Fury dripped through her, making her feel nauseous but what could she do? I’m trying to help you, I swear, she said silently to the unconscious girl. I can’t now, but I will.
“Dreschel,” someone’s voice greeted the man in passing, but out of her line of vision, both of their footsteps—thank God—moving in the other direction. Dreschel. I’ll remember your name. I won’t forget.
When the footsteps had faded, Kandace stepped out of the doorway and raced ahead, slipping down the back stairs, and moving swiftly down the hall, back pressed against the wall, head moving in both directions to ensure no one caught her.
When she’d made it to Ms. Wykes’s office, she pulled the pin from her hair, making the series of moves she’d mastered at this point. She had the door open in seconds. Sweating, her breath coming rapidly, Kandace slipped inside the room, closing the door softly behind her, engaging the lock and exhaling slowly. The Tiffani lamp on Ms. Wykes’s desk was on, the stained-glass shade deep red, green, and blue, casting the office in a somber glow. For several minutes she simply stood there listening, a few creaks and squeaks from above making their way to her ears.
She grabbed the wooden chair near the wall and slipped it under the knob, tilting it so she’d have time to . . . what? What was she going to do if she’d been unknowingly seen and Ms. Wykes and Jasper showed up again? She had no escape. The most she could do was find a weapon . . . her eyes darted around . . . the paperweight on the desk, or the pointy umbrella in the stand near the door. This time, she’d at least go down swinging.
Kandace rushed to the file cabinets, picking the lock of the first cabinet, and quietly pulling the drawer open. She rifled through the files, finding the first name in her memory, a surge of excitement causing her to inhale sharply as she pulled it from the drawer. She quickly found the second and third, moving to Ms. Wykes’s desk where she opened the first folder and gazed at the picture of the pretty young woman. God, she looked just like Dreamboat with those soulful eyes and full lips. Something caught in her throat and she swallowed it down, using her finger to quickly scan through her information. She’d been from New Jersey . . . Camden, New Jersey . . . Kandace scanned the page finding only basic information, but when she flipped the first page over, she let out a soft, “Oh.” She’d shown up pregnant. They’d contacted her family and they had requested that Lilith House facilitate an adoption. Shown up pregnant. Like Kandace had “shown up pregnant”? Kandace turned the page. God, her chest hurt. This girl who looked no older than sixteen had given birth at Lilith House under the medical care of Dr. Bill Woodrow. Her eyes scanned the sloppy writing, pulling out the words that told the story of what turned into a traumatic birth. Shoulder dystocia . . . lack of oxygen . . .
Was that it then? They’d believed Dreamboat to be mentally impaired? He wasn’t . . . though she supposed by the time they were able to ascertain that, his life had already been decided.
Kandace exhaled, closing the file and opening the next one. This girl appeared about the same age. Same story, she’d been pregnant when she arrived, Lilith House had been in charge of facilitating the adoption of the unwanted child. Birth presided over by Dr. Bill Woodrow, the baby girl born with a cleft palate. Georgia, her mother had been from Georgia.
Kandace moved her mind away from what was being done to that baby girl right that moment. Kandace’s gaze stopped on two scrawled words under Dr. Woodrow’s notes: signs of sin.
Sin? Who did that refer to? The mother or the infant? And either way, really? A doctor, a so-called medical professional, diagnosing sin? A deep shiver moved down her spine.
Kandace closed the file and opened the next one, noting the photo of the blonde and turning the page. Pregnant. Adoption facilitated by Lilith House. Dr. Bill Woodrow again making note of: signs of sin. Signs of sin. Signs of sin? What was this? Kandace flipped back to the photo of the girl, the blonde from Mason, Ohio, thinking of her boy. Sin? The fact that he had different colored eyes? All three of them had been deemed sinful, unadoptable, for some physical quality none of them could control and relegated to the basement of Lilith House for it? Why hadn’t they simply killed them? Was it because they weren’t quite throwaways, not quite, just like the girls of Lilith House who served a purpose despite their sinful natures?
God, what had it been like for them? To be openly pregnant at Lilith House? To give birth there and then not be sent home, perhaps because your own family still didn’t want you? Still thought you needed “redemption”? Had they been trotted out—or maybe strung up just like her—in front of the other students? Used as examples? Of course they were.
Sickness overwhelmed her. She had no adequate word for the evil story these folders told.
A small squeak sounded outside the door and Kandace’s breath stalled as she froze, waiting to hear the doorknob rattle. It didn’t. She let out her breath. She needed to get out of there.
Kandace glanced back at the open drawer. She couldn’t put these back inside. She needed them. They were her proof. She’d take them to the authorities, to the girls themselves if she could find them, the girls who likely believed their children were with loving families.
She began to stuff them under her nightgown, but hesitated. Before she left this room, she had to know what was in them. If she was caught on the way back to bed, if they were taken, the information had to be in her brain where no one could touch it.
Trembling now because she’d spent too long as it was, she quickly opened the folders and looked at the final pages. All featured a similar police report signed by Sheriff Carson.
Though Camden’s mother had arrived—and given birth—a year before the others got there, the girls had all run away from Lilith House together. What the hell? Kandace scanned the lines, skipping some and reading others. There was a search, it was feared they’d been injured or they’d met with foul play. It was short and concise. The search had gone on for three days and then the case had been closed. Apparently, no one had put too much effort into finding three previously drug-addicted screwups who had shown up pregnant, signed their babies away—product of sin that they were—and then hit the road.
A small bump came from within and Kandace brought her hand to her belly. A certainty fell over her. If she revealed this pregnancy—no. A streak of protectiveness shimmered through her. Yes, there was more than just herself to consider.
She had to escape. She had to take these folders and leave Lilith House the second she could.
Kandace stood quickly, gathering the folders. She turned and closed the file cabinet drawer, re-engaging the lock at the top. Then she removed the chair from beneath the door handle, placing it back where it’d been. She tucked the folders in the back of her underwear so they lay flat against her back. She held her breath as she quietly turned the knob, opening the door a crack and peeking out. The hallway was empty. Kandace turned the lock from inside and then shut the door as silently as she could, only releasing the air from her lungs when she’d started walking hurriedly toward the stairs.
She cringed when she made it to the second floor where she knew she’d been taken that night, and heard a man’s grunt coming from a room close by. Oh God. Kandace gritted her teeth and turned the other way, hurrying to the staircase and climbing to the third floor, and then to the attic above. She slipped into the quiet of her darkened room, relief flooding her. She’d made it. She was safe. And she’d gotten just what she needed.