna’s body stiffened, paused at the top of the stairs, then fell backward.

  She died before she struck the last step. She collapsed on the floor next to me, bent and broken. Bleeding.

  But her lifeless eyes still stared at her husband in lovelorn wonder.

  33

  You let this happen, London.

  This is your fault.

  -Me

  Plink. Plink. Plink

  Cold.

  Musty.

  Wet.

  I didn’t jerk awake, but the slow pound of my heart rattled me into consciousness. It rumbled in my chest. My head. My aching lungs.

  Plink. Plink.

  My fingers finally responded. They curled up tight, gripping the grainy, squishing softness beneath me. Soft, but cold. I sank.

  I’d never stop shivering.

  Mud?

  I laid in mud.

  It covered everything. My skin. My clothes. I coughed, spitting what had collected in my mouth. It tasted like iron.

  Maybe the Goodman’s farm had mineral rich soil?

  Or maybe everything they owned was stained with blood.

  I opened my eyes. The darkness suffocated me. I lashed out with a hand and struck a solid wall.

  Not made of wood or plaster. It gave as I poked into it. A rough tendril grazed my finger.

  A root?

  “Oh God.”

  The words didn’t form right, couldn’t rasp into the cold, but the realization hit me hard.

  I woke outside, in the darkness, huddled in a grave.

  The dirt hadn’t piled over me just yet. Chunks of half-frozen debris had crumbled from the walls during the pouring rain.

  I squinted and looked up.

  Plink. Plink. Plink.

  The rain struck something plastic. A tarp.

  My eyes never adjusted. The night had stolen every last bit of light.

  And my strength faded with it.

  My teeth chattered. The drugs wore off only once the mud stole the last of my body’s heat.

  How long had I been in the hole?

  Was I too late?

  What happened to Anna?

  I forced myself up and groped my surroundings. I flinched as I struck something hard.

  And stiff.

  The grave offered no help. Six feet of terror imprisoned me. I had to lean close before I realized what I touched.

  A scrap of material. A cold firmness. Fine strings of silk.

  “Jesus!”

  I leapt away from the body, wiping the sticky mess from my arms, legs. Mud? Blood? Did it matter?

  Anna was dead.

  And I shared what would become of her grave.

  I fought the urge to yell. No one would come looking for me—no one that would be willing to save me.

  The drugs must have knocked me out, and Jacob tossed me in the grave with his wife. But the rain interrupted his funeral services. He’d covered us with a tarp. Maybe waiting until the night dried out before he could bury the worst of his bad decisions.

  Or maybe he had a reason to leave us.

  Something important waited for him back inside.

  Mariam.

  I had to get out.

  No matter how insane Anna’s plan was, Jacob understood the reality of his situation. He wasn’t making it out of the country alive. He’d be caught. His family imprisoned.

  In his last night of freedom, he had only one chance to save his bloodline.

  He needed more children—and Mariam would bear them for him.

  My legs didn’t want to move. The cold stole the strength the drugs had missed, but I’d escaped a grave enough times this past month that the literal walls and dirt couldn’t scare me.

  I had to climb out, had to escape. No one else would save Mariam.

  If I wasn’t already too late.

  If he hadn’t already—

  I launched at the walls, clawing at the fresh dirt, soaked through with rain and Anna’s trail of blood. No use. My fingers sunk uselessly into pure softness. My feet stuck in the sloppy, swallowing mud.

  This wasn’t going to be how my life ended.

  Not stuck in a grave.

  Not failing to save a child.

  Not hating myself for not seeing the goddamned truth when it was in my face.

  I’d been the victim before. Now I was the fool.

  I’d fix this. Anna’s mistake was underestimating me. She’d tricked me. Used me. Manipulated me. Just like her sister. Just like the entire Goodman family. So what if I was naïve?

  My fingers practically froze, my lungs ached, and my heart thudded through whatever sludge Anna used to poison me, but I refused to surrender. Nothing could stop justice from imprisoning every last Goodman.

  Or…

  I could kill the bastard myself.

  He deserved it. The pain. The failure.

  I could kill him, claim self-defense, and only this grave would know the truth.

  Vengeance was buried easier than a body.

  Mud slipped through my fingers, slimy and wet. The tarp leaked, and frigid rainwater poured into the hole. I jumped for it. The tarp crinkled in my hands, but I crashed down, tripping over Anna’s unmoving leg. I landed in a puddle. The world swirled.

  Too soon to jump.

  Damn it. I didn’t have any other options. Not like Anna would help me out of this.

  Poor thing.

  Delusional victim.

  Villain.

  I leapt up again and successfully grabbed the tarp. It pulled down. The night wasn’t any brighter without it, but the faint outline of trees helped to keep me centered. Less panicky.

  Less terrified.

  And even more enraged.

  I hopped, my hands scraping for one of the bare roots Jacob had hacked in digging the grave. It slipped once, but I leapt again, holding tight to the thick tendril coiling just over my head. It was enough. My arms ached, heavy and slow, but I wasn’t letting go.

  I pulled. The root tore my hands. My palms probably bled. At least they still could, unlike the corpse lying behind me.

  Just tossed into the dirt.

  Fifteen years of adoration, love, and submission—left in a bloody heap.

  Or was it the opposite? Did I read the relationship wrong?

  Anna was forcing Jacob into bed with a child. She murdered his son. Killed Rachel and Cora in cold blood.

  She groomed the girls on the farm for molestation and abuse.

  And smiled as she told me the truth.

  I broke over the edge of the grave, but the rain made the grass too slippery to grab. My fingers twisted within the blades. I sunk again. A fierce kick into the mud did little but crumble it further. I lurched with a groan.

  One leg over the side. The other didn’t want to move. Not as numb now. I wished it was. My ankle screamed in agony, but it swung over the edge.

  The darkness tried to push me back down. I yelled, swearing, forcing my body over the edge.

  Then I was free.

  And panting
.

  And shivering.

  Dying?

  Maybe not.

  I stared into the sky. The clouds swirled overhead. Rain pelted down, silencing everything except the sleety droplets that washed away all evidence of evil, blood, and depravity.

  But I still knew where to find it. It’d take more than rain to hide the disgusting truth.

  It hurt to breathe deeply. I did it anyway. Savored it. The drugs surged with one last dizzying wave. I threw up. The purge choked me, but it felt good. Freed of whatever heavy pit ate my stomach from the inside out.

  Clearer.

  Focused.

  Now where was Jacob Goodman?

  My cellphone and gun were gone. I’d expected that. I’d have to find something else to defend me. God only knew what Jacob had planned.

  The gravesite hid in the darkened tree line. He hadn’t buried Anna on the farm. That seemed a worse insult than killing her. I searched the grasses. Ours wasn’t the only grave, but this wasn’t a family plot. Too barren for a place of honor with no headstones or markers. Smoothed dirt and grass grew in sparse patches. Even in the darkness, the land bumped and roiled.

  Who was buried here?

  I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to confirm that dread. The girls buried in this lost patch of land had been lost a long time ago.

  Cast out by the Goodmans. Untrainable. Unwilling to protect the family.

  I counted six impressions in the dirt before I turned away.

  I couldn’t do this now. Not while there was still a little girl to save.

  I picked a cautious path over the fields, untrusting of my heavy feet over the uneven earth. The rain chilled everything, but I sweated with chattering teeth by the time I reached the farm house.

  Every light was off.

  Jacob knew better than to bring his new bride home. Anna hadn’t even changed the sheets in their bed yet. He’d killed his wife, but it wasn’t his first plan. He honored his women in his own perverted way.

  He wouldn’t take Mariam in their bed.

  He’d go somewhere else. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted.

  I stilled on the path—surrounded by barren homes, darkened windows, and all the evil that had ever swirled within the commune. The barn stood ominous and terrifying on the horizon.

  He’d search for his own repentance before claiming his new child bride.

  But the barn was silent. No one had ever heard the screams from beneath it. I circled the side, peering in a secondary window to check for movement. Nothing. Jacob and Mariam must have already gone beneath.

  I edged to the door, keeping my back close to the wall as I snuck inside.

  The stalls were empty, and the scent of damp hay poured from every shadow. I stepped lightly, regaining strength with each movement. Adrenaline was a hell of a lot more powerful than whatever Anna used to drug me. It didn’t make me smart, but it kept me focused.

  I searched for a weapon—anything to defend myself. A pitchfork wasn’t effective, but it’d have to do. I didn’t have much time. Jacob left the bunker’s doors wide open.

  Such a hurry to get within.

  Why the rush?

  The answer was as obvious as it was revolting.

  I ripped the pitchfork out of the hay and held it to my chest. With a held breath, I peeked down the stairs to the bunker.

  Clear.

  This was it.

  I clenched my teeth against the writhing pain in my ankle and began my descent into Jacob Goodman’s personal hell.

  The heavy door tried to squeal as I opened it. I took it slow, one millimeter at a time, achingly patient as it ground against the cement. I let only enough space for my body to pass inside before guiding the door shut once more. Only the light exposed me.

  And I didn’t think Jacob had his eye on much else beyond his young bride.

  Mariam’s voice carried from the Repentance room. Prayers?

  No.

  Vows.

  “…in sickness and in health…” Her words trembled, soft and confused.

  Jacob spoke for her, his voice rasping and quick. “Till death do us part.”

  “Till…” Mariam began to weep. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Say it.”

  “But—”

  “God is listening, Mariam. He must hear your vows. Promise your husband. Do it now.”

  My stomach turned. Mariam’s sniffles echoed in the hall.

  “Till death do us part.”

  “Good girl.”

  I crossed to the room, back to the wall as I peered inside. The sick bastard had Mariam dressed in a gown again, only this one was too big. The silk didn’t fit her.

  Because it wasn’t a dress.

  It was a slip. Anna’s.

  How convenient for the animal. A wedding gown and lingerie in one. Not that it mattered to him. He’d rip it off of her soon enough.

  Jacob wasted no time on bouquets or rice tosses. He led Mariam to the bare mattress in the corner of the room, guiding the little blonde angel to her knees beside their makeshift marriage bed.

  “Say your prayers, Mariam.” Jacob’s instructions clipped as he reached for his belt. The metal tinkling of the buckle screamed louder than her muffled words. “We are married now. You are my wife. Do you know what this means?”

  Obviously, she did.

  Mariam flinched as his hand grazed her shoulders.

  The bastard let his fingers wander to her front. She stopped praying. He pinched, and the words began anew.

  “Good girl,” he whispered. He unbuttoned his shirt pulling each apart one-by-one with an agonizing slowness. “You will serve me as my wife now, Mariam. Submit to me. You have a duty to both me and the Lord. Do you know what it is?”

  Her head bobbed. The curls fell before her face—freckled and still so rosy with a touch of baby fat. She couldn’t fill out the slip. No curves. No breasts. No hips. Anna claimed she had reached puberty, but it must have happened only recently. Mariam couldn’t have weighed more than sixty pounds—a third of what her husband weighed.

  This was still a child.

  And Jacob reached for the button of his pants like a panther circling a wounded animal.

  “God says we are to be fruitful and multiply.” Jacob’s hand stroked her hair. Mariam wept. “And we will begin tonight. You will lie on the bed, Mariam.”

  Her terror sliced through me. Agonized. Pleading.

  “I…I don’t…I want Eve. Where’s Eve?”

  Jacob had no patience for her. “Lie on the bed. Now.”

  Sobs wracked her shoulders. The little doll crumpled. “Please. I don’t—”

  The crack came suddenly, his hand against her cheek. She fell forward in shock.

  And went still.

  Just what he wanted. His pants unzipped. The bastard turned from the door as he began to stroke the rod that would not spare this child.

  Now was my chance.

  His commands sickened me. He pushed her onto the mattress, kicking open her legs.

  “Pull the dress up, Mariam.” His words rasped with lust. So much for his vows to Anna. “Say your prayers and be thankful for this.”

  She did as she was told. “For…for what?”

  Jacob’s preaching convinced no one but the devil hardening in his pants. “For the chance to please your Lord in your submission to your husband.”

  He made his move, kneeling over the bed.

  And the only prayer I ever meant was intended to send his soul to Hell.

  I launched towards him, cracking the handle of the pitchfork over his head. It stunned him, but only for a moment. Jacob roared, ripping off the mattress and bursting to his feet.

  The handle poked hard into his gut. He gasped, almost falling to his knees.

  I blamed the drugs for my bad aim.

  “You little bitch…”

  Mariam screamed. He ignored her, reaching for the gun in the jacket tossed into the corner.

  I didn’t gi
ve him the chance.

  Didn’t wait for an opening.

  Didn’t stop to assess if I was in mortal danger.

  I flipped the pitchfork, shoved him into the wall, and rushed forward. The pointed metal flashed once in the low light before imbedding in the soft flesh of his chest. His head struck the painted mural of hell pinning him on the edge of the pitchfork.

  A fitting end.

  A howl of pain echoed off the barren walls, but he didn’t crumble.

  He strengthened.

  The prongs dug into his shoulder. I threw my weight into the jab, slamming him against the cement with the bloodied prongs.

  I should have aimed for his throat.

  “You’re on the rebound pretty quick, Jacob.” I held the pitchfork steady, grinding the pressure into his wound.

  Jacob thrashed, reaching for the tines. His prayers grunted out between ragged breaths. His eyes burned, wide and wild. He didn’t beg God for forgiveness.

  He cursed me. Insulted me. Prayed for deliverance against me.

  I grinned. “Harder to fuck with someone your own size…and age?”

  “She is my wife!”

  “No. Your wife is lying in at the bottom of the grave you dug for her.” I narrowed my eyes. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

  “God was guiding me.”

  “Did he guide you to the gun? Hold your hand as you shot your wife?”

  Jacob’s voice dropped. Blood pulsed from the wound, staining his skin and the hardened muscles with crimson.

  “You couldn’t understand.”

  “Eve lost the ability to have children, so she set this up. The marriage. Finding Mariam. She was more obsessed with your balls than you were, ain’t that right, Jake? She wanted to spread your seed any way she could, even if it was outside of her own womb.”

  Jacob struggled. He didn’t respond to the pain, only to my own taunting words.

  “The woman I killed wasn’t the woman I found so many years ago,” he said.

  “She wasn’t a woman then…she was a girl. And you didn’t find her. You kidnapped her. Like you did all the other girls on this farm.” I grinned. “What happened? Little Eve got to be too much for you?”

  “Yes!”

  No cause to lie with his blood pooling on the floor. “Don’t tell me she didn’t fit into God’s plan?”

  “No…” Jacob sneered. “She made a mockery of it. Eve was corrupted. Obsessed with this farm, our life, protecting it. I loved her, but she hated herself for what she could no longer give me.”