Fallen Page 3

  Deputy West turned as the door swung inward and a wiry, dark haired young man entered, his face breaking into a smile. “Hey there, Cam. Didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “Louis,” Detective West—Cam—greeted, his tone several shades warmer than when he’d addressed her, Scarlett noted. “How are you?”

  “Well now, can’t complain much. How’s that hot water heater?”

  “Better. Thanks for helping out with that.”

  Louis nodded and then looked at Scarlett. “Mrs. Lattimore?”

  “Scarlett.” She stepped forward, grasping Louis’s outstretched hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  “You bet. Damn near fell over when I heard someone bought the old girl. Musta been a quick sale, no one’s buzzin’ about it in town.” He looked around, his eyes going from the stairway to the walls to the ceiling and then back to Scarlett. “Sure do have your work cut out for you, sprucing the place up.”

  “I’m hoping that’s all it needs—some heavy sprucing. That’s why I called, so you could tell me exactly what I’m looking at here.”

  “You didn’t have the place appraised before you bought it?” the deputy asked, raising a dark brow.

  “Louis is right, it happened quickly,” Scarlett said. As if it was any of his business why she’d bought this place. “It seemed like a deal whether it needed major fixes or not. So I jumped on it. The property itself is pretty fantastic.”

  The deputy glanced out the window, a shadow of something Scarlett didn’t know how to identify darkening his features for a moment and then smoothing out. He offered no comment.

  “Course the place does have a history,” Louis said, eyeing the deputy. “Figure that’s why it’s sat empty for so long. People hear what happened here and shy away, you know?” He scratched at his cheek. “That and it being so remote and all.”

  Deputy West shot Louis what looked like a warning glance. “Well,” Scarlett said, “I was looking for remote. And I’ve heard there are stories about this place—some of them bad—but that sort of thing doesn’t bother me. Houses have history. People have history too, some of it unpleasant. It doesn’t make any of us less valuable.” She glanced back and forth between them. Deputy West narrowed his eyes, staring at her with even more directness. She looked away from that laser focus.

  “True enough, I guess,” Louis said. “So, uh”—he held up the toolbox in his hand—“should we get started?”

  “I’ll show myself out,” Deputy West said.

  “Yes, absolutely. Feel free to come and go as you please,” Scarlett said, adding a note of overly sweet sarcasm.

  The deputy’s full lips twitched so quickly that if Scarlett had blinked, she’d have missed it. Perhaps the man had the smidgeon of a personality after all—somewhere deep down inside. Deep, deep down. He gave a short nod. “Ma’am. Louis.”

  “See ya, Cam.”

  She watched him walk away and Scarlett tamped down another wave of annoyance as the door shut behind the deputy. She mustered a wide smile, turning to Louis. “Okay then, how about we start with the plumbing? Also, are you able to get me set up with Wi-Fi?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Thirteen Years Ago

  Kandace stepped into the foyer of Lilith House, glancing disinterestedly around. Stuffy. Expensive. She yawned. God, if one lavish hellhole had turned her into what she was, what made them think another was going to reform her?

  What a joke.

  The man who’d picked her up at the airport set her suitcase down and gave her a stiff nod. “Good luck, ma’am.”

  “Catch ya later, Eddie.” She winked and took satisfaction from the blush that burned his ashen face. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned with an awkward shuffle and exited through the front door.

  Kandace stood there for a moment, an unfamiliar feeling of doubt settling in her limbs. What the fuck was she supposed to do? Go looking for someone to greet her and tell her where she would be sleeping?

  Her gaze moved over the wall to her right where a large crucifix hung next to the portrait of a severe-looking man. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. She looked away, leaning slightly to the left so she could peer down the hallway beyond.

  She cupped her hand over her mouth. “Helloooo,” she called. “Anybody home?” For several beats only silence filled the space, but then she heard the slow click of footsteps coming toward her on the polished wood floor.

  For some unknown reason, nerves fluttered in Kandace’s stomach and she brought her hand to her midsection as though she could press it away. This place is fucking creepy, she thought.

  A moment later a slender, older woman appeared in the doorway, stopping and perusing her slowly, a look of pure disdain on her pinched face. She was wearing black from head to toe—skirt, sweater, and shoes—but had a string of creamy white pearls around her long, pale neck. Her hair, a deep silver, was pulled up into a tight chignon and she didn’t appear to wear a stitch of makeup, her lips thin and bloodless, the only color in her face, her startling golden eyes, the color of which Kandace could see even from where she was standing. She moved forward slowly, and Kandace watched the woman who somehow seemed to both glide and move stiffly as though she was standing on a wheeled platform and someone had given her a push. “You must be Ms. Thompson. I’m Ms. Wykes, the headmistress of Lilith House.”

  Kandace smirked and reached out her hand. “How do you do?” she said sarcastically.

  Ms. Wykes tilted her head, her lips turning upward, though the rest of her face remained unchanged.

  “Oh dear.” She clicked her tongue. “Insolent, aren’t you? No mind. We’ve dealt with worse than you here at Lilith House. You’ll be following rules like a good little girl before we all know it. Follow me now.” And with that, she turned, doing that stiff glide as her short heels clacked on the floor.

  A good little girl? This bitch had to be kidding. Kandace had half a mind to turn on her tennis shoe and take her insolent behind right out of this weird-ass place. But there was the court order . . . and the fact that she’d basically burned every bridge she’d once had access to.

  Nine months, she reminded herself. She just had to complete one semester of school here at Lilith House and then she could resume her life. This is your final chance, her mother had said. After this, there’ll be no more. And for whatever reason—instinct, the tone in her mother’s voice, pressure from Kandace’s new stepfather, or likely all of the above—Kandace knew her mother meant what she said.

  Kandace followed Ms. Wykes through the foyer and down a long hallway beyond. The older woman disappeared through an open door and Kandace entered after her into what was a relatively large office, featuring a bay window that revealed a view of the forest behind the house. A tall, well-muscled brute of a man with a shaved head and a keloid scar running down his cheek stood next to an ornate mahogany desk, while Ms. Wykes stood in front of it, her hands clasped. Off to her right was a wall of built-in shelves filled with hardbacked books, and in the corner stood a black metal birdcage with two bluebirds perched on a branch that extended from one side of the cage to the other. In the midst of the heavy furnishings and almost-masculine feel of the space, the soft-colored winged creatures were especially lovely and an inexplicable mournfulness rose inside Kandace.

  Lovely things are not meant to last here. Kandace’s expression twitched with the unsettling thought that seemed to come both from nowhere and everywhere around her like a whispering chorus of ghosts in the walls.

  “Put your cell phone in that box,” Ms. Wykes instructed, pointing at a wooden box attached to the wall next to the door, a slot in its top.

  “I prefer to keep my phone.”

  “Your preferences are no longer relevant, Ms. Thompson. Put your phone in the box. Technology is a tool of the devil and we resist its temptation here at Lilith House. Your phone will be returned to you upon the completion of your term.”

  A tool of the devil? What the fuck was this woman smo
king? “What if I want to contact my parents?”

  “We have paper and pens. I personally deliver the outgoing mail to the post office every third Monday of the month. In addition, I will be sending a bi-weekly update to your parents concerning your performance here at Lilith House.”

  Paper and pens? Outgoing mail? Jesus. They may as well have shipped her back to the 1800s.

  You can do it. It’s temporary. Who was she going to call anyway? Her service had gone out completely several miles up the road. Not only that, but because of that whole burnt bridges thing, she couldn’t think of one person who would miss her much. Aside from her dealer.

  Kandace narrowed her eyes, hesitating, but finally pulling her phone from her pocket, turning it off, and dropping it in the box. She’d play the game—for now. It was always easier to break the rules if you were flying under the radar. And clearly they were big on rules here.

  Ms. Wykes nodded to the burly man and he approached her, grabbing her arm as he used his other hand to pat her down. “Hey!” she yelled, attempting to twist out of his grasp, but he was far too strong to fight against. He pulled out the baggie of five joints and several ecstasy tablets she had in her pocket and tossed them backward onto the desk before releasing her. Kandace glared at him, straightening her clothes. Shit.

  Ms. Wykes picked up the baggie, holding it up for a moment, and then placing it back on the edge of her desk without comment. “Sit down,” she said, indicating a chair in front of the desk. Kandace hesitated, glancing at the man who was watching her with a small smirk on his face, his arms now crossed over his square chest. Kandace’s gut gave a slow roll. Something felt very off. She sat in the chair, crossing her legs, as Ms. Wykes turned and walked to the birdcage, opening the tiny door and removing one of the bluebirds. It sat perched on her hand as she pet its shiny head slowly with one long-nailed, bony finger.

  “Do you know the story of Lilith, Ms. Thompson?”

  “Lilith? Lilith who? Never heard of her.”

  Ms. Wykes gave her a small, cold smile. “I have never heard of her,” Ms. Wykes corrected. “We speak in full sentences here, Ms. Thompson.” She paused, running her finger over the bird’s head again. “I’m speaking of the original Lilith, of course. Adam’s first wife.” She sighed. “Regrettably, she was a sinful and assertive woman who didn’t understand her place, instead choosing to rebel against God and her husband.”

  “Sounds like my kind of girl.”

  “Indeed,” she purred.

  Ms. Wykes fingered the pearls at her neck for a moment. “Of course, God saw her for who she was and replaced her with another woman, a woman of purity and grace. A woman suitable to stand by Adam’s side.”

  Ms. Wykes stepped forward and drew a large pair of shiny silver shears from a cup holder on her desk. Kandace’s heart leapt and her muscles tensed, and for the first time since she’d stepped into the house, she felt a frisson of real fear.

  Ms. Wykes used the pointy tip of the scissors to stroke the bird’s head, once and then again. The bird stared at Kandace with one wide black eye as if imploring her for help. Kandace’s fingers curled around the wooden arms of the chair, body held taut. “You see, Ms. Thompson, women such as Lilith simply cannot be allowed to fly free and spread their depravity. They simply cannot infect men with their sin and filth.” She brought the scissors up and in one quick movement, captured one of the bird’s wings at the place where the wing met the body and clipped it off. The bird screamed in agony as Kandace let out a shriek of her own, drawing back, while simultaneously reaching for the bloody bird Ms. Wykes was now holding by its feet as it tried desperately to escape, flapping its one wing frantically, its shrill squeals filling the room. Ms. Wykes moved the scissors to the other wing and Kandace jumped up. “No!” she wailed, reaching forward as the muscled man who had stood to the side of the desk grabbed her, and effortlessly held her back as Ms. Wykes clipped the bird’s other wing. Then in one quick flick of her wrist, she whipped the bird’s body away. It hit the wall with a hard smack, falling to the floor where it lay bleeding, its scream diminished to only a small whimper, its breast rising and falling with its final quickened breaths.

  “What’s wrong with you, you crazy bitch?” Kandace screamed just as the man holding her threw her forward so she collided with the desk. Before she could even begin to turn, he was behind her, slamming her upper body onto the hard wood and holding her down by her hair. It felt as though a steel bar held her still and all she could do was flail helplessly just as the bluebird had done.

  On the floor in a puddle of blood, the now silent wingless creature stared, its eye cloudy, chest still rising and falling, but slowly now. So very slowly. Oh God, oh God. Kandace’s soul shuddered, though she refused to cry in front of this evil bitch and her bloodhound. She refused.

  Ms. Wykes stepped into her line of sight, blocking the bird and bending down so that her face was level with Kandace’s. I will not cry. I will not cry. Kandace stared icily back at Ms. Wykes, and Ms. Wykes regarded her for a moment. “Mm,” she hummed. “I can see you’re more defiant than some, more difficult to break.” She brought the still-bloody scissors up. “But mark my words, Ms. Thompson. You will break. You will break in ways you never imagined. And when you leave Lilith House, you will return to your parents the obedient little girl they’ve been promised.”

  Terror pooled in Kandace’s stomach as Ms. Wykes raised the scissors and then brought them down toward the back of her head. Kandace let out a shocked cry as they snapped shut with the same loud metallic snip that had sounded when she’d used them to clip the bird’s wings.

  The pressure lifted on her head and she realized that the man was no longer holding her by her hair. Ms. Wykes tossed something on the desk next to her as Kandace struggled to rise. She blinked, reality crashing in around her when she realized what it was: her long blonde ponytail.

  The man yanked her by the back of her shirt and she stumbled upright, taking a step backward, her hand going to the empty spot at the back of her head. She gasped out a breath. “You cut my hair.” The words sounded breathy, disbelieving.

  “Vanity will not be tolerated here, Ms. Thompson, nor will sinful behavior of any sort.”

  Kandace stared at her. She couldn’t remember the last time anything had shocked her. Ms. Wykes was right about one thing: Kandace had become desensitized to sinful behavior, hers or anyone else’s, but she could honestly say she was shocked now. Stunned and deeply frightened. Her eyes darted to the large man, a glint in his eyes that told her he’d be only too happy to exert whatever physical force was necessary to ensure she was cooperative.

  But Kandace was seldom obedient. She let out a slow, controlled breath. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. Not yet. But they would. She swore it. They would.

  “I’ll report this,” she said. “I’ll tell them what you did today. Everyone will know. They’ll shut you down.”

  Ms. Wykes smiled and for the first time it met her eyes, her expression one of genuine amusement. But as quickly as that, it vanished. “You will? Oh dear,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure your mother will believe you. I’m quite certain you’ve never lied. I imagine her trust in you is veritably unshakeable.” She tapped a bony finger against her thin, blanched lips. “You, a disappointment who showed up here at Lilith House high and practically hallucinating”—she nodded to the baggie of marijuana and pills—“when the court has made it clear that should you be caught with drugs, the chance you’ve been given here at Lilith House will be rescinded in exchange for jail time. In exchange for a permanent record.”

  Kandace stared at her, wondering if jail time would be better . . . or worse. She knew what her mother would say. God, you’re such an embarrassment. The words came back to her now, cutting, the same way they had when her mother had hissed them at her.

  “Now,” Ms. Wykes said, brushing her hands together as though what had happened was no more than a casual, though slightly unpleasant, welc
ome that should be brushed aside. “You are in the attic with two other young women. Jasper will show you to your room.”

  Kandace’s mind raced. She had to find a way out of here . . . she needed to talk to the other young women and find out more about this place, find out if this was the regular welcome wagon, find out . . . everything she could. “My suitcase is still in the foyer,” she said.

  “Your things have been burned,” Ms. Wykes responded. “You will be given a uniform, and a modest sleep outfit, no more.” She grabbed something off her desk—a silver crucifix—raising it high in both hands, her voice booming, eyes burning with sudden passion. “And He said to them, ‘Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions!’” The gemstones on the crucifix flashed in the lamplight as she lowered her arms, her eyes narrowing as that cold smile turned her lips up again.

  Kandace moved her gaze slowly from Ms. Wykes to the bird lying on the floor in the pool of blood. It was no longer moving.

  It had died.

  The other bird sat alone behind its bars, staring longingly out the window at the forest beyond.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Scarlett took a sip of wine, glancing at Haddie across the card table she’d set up in the kitchen—along with two metal fold-up chairs—where they could eat meals. They’d dined on canned chili and crackers for dinner and had been living off items from the small box of non-perishable food she’d brought from their old apartment for the last few days. She’d have to venture into town in the morning to stock up on some more, especially now that the gas line was working and they had an operational stove and running water in the kitchen. The electricity had checked out, though Louis had had to reset several of the breakers, but once that was done, the old refrigerator had hummed to life. It was smelly and dirty inside, but it wasn’t anything some elbow grease and a quart of bleach couldn’t fix, so she’d take on that task right before she grocery shopped.