by Mia Sheridan
Because otherwise, she’d gotten pregnant because she had secretly been tossing the birth control pills they’d been giving her. Which would mean she got pregnant after arriving at Lilith House.
And that simply was not possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dr. Woodrow’s waiting room was cheery and pleasant, a large fish tank taking up the majority of one wall, and a small children’s play area in the opposite corner. Haddie walked past the play area, eyeing it disinterestedly, instead heading to the fish tank where she stood in front of it, tracing a bright orange fish’s movement across the glass with her finger.
Scarlett took a seat in one of the pleather chairs, turning to the pile of magazines on a side table next to her and half-heartedly rifling through them. She almost gasped when she slid one aside to reveal one of those weekly tabloids she always avoided in the grocery store, to see Royce Reynolds’s face staring up at her in living color, the title screaming, Hollywood’s Golden Boy Reveals Battle With Mental Illness. Scarlett felt her stomach drop.
With a quick glance at Haddie to make sure she was still being entertained by the fish, Scarlett grabbed the magazine, folded the cover back, and flipped through the pages until she found the article. She read it quickly, skipping over some of the words so she could take it all in before her daughter grew tired of the fish and came to sit next to her. In a nutshell, Royce Reynolds had recently completed a stay in a private mental facility and, because he’d been photographed leaving the hospital and widespread speculation occurred, he’d made the decision to open up about his lifelong battle with mental illness in the hopes that it might help someone else who, like him, had spent too many years hiding a condition they could not help, nor control. What Scarlett read between the lines, was that the speculation over his stay at the hospital, specifically the rumor that he was battling drug addiction—and losing—had cost him a big role, and the admittance of his mental illness was at least in some part, about damage control and attempting to get ahead of the story by giving his personal account.
“Royce has spent his life battling an illness that he suffers with, through no fault of his own,” his agent was quoted as saying, driving home Scarlett’s assumption. “Despite his overwhelming struggle, he has risen to fame and fortune, moving millions of people with his captivating film roles, and working tirelessly on behalf of his many philanthropic interests. He is a true inspiration, and an American hero. Let it never be said that those struggling similarly cannot work around challenges just as Royce has.”
She stared at the page, a myriad of emotions swirling within her. Whether or not there was a PR spin going on, Scarlett had every compassion in the world for someone suffering a mental illness, even this man who had lied to and used her, and then sent his wife to deal with the consequences. She didn’t care if the majority of citizens thought of Royce Reynolds as an American hero, what she was most focused on was whether or not his unnamed mental illness might have been passed on to their daughter.
Worry sluiced like acid in her gut. Haddie had said mean things to another child. Twice. And then not remembered what she’d done. She’d wet herself and looked petrified when she’d first seen Camden . . . yet had thought nothing of it. Did any of it—or all of it—have to do with a mental illness like Royce had?
Just below his agent’s quote was another, this one from Royce himself. “We realize this is controversial, and it’s not a choice everyone in my position would choose to make, but my wife and I have decided to forgo having children of our own, and instead to adopt our family. I would never want anyone to suffer what I’ve suffered, and there are so many needy kids in the world.”
I would never want anyone to suffer what I’ve suffered. Scarlett felt mildly ill.
Her gaze lingered on a photo that was dated the week before, of Royce and a fellow actor posing with a fan. Apparently, Royce had just started filming a new movie in Los Angeles. Scarlett brought the magazine closer, squinting. She recognized the corner of the hotel they were standing in front of. Wasn’t that the—
“Haddie Lattimore?”
Scarlett jerked her head up, tossing the magazine, front side down on the table next to her and standing quickly.
“Ready?” She smiled at Haddie as she turned, taking her hand, and following the nurse into the exam room.
The doctor entered a few minutes later, an older man in his sixties, completely bald, with a long face, a pair of round spectacles, and an easy smile. “Ms. Lattimore? I’m Dr. Bill Woodrow. Some of the kids call me Dr. Bill. You must be Haddie,” he said after shaking Scarlett’s hand and moving his attention to Haddie.
He squatted down in front of the chair where Haddie sat, resting his elbows on his knees. Haddie drew back, appearing as if she was trying to press herself into the wall. Her eyes widened and her expression soured.
“Uh,” Scarlett said, taking Haddie’s hand in hers. “Haddie can be shy, Dr. Woodrow.” She squeezed Haddie’s hand but Haddie didn’t move, seemingly glued to her chair as she eyed the man sideways.
Dr. Woodrow slapped his knees lightly, smiled, and stood. “I understand. I used to be shy when I was a kid too. Now what brings you into my office today?”
Once the appointment was over and Scarlett had buckled Haddie into her seat, she pulled out of the lot, glancing at Haddie in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t seem to care for Dr. Woodrow much,” she said, trying to keep her tone conversational. Dr. Woodrow had only stayed in the room long enough to get Haddie’s history, and take down Scarlett’s concerns about the one-time loss of bladder control. The nurse had come in and performed the rest of the tests after that, and Haddie had seemed markedly more comfortable with the young woman.
Haddie shook her head, but didn’t elaborate. Scarlett’s eyes lingered on her daughter for a moment before she looked back at the road. “Any particular reason?”
Haddie seemed to think about it but then shook her head again. “He doesn’t feel good,” she finally said. Haddie had said similar things about other people before. Based on what? Scarlett wanted to yell. But she didn’t think Haddie knew. Again, one of those Haddie-isms Scarlett had to accept, while simultaneously hoping she’d outgrow it or learn to verbalize it. He doesn’t feel good. Worry twisted through her when she thought back to the magazine article and the fact that Haddie’s birth father had a self-professed mental illness.
Do you hear voices, Haddie? Is that why you always seem so far away? Are you too busy listening to them to focus on me? And if so, what do they tell you, sweetheart? Do they scare you?
Unfortunately, the article about Royce hadn’t spoken of his specific diagnosis. That might have helped. As it was, she had nothing more to go on. As it was, she could only wonder if it was something that might be hereditary, something that Royce Reynolds had passed on to his unacknowledged child.
Haddie’s immediate medical test results hadn’t helped shed light on the loss of bladder control or the strange behavior. She didn’t have an infection, or a fever, or bloodwork that showed anything even remotely concerning. As far as her physical assessment went, her girl was as healthy as a horse.
Scarlett thought of that small snippet of the downtown LA hotel she’d spotted and wondered if that was where he was staying while he filmed.
Do you dare?
Did she dare go to the hotel and hope to spot a member of his security detail who might remember her and pass a message to Royce? The prideful part of her shriveled at the idea. Not only had she signed a contract that promised she wouldn’t contact him, but he’d been distant and dismissive toward her when she’d called to tell him she was pregnant . . . scared and alone.
But it’d been enough of a task just to get a message to Royce the first time she’d contacted him. She couldn’t do that this time, not only because it’d be unlikely that he’d call her back, but because she couldn’t leave the “paper trail.” She chewed at her lip. It would be a risk to break the contract in person too. It could mean being sued . .
. losing Lilith House . . . her dream . . . the life she’d planned for the two of them.
But didn’t this new information change things?
Didn’t she owe it to her daughter to mother her in the best way she could? And didn’t that mean operating under all possible information? Didn’t it mean doing whatever it took to make sure she had all relevant details of Haddie’s genetic makeup? God, she wished she’d made that part of the original deal. She’d still sign on the dotted line, but she would have insisted on a file of Royce’s medical records.
Maybe though . . . maybe there was still a chance she could get them.
If she changed her mind . . . well, she had renovation shopping she could do in LA too.
She tilted the mirror so she could see Haddie better. “Hey, how do you feel about a visit to Gram this weekend?”
Haddie’s smile was bright and instantaneous. And that settled that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thirteen Years Ago
The girls filed in, their hands steepled together in front of them in prayer, heads bowed. The air was drenched in the scent of frankincense and myrrh, a smell that Kandace knew would forevermore bring to mind fear and the desperation to be free.
She followed Sydney as she turned at their assigned pew, shuffling sideways, and then going down on her knees on the red velvet prayer bench.
The lights were dimmed, candlelight sparkling from the altar as Ms. Carroll played the piano softly from the left front of the room, a piece of worship music that sounded melancholy and full of foreshadow.
Ms. Wykes stepped to the front of the church, clasping her hands in front of her, her gaze traveling over the two pews where they sat. “Good evening, girls,” she said, her lips curving upward in a smile Kandace could only describe as wicked. “As you know, the Religious Guild will be joining us for service tonight and you will be enjoying refreshments afterward. These men are pious, upstanding, and very important members of our community and we are blessed by their presence.” She looked pointedly around. “As always, I have no doubt you will give them the reverence and respect they deserve.”
Kandace’s nerves felt raw.
These men had come once before when she’d first arrived at Lilith House. She turned along with the other girls as the doors to the chapel opened again and eight men walked in, single file, just like the first time. Each was wearing an identical white suit, and each looked fastidiously groomed. All of them looked ancient, easily over the age of forty.
Her gaze moved over them. She thought these men were different than the first group that’d joined them for a service. She hadn’t paid much attention to those men then. She’d all but rolled her eyes and turned her thoughts away. She hadn’t considered who they were or why they were there. Of course, Kandace had been different then. Then, she had practically laughed at their ridiculous ceremony and thought what weird, religious fools they were. She hadn’t thought to look at them with suspicion. She hadn’t thought to wonder what her role in the ceremony was.
Kandace was inquisitive by nature, and her life thus far had ensured she was plenty cynical, but this? This was completely out of her purview. She had to believe that was the case for every girl there. Maybe it was why they were more easily influenced, their learned behavior more . . . pliable. Lilith House left them all flailing for something that seemed halfway solid to grasp on to. Rules. Obedience. It was what Lilith House offered. And if you accepted, you felt at least halfway in control of your own fate.
The nervous fluttering quickened in Kandace’s belly. Yes, this was . . . odd. And unnerving. Why did a group of old men want to join a religious service at a girl’s school a good distance outside town?
“Why do they come here?” she whispered under her breath.
She didn’t realize she’d said it loud enough for Sydney to hear, until her roommate whispered back. “Who knows. They’re stuffy, but fine.” She itched her neck and hazarded a quick glance behind her. “And them being here means we get dessert.”
Ah, yes. There was that. The girls of Lilith House were denied sugar. Except when the men of the Religious Guild paid them a visit. They’d go back to the dining room where trays of decadent sweets would be passed around, the girls allowed to partake in one of the only pleasures they were briefly permitted.
As the service began, and they all bowed their heads in prayer, Kandace took the opportunity to turn her head and peek back at the group of men as Sydney had done.
None of them were praying. All of them were looking around at the girls. She met the gaze of the balding man sitting at the end of a pew and the look on his face was so openly lascivious that Kandace drew back, turning quickly, a shiver racing up her spine. He’d looked at her as though she were naked.
Religious Guild? They didn’t seem very godly to her.
They seemed like nasty old men there to gawk at the “bad” girls.
“Gentlemen, if you’d like to give a blessing to our girls, we would welcome it,” Ms. Wykes said. “Girls, bow your heads.” Kandace obeyed along with the others, and heard the men stand and then saw their legs—all clad in the same exact suit pants so none could be separated from the other—begin walking in front of the pews where the girls sat, heads bowed. Kandace’s eyes followed them, trying to determine who was who without lifting her head. But with their identical clothing, and not having seen these men before, she simply couldn’t tell. Last time she’d taken the opportunity to catnap. Now she was wide awake. Now she was paying attention.
A man sidestepped through the narrow pew in front of her, placing his hand on her head and then allowing his hand to graze her cheek as he pulled away. Kandace closed her eyes and held herself completely still, resisting the urge to wipe her face as if she could somehow erase his touch. Resisting the urge to raise her head and glare at him. To see who he was.
One of the faceless men had put his hand on her head the first time too. She’d barely noticed.
This wasn’t right. Something was very wrong here.
No other men “blessed” her. She didn’t think they were really there for that. She saw the other men walk through the aisles, laying a hand on one girl’s head. Like a chosen one. Most of the girls had their eyes closed in prayer. God, these men were walking around as though the chapel was a whorehouse and they were choosing their evening entertainment.
Kandace thought of the bruises on her arm, the headaches, the strange dreams.
Bile rose in her throat.
No. No, surely not.
How could it be that one of them had . . . touched her and she didn’t remember it? They’d been told they were sinners, there to atone for those sins, sitting in a classroom for hours a day listening to Biblical teachings about purity. Instead, they’d been led to the slaughter . . . given birth control pills . . . Oh God.
She felt a headache coming on now as a burst of fear traveled from her chest to her limbs. The incense was suddenly overwhelming, clogging her brain and making her feel ill.
This was all wrong.
Her mind spun through the service, through the communion of wafers and wine, the certainty that the men of the Guild were there for reasons that had little to do with a religious event growing by the moment. When it was over, she was barely controlling the shaking of her body. She’d been touched. She’d been selected.
They filed out of the chapel and followed the teachers back to Lilith House where they again congregated in the dining room. The rest of the girls appeared giddy with anticipation for the dessert they were about to be allowed.
She had to give it to Lilith House. They’d turned a group of former alcohol and drug abusers into young women who were practically dancing with excitement over a serving of sugar.
Good work, Lilith House. A plus.
How quickly they’d been stripped of who they were with fear, isolation, and deprivation.
And if that were the sole purpose of Lilith House, maybe Kandace could even give them credit for their success, even though their
methods were brutal and inhumane.
Maybe brutal was the only thing that would work on girls like them.
Perhaps inhumane was the only thing that truly got their attention.
But she had a deep, dark feeling that Lilith House’s reform methods weren’t the only thing Kandace and the other girls had to worry about, not the only thing they had to survive.
Not even the only reason they were there.
No, something more depraved was going on than she ever could have imagined when she’d stepped through the doors of this place.
Several waitstaff entered the room carrying trays of sweets. A delighted murmur rose among the girls as they began selecting their first mini cake, or chocolate truffle, or brownie bite, all served in foil dessert cups.
“Enjoy, girls,” Ms. Wykes said. “You’ve earned this. The Lord wishes you to partake.” Her voice held a note of menace, but no one except Kandace seemed to hear it. The other girls were happily distracted by the array of treats.
Kandace selected a bite-sized lemon cake and then performed a sleight-of-hand, tipping her head back, but instead of popping it in her mouth, folding it into the napkin she also held. She forced a smile she hoped was convincing, releasing a satisfied “mmm” as she dabbed at her mouth and then folded the cake-filled napkin into her fist.
Ms. Wykes walked by, her pale lips curving. For a moment Kandace’s heart stalled, and then picked up a rapid staccato beat, but the old bitch passed her, continuing on her rounds. Kandace tossed the napkin in the garbage near the wall and then repeated the same series of movements until the girls had emptied the trays.
“You are dismissed, girls. Straight to bed now. Straight to bed.”
Fear filled her. Six men. Six girls chosen. God, she hoped she wasn’t right. She didn’t know who the others were. Her head had been bowed. She looked around the dining room, wondering if any of the other girls felt the same apprehension. No, they all seemed . . . happy but . . . listless.