But Mallory pressed on. She had to understand.
“It sounds like you had a complicated relationship,” Mallory said.
“He’s continuing the great man’s legacy,” Liz said, as if her statement was the most logical thing in the world. Her eyes swam out of focus, her eyelids fluttering. “He’s on a mission to continue the work, to bring peace to all these damaged young women out there in the world, they need structure and guidance, discipline. He loves it and he’s so good at it, it gives him purpose, that’s why he does it. He does it better than the great one who came before him.”
“Stay with me, Liz.” Mallory clutched her sister’s hand.
“Hey.” Liz blinked. A laugh escaped her. “Sorry, I almost lost the light.”
“The light?” Mallory asked. “You mean, control?”
“Whoever has the light has control.” Liz thrust her arms in the air in a victorious gesture. “I’m in charge, hah! Take that!”
But for how long? Mallory wondered.
“Whose idea was it for Tabitha to contact me?” Mallory asked.
“Mine, of course,” Liz said. “There were these two girls, they were sisters and they ran away from home when their grandma died. They ended up here and it made me think about you and me, and I knew I had to find you. It was more important than ever to me. I told my daughter I would do everything I could to keep the light if she didn’t find you, I would make things really hard for them, mess up all their business.”
Mallory nodded, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Evidently, Liz asserted herself from time to time, and had spurred Tabitha to use the genealogical service that had connected them.
“We ended up using the DNA site to find out,” Liz said. “You had changed your last name and all, it wasn’t like we could just look you up or something.”
“Yes,” Mallory said, nodding.
“I was upset when my daughter told me how she left you hanging at that restaurant,” Liz said. “But she was like, ‘hey, Mallory’s supposed to be a reporter, I told her enough for her to find us if she wants to come.’ I couldn’t argue about that, I guess.”
“It was enough,” Mallory said. “But they kept telling me you were dead. They showed me a grave marker.”
“He wants me to be dead,” Liz said. “He doesn’t like sharing the light, at all. He’s so strong now.”
Liz shuddered, her eyelids flickering like faulty lightbulbs. She pressed both hands against her temples and grimaced, a groan slipping out of her.
“Liz?” Mallory knotted her hands in her lap. “Sis, are you with me?”
“It has to stop.” Liz stared at her, eyes wide.
“What has to stop?”
“Everything. That’s why I wanted to see you, too. His evil. It’s gotta stop.” She shook her head. “But I can’t do it, Mal. I can’t keep the light very long. You can do it. I need you to do it for me.” She squeezed Mallory’s hands. “Please.”
Mallory pulled in a shaky breath. “What about Tabitha and Nimrod?”
“The children?” Liz made a scoffing sound. “They follow him, not me. They want me dead, too.”
“Let’s get you out of here, then.” Mallory rose from the sofa and extended her hand to Liz. “Let me take you home.”
“I can never go home, sis.” Tears shone in Liz’s eyes. “I think you know that, too, it’s over.” Liz tapped her chest. “Home lives here now, for both of us. We can’t ever go back, those little girls we were, they’re gone for good.”
Mallory choked back the sob that threatened to drop her to her knees. “Then we save the girls he’s keeping here, and in the town. We do it all for them.”
Liz pushed to her feet. She wobbled, and Mallory took her by the arm to keep her from falling.
“I have to give up the light.” Weakly, Liz motioned toward the chaise. “You better lock me up, sis. He’s gonna be uber pissed at you when he comes back.”
Liz was barely holding onto consciousness as Mallory maneuvered her into the chair and secured her hands and legs in the restraints. Liz moaned, a plaintive sound that came from deep in her chest. Her face was wet with tears.
Mallory used a handkerchief to mop her sister’s face, and her own. Since she had learned the truth, she felt as if she hadn’t stopped crying.
She had come to Sanctuary to find her sister. Now that she had found her, she was leaving her there, and the next time she saw her . . . Mallory didn’t want to think about the probable outcome.
“The keys, take ‘em,” Liz said. Her head drooped toward the door on the far side of the office. “Go in there. You’ll see . . . everything.”
Mallory dug the keys out of Liz’s pocket. She grabbed her backpack, strapped it across her shoulders.
“Go on,” Liz said. Her eyes slid shut.
Mallory touched her sister’s cheek.
“I love you, sis,” she said.
The keys dangling from her hand, she crossed the office to the door.
57
The room beyond the office looked like a master bedroom suite.
Mallory shut the door behind her, averting her gaze from her unconscious sister lying on the chaise. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Liz to Father again—even though “losing Liz” had an entirely difficult meaning than what Mallory had ever imagined possible.
It was going to take her a long time to put this experience in perspective. To accept what her sister had become. She might never understand it, but she would have to learn to accept it.
Focus on the task at hand, girl. Stop this madness.
The master suite was enormous, covering perhaps a thousand square feet of living space. Multiple recessed lights provided a golden glow. Expensive looking area rugs were draped across the polished hardwood floor. A four-poster, canopy-style bed stood on one side of the chamber, festooned with white and gold curtains; another wheelchair stood beside the bed.
Two large windows gave a panoramic view of the rain-soaked day, the sky so dark it seemed twilight had already arrived.
Framed photographs, not paintings, hung on the walls. They were the only pictures Mallory had seen in Sanctuary.
Many of the pics were in black-and-white. Stepping forward to take a closer look, Mallory realized they were photos of the original Father, Dr. Nathaniel Higgins.
The resemblance between Higgins and the Father persona that Liz had created was astonishing. She could understand how Liz had fooled outsiders; and having spent years living under his tutelage, she had ample time to master his patterns of speech, his quirky mannerisms, his aberrant philosophies.
A stainless-steel door lay on another side of the room, within a shadowed alcove. Mallory didn’t realize at first what it was until she saw the button and panel next to the door: an elevator. Father (it was easier to think of the character as “Father” not Liz) would have used it to travel throughout the various floors of the estate . . . although there was truly nothing wrong with “his” legs.
I’m going to go insane thinking about this, Mallory thought.
Opposite the bed, she noticed a walk-in closet, the door ajar. She peeked inside.
It was a large area, and contained the props Liz employed to assume the Father character. Afro wigs snugly fitted on foam heads. Fake beards hanging on hooks. A shelf lined with black gloves. Another shelf with rows of darkly tinted glasses. A rod from which hung several compression undergarments. At least a dozen black suits hanging on another rod. Even an extra wheelchair sitting at the back of the chamber.
Mallory stepped out, kept looking around the suite.
She found, most interestingly, a bank of ten flat-screen televisions mounted on a wall, above a wide desk crowded with a keyboard and a CPU. As she’d long suspected, they had closed circuit cameras stationed throughout the property.
One of the screens displayed an area she hadn’t seen before. A labyrinth of corridors lined with closed doors.
The stable.
A man dressed in a physician’s wh
ite coat crossed into view on one of the stable’s cameras. She recognized Dr. Faustin, the disgraced cosmetic surgeon, from his photo in the newspaper article.
The surgeon pushed a gurney along the corridor. Someone lay on the rolling table, covered underneath a white blanket. Mallory glimpsed the patient’s face and gasped.
Rachel. Oh, no.
They hadn’t dropped her off at a bus depot and set her free. They had taken her to their human processing factory.
I’ve got to get her out of there.
Mallory fumbled out her phone. No messages from Ben. She tried to call him and got no answer. He was undoubtedly in Norwood’s custody and the cop probably had confiscated his phone.
Nevertheless, she sent him a text message: Baby, if you see this, get to the stable. Please. We’ve got to free the girls. That’s all that matters now.
She added: I love you.
She waited for a response, didn’t see one forthcoming. She wanted his help. But she wouldn’t wait for him. She had to forge ahead on her own.
“Rachel was too valuable to discard,” Tabitha said, behind Mallory. “We don’t waste product.”
Mallory whirled. Tabitha had entered the room from the office doorway, moving so silently Mallory hadn’t heard the woman come in.
“I know what’s going on here,” Mallory said. “You’re having that butcher work on these girls so you can sell them. Boob jobs, nose jobs, butt lifts, whatever you think will make you more money.”
“Partly true, Aunt Mallory.” Tabitha unclipped the stun baton that she wore holstered on her waist. “We certainly enhance all of our product before we put it on the market. It’s only smart business.”
Product. As if they were selling chickens or cattle, not live human beings.
“But the bigger profits come from the kidneys,” Tabitha said.
“The what?”
“We’re going to remove one of her kidneys and offer it for sale via our distribution network. Organ trade, Aunt Mallory, is even more lucrative than selling female slaves.” Tabitha tipped the edge of the baton toward the bank of screens like a teacher pointing at a whiteboard. “Our good Dr. Faustin is quite skilled at kidney extraction—it was his specialty before he dabbled in cosmetic work. Rachel won’t miss it at all. You do realize you require only one kidney to live a healthy life, Aunt Mallory?”
“You need to stop this.” Mallory edged away from the desk, her fingers grasping the handle of a ceramic mug. “Your mother doesn’t want this. She wants to let those girls go.”
“My mother is dead.” Tabitha thumbed a button on the baton. Blue electricity crackled and hissed along the weapon’s shaft. “I have only a father.”
Snarling, Tabitha rushed her. Mallory hurled the mug at her niece. The cup smacked into the side of Tabitha’s head with a clang like a ringing bell. Tabitha shrieked in pain and staggered into a table, tipping it over. Off balance, she swung the baton in a wild arc.
Mallory evaded the weapon and scrambled past her. She flung open the door and plunged back into the office.
Liz was no longer lying on the chaise. She was gone; the wheelchair was gone; the pieces of her “Father” costume—beard, wig, glasses, everything—were gone, too.
It could mean only that Father had returned, but where was he?
She dashed out of the office and into the main corridor of Father’s wing. The wall-mounted lights had been switched on, gas-powered candles flickering, but she heard only the rain, drumming as fast as her hammering heart.
She risked a look behind her. Tabitha was in pursuit.
Mallory raced out of the wing and sprinted to the staircase.
58
Baby, if you see this, get to the stable. Please. We’ve got to free the girls. That’s all that matters now. I love you.
Reading Mallory’s text message as he sat on the holding cell’s bench, Ben grinned to himself. He tried to call her, got no answer, and settled for sending a reply: I’m on my way. Stay safe.
He wasn’t on his way yet, but he was counting on his plan working. He had sent messages to parties he believed he could trust, people he prayed would take decisive action.
Tapping his foot against the floor, he waited.
Suddenly, he heard sounds of struggle coming from beyond the holding cell area. A chair or desk overturned with a bang. A grunt of pain, followed by a stream of curses. Someone spitting.
Ben rose. What the heck was going on?
Someone flung open the hallway door. Leah raced to his holding cell. Keys jingled in her hand.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s going on out there?”
Smiling but unable to voice her joy, Leah started trying keys in the cell’s lock. Cecil hustled through the doorway as Leah finally discovered the key that matched.
“You made it,” Ben said.
Cecil wiped blood away from his lip with the back of his hand. He wore a button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves and khakis, but his clothes were rumpled and damp as if he’d snatched them out of the dirty clothes pile. His black eye looked uglier than ever.
“I just assaulted a police officer.” Cecil massaged his hand. “But I owed the sonofabitch a few good licks.”
“We’ve gotta get to Sanctuary.” Ben pushed open the cell door, the hinges creaking. “Mallory needs us.”
“I got to make things right.” Cecil grunted. “Well past time for me to do this, young buck.”
“You can come with us if you want,” Ben said to Leah. “I’d understand if you want to stay behind. We can get you somewhere safe.”
Fire seething in her dark eyes, Leah shook her head and pointed at Ben and Cecil.
I’m coming with you guys, Ben realized she was telling him.
In the police station’s office area, Ben saw Chief Norwood rolling on the floor beside a desk. He had been cuffed with his hands behind him and his right ankle was shackled to the desk’s leg. A scarlet bruise glistened on the side of Norwood’s face.
“Hey!” Norwood screamed at them. Foamy saliva sprayed from his lips. “I run this town! I’m gonna grind you all under my goddamn boots!”
“You’ve got much bigger problems on the way, friend,” Ben said.
Norwood rattled the desk, his threats echoing behind them as they hastened out of the station to Cecil’s truck parked out front.
59
Soon after Mallory burst outside the house through the back door, she heard Nimrod’s dogs.
Fear pinched her heart. She wasn’t a fast runner—her fingers could dance on a keyboard much faster than her legs could pump—and she had no chance of outrunning the dogs once they were upon her. The only weapon she had in her backpack was pepper spray, and in the driving rainstorm, it would be useless.
Their barks and snarls seemed to echo from all sides. She couldn’t see the dogs, but they had to be close. She raced through the courtyard, her sneakers splashing across the wet, cobblestone path.
As she neared the gazebo, a tall, robed figure emerged from behind the structure. Nimrod. Her silent, dangerous nephew.
Shit.
Nimrod moved to intercept her. Mallory cut in a different direction, her foot slipping on a patch of damp grass.
She almost went down, and it would have been over, but she regained her balance.
Nimrod stalked toward her. One of his dogs lurked behind him now.
Another of the Rottweilers came at her from the left. She spun, and saw the other big dog closing in on the right.
They had her surrounded.
No, I don’t quit, ever.
She ran anyway. She didn’t know how far she would get, didn’t know if one of his dogs would knock her down and rip out her throat. But her survival was on the line and she was willing to go for broke.
Roaring, Nimrod tackled her. They went down hard on the wet earth. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, pain snapping through her body.
Nimrod clamped his cold hand on the back of her neck and pinned her face to the ground. Blade
s of grass prickled her eyes. Mud oozed into her mouth.
She screamed. She squirmed and thrashed. He lost his grip on her. She rolled over. He tried to straddle her. She jammed her knee into his crotch.
His eyes rolled back, exposing the whites. Gasping, he fell off her.
She shoved him aside. As Mallory was getting up, Tabitha stepped forward with the baton and pressed it against Mallory’s neck.
Mallory went limp. White-hot agony stampeded through her, trampling all thought as her muscles and joints seized up. She could only lie shaking on the ground, paralyzed, helpless, beaten.
60
No.
They loaded Mallory on the back of a golf cart as if she were a cheap bag of clubs. Immobilized, her jaws clenched as if wired shut, her body still twitching, she stared at the underside of the cart’s canopy as Tabitha steered the vehicle along the pathways.
Rain drummed against the cart and dripped into Mallory’s eyes. She couldn’t use her hands to wipe her face, and that minor inconvenience infuriated her.
After a few minutes of bumping and rocking along the pavement, the vehicle stopped.
In her peripheral vision, Mallory could see the tall, windowless brick walls of the nearby building: they had brought her to the stable.
Good.
She tried to wriggle her hands again, which were unbound, and felt her fingers obey. Elation soared through her, but she hesitated to move. Her niece might shock her again if she realized the weapon’s effects had subsided.
Tabitha and Nimrod climbed out of their seats. Tabitha came around to the rear of the cart and stared at Mallory. She lifted the stun baton, thumbed it on.
Mallory felt her heart clench, but she tried to remain immobile, to keep her face slack.
“Do you need another zap, Aunt Mallory?” Tabitha said.
She waved the activated wand in front of Mallory’s eyes. Mallory could feel the powerful electricity dancing along the weapon’s shaft, mere inches from her face.
The Quiet Ones Page 22
