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 cabinet 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?”