by Mia Sheridan
She’d broken into her mother’s room so many times, and yet she’d never been nervous. She realized now that perhaps she’d hoped to be caught, hoped for . . . what? The attention that accompanied the disappointment? The small burst of satisfaction she’d received by doing something that caused her mother to actually look at her? To see her, if even for a moment? And even if that version of herself had little to do with who she actually was? Yes, she realized now that was exactly what her goal had been. She’d fooled herself into thinking the stakes were high then, when she had no concept of the meaning. God, how naïve she’d been, thinking she was clever, in control of her life. She hated Lilith House with every ounce of her being, but she also had to feel thankful that she’d grown up. She’d been redeemed after all. By the power of her own will.
And by the grace of friendship.
Kandace crumpled the paper, sticking it back in her pocket, and then shook the wine, recorking it and placing it back in the cabinet.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Kandace stood, rushing off the platform and swinging around the first pew. She went down on her knees, joining her hands in front of her in prayer just as the doors swung open and several staff members entered. Please God, please let this work. Please help me get away.
The staff ceased talking when they saw she was there early, instead slipping quietly into a pew on the other side of the room. Soon the other girls arrived, along with the staff members present. Kandace’s limbs shook with nerves, the baby in her belly kicking her rib so hard she made a small sound of discomfort, covering it with a cough. Gentle, little one. I need your cooperation tonight. Just a few more hours and we’ll be free.
Ms. Wykes’s heels sounded on the floor, that unmistakable click slide that signaled her particular gait. Kandace gripped the pew in front of her tightly, holding herself steady.
The guild members filed in and the blessing began. Kandace cringed when a cold hand was placed on her head. She’d been chosen. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone.
When it came time to take communion, Kandace reached up and guided the silver chalice to her bottom lip, careful to let the liquid slide back into the cup before it’d touched her skin. She watched in silence as the guild members, the staff, and each of the girls drank from the poisoned wine. I’m sorry, girls. I’m sorry for this, but it will be worth it for all of us in the end.
After, in the dining room, the first student started vomiting the minute she’d swallowed her first bite of cake. The others quickly followed suit, girls running for the garbage cans, sprinting for the bathrooms.
Kandace slunk back into a corner, watching the mayhem, a lump forming in her own throat, not of physical illness but of sympathy for what was her fault. She saw Ms. Wykes double over in the opposite corner, and the sight strengthened her resolve. This is the only way.
Several staff members went running from the room, their faces stricken, perspiration shining from their pallid skin.
She heard the sounds of running footsteps from above. Somewhere upstairs, Kandace knew the guild members were fighting for use of the old-fashioned bathrooms as well.
She slipped out of the room, the moans of pain growing distant as she headed in the opposite direction of the first-floor restrooms. Kandace sprinted up the back stairs, her loud footsteps hidden by the mayhem in the rest of the house.
She slipped into her room, her breath coming in sharp pants, throwing on her sweater, and grabbing the leather bag the kid had managed to pilfer from the stash in the basement and hide in the crawlspace in the wall. She reached under her mattress and retrieved the files she’d need to bring the authorities straight back to Lilith House. The proof that would open an investigation into how three unnamed children were living in the basement of the house. No. Not living. Hidden. The proof that would lead to one person talking, and then another, until every vile thing that had ever happened at Lilith House was exposed and prosecuted.
As she began to stuff the stack of files into the bag, one slipped, falling to the floor in a scattering of papers. Kandace swore softly, bending to gather them up, her hands shaking. As she scooped them forward, something met her eye. She picked up the piece of paper that identified Camden’s birth mother, her gaze zeroing in on the block of scrawled words she had missed in her original haste to gather what she needed and leave Ms. Wykes’s office. More detail about Camden’s birth and—
Kandace heard a bang from somewhere below and shoved the paper into the folder, stuffing the stack into the bag, standing quickly, and strapping the satchel around her body. She’d have to decipher all that later when she had the time. She bent, retrieving the tennis shoes Dreamboat had also found and pulling them onto her feet. She had a long trek ahead of her. She needed to be far, far away by the time they cleaned up the mess of their sickness and realized she was gone. If she was very lucky, that wouldn’t be until morning.
Kandace glanced around the attic room one last time. How different she’d been when she’d first stepped into this space. How completely, utterly different. She ran a hand quickly over her bump, gathering her resolve. Ready? Let’s do this, she said, slipping out the door and heading down the stairs.
The retching noises echoed in the halls as she descended from one floor to the next, finally making it to the main foyer, and opening the front door. The cool breeze of the night air greeted her, a breath of pure freedom. It was this night she would melt into. Disappear. No longer would the smells of Lilith House assault her: incense and hypocrisy. Evil.
Outside, the sky was awash in vivid shades of orange and red, golden rays streaming into the trees like a beacon. Come forward. Safety lies this way. True salvation. She heard it as a whisper, a promise. Hope filled her, so sudden and so intense that she almost cried. She moved toward that bright light, jogging down the steps and moving toward the woods.
“Stop, whore. And hand over those files.” The voice behind her was gritty with rage. Kandace halted, terror crushing the hope that had risen within only moments before. She turned slowly as the man in the pristine white suit ran a hand over his mouth. His other hand held a weapon. As she stared, two more men stepped out the door. They hadn’t gotten sick? Why hadn’t they gotten sick? Kandace’s heart cried out, the agony of defeat hitting her full force in the gut. Oh God, oh God. They stepped toward her, the intent clear on their faces.
Kandace turned, and she ran, her hands held forward, reaching for that promise of salvation.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Camden entered the sheriff’s department, saying a quick hello to Shara who worked at the front desk. “Is the sheriff here?” he asked.
“Yup. He’s in his office.”
With a short nod, Camden walked past the desk and headed toward the back. The body of Kandace Thompson had been autopsied that morning and apparently the sheriff had just received the results. He’d called Camden in to discuss them.
Camden felt tense, edgy. The discovery of Kandace’s body could be the very thing they’d been waiting for, the investigation that might very well expose the crimes being committed in this town for far, far too long. Her body had been transported to a lab in Los Angeles where her mother and stepfather lived, far away from Farrow and the corrupt hands that might intervene to hide evidence.
He heard the sheriff on the phone inside his office so instead of knocking, turned the knob quietly, creating a small gap from which to peek in and catch the sheriff’s eye at his desk, wait for a nod to enter, or a signal to wait outside. But when Camden looked through the small opening, the desk was empty. He opened the door wider to see the sheriff standing with his back to the door, the phone held on his shoulder, a gun in one hand and a metal file in the other as he filed away what Camden assumed was the serial number. He froze. “It doesn’t exist, Gene,” the sheriff said. “Not anymore.” Gene. Gene Miller? The guild member who ran the Farrow insurance company? The sheriff held the gun up, inspecting the spot he’d just filed, placed it into a box and then set the box inside the file ca
binet he was facing. “Nope. Gonna bury it. Relax, Gene.” He listened for another minute, answered whatever question Gene asked in the affirmative, saying a quick goodbye, and then beginning to turn. Camden pulled the door quickly, and then began pushing it open just as the sheriff turned around.
He smiled, disconnecting the call. “Camden, come in.”
Camden entered slowly, his heart racing. The sheriff rounded his desk, taking a seat and indicating Camden should sit down too.
“How are you, Camden? How are Georgia and Mason?”
He stilled, sensing something beneath his words. “They’re fine, I guess.”
The sheriff smiled broadly. “That’s good to hear.” He paused for a moment. “By the way, I noticed how you went out of your way to comfort the Lattimore woman the other day after her kid found the body—damn thing that was, by the way. I still don’t understand what a little thing like that was doing scaling the side of a canyon. But in any case, you be careful how much time you spend with her, you hear? I asked you to keep tabs on her activities, not what’s under her skirt. I wouldn’t want you getting caught up with someone unacceptable unless unacceptable is what she’s looking for.” He chuckled softly. “Type of woman like that, little kid depending on her, she’s gonna try to trap you if you let her.”
Camden’s hands fisted on his thighs. “Yes, sir. I’m aware of her type.”
The sheriff’s smile grew. “Course you are.” He turned his gaze to a folder on his desk. “I received the full autopsy results from the victim recovered two days ago, Kandace Thompson.” He paused for a moment. “I sure do wish you would’ve let us handle it first,” he said, his smile unmoving. “Instead of calling in outsiders. We would have preferred to complete the autopsy right here, in our Farrow lab. The guild won’t look favorably on your choices.”
Camden let out a breath. “There didn’t seem to be a way around it, sir, since Ms. Lattimore knew the victim and her mother. Strangest coincidence.”
“Strange indeed,” he said. “That’s what happens when those not vetted by the guild move to town. We should’ve stopped that. We’ll have to see what can be done about it now.”
Dammit. Camden’s gut churned, but he nodded. “Was there anything more found in the autopsy report, sir?”
The sheriff smiled, quietly watching him for a moment. “The gunshot wound to her torso caused her death.”
Yes, he’d figured that. He still felt sick. They’d shot her. They’d chased her through the forest and shot her like an animal.
Hey, Dreamboat. He saw her smile and a ribbon of sadness wound through him. She’d tried. She’d done her best to exact justice.
The sheriff sat back, lacing his hands over his flat stomach. “The girl obviously ran into some trouble. Whoever helped her run away must have shot her. We figure it was about drugs. The root of all evil. She had a history and all.” He eyed Camden. “Something similar happened before, if you didn’t know. Three girls ran away from Lilith House, back to their life of depravity and fornication. They were never seen again.”
Three girls. No, he hadn’t heard about that. Hadn’t found it anywhere in the crimes database for the town of Farrow. Why? Because it hadn’t been considered a crime at all, but just three runaways, missing of their own accord? Or had the sheriff known enough to hide that from him? Camden sat frozen, watching the man in front of him lie to his face, accuse others of what he himself had done. He cleared his throat. “No, sir. I didn’t know about that.”
“Of course, you didn’t. You would have been, what? Two or three when that happened I guess. In any case,” the sheriff went on, sitting forward, “I just wanted to let you know. Case closed. Shame the choices people make.”
Camden hid his disgust with a clearing of his throat.
The sheriff stood, his chair creaking and rolling backward. “Well, now that that nasty little business is over, I’m going to go make myself some tea. Would you like a cup?”
“Uh, no, sir. Thank you. I’m just going to catch up on a little paperwork, and then follow up on some calls from a few folks in town.”
“There ya go,” the sheriff said, clapping him on the back and then squeezing his shoulder. He made eye contact, held it for just a beat more than felt comfortable. “There ya go,” he repeated, removing his hand. They both exited his office. The sheriff walked past Camden, entering the kitchen just down the hall. Camden heard him whistling from inside. He turned quickly, grabbing a tissue from a box on the sheriff’s desk, heading directly toward that drawer, and removing the box. He used the tissue to pick up the gun, the serial number already shaved off, but maybe, maybe—God willing—containing prints not only from the sheriff, but from Gene Miller too.
“I was hoping I was wrong.”
Camden whirled around to see the sheriff standing in the doorway of his office. “Dammit, Cam, I really hoped I was wrong. About all three of you. But mostly about you.” He shook his head, looking truly sorrowful. “You just can’t wash the sin away, can you? It’s embedded in your marrow. From those women who conceived you.”
“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word sin, Sheriff,” he said softly. “I don’t think any of you do.”
The sheriff sighed. “You’re wrong, son. No one knows the meaning of sin better than us. We’ve been attempting to cast it off since Farrow began. As my son, my blood, I thought you might come to know that. I thought you might be able to fight the evil inside you.”
Camden’s mouth parted. As my son. He was the sheriff’s son? His blood. His head swam. He swallowed. “That’s why you let me come back,” he murmured. “It’s why you let me have the job.”
“Of course, son.”
He felt lightheaded. Off balance. Son. “You hid me in the basement of Lilith House for most of my life,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.
The sheriff’s jaw hardened momentarily. “They wanted to leave you out on that rock in the woods. All of you. I didn’t allow it. They told me I’d come to regret my compassion, said evil only begets more evil, but I was stubborn. I’m sorry to say I should have listened to them.”
“Who was my mother?”
“Your mother was a sixteen-year-old whore who had track marks on her arms.” He smiled, and it was disgusting in its callousness and lack of shame. He had raped that sixteen-year-old he called a whore. “Pretty thing though. Real pretty. I blessed her every time. Only me. It’s how I know you’re mine. She shouldn’t have run. I would’ve kept her.”
Kept her? Like she was an animal?
“What was her name?”
“Can’t say as I recall.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Georgia’s and Mason’s mothers?” he asked, and it sounded like his own voice came from a great distance.
The sheriff eyed him. “I don’t remember the specifics, just that they fell pregnant. Too low a dose of birth control, Dr. Bill figured. He replaced it with a stronger type after that. Unfortunately, those two were born . . . damaged as well.”
Damaged.
“What’s my damage?”
The sheriff cocked his head to the side. “Why, none, son. None at all. We thought you’d suffered an accident of birth, but”—he swept his hand toward him—"clearly that’s not the case. It’s why my hopes were so high. So high.”
Camden heard the disappointment in the sheriff’s words. He shook his head, screwed up his face. So many questions, so many, and yet he knew the clock was ticking. He had to get out of there. If the sheriff was telling him this, it was because Cam had become dispensable. He wasn’t going to let him simply walk out the door. Not now. Whatever roles he’d played in this town were over.
Still, he had to know. This might be the last chance he got. He recalled what the sheriff had told him just fifteen minutes before about the three runaways. “Our mothers. They left? With us?”
“They did. One of them must have heard you. Babies aren’t the quietest of creatures. They figured things out somehow, hatched a
wicked plan, snatched all three of you and they ran.”
They ran. Camden’s head pounded. He’d dreamed it, or at least that’s what he’d thought it’d been. A dream. But no, it was a memory. A memory of being carried through the forest, a mirror in his hand. Why did she make me carry a mirror? Some strange superstition? Or was it simply a toy he’d brought along, clutched in his grasp, his own eyes wide, jaw slack, as he stared back at himself?
God, the memory made his head hurt. He’d been so young. He was likely misinterpreting most of it. “You killed them,” he said in a monotone. “You had to because we were proof of what you’d done.”
“The right thing is not always the easiest thing, Camden. Farrow men have always known this. If more of my blood than hers filled your veins, you’d know it too. You’d believe.”
More of my blood than hers. Thank the Lord. Thank the Lord above he had more of his mother in him than this sick, twisted bastard who stood before him now.
“We tracked those girls down. They’d hidden you in that forest, but we found you, brought you home, made things right.”
Home. Lilith House. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“But we failed in our mission thirteen years ago. We let that girl get away. And because we fell short, evil gained strength. Our Women’s Ministry was struck down and engulfed in flames. And still, because of what we didn’t do, our town, Farrow’s people, our very way of life has been cursed. Just like the Bancroft family who died off when those natives escaped their God-ordained fate! That beast roams the woods, it grows in ever-increasing power, it plagues the children of even our most pious citizens with unearned signs of sin, it returns them to us when we attempt to cast them off.”