An Embarrassment of Monsters: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel (Alace Sweets Book 3)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Mission accomplished, he retraced his steps up the hallway and gathered up the bags, taking them into the bedroom and placing them on the bed. Without looking through the open doorway, he methodically took the articles of clothing out of the bags, removing tags and folding them, stacking the various types of things together. Still not looking at the kids, he called out to Kelly, “I’ve got things laid out for Shiloh to sleep in. I’ll do a load of laundry tonight, get the dyes washed out of the rest of the stuff.” He paused, not surprised when he didn’t receive a response. “Is it okay if I come in there now, Kelly?”

  “Yeah.” The boy’s voice was thick with tears. Owen let his head drop backwards between his shoulders and glared up at the ceiling. He could only imagine what was going through the boy’s mind.

  When he walked in, the dirty water all around Shiloh was still, not even a ripple disturbing the surface. She sat in the center of the tub, legs stretched out in front of her, hands folded in the fabric of the shirt she still wore. Her hair was wet, hanging in strings down her back.

  She’s stronger than she looks. He reminded himself of the composure she’d shown in the cabin and turned to the cabinet to retrieve a soft washcloth. With a hand on Kelly’s shoulder to steady himself, he crouched and then knelt next to the tub, shocked when the boy leaned against his side, still in the exhausted posture he’d seen on the video.

  “Let’s run some more water.” He matched actions to words, turning the faucet and regulating the temperature automatically. Holding the cloth under the stream of water, he dampened the material, wringing it lightly when he pulled back. The bottle of shower gel he’d bought for Kelly stood on one corner of the tub, and he spread a liberal amount on the wet cloth, crushing it in his grip to work up a layer of suds. “Mom always said start at the cleanest part and work your way down.” He leaned over and gripped Shiloh’s jaw in his hand, turning her face towards him. The unfocused gaze she wore was terrifying, and he had to pause to catch his breath. Clearing his throat, he quietly told her, “So we’ll work on your face and hair first.” The gel doubled as a tear-free shampoo, so he smoothed the cloth over the top of her hair, working the soap down to her scalp. He applied more gel before moving to clean her face, and then more again to wash her exposed neck and arms, careful of the abrasions her bonds had worked into her skin.

  Honoring the barrier she’d set in place, he didn’t try to clean her torso, leaving that for much later when she’d be more comfortable. The water level had risen, so he unstopped the tub, allowing a portion of the dirty water to drain away before plugging the drain again. More gel, then an under-the-water washing of her lower legs and feet, again leaving anything covered by the soaked shirt untouched. Owen let the cloth float in the water as he cupped his hands under the running water, bringing it handfuls at a time to rinse her hair. Another round of gel to shampoo her hair was followed by a final rinse, and he sat back on his heels, drying his hands and arms on a towel retrieved from a nearby rack.

  Movement in the tub shocked him to stillness. Shiloh had grasped hold of the cloth and was in the process of shoving it underneath the shirt, tears rolling down her face as she scrubbed at flesh he couldn’t see, but could well imagine after witnessing the evidence of abuse Warrant had left behind. “Honey, go easy. Careful.” She shook her head, shoulders bowing over as her hands worked frantically just out of sight. “Shiloh, stop it. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  It was Kelly who reached in and took the cloth away. He dropped the washcloth back into the water with a pained cry, and Owen stared as red slowly leached out of the cloth. How the fuck am I supposed to do this? “Shiloh.” She looked up at him, the lost expression gone, replaced by an anguished awareness he found to be far worse. “I’ve got a doctor coming, honey. A man I trust. He’s going to make sure you’re okay.” The incredulity she felt was clear on her face, and Owen understood the wariness. Honesty will gain me allies. “He can’t make it okay. What happened to you, to both of you.” He put his hand on Kelly’s head. “That can’t ever be made okay. But he’ll make sure that you are going to heal and be well.”

  “Mm’kay.” Soft and toneless, her voice stripped his composure away, and Owen’s own tears threatened as her expression began to shut down again.

  “Okay,” he echoed and then held up the towel he had in his hands. “Let’s get you out of the wet and dried off. Kelly, I could use some help, bud.”

  Kelly flipped the lever to unstop the tub again and climbed to his feet, holding Shiloh’s hands as she did the same. Kelly lifted the hem of the shirt, and as it cleared her torso, Owen folded the towel around her, so by the time the shirt hit the floor of the bathroom, she was still covered shoulders to knees.

  He lifted her, shocked when her arms went around his neck, head nestling against his shoulder. As he carried her into the bedroom Kelly had been using, he heard a warning ding from the security system announcing the front door had been opened. So it wasn’t a surprise when the man he’d messaged showed up in the doorway, his features matching the pictures Owen had paid for.

  Following post-residency fellowship studies at a prestigious Boston hospital, Darren Marchant’s career path had taken a different direction than expected after he visited a charity hospital in Thailand, only a few years into his practice as a rising star in childhood trauma treatment. According to the information Owen had found about the man, what he’d seen there had changed his life. In that tropical country, the prostitution trade brutalizing children as young as two years old was rampant. Marchant had thrown himself into treating children who were brought to the hospital, but after realizing the worst cases never made it that far, he moved his work out into the community. Seeking justice for the children, he’d battered himself against the government’s unflinching walls and barriers, until after only two years he had burned out. The torture of uncovering evidence time and again that Westerners were so often the ones taking advantage of the children, exploiting legal loopholes that allowed them to pursue their abnormal proclivities without fear of legal reprisal, had become too much for his continued sanity. So Marchant had resorted to different tactics.

  When the Thai government had censured him a second time for publicizing a US-based businessman’s activities, Marchant had found himself socially and professionally ostracized, unable to secure the necessary support to continue his work. That cold-shoulder treatment had followed him back stateside, where he’d had difficulty finding a job in his chosen field. The need was there, but the appetite for a doctor unafraid to call the perpetrators out on their behaviors, regardless of their clout or power—simply not present. Marchant wasn’t a good bet anymore and had finally given up on the idea, instead creating his own clinic system, housed in the worst neighborhoods. His professed goal was that any child who needed a protector would find one.

  Once in the room, Marchant didn’t even look at Owen beyond clearly cataloging his presence. The man’s entire focus was on the towel-clad Shiloh, and the tender smile that creased his lips didn’t appear forced. He seemed genuinely pleased to see the girl.

  “Hey.” He came only slightly closer, crouching down, settling back on one heel. “I’m Darren. I’m a doc. I treat kiddos like you.” He waved, the movement slow and fluid, clearly designed to not startle the child. “You must be Shiloh, right?”

  Shiloh’s arms tightened around Owen’s neck, and he turned to sit on the edge of the bed. Marchant’s gaze flicked to him, and the man patted the floor unobtrusively. Okay then. Owen slipped off the bed and settled on the floor, his back supported by the side of the mattress and bed frame. Kelly sat next to him, crowding close.

  Marchant didn’t let Shiloh’s lack of a response bother him, turning his attention to the boy next. “And I bet you’re Kelly. Pleased to meet you.” The man stuck out a hand, and Kelly turned his face into Owen, hiding as if the attempted contact was a threat. “No worries, no worries. I’m just here to see if I can help. I can’t help if you don’t trust me, and you don’t trust me yet.
I know, I know.”

  Kelly unfolded slightly, head turned to stare at the stranger. “Are you really a doctor?”

  Marchant nodded. “I sure am. I’m a children’s doctor, specifically.”

  “Where’s your white coat, then?” Disbelief was thick in Kelly’s voice, his words clipped after every consonant. “If you’re a doctor, shouldn’t you have a white coat?”

  “I left it at home. Owen here”—Marchant gestured towards Owen—“said things were urgent, so I came straight over. I have a picture of me in the coat, though, and a badge from a hospital that says I’m a doctor. Would you like to see?”

  He was impressed by the way Marchant had immediately understood how best to work with Kelly, not talking down to him as if he were a child, but instead treating him as a near equal. He suspected Shiloh would trust once Kelly did, which made Marchant’s approach doubly smart.

  Kelly’s head shifted up and down, and Marchant straightened, reaching into his front pocket. Owen tensed, suddenly conscious that he was supremely vulnerable in this position. His focus had been so entirely on the children, all normal self-protective awareness had fallen by the wayside. The man was in shape, body toned from running or a similar exercise if the fit of his jacket was to be believed. Marchant held no publicly recorded certifications in any self-defense skills, didn’t own a gun, and as far as Owen had been able to determine, had never visited a shooting range. He wasn’t military with whatever elite training that implied, and sitting across from Owen as he was now, Marchant simply didn’t read as a threat. Nothing but a dude. A guy dude. Not a mark. Owen shouldn’t have to defend the kids against this man but couldn’t help his gut reaction at the realization of how vulnerable they all were.

  Marchant must have seen the change because he stilled, hand imprisoned within his pocket. “Just getting my wallet. Okay? Gonna bring it out and show Kelly the pictures.” Owen nodded, and the man slowly withdrew his hand, square of leather trapped between his fingers. “It’s an ID and a couple of pictures.” Gaze locked with Owen, he flipped open the wallet and thumbed out a square ID card along with his driver’s license. He offered them, and Owen took them, surprised at the steadiness of his hand. With the adrenaline rush still in his system, he’d expected shaking. He held them while the man dug deeper, coming up with a couple of candid photos of him and groups of kids that he also passed over. Owen had seen these images online. They were of the children Marchant had worked with in Thailand, him crouched in front of the mass of petite bodies, one child balanced on his knee and one perched on his shoulders. Owen brought the items closer to his body so Kelly could see. The boy reached out and touched one of the pictures, his finger drawing a line under where Marchant was shown kneeling.

  “You’re really, really a doctor? Did you help all those kids?” Kelly took the hospital identification and held it close to his face, studiously looking at Marchant’s information. “What hospital is this?”

  Owen studied the boy, surprised. The info is right there. Kelly’s expression held no recognition. Transient parents, bounced around the foster system, then the pack…it’d be more shocking if there weren’t potential issues. “It’s Sussex County General.” He pointed to the top of the plastic square. “This is the name of the hospital.” He pointed farther down. “And this says his privileges there are valid through the middle of next year.” Kelly touched the dates and looked up at Owen, brows drawn together in a deep frown. “Privileges means he has permission to treat patients at that hospital.” With a nod, Kelly returned to staring at the ID. “He’s all right, Kelly. I checked him out before we left to get Shiloh. You know what I can do, right?” Kelly nodded without looking up. “He helps people like me. When I find kids that need help, and I don’t trust anyone else, he’s the kind of guy I’d trust. He’s who I was going to have stay here with you, before we changed our plans.”

  “Okay.” Kelly rocked up on his knees and twisted to face Shiloh, turning his back on Marchant, and that physical expression of trust made that hollow space in Owen’s chest burn hotter. “Shiloh. The man hurt you bad. The doc is gonna help make it better. If Owen trusts him, I do too. Owen says he’s safe. Owen wouldn’t lie to us. He’s a good guy.”

  Shiloh stirred in Owen’s arms, lifting her head to look around Kelly at Marchant. She’d begun trembling, her tiny body vibrating, and Owen heard her teeth chattering lightly. “Him’s a good guy, too?”

  “Yeah.” Owen answered her, wanting to lend the weight of his approval to Kelly’s, not certain he could stand another iteration of the lie Kelly wouldn’t let go of. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  “Mm’kay.” She twisted around, facing Marchant, and Owen flinched when she let her legs fall open. “Bad man hurt me down in my front butt.”

  Marchant already knew Shiloh had been attacked. Owen had shared everything he’d believed relevant, including the confinement by shock collar, the bindings he’d cut off the little girl, the malnourished state she was in, and the blood he’d found on the covers where she’d lain. It had felt like an invasion at the time, but he’d answered all the questions the doctor had sent back, and now, seeing the trust the tiny girl had for the man based on his and Kelly’s say-so, he was glad for the time spent laying the groundwork, so Marchant didn’t have to ask her any painful questions.

  The man didn’t reach for her but also didn’t shy away from what she’d exposed. The pain on his face reflected that of the girl’s, and Marchant’s voice held an anguished vibrato when he said, “Owie. That looks like it hurts. Did the man hurt you one time or a bunch of times?”

  “Jus once.” Her tone wasn’t as gut-punching flat and affectless as it had been before, but the effects of what she’d been through were present in her voice. Teeth chattering again, the little girl forced out a soft, “Him was a bad man.”

  Owen’s throat closed tight, and he found himself unable to take in even the smallest breath. His mind was awash with images, each more devastating than the last. The little girl shifted around so she could see him, her eyes dark with remembered pain.

  “Yes.” The word was choked and strained, coming out of Owen’s throat rough and filled with gravel. “Yes, he was. He won’t hurt you again, sweetie. I promise.”

  “Because you killed him.” She scratched at the side of her nose, then leaned her cheek into her palm, exhaustion marring her features. “The bad man.”

  “I did.” He breathed the words out like an oath, like a vow, like the most solemn statement he could ever give.

  “Good.” She adjusted again, shifting in his lap until she had nestled her head against his chest. “I’m glad.”

  The questions from the doctor picked back up, and Owen recognized a similar cadence to what he’d adopted a couple of days ago when initially talking to Kelly. Before laying a hand on the little girl, Marchant was able to develop a good picture of the abuse she’d suffered. When she revealed the man had used his hand on her, not his penis, Owen let out a breath he hadn’t been conscious of holding. The disclosure didn’t make the abuse any less damaging, but from the look Marchant tossed towards him, it was good news for something at least.

  Twenty minutes later, Owen was pulling a fresh shirt over the little girl’s arms, drawing the towel out from underneath after she was covered. He helped her stand and step into panties and shorts. Once Shiloh was dressed, he squinted down at Kelly.

  The boy had refused to leave, had stayed by Shiloh’s side throughout the ordeal of the question and answer with Marchant, and then through the limited physical exam, Marchant pulling gloves and packages of swabs from his pocket. The boy had heard everything and likely drawn his own conclusions. Owen squatted next to him and touched Kelly’s shoulder, studying his face when Kelly turned to look at him.

  “The man, Earl, he’s gone. He can’t hurt her, or you, anymore.” Kelly nodded before his chin sank back to his chest, gaze steady on his fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt. “I’m going to the kitchen to talk to the doc. Can you stay in
here with Shiloh for a minute? I’ll tackle getting some food started, so we can get the both of you fed.” He bumped the boy’s shoulder with his elbow. “I’ve still got that candy bar for you guys. That’ll be dessert tonight, okay?”

  Shiloh crowded closer to Kelly. “Cann’y?”

  “Yeah, sissy. After supper, okay? Da—Owen has good food.” There was that damned slip again, and Owen found himself wishing Kelly had simply gone for it, calling him Daddy as he had in the store. Was that just yesterday? It felt forever ago.

  He trailed Marchant up the hallway, marking to himself how comfortable he was around the man. It had to be more than the level of care he’d taken with Shiloh, and Owen liked the fact the doctor had dedicated his life to providing services that were complementary to what Owen had been doing. That alone spoke volumes about the character of the man.

  “Is she going to be okay?” He opened the refrigerator, staring blankly inside before grabbing two bottles of water. Turning, he held one out for Marchant, who accepted it with muttered thanks. Setting the other on the countertop, he opened the freezer and took out a lasagna. Paired with a salad, it’ll be enough for dinner tonight. Oven heating, he removed the packaging and placed the frozen mass of tomato sauce and pasta in a dish, popping it inside without waiting. He was setting the timer when he realized the doc hadn’t answered him and turned to see Marchant staring at him. “I didn’t read things wrong back there, did I? She is okay, right?”