Elle Returns: The Sequel: A Psychological Thriller

by Ditter Kellen

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Elenore visited with Evan until the drugs kicked in and he fell asleep.

  She could tell that he’d been in pain long before he finally pushed the button on his IV pump, releasing the morphine into his system.

  It about killed her to see him lying there helpless. She had avoided bringing up the news she’d been told by the doctor…Evan might never walk again.

  Elenore knew the detective well enough to know he wouldn’t—couldn’t—live without the use of his legs. It would slowly destroy him. Especially now that he had a daughter.

  More rage filtered through Elenore at the thought of the shooter walking around free while Evan lay broken in that bed.

  With resolve fueling her every step, she left the hospital and drove home.

  When she arrived, she glanced over at Ida Mae’s house, wanting nothing more than to go get Sarah and bring her home. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  Letting herself inside, Elenore made her way to Evan’s office and booted up the computer.

  It seemed to take forever before the search engine made its appearance.

  She typed in Waylon Redding.

  His mugshot popped up, bringing with it more anger.

  Elenore went to work, hoping to find an address, without any luck.

  She went back to the mugshots and the previous arrest reports. Waylon had been picked up on numerous occasions for soliciting a prostitute. He’d also been arrested several years back for statutory rape.

  Elenore began to shake. Waylon Redding had forced himself on a fifteen-year-old girl and served only three years in prison for it.

  More anger surfaced. Anger toward Waylon, but mostly she felt angry with a system that failed to protect its children.

  She needed to find Redding. But how? He had no known address listed online.

  Then a thought occurred to her. If he’d been caught soliciting prostitutes, what better place to look for him than the streets of Atlanta?

  With a click on his mugshot, Elenore printed out his disgusting face and shut down the computer.

  She took the printout and headed to her room to shower. She had work to do and putting it off would only make things harder. Especially when Evan came home.

  Once showered, Elenore blew her hair dry and trailed to the giant closet in her room.

  She took down a red dress that once belonged to Evan’s grandmother and laid it on the bed. Next, she plucked up an old sewing box from the closet floor and placed it beside the dress.

  Glancing at the clock, Elenore realized she had two hours left before it turned dark, and she planned on being on the streets by then.

  With that in mind, she took out a pair of scissors, a needle, and some thread.

  She cut the skirt of the dress, leaving only enough material to cover the tops of her thighs. She then removed the sleeves in the same fashion and cut the front low enough to show her cleavage.

  Moving back to the closet, she sifted through the dozens of pairs of shoes, but there were none that fit.

  Left with little choice, Elenore slipped on a pair of flats that were slightly too large and made her way back to the bathroom. She dabbed on some perfume and applied some dark-red lipstick.

  She took in the sight before her, stunned at her reflection in the mirror. She’d gone from a pale-faced, mousy Elenore to… Elle.

  And Elenore knew it to be Elle looking back at her from that mirror. She could feel her satisfaction.

  Anxiety threatened. The feeling of not being in control of her own mind terrified Elenore. She knew that Elle resided inside her as surely as she knew that without Elle, she, Elenore would have never survived her life on that farm.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago to Elenore…. The beatings, humiliation, and sexual abuse she’d suffered from her father. Though she would never be able to forget. No, she saw Elijah’s face every time she closed her eyes.

  But it was Bill that haunted her the most. The sadistic torture he’d subjected her to found its way into her sleeping moments, turning her dreams into terror-induced nightmares, every night of her life.

  Elenore knew she would never have survived if not for Elle. The pain of Bill’s rapes alone would have been enough to crush Elenore’s spirit, to force a razor to her wrists without remorse. But Elle wouldn’t allow it.

  Then why did Elenore fear Elle so? Perhaps it had to do with the lapses in memories, moments just out of reach… Or maybe it was the strength that Elle possessed…the knowledge of what she was capable of that terrified Elenore so much?

  Yet, there she stood, ready and willing to do what only Elle had been capable of doing.

  Pushing her doubts to the back of her mind, Elenore folded the picture of Waylon and tucked it into a small handbag she’d found among Evan’s grandmother’s things.

  She left the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Elenore walked alone down 22nd Street in downtown Atlanta, her eyes touching on every car that pulled up along the curb.

  She’d stopped at a shoe store after arriving in town and picked up a pair of bright red stilettos.

  Her feet protested the high heels, but Elenore didn’t care. All that mattered to her was locating Waylon Redding.

  “Barb’s not gonna go for you working her corner,” a middle-aged prostitute announced, sashaying past Elenore. “Better scat from here before she returns.”

  Elenore ignored her screaming feet and caught up with the woman. “Wait!”

  The woman looked over her shoulder without slowing. “Whatever you’re proposing, I ain’t interested.”

  Elenore took in the woman’s frizzy brown hair, bright blue eye makeup, and dark-red lipstick.

  “I just want to ask you if you’ve seen this man.” Elenore slipped his picture free of her small handbag and held it up while attempting to keep pace with the prostitute.

  The woman abruptly stopped and turned to face her. “You a cop?”

  “A c-cop? No. I’m just interested in finding this man. Please take a look.”

  The woman assessed Elenore for long moments, and then her blue-rimmed gaze lowered to the picture. “Yeah, I’ve seen him around. Don’t know his name but he frequents the corner of 26th and Main. Got some favorites over there, I reckon. He likes ’em young, and in case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t exactly prom material.”

  And with that, she spun back the way she’d been heading and disappeared into the crowd.

  Elenore stared at the place the prostitute had been standing, long after the multitudes of people swallowed her up. She wondered how they did it—the prostitutes. How could they lie beneath a man and subject themselves to his sickening whims? Men were animals, despicable, sadistic creatures that took without a care to whom they hurt in the process.

  An image of Evan’s kind eyes and smiling face flashed through her mind. Not all men, she silently admitted, not wanting to lump Evan in with the rest of the evil spawns of mankind.

  Detective Rogers had slipped through her defenses as well. He’d reminded her a lot of Evan. And Elenore doubted the older detective had ever intentionally harmed another.

  But the Evans’ of the world were few and far between, and for that reason, Elenore endured the pain of the new shoes and began her trek toward Main Street.

  Several hours and two close altercations later, Elenore gave up for the night and headed back to her car.

  She’d intentionally parked several blocks over, not wanting Evan’s tag to show up on possible security cameras in the area…. Just in case she found who she searched for.

  “Hey, lady,” someone called out, stopping Elenore before she turned the corner.

  She looked back in time to see a young girl dressed similar to herself hurrying toward her.

  The girl appeared out of breath, stopping a foot next to Elenore. “That man you’re looking for… I might know who he is.”

  Elenore kept her expression from showing her true feelings. “Oh?”

  “His nam
e is Waylon,” the girl answered, glancing nervously around. “I don’t know his last name, but Alexis probably does. She’s one of his regulars.”

  With her heart thumping behind her ribs, Elenore asked, “And you are?”

  “Out here, I’m known as Cari.”

  “Okay, Cari. Where can I find Alexis?”

  The girl shrugged. “She’s usually out here about this time, but I haven’t seen her tonight. She could be with a john.”

  Elenore didn’t need to ask what a john was. “Can you tell me what this Alexis looks like?”

  “She’s tall, with platinum blonde hair, usually teased at the top. Most times, she wears thigh highs and miniskirts.”

  “What are thigh highs?” Elenore hated sounding ignorant, but this was far too important to worry about how she looked in front of Cari.

  “Boots,” Cari answered as if Elenore had grown an extra head. “Boots that zip up to the thigh.”

  Elenore thanked the girl and walked the next several blocks back to Evan’s car. Tonight, she’d found out two things that would help her locate Waylon Redding. One, he frequented 26th and Main, and two, this Alexis happened to be a regular of his.

  * * * *

  Elenore returned home a little before ten o’clock that night. She hurried inside, hoping she hadn’t been seen by Ida Mae, and then set out to remove her makeup and change into her pajamas.

  She wondered if Sarah would still be up, or if she’d gone to bed like most kids her age would.

  Trailing to the kitchen, Elenore looked out the window to find the lights still on next door. Ida Mae was still awake.

  Elenore opened the door and jogged across the yard to the back door of Ida Mae’s house. She softly knocked.

  The door opened within seconds, startling Elenore.

  Ida Mae stood there, holding her robe together, a knowing look in her eyes. “Did you find him?”

  “Find who?” Elenore’s chest hurt from anxiety. Surely to God, Ida Mae didn’t know where she’d been.

  The older woman stepped back and waved Elenore inside. “Sarah’s asleep.”

  Elenore stood in the woman’s kitchen, unsure of what to do or say next.

  Then, Ida Mae took the decision from her. She stepped over next to the stove, opened a cabinet above it, and pulled down a lock box.

  Elenore didn’t dare move. She simply stood there, waiting to see what the older woman did next.

  Ida Mae set the box on top of the stove, reached behind her neck, and unhooked a chain that had a small key hanging from it. She unlocked the box.

  Lifting a small pistol free, she turned and offered it to Elenore. “It’s not big, but it’ll do the job as long as you are close enough.”

  Elenore nearly swallowed her tongue.

  “Go on,” Ida Mae pressed, holding the weapon out in front of her. “Take it. It’s not registered, and therefore can’t be traced back to either one of us.”

  When Elenore only stood there, her feet planted to that floor and her mouth hanging open, Ida Mae closed the gap.

  She took hold of Elenore’s hand and laid the gun against her palm. “It’s loaded, so don’t take the safety off until you’re ready to use it.”

  Elenore found her voice. “W-what do you expect me to do with this?”

  “The same thing you expected to do when you left the house in that getup you were wearing earlier. Kill the man who shot our Evan.”

  More than a little stunned that Ida Mae had known exactly what Elenore had planned, she blinked in shock. “But I—”

  “You don’t have to lie to me, girl. I’d do it myself if I had younger legs.”

  “Elle?”

  The sound of Sarah’s sleepy voice brought Elenore out of her staring contest with Ida Mae. She slipped the gun into the pocket of her pajama pants and lowered to her knees.

  Without question, Sarah stumbled into the kitchen and walked into Elenore’s arms.

  Elenore turned to go, but Ida Mae’s next words stopped her. “You remember what I said about the safety. Don’t forget and don’t miss.”

  A jerky nod was all Elenore could muster up. She shifted Sarah higher in her arms and left by way of the kitchen door.

  Back at home, Elenore locked up for the night and carried Sarah down the hall.

  “I want to sleep with you,” the little girl sniffled, letting Elenore know she cried.

  Bypassing the child’s bedroom, Elenore entered her own room and gently laid Sarah in the middle of her big bed.

  Sarah rolled over, giving Elenore the perfect opportunity to slip the pistol between the mattress and box springs.

  “Why are you crying?” Elenore whispered, climbing into bed and staring at the back of Sarah’s head.

  “I miss my mommy.”

  Elenore’s throat closed. She knew all too well what Sarah felt. Her own emotions had been raw for more years than she cared to remember. “I miss my mom, too.”

  Sarah suddenly turned to face her. “Where is your mommy?”

  “I don’t know. She left me with my dad when I was eight years old.”

  The little girl’s eyes grew round. “Just like me.”

  Elenore attempted to get her emotions under control. “Yes, Sarah. Just like you.”

  “When is my daddy coming home? Ida Mae said he fell and had to go to the hospital.”

  An image of Evan’s body slamming against the asphalt in front of that theater flashed behind Elenore’s stinging eyes. “Yes, honey, he fell. But he’s gonna be okay, and he’ll be home before you know it.”

  “Elle? Can I sleep in here all night? I’m scared.”

  Elenore’s heart cracked. She arranged her pillow at just the right angle and held out her arm. “Sure. Come on.”

  Sarah slid closer and rested her head on Elenore’s shoulder. “I love you, Elle.”

  The tears Elenore had been trying to fight since arriving home tonight sprang unwillingly to her eyes. She’d waited all her life to hear those three words from someone—anyone. And there she lay, listening to them spill from the mouth of the most innocent form of life on earth. “I love you too, Sarah.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Evan lay in that insufferable hospital bed, his eyes narrowed in anger while the social worker Vera Martin questioned him about Sarah.

  “I’ve been by the house on several occasions but couldn’t catch anyone home. I had no choice but to visit the child’s school. Sarah explained that she’s been alternating between home and the neighbor’s house.”

  Vera glanced down at a notepad she held. “An Ida Mae Gordon, to be exact.”

  “I’m aware of my neighbor’s name,” Evan ground out. “She’s helping my wife take care of our daughter while I’m in the hospital.”

  The social worker sniffed. “So, you have married since we last spoke?”

  “I have.”

  Vera thumbed through her notepad. “To a Miss Elenore Griffin?”

  “Yes,” he practically growled.

  Vera nodded. “I took the liberty of checking on Miss Griffin after the last visit to your home. According to public record, Elenore has suffered a life of physical and sexual abuse. Do you really think that she’s a good—”

  “You seem to forget who I am!” Evan barked, the exertion causing him nearly unbearable pain. “I have more friends on the force than you have words in that insufferable notepad you carry around with you. If I were you, I’d think twice about slandering my wife, or I’ll bring you up on more charges than you can fight in two lifetimes. Got that, lady?”

  Vera paled, her lips forming a thin, tight line. “Well, I never!”

  “I can see why,” Evan shot back without an ounce of remorse.

  A nurse came rushing into the room. “Is everything all right, Mr. Ramirez?”

  “Everything is fine. Would you mind escorting Miss Martin out of my room, and see to it that she stays out?”

  Right before Vera made it to the door, Evan spoke one last time. “And if I hear that you hav
e been back to my home or to my daughter’s school, I’ll have your job.”

  Vera rushed out the door without a backward glance.

  Evan wondered briefly if he’d gone too far but then quickly discarded the thought. Vera Martin not only took her job to an abusive level, but she enjoyed it as well. Evan had sensed that about her the first time they’d met.

  He pressed the button on his IV drip, nearly moaning in relief with the first rush of pain medication entering his vein.

  He lay back against his pillow, wondering what to do about the busybody social worker.

  Lifting the hospital phone lying next to him on the bed, Evan pressed the number nine, waited for the dial tone to appear, and then put in a call to his old police chief, Horace Rushing.

  “Rushing,” Horace practically snapped, sounding for all the world as if he needed a mild sedative.

  Evan cleared his throat. “Long time, old man.”

  “Ramirez? Man, it’s good to hear from you. I heard about the shooting. Sorry, I haven’t stopped by to see you yet. But I call the hospital daily for an update. How are they treatin’ you over at Atlanta General?”

  Shifting the phone to a more comfortable position, Evan replied, “I can’t complain.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “Listen, Chief, I need a favor.”

  Horace paused for a moment. “I’m listening.”

  Gathering his courage, Evan bit the proverbial bullet. “I’m being harassed by a social worker at the Department of Children and Families. I’ve worked with them many times over the years and have never encountered anyone quite like this one.”

  “Why would DCF be harassing you?”

  Evan realized the chief probably had no idea about Sarah. “I found out recently that I have a daughter. Her mother gave me custody of her before she passed away.”

  “Your daughter passed away?” the chief breathed in obvious shock.

  “No, sir. Her mother died from cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Evan.”

  Evan swallowed back the old, familiar grief. “Thank you, sir.”

  The chief cleared his throat. “What can I do to help?”