Elle Returns
The Sequel
By Ditter Kellen
www.ditterkellen.com
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Copyright © Ditter Kellen
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Ditter Kellen. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Published in the United States of America.
Ditter Kellen
P.O. Box 124
Highland Home, AL. 36041
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Warning
This book contains scenes that may be considered triggers to some readers.
Dedication
To my dear friend and beta reader, Cathe Green, who always holds my hand and cracks the whip when I need it. If not for her keeping me grounded, I would be lost. Thank you, Cathe, my sister, my heart, for believing in me. I love you so very much.
Thank you to my amazing husband, Chad, for listening to me and never once complaining as I change my mind and then change it again. He never wavers in his love for me, nor does he put anyone or anything above me. He’s my rock, my entire heart, and I’ll love him until the end of time.
Acknowledgments
A big thank-you to Andy Bingham for beta reading this story and for loving Elle as much as I do!
A huge thanks to retired deputy Tommy Cook for his help with police protocol and procedures.
Amy Bingham is a Godsend. She’s smart, funny, and carries the load for me more times than I can count. She’s become a great friend whom I love with all my heart.
My tribe…Thank you ladies for the shares, the laughs, and for loving my books. I’ve come to think of you all as family, and I appreciate everything you do for me.
Research links used for suppressed memories and the neurobiology of abused children.
https://news.northwestern.edu/stories/2015/08/traumatic-memories-hide-retrieve-them
http://www.dana.org/Cerebrum/2000/Wounds_That_Time_Won%E2%80%99t_Heal__The_Neurobiology_of_Child_Abuse/
Prologue
The stranger’s footsteps could be heard slapping on the tile floor, his voice coming from somewhere in a room to her left. It sounded as if he were calling her a cab.
With trembling hands, Elenore gathered up the cash the stranger had dropped next to her and stuffed it into the pocket of the borrowed sweats she wore.
She rose a little unsteadily to her feet and staggered toward the door.
“A taxi will be out front to pick you up in about ten minutes,” the stranger announced, returning to the room. “You’re welcome to wait here if you want.”
Elenore didn’t respond. She stumbled forward, opened the door, and fell into the hall.
“Okay then.” He closed the door behind her.
Pushing to her feet, Elenore zigzagged down the dimly lit corridor until she reached the exit to the street.
She’d been drugged.
She practically fell outside, grabbing hold of a lamppost to stay upright.
“Hey, lady, are you okay?”
“Stay away from me!” Elenore shouted, shrinking back from the man hurrying in her direction.
He walked on past, muttering something about crazy women and drugs.
A vague memory of the evening before tickled at Elenore’s conscience. The needles, unimaginable bliss. And then…nothing.
It terrified her that she’d lost bits and pieces of last night. Had she blocked it all out, or was it due to the drugs?
A yellow cab pulled up along the curb, saving Elenore from her anxious thoughts.
She stumbled forward, opened the back door, and climbed inside.
The cab driver threw his arm over the back of the seat and swiveled his head in her direction. “Where to?”
“Wexler,” she mumbled, turning to look out the window. “72 Haskell Road in Wexler.”
The cabbie nodded, put the car in gear, and pulled out into traffic.
Elenore watched the buildings and shops fade from her view. She thought about Doctor Ingram and the nightmares he’d insisted she face.
She thought about the baby she’d lost so long ago. She thought of her mother and wondered why Mary had truly walked away. Not the stories her father had recited a dozen times in Elenore’s life, but the real reason Mary Griffin had left her home and only child behind.
Then her mind drifted to her unborn child, a child conceived through incest or rape. Elenore wanted to shrink away from the reality of that baby growing inside her. But she couldn’t.
She dragged her gaze from that window and settled it onto her still flat abdomen. No matter how that baby had been conceived, it belonged to her, and her alone. And regardless of what was in store for Elenore’s future, she would never let anyone or anything hurt her child. No one.
Chapter One
Wexler, Alabama. Population 2,415
Elenore paid the cab driver and trailed through the dark to the back door of her home.
She tried the knob, not surprised to find it unlocked. Her father would have intentionally left it unlocked for her.
Fear trickled through her as she turned the knob and eased the door open.
Then it hit her. She hadn’t seen Elijah’s truck in the drive. He wasn’t home.
Of course, he could be out searching for her. The thought made her nauseous.
More than a little relieved to realize he wasn’t home, she stepped inside the kitchen and numbly made her way to her bedroom.
Flipping on the light, Elenore shrank back in horror. Her bed was covered in blood, from the pillows to the footboard.
Memories came rushing back with a vengeance. Bill, his fists, the fireplace poker. Pain. So much pain.
With trembling fingers, she reached up and touched her lips—lips that had recently been split open—all the while, her feet continued moving toward that bed, almost against her will.
Images flooded through her, and with it, a deep-seated hatred for the man she’d known as Bill. Elenore couldn’t seem to breathe, so great was her loathing.
Her gaze slowly lifted to her reflection in the mirror. No marks were left on her face, yet she recalled them as vividly as she could recall the agony of Bill’s repeated rapes.
Was it his child she carried in her womb?
She ran to the bathroom, dropped to her knees next to the toilet, and vomited.
With every heave, a new memory surfaced. Her forehead broke out into a sweat, and her body shuddered violently.
Rage, coupled with panic, consumed her, until she thought she would die from it.
More horrific scenes invaded her, seemingly jumbled together in a mass of sickening detail.
Her father’s ongoing abuse and molestations, Bill’s dark, beady eyes as he hovered above her, taking satisfaction from
her cries of pain. Hector Gonzales, forcing her to perform oral sex on him. Judge Powell and his sadistic sodomy sessions. Dennis Baker, Alan Brown. And on it went.
Elenore vomited with such force, she was sure she’d busted the vessels in her eyes. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered to her in that moment but seeing those faces—the sick, sadistic faces of her abusers—lying in a cold, dark grave.
And then, more memories trickled in.
Gasping for air, Elenore clung to the images flashing behind her closed eyelids. Images of bodies in different stages of decomposition. Bodies buried beneath the barn.
She’d killed them. All of them. She could see the killings in her mind’s eye but couldn’t recall anything before or after them.
With one last shudder, Elenore flushed the toilet and rose unsteadily to her feet.
Almost in a daze, she left the house and stumbled toward the woods out behind the barn, not understanding why, only knowing that was exactly where she needed to go.
She lowered to her knees next to a cinderblock resting beneath a bush and unearthed a 9mm she’d obviously hidden there. But how? And why couldn’t she remember where she’d gotten it?
Doctor Ingram’s words came rushing back. “There’s a new drug available that I believe can help you access your memories—memories you’ve most likely suppressed. Coupled with hypnosis, I think we can bring those memories to the surface.”
Elenore fought to recall his exact words. “There are two amino acids, glutamate and GABA, in the brain that control emotions and whether nerve cells are excited or calm. Under normal conditions, that system is balanced. But when we are hypersensitive, glutamate surges. Glutamate is also the primary chemical that helps us store memories to where they are easy to remember.”
“What if I don’t want to remember?” she’d asked him.
“That’s your right, Elenore. But if you truly want to heal, this is where it needs to begin.”
But she hadn’t healed. She’d only relived the heinous acts that had been done to her. Acts she could now remember as early as eight years of age…not long after her mother’s departure.
The sound of a vehicle slowing in front of her house caught Elenore’s attention.
She jumped to her feet, inching over to the barn to press her back against the outside wall.
Who would be stopping by the farm after dark? It certainly wasn’t Elijah or Bill; they both lay beneath the floor of the barn. As did the rest of the sick monsters of Wexler.
Elenore wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her mind fading in and out of reality. Something was wrong with her, something dark and ugly—she could feel it clawing at her soul.
Minutes felt like hours, the longer she waited until she finally pushed away from the wall.
The sound of the back door to her house, slamming shut sent her scrambling back to her previous position.
Her breathing grew unsteady as did her heart.
A voice spoke softly from inside the barn.
Elenore strained to listen.
“Hey there, girl.”
The detective was in the barn, speaking to the milk cow.
Fighting to hold her position, Elenore leaned her head back against the wall, the gun she held growing heavy in her hand.
She wasn’t sure how long she remained there, unmoving, before she finally stepped away from the wall and entered the barn.
The milk cow stood in the center, grazing on some straw lying on the floor.
Elenore slowly crept forward, her mind a jumble of anxiety and fear.
She stopped outside the cow’s stall to find the hatch to the room beneath open and a light on down below.
The detective had found the bodies.
In that moment, something happened to her that she had no control over. Her vision grew sharp and tunneled, forcing the rest of the barn to fade away. No one else existed on the earth but Evan and her.
She moved silently toward the hatch, crouching down to peer inside.
Evan stood across the room with his back to her. He leaned down and reached for the tarp covering Alice Hasting’s body.
Elenore’s mind went blank.
Chapter Two
Evan moved his flashlight in a wide arc until he found what he looked for. A lantern set along the wall on a wooden shelf, with a small box of matches perched next to it.
Laying the flashlight on the shelf, Evan struck a match and lit the lantern, then lifted it high above his head.
A small box could be seen nestled in the corner of the shelf. Evan tugged it toward him and held the lantern above it.
Inside were several wallets, a few watches, and some rings.
Evan set the lantern on the shelf next to him and fished out the first wallet. Inside was Hector Gonzalez’s license.
Laying that one aside, he plucked up the next one, only to discover the Dennis Baker’s mug smiling back at him. The next wallet belonged to Alan Brown and the next to Judge Powell.
Two more wallets remained.
Attempting to breathe through the putrid smell surrounding him, Evan opened the next wallet. It, of course, belonged to William Burnham, just as Evan thought it would.
He stared into that box for a moment longer before tugging the last wallet free.
Flipping it open, he blinked in disbelief at the license of Elijah Griffin.
It couldn’t be, but the evidence of it stared back at Evan in the form of the monster who’d abused his daughter all her life.
Replacing the wallets in the box, Evan snatched up the lantern and eased across the dirt room to a pile of blankets and tarps along the wall.
He bent low, grabbed the corner of a blanket, and peeled it back.
Elijah’s milky-colored eyes stared blankly up at him.
Evan gagged, covering his nose with his T-shirt.
His mind began to race with the implication of finding Elijah dead.
The sheriff’s narrowed eyes suddenly flashed through Evan’s mind. He recalled the day they’d searched the house, how the sheriff had reacted to Evan finding that fireplace poker. How he’d ordered Evan not to return to the Griffin farm. How he’d insisted that Charlie feed Elenore’s animals instead of Evan.
Lifting the lantern higher, Evan pulled at another blanket and another, each time uncovering another half-rotted body until he’d found the remains of every person matching the wallets in that box.
He needed to get out of there and figure out what to do. If the sheriff found him there, he would no doubt bury Evan right alongside the others.
Evan was just about to leave when an old, dusty tarp in the corner caught his eye.
He moved in closer, tugging the tarp free. “What the…?”
The skeleton of a woman sat propped up in the corner, an old, ragged baby doll in her arms.
Strands of dark hair protruded from the skeleton’s head, and a yellow purse hung over her bony shoulder.
What was left of a short jean skirt and a tank top were still attached to the dead woman’s body.
Evan leaned in close and opened the purse, careful not to disturb the scene. Inside was a small feminine wallet. He tugged it free and shined the light on the license inside.
“Alice Hastings,” Evan murmured, glancing back at the woman’s skeleton. “Looks like you got exactly what you deserved.”
“They all did,” a voice rasped from behind him. “Every last one of them.”
Evan dropped the wallet he held, unable to believe what he’d just heard.
He slowly turned around to find a 9mm aimed at his chest.
Too stunned to move, Evan whispered, “Elenore?”
She pulled the trigger.
“I am Elle…”
The bullet whizzed past his right shoulder to embed itself somewhere in the dirt wall behind him.
Evan sprang into action. He tackled her, knocking the gun free of her hold and taking her to the floor.
She cried out, whether from fear or surprise, Evan couldn’t be sure.
She fought like a cat, her eyes full of terror and confusion. “P-please.”
Evan only tightened his hold. “Elenore? Look at me.”
Something flickered in her eyes—something that encompassed her fear.
“It’s me, Evan. Stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”
Though she remained tense, she ceased trying to buck him off.
He carefully loosened his hold on her hands, fully expecting her to scratch out his eyes.
When she only lay there, blinking up at him, he rolled away from her body and got to his feet.
Elenore didn’t move.
“You tried to kill me,” Evan unnecessarily pointed out, his lungs aching from lack of breath.
She stared up at him for long moments before flipping over and pushing to her feet. “I…”
Evan ran a hand down his face and plucked up the 9mm she’d nearly shot him with. “You killed them all.” It wasn’t a question.
Her face appeared ghost-white in the soft glow of the lamplight. She looked so small and innocent. It tore at Evan’s heart.
Elenore’s gaze traveled to the place where her father lay. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and then gagged.
Evan tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t answer, only continued staring at Elijah’s dead body.
Evan blew out a breath and glanced around at the bodies in different stages of decomposition, until his gaze landed on Elijah Griffin as well.
The sorry piece of human garbage had been sexually abusing Elenore and selling her to some of the men in town since she was eight years old.
A soft sound coming from Elenore brought Evan’s head up.
He watched her stumble toward the shelf along the wall, tears dripping from her eyes.
With trembling fingers, she began sifting through the box of wallets resting there. “I didn’t know I had killed them until today. I-I did this.”
Elle Returns: The Sequel: A Psychological Thriller Page 1