“Well, sir, I believe my ex’s mother is behind the DCF investigation. She wants custody of my daughter, and honestly, she’s the only one who knows that Sarah lives with me.”
The chief growled a few obscenities. “Nothing ticks me off more than those who abuse the system.”
“I agree. Which is why I was hoping you could speak with the social worker’s upper management; see if they can put a stop to her harassing me.”
Horace agreed to intervene on Evan’s behalf before ending the call with a promise to visit him soon.
The door opened just as Evan returned the phone to its cradle next to his hip.
Elenore poked her head inside. “Feel like some visitors?”
“Daddy!” Sarah squealed, running across the room and grabbing on to Evan’s hand.
Elenore hurried in behind her. “Be careful, Sarah. Daddy has a few boo-boos.”
Evan raised the head of his bed, wanting to get a better look at Sarah’s smiling face. “Hey there, squirt. It’s good to see you.”
It was good to see Elenore as well, but Evan kept that bit of information to himself.
He returned his gaze to Sarah. “So, tell me about your visit with Ida Mae.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elenore and Sarah remained at the hospital for the next two hours, visiting with Evan before heading home for the evening.
After giving Sarah a bath and making her some dinner, Elenore walked the little girl next door.
Sarah would need to stay with Ida Mae while Elenore went out for the night…in search of Waylon Redding.
And of course, Ida Mae opened the door without hesitation. “Well, hello there, Sarah. Come on in, sweetheart.”
Once inside, Sarah ran off to the TV room, leaving Elenore alone with Ida Mae.
“I have to go out for a little while,” Elenore murmured, fighting with everything she had not to fidget. “Would you mind watching Sarah for the night?”
Ida Mae’s knowing gaze assessed her. “Of course, I don’t mind. Do you have the gun I gave you?”
And just like that, the fidgeting took control.
Somewhere deep down, Elenore rebelled against what she knew she had to do. But it was a losing battle and she knew it.
She wanted to take Waylon’s life in the same manner he’d tried taking Evan’s, even though her conscience screamed against it. “I have it.”
Ida Mae nodded. “If you are having second thoughts about doing this, then don’t do it. The gun is simply insurance that you don’t lose your own life in the process. That is, if you find him.”
Elenore had nothing to say to that, so she remained quiet, unsure of what to do with her ever-moving hands. She clasped them together. “I’ll come back and get Sarah in the morning.”
Without waiting for the elderly neighbor to respond, Elenore hurried out the door and jogged back to the house.
She entered through the kitchen, locking up behind herself before making her way to her bedroom to get ready for the night.
Taking the red dress she’d fashioned the night before from the closet, Elenore stepped into the bathroom and flipped on the light.
She stared at her pale complexion in the mirror.
“You’re a murderer,” she whispered aloud, unable to look away from her own eyes.
Memories of the bodies lying beneath her barn back in Wexler suddenly surfaced. She’d killed those people just as she was about to kill Waylon Redding.
They deserved it. A quiet voice resonated through her skull. They hurt you, humiliated you, and tortured you beyond comprehension.
Elenore’s mind flew back in time to one of Evan’s first visits to her farm, to the retribution she’d suffered for that visit at the hands of her father.
Elijah didn’t move until Evan’s car could no longer be heard leaving the driveway.
“Get in your room.”
“Daddy, please! I didn’t invite him here. He just—”
“I said go to your room!”
She bumped into the chair she’d been sitting in earlier, nearly toppling it over behind her.
“And take off the dress,” he yelled as she rounded the corner to her small bedroom.
Tears of terror began to gather in her eyes. Her entire body shook with fear. Fear of what he would do, fear of how badly he would hurt her this time. But mostly she feared that she would survive to endure another day.
More memories came flooding back with a vengeance. Bill, the ropes, his fists. She remembered that he’d beaten her with a fireplace poker, and then he had assaulted her with it.
The agonizing pain of his torment had brought her out of her safe place.
She hadn’t been able to mentally hide from him any longer. She’d been forced to lie there, fully lucid, enduring the torture he’d inflicted upon her, again and again. A torture that went on for hours, maybe even days. She couldn’t remember.
There were many who’d abused Elenore over the years, some worse than others. But none of them were as monstrous and sadistic as Bill.
Some even preferred pain and sodomy, but Bill had been the only one who’d ripped into her with objects that left physical scars. Scars severe enough, she would never know what it was like to have children of her own.
But she’d killed him. His rotted corpse now lay on the cold, dirt floor beneath her father’s barn; a barn that she would never be able to sell as long as her father was assumed to be alive.
Animal control had removed her cow, pigs, and chickens months ago, which saddened Elenore. They were all she’d ever had. Besides Elijah.
Her mouth watered up, and nausea appeared as she reached for the lipstick and twisted off the lid.
She hated the feel of it gliding over her mouth. It reminded her of the times that Bill had brought the bright red cosmetic with him, forcing her to wear it for him while he pawed and molested her.
Elenore seemed to momentarily lose focus, the lipstick smearing onto her cheek.
She grabbed a tissue from the counter and attempted to wipe off the mess, flashes of Bill’s face blending with images of her father, Judge Powell, and all the others who’d abused her over the years.
A cry slipped from her, unbidden. She somehow knew the memories would never leave her, never fade. They would follow her to the grave.
With a resolve that haunted her, she finished applying the makeup and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
She had a job to do, and if she didn’t leave soon, she feared she would back out.
No, Elenore would return to the streets tonight and hunt down the man who’d shot Evan, the man responsible for him lying in that hospital, unable to walk.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Evan couldn’t prevent the laugh that bubbled up inside him any more than he could stop the tears of relief that threatened to spill forth.
He’d moved his foot.
Even though his left foot remained limp, his right one had twitched, which in Evan’s opinion, happened to be a miracle.
He would walk again. Of that, he had no doubt.
The door opened, and the nightshift nurse stepped inside. “It’s time to change your catheter bag, Mr. Ramirez.”
Evan was so excited he could not care less about the catheter bag. “I moved my foot.”
“Really?” The nurse finished snapping on her latex gloves and pulled a pen from the pocket of her scrubs. “Which one?”
“The right one,” he answered.
“That’s wonderful news, Mr. Ramirez. I’m so happy to hear. Can you close your eyes for me?”
Evan did as she demanded.
“Now,” she continued, “let me know if you feel me touching you.”
Evan lay there for a long moment, anxiety taking hold when he felt absolutely nothing.
He shook his head.
“How about now?”
A tickling sensation shot through his right foot. “I can feel that.”
“Very good, Mr. Ramirez. You can open your eyes now.”
She rounded the bed and bent to empty his catheter bag. “I’ll let the doctor know that you’re showing improvement. He’ll be glad to hear that.”
“I’m pretty happy about it myself,” Evan admitted, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. “I can’t wait to tell my wife.”
The nurse smiled back at him. “I’m surprised you haven’t called her yet. It’s eight o’clock.”
“You’re right. I’ll call her when we’re all done here.”
Evan could hardly wait for the nurse to leave the room so that he could inform Elenore of his progress.
The second the door closed behind the nurse, Evan picked up his phone and dialed Elenore’s cell.
It rang four or five times and then went to voicemail.
He left her a message. “Hi, Elenore, it’s me. Give me a call when you get this. I have some news.”
“Visiting hours are over,” Evan heard the nurse announce right before he hung up the phone.
The door opened, and Sheriff Donnie King stepped into the room, holding a large brown box in his arms. “I won’t be long, ma’am,” he informed the nurse. “You have my word.”
Evan blinked in surprise. “Sheriff?”
Donnie set the box on Evan’s bedside table and extended his hand. “Detective.”
Evan accepted the sheriff’s outstretched palm. “What are you doing in Atlanta?”
“I heard about the shooting,” Donnie answered, a worried look in his eyes. “I was told that you’re lucky to be alive.”
“It was a close call, that’s for sure.”
Donnie pulled up a chair and sat next to Evan’s bed. “The police have any leads on the perp?”
Evan shook his head, knowing full well that the sheriff already knew the answer to that question. In fact, he’d likely talked with the Atlanta Police Department a dozen times since the shooting.
But Evan decided to humor him anyway. “Nothing yet, but Elenore got a pretty good look at the guy. I’m sure they’ll find him.”
The sheriff’s gaze grew hooded. “About that. Why is the Griffin girl here in Atlanta?”
With the cat already out of the proverbial bag, Evan confessed. “She’s here with me.”
Donnie only continued to stare.
“We’re married now,” Evan informed him through tight lips. “She’s my wife.”
Apparently, Donnie hadn’t heard that particular news. “Your wife? Jesus, Evan, you’re just asking for trouble!”
Indignation reared its head. “I don’t appreciate the condescending tone, Sheriff. Especially not where my wife is concerned. My marital status is no one’s business but mine and Elenore’s.”
Donnie leaned heavily against the back of his chair, the air seeming to leave his body all at once. “You’re right, of course. I just worry about the repercussions of involving yourself with the Griffin girl. What do you think will happen when ole Elijah gets wind of this?”
Evan kept his expression blank. Of course, there would be no repercussions. Elijah had been gator bait for several months now. But Donnie didn’t know that.
Pretending indifference, Evan shrugged. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“We both know you’re not up to crossing bridges, Detective. In fact, you’re nothing more than a sitting duck in that hospital bed. At least have the police department position someone outside your room as a safety precaution. Elijah wouldn’t bat an eye over slipping in here in the middle of the night and smothering you in your sleep.”
It took everything Evan had to pretend concern. “That’s actually a good idea, Sheriff. I’ll do that.”
“I’d do it first thing,” Donnie pressed, running a hand through his hair.
With a nod, Evan decided to change the subject. “Speaking of Elijah, any breaks in the missing persons cases?”
“Nothing concrete.” Donnie shifted in his chair. “Elijah’s truck has been sitting in the exact same spot for the past four or five months. He hasn’t been back to the farm, either. It doesn’t make sense. Why drive home only to park your truck? Why not dump it in the next state over? No…something’s off, Detective. I can feel it in my gut. And my gut is rarely ever wrong.”
Evan could attest to that.
The sheriff stayed for another twenty minutes, then the nurse returned to run him out.
But not before he opened the box to show Evan all the goodies he’d promised to deliver from the employees of Gerald’s Diner.
The smell of cakes, cookies and pies filled the air, sending Evan’s stomach growling.
He waited for the door to close behind the sheriff, picked up the phone, and dialed Elenore.
Once again, he reached her voicemail.
Where could she possibly be at this hour? Better yet, why hadn’t she returned his call from earlier?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elenore walked along the sidewalks of 26th and Main, her stomach in knots, and her heart in her throat.
She’d been out there, among the women of the night, in search of Waylon Redding for the past several hours without any luck.
Some of the prostitutes working that area couldn’t be more than sixteen years old.
Elenore wanted to beg them to run from that place and never look back.
They had no idea of the potential horrors that lurked in the darkened interiors of the cars driving up and down that strip.
But Elenore knew. God, did she ever.
She thought back to the last time she’d known innocence, before her eighth birthday. If she’d had any clue the nightmare that would soon descend upon her on that farm, she would have run far and fast from that place and never looked back.
As the years moved slowly past, Elenore had learned to accept her fate, and at one point had even thought things were normal—that all daddies did what hers did. Until she’d met Bill.
Even then, Elenore had convinced herself that her father loved her on some level. She’d blamed his heinous behavior on the alcohol and grief over her mother’s leaving. But Elijah had never loved her. She knew that now.
A car pulled up to the curb, jerking Elenore out of her sickening memories.
She swallowed her fear and hurried over to the parked vehicle.
The window rolled down, and an older man’s face appeared. “How much?”
Disappointment was instant. It wasn’t Waylon.
She opened her mouth to tell him to move on, when a young girl sashayed over and leaned into the window.
Panic quickly replaced Elenore’s disappointment. She grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her back.
“What are you doing?” the girl gasped, her eyes flashing, first with confusion and then anger.
Elenore’s mind fought to come up with a believable excuse for interfering. She suddenly lifted the hem of her short dress, displaying one of the many scars left by Bill. “That man is into pain. He likes to use knives. Find someone else.”
The girl’s eyes grew huge, and then a grateful look skated across her face. “I’ll be sure to let Silas know about him. He’ll see to it that he never hurts anyone else.”
Elenore glanced at the elderly man waiting patiently for his evening rendezvous and then back to the young girl standing before her. “Who is Silas?”
“My pimp,” the girl answered, as if Elenore were slow. “Everyone knows who Silas is.”
The older man waiting in the car finally gave up and drove away.
“Silas isn’t gonna be too happy about that,” the girl muttered low, her gaze darting across the street.
Elenore recognized that look. She reached inside her small bag and pulled a hundred-dollar bill free. “This should make up for it.”
Disbelief shone from the girl’s eyes. “You’re giving me this? But why?”
Elenore grew uncomfortable under the girl’s star-struck gaze. Besides, she had no idea how to answer her. So, instead, she said, “What’s your
name?”
“Out here, it’s Georgia, but my real name is Miley. You can call me Miley. And yours?”
“Mine’s Lacy,” Elenore swiftly lied. “Where’s your family?”
Miley glanced away. “My mama lives on the outskirts of town with her boyfriend. I don’t know where my daddy is. Why?”
The way Miley said the word boyfriend told Elenore all she needed to know. And that knowledge hurt to her soul. “Wait here.”
Spinning around toward a convenience store, Elenore strode inside and stopped in front of a small green ATM machine.
She dug her debit card out of her shoulder bag and inserted it just as Evan had taught her.
According to the machine, the maximum amount she could withdraw would be five hundred dollars. And that’s exactly what she did.
Miley stood in the same place Elenore had left her, her palms running up and down her arms. It was obvious the girl was nervous. Probably due to her pimp, Silas.
Elenore approached her and slipped the wad of bills into the girl’s fist. “Go home, Miley. Climb into the next passing taxi and go home.”
Miley stared down at the bills in her hand for long moments and then lifted a now tear-filled gaze. “I can’t go home, Lacy. Not as long as he’s there.”
“He touches you?” But Elenore knew.
Miley looked away, the tears swimming in her eyes now spilling down her cheeks. “Since I was eleven.”
“And your mother wouldn’t stop him?”
“She didn’t know,” Miley confessed with a sniffle. “I couldn’t tell her. He threatened to kill my little brother if I told. So I ran away.”
Handing the ATM receipt to Miley, Elenore pulled an ink pen from the depths of her bag, passing that to her as well. “Write your mother’s address on the back there, along with her boyfriend’s name.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
Elenore shrugged, “Probably set him up. At least if he’s locked up for a while, it’ll give you time to spend with your brother…your mom. Maybe talk to her about what he did to you.”
But Elenore had no intention of setting the guy up. No, he would find himself feasted on by the same gators who’d enjoyed Elijah’s corpse.
Elle Returns: The Sequel: A Psychological Thriller Page 13
