Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  'Deep breaths, Dawn… Deep breaths,' she coached herself as her fingertips skimmed the edges of the file.

  Open her eyes, she flipped it open. Quick exhalations puffed from her lips as she sat shivering, the file in her hands physically painful to even look at.

  The front door’s handle jiggled, and the lock was undone.

  Startled, Dawn scrambled off the couch, and stuffed the file into her knapsack. Just as she was about to open the back door to escape into the manicured gardens, a man’s voice called her name.

  “Dawn! What are you doing here?” It was Mr. Carey, her father’s barrister. He sounded just as surprised to see her as she was upon seeing him.

  Dawn turned to face him, slowly. “I was just… getting some clothes, Mr. Carey,” she lied. She knelt down to sling the knapsack over her shoulder and motioned to a small duffel she had indeed filled with clothing. Her eyes creased in confusion as she took in the man’s uneasy demeanor. “What are you doing here?”

  Pausing to wipe his brow with a kerchief, Mr. Carey looked down the hallway towards her father’s office. “Your father left something for me, in regards to a legal matter. I’ve come to fetch it. Is Miss Moore in London with you?” he questioned lightly, moving towards the hall.

  The purloined file labeled ‘Lilith LaFey’ seemed to become ten pounds heavier in Dawn’s knapsack. “Um, no…” she began, worried and disturbed that Mr. Carey knew of Mallory, or their relationship.

  “Oh, thank God,” Mr. Carey mumbled, his uneasiness quelling a bit. “You’ve left her then? It would be wise, Dawn,” he recommended, his professional tone returning.

  It was a thinly veiled directive if Dawn ever heard one.

  “She’s a dangerous woman,” Mr. Carey posited at her complicit silence.

  ‘Give them what they want,’ Dawn thought, her only wish to leave this sinister house as soon as she could.

  “Of course, Mr. Carey. Once I realized how… dangerous she was, I left straightaway,” she nodded as she wove her tale. “Now, if you’ll excuse my rush, I need to meet a friend for dinner.”

  The barrister’s keen eyes focused in on her, trying to decipher truth from lies. “Dinner, where?”

  Dawn’s mind raced. “The Earlsfield Deli on Garratt,” she rambled, moving towards the door. “Really, I must be off.”

  With a suspicious gleam to his eye, Mr. Carey nodded once.

  She didn’t waste any time, walking swiftly through the door and down the pathway. Once she’d reached the sidewalk, Dawn took off like a shot. Around the corner she flew, her calves burning from running in platform sandals with the weight of the bags she carried.

  Minutes later, she waited the next city block over for a bus. “Come on, come on… Come on!” she groused loudly at the lumbering double decker coming down the street. Her fellow travelers stared in curiosity.

  The bus finally came to a halt, and she quickly entered her pass for fare. Sitting as far back as she could, Dawn let out a huge sigh of relief as the transit’s door closed, and the bus began to inch forward.

  A hand slapped at the window near her shoulder, causing Dawn to scream.

  Edward Carey stood beneath it, his eyes manic and face red from the exertion of running after her. He’d been the one to subpoena the case’s medical and forensic records from the court, and tucked it into Oliver had apparently researched.

  The picture it painted was horrific, even though Dawn had barely seen the first page before being interrupted.

  Edward Carey must be depending on it for her father's defense.

  “Dawn! Dawn Rose, don’t do this!” he begged. “Don’t give her that file!”

  As the red bus pulled away, the balding man heaved a final scream after it. “She can't remember! Leave that poor woman in peace, Dawn Rose!”

  _____________________________________

  Four transfers, two hours and a lot of crying later, Dawn emerged from the double decker bus hungry, and emotionally spent. Her hostel on the edge of King’s Cross was across the street, and offered the sweet promise of anonymity, and sleep.

  She dragged her feet as she entered the swinging doors, dropping her duffel to the crook of her elbow but keeping a firm grip on her knapsack. The front desk awaited her – the hosteliers needed payment for her last two nights. If she didn’t ante up soon, they’d call the police on her for sure.

  As she approached them, they looked far from angry. Rather, a pleasant smile crossed the lips of the thirty-something year old blonde receptionist named Sunny.

  “Miss Rose! How lovely to see you back so soon. May I have your key?” she asked, holding a hand out over the counter.

  “My key?” Dawn retorted, playing at shock. “I can pay! Please…”

  Sunny shook her head rapidly. “Oh, no! No, dear. You’ve been upgraded to a private room! Your friend is waiting upstairs for you. I hope you don’t mind that we got her settled in without you. She was rather insistent,” the receptionist chuckled while waggling her eyebrows. “Aren’t you expecting her?”

  “Yes,” Dawn breathed out her response, the tenseness in her shoulders releasing at once. “Yeah, Sunny. Thanks so much,” she murmured, handing over her key for a new one.

  Of course, she had not expected to be found. Truth be told, Dawn had been secretly hoping that Mallory would find her, when she was ready.

  Turning from the desk without another word, she ignored Sunny’s call to have a good evening, and climbed the three floors to the private rooms.

  When the train had pulled away from Middlesbrough Station in the middle of the night on Saturday, she had wanted instantly to get back off. She had spent the last of her cash paying for the ticket to London, though – a need for answers overwhelming her desire to run back, and hope to find an ATM somewhere.

  Ten pounds had already gone into the pocket of a man named Mr. David Morrow, who had allowed her to hitch to the station in his black sedan. She had flagged him down on the causeway near Mallory’s cottage. He was weird, but nice.

  Now, she had her answers. Could she put the shattered pieces of their love back together? Did she want to?

  Dawn slid the key into the lock for Room 72, and pushed the door open gently. It was a tiny room, the queen bed dwarfing most of the immediate space. The sight that met her eyes melted whatever fear had gripped her heart only five days ago.

  Mallory lay back on the bed, her arm thrown over her eyes like she’d done on the sofa the day after the break in. Soft snores came from between her lush lips, and her long, bare toes twitched. She was dreaming.

  As Dawn set the bags down and closed the door behind her, Mallory's body jerked, but she did not wake. Her arm dragged down off of her eyes in a lazy motion, and fell beside her. Dark circles blemished the delicate skin beneath her eyelashes, and Dawn frowned at the knowledge that they were probably her fault.

  Heeding Elisabeth’s advice not to wake Mallory abruptly, and recalling how frightened she’d been when it had happened before, Dawn slid gently into the bed well away from her. The weight of her dipping the mattress was enough to give her away however, and Mallory’s eyes popped open – bloodshot, wild, and just as beautiful as ever.

  Staying very still, Dawn tried to smile. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered.

  The green eyes gentled gradually as their owner’s body relaxed from high alert. Stubborn as usual, Mallory whispered back. “I am not afraid.”

  Dawn grimaced at the obvious lie, her hands itching to touch and hold the woman beside her. She wouldn’t until she was given specific permission, remembering one of Mallory’s last commands to her. ‘Don’t touch me.'

  An instinctual question blurted out of Dawn's mouth. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ll always find you,” Mallory asserted, her voice still coarse with sleep. Her shaky hands came up to cup Dawn’s cheeks, tenderly soothing the skin under the pads of her fingertips. “You’re my little supernova. I’d perish without your light. I’m only sorry that I didn’t realize tha
t... before I scared you away.”

  “I’m not scared of you,” Dawn scoffed.

  “But you were,” Mallory disagreed, her lips drawing down into a gloomy pout.

  Inching forward on the bed, Dawn began to close the space between them. “No, I was scared of the truth. But please understand me – I never, ever knew. It doesn’t change anything about how I feel for you. You’re my safety. I know how crazy and unhinged you must have felt, learning that I was no longer safe to you. Even if… Even if it wasn’t my fault. That scared me, too.”

  Mallory's eyes wandered Dawn’s body, to her clenched hands. “It's alright to touch me, Dawn,” she chided. “I wasn’t in my right mind that day.”

  Dawn’s hands relaxed, and she pulled on her cramping fingers to soothe the ache. “Promise you won’t bite?”

  “I didn’t search eighty-one bloody hostels in the London area looking for you so that I could come here and bite you,” Mallory laughed. “Come here,” she demanded smoothly, opening her arms up for a hug.

  Dawn folded herself within Mallory’s embrace with a relieved sigh, snuggling her cheek on her soft chest. The thrum of a heartbeat thudded underneath her ear, and Dawn fell asleep to the sound of the telltale heart, vowing to protect with her life what her father had sought to destroy as she entered the world of dreams.

  Chapter 13: Ad Partes Dolontes (To the Pain)

  With measured step, Mallory walked the sidewalk of Kingsland Road in Shoreditch, London. She had left Dawn in their hostel room rather begrudgingly, but her girlfriend simply refused to wake – whether from stress, exhaustion, or a combination of both she did not know. Her own mind was still foggy, even after sleeping close to ten hours in the comfort of silky smooth arms and tangled legs.

  Her nearly dead iPhone had pinged woefully from the nightstand in the early morning light, and the call for strong tea was greater than the residual ache in her bones. She needed clothes, too. Wearing clothes more than once in a few days was something Mallory was loath to do, but she'd not stopped to pack on her way to London. It reminded her of the years when all she had was a few changes of clothes – so very different from her former life as an overindulged teenage heiress. While the experience could be categorized as character building, it still did not rate anything less than Hell to Mallory.

  First on her list of stops was a boutique for more underwear. That was followed a hasty stop to an Apple store for a phone charger. It was then that her stomach made itself known, growling and carrying on in such a manner that the clerk behind the counter had smiled smugly and made a comment about how attractive women should eat more, the insufferable prat.

  As she walked, it began to rain, as the weather was wont to do every single damned day in London. Mallory huddled beneath a shop's awning to roll her long hair into a twist, and shoved two bobby pins from her pocket into the messy concoction. It would have to do for now.

  Her mood darkened like the clouds rolling in off the Channel, and she unfurled her felt cloche from the other pocket to stuff it over her bumpy hair. She tried in vain to ignore the burning desire to look upon the file in her attaché – filched from Dawn's knapsack while she looked for a brush this morning. Instead, she had found wads of cash and… No. Answers would come later.

  Mallory required tea, and soon. It was part of a strict routine always followed once she had escaped from under the thumb of the DCSF, and it kept her calm, and focused. Wake – Dress – Tea – Work; rinse, repeat.

  Walking gave her time to think too much, and worry. Nothing about the past month had been routine. At first, it had been exciting and lovely to have Dawn as something more than a student or occasional fantasy, but it had thrown her entire life full of carefully crafted secrets into the air like an undignified scramble for a cracker box at Christmas. Still, she'd do it over again and again the same way. Nothing would tear Dawn from her grasp – not her past, not nosy townsfolk, and certainly not Steven Rose.

  So engrossed in her thoughts, Mallory did not notice the black Land Rover creeping around the corners of the streets as she strolled.

  Enticed by the smells of proper tea preparation wafting from a café, she entered and placed her order, adding on four chocolate orange crumpets that made her hunger known fiercely at the sight of them. Hopefully, Dawn would appreciate them as well; if the rumbles from the tiny woman's own stomach during the night were any clue. Once Mallory had received her tea and bag full of cakes, she stepped back onto the street.

  This time, the Land Rover's engine sputtering to life perked her ears. Her pale peridot eyes slid sideways as she carried on down the sidewalk, not breaking stride.

  The SUV pulled out from a parking spot alongside the street to trail her - a good ten yards back for a few city blocks, just enough space to appear innocuous. Mallory faked a sip of her too-hot tea in an attempt to look unruffled, face falling into serene acceptance. The black Land Rover paused as well, pulling off the road to park again.

  A gentleman exited the driver's door onto the sidewalk. Calling him gentle wasn't exactly right – adrenaline coursing through her veins screamed that the burly, hulking meathead was dodgy at best, and lethal at worst.

  After straightening his suit jacket, the man's cruel, callous brown eyes roamed her body. Shining white teeth leered as he spoke. "Mornin', Lil'. Long time, no see."

  Not waiting for another word, Mallory took off like a shot; her black heels pounding the concrete, bags flapping in the wind. Her spiky shoes pounding against the pavement sent shots of pain up her ankles and into her calves, but she didn't slow her pace. Gritting her teeth, she looked behind her, only to see the nefarious bloke gaining on her.

  Her mind raced to figure out a way to stop him up, and zeroed in on the burning sensation in her palm. Stopping dead, Mallory turned towards the man racing towards her and popped open the lid, tossing the scalding tea at his face.

  "Agh, you fookin' slapper!" he howled, wiping at his eyes before launching at her.

  Dodging the advance, Mallory ran down an alleyway to their right. She spotted a wooden mop handle leaning against a dustbin. It would do well, she decided, and picked it up before hiding behind the large metal cube.

  When the henchman came barreling down the alley, she swung the stick down with all of her might, onto his head. The crack of splintering wood meeting skull gave her a thrill, and she barely contained the glee that shouted forth as he dropped like a ton of bricks.

  Still, his brown eyes looked up at her with vitriol through blood coursing from the head wound, and he spat weakly in her direction.

  She danced around him, circling her prey.

  Winding her leg back, Mallory kicked at his stomach and groin, over and over. Livid, snarling noises escaped her clenched teeth as she did so. "Don't…" Kick. "You…" Kick. "Ever…" Kick. "Ever…" Kick. "Come after me…" Kick. "Again."

  Thoroughly certain that the man was now reduced to crawling after her, Mallory picked up the broomstick and felled it upon his back, and then upon his chest. Once all the tearful sack of shit could do was breathe and whimper, she picked up her bags, and darted out of the alleyway.

  _____________________________________

  DSI Ross and Dr. Margaret Sheehan sat facing each other in his office, their morning coffee long cold. Papers were strewn across the desk between them, and they tried to puzzle out the missing pieces to their case.

  "If he did order the murders of her parents…" Margaret thought aloud, "Not to mention the personal nature of the acts against Lilith LaFey, then Steven Rose is an extremely dangerous man. But why leave her alive? Was it a mistake?"

  "Of course he's a bloody extremely dangerous man," Ross argued. "I mean, it goes without saying, if that's his handiwork!" He gestured towards the conference room, the whiteboard still displaying the crime scene photos.

  Margaret frowned, trying to find some congruity to the actions of a madman. "The rage and violence of these murders was the result of what Steven Rose perceived as a wrong."

 
Phil snorted. "That's rich, coming from a man with no morals concerning blood diamonds."

  "That's the point, Phil," Dr. Sheehan countered dryly. "A psychopath has no morals." She sighed, shuffling between one file, and another. "It would help if I could talk to his daughter, but I don't know how to get hold of her."

  Ross looked over his spectacles at her, the answer obvious to him. "Have you tried ringing her girlfriend?"

  "Oh, stop being such a school boy!" the psychologist scolded, folding her hands in admonishment. "I've tried Miss Moore's mobile three times today, and even left a voicemail. She hasn't gotten back to me yet."

  "If we find her, we'll very likely find Dawn Rose," Ross looked grumpy for a moment. "What about the other one?"