Ruth's slap drew blood from her chapped, worn lips.
"Let that be a reminder to you of the pain and torment you bring to all those driven and aching for the future. When you refuse to obey and put yourself above them, above Lucas, you condemn us all to longer in The Existence. It is not up to you to understand how Lucas brings us forward or the ways that he connects his being to The Essence for the good of all of us. I won't have him waiting on you any longer. Take off your dress so you can ready yourself for him."
"No," she begged.
"Then you will keep it on," Ruth scowled.
Her foot lifted from her hair, and a hard kick sent her toppling into the water. She fought to come to the surface, but her exhausted body and clouded mind couldn't push back against Ruth holding her down. Her head hit the side of the tub, and more blood seeped into the water. Her body went limp, but just before the water drained into her lungs, hands wrenched her out.
She didn't know how the men got into the room so quickly or what Ruth told them. It all went by in a blur. But she felt them carrying her down steep, winding steps. She clawed for the banister with all the strength she could find, but the wood peeled away her thin, weakened skin. Finally, there was nothing more she could do. They brought her beneath The Tower where there was nothing but a choking, suffocating smell and the sound of something scraping the stone floor.
She crashed to the ground so hard she was sure her hip was broken. The men turned and stomped away, slamming the door behind them with a deep, resolute thud.
And then she was alone. Everything around her was pitch black. Her hand reached out and touched something wet. She couldn't breathe the air around her. The smell choked every bit of oxygen from her. She tried to crawl forward, but the clang of metal stopped her. She realized she was in a cell.
A few seconds later, a flame appeared in the blackness. It glowed on Jeremiah's face, his expression a scowl as he lit a lamp and hung it on a hook outside the door.
"One month to purge. Then you must purify yourself again," he muttered.
She tried to call after him, but he said nothing more. His eyes lingered on her for only a moment, but he walked away.
She could make no sound. Pulling herself back, she turned, and her scream found her. It ricocheted from the stone and rained back down from the ceiling, falling on long blond hair matted with blood and skin falling away from bones. Her whisper would never be heard.
"Sister Clarissa."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Now
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, holding my phone with my shoulder as I take off my shoes.
"Honestly, I didn't think you would care," Sam says. “You have enough going on.”
“You didn't think I would care that the suicide I said was suspicious from the very beginning turned out to be murder?” I sputter incredulously.
“Like I said, I figured you already have enough going on. It wouldn't matter to you what was going on around here,” he says.
“Of course I care what's going on around there. Just because I needed to come back here for a little while and handle some things doesn't mean I don't care about what's going on there. Especially this.”
“Well, that's good to hear.”
I let out an exasperated sound.
“You know that's not what I meant,” I say. “It doesn't matter. I got an early flight, and I'm on my way back. I'm going through security in Richmond right now. I should be landing in DC in less than two hours, and I'll start the drive back to Sherwood.”
“Why would you do that?” he asks.
“What do you mean, why would I do that? I want to know what's going on. I want to help with Everly's case,” I tell him.
"What about the bombing?"
“That's not my investigation. They brought me in as a consultant to watch the videos and give them my opinion. That's what I did. Now I'm done, so I'm headed back. It'll be late when I get there, but I'll see you first thing in the morning.”
Ending the call, I toss my phone into the container with my carry-on bag, put my shoes on the conveyor belt, and head through the security terminal. I'm cutting it close. It wasn't easy switching the flight I had scheduled for tomorrow morning to the next one flying, but as soon as I heard the news report about Everly, I knew I couldn't stay away for another night. But that meant throwing everything into my luggage, hoping I didn't leave something vital behind and making a run for the airport that would make the McAlister’s proud.
I make it to the gate by the skin of my teeth. The attendant checks my boarding pass and issues me a look of decided frustration as she points down the loading ramp. It feels like the plane starts taxing down the runway as soon as I squeeze myself down into the middle seat that was the only thing left when I booked the flight. Both passengers on either side of me are clearly displeased to have me joining them. Both just large enough to be uncomfortable when I put down my armrests, they exchange a glance that tells me they pre-booked and selected their seats with the intention of the seat being empty throughout the flight.
If I wasn't so anxious to get back to Sherwood, I might feel guilty. At the moment, I'm far from it. Being able to snag this seat at the last minute means I don't have to wait another eighteen hours to find out about the investigation into Everly's death. I keep my laptop poised and ready on my lap until we've reached elevation, then pop it open and connect to the Wi-Fi.
A flight between Richmond and DC is just long enough for me to read through the news articles hastily written since Sam's announcement of the murder investigation. There's very little in the way of new information. He's playing it smart and keeping what they know confidential. That's almost always the best strategy when it comes to investigating a murder. Too often, even a seemingly minor detail can tip off the killer and give them the opportunity to cover their tracks.
It's almost two in the morning by the time I finally pull into the driveway. I hesitate in the car for a few seconds, trying to remind myself which lights I purposely left on. They weren't meant to make it look like I was at home. Anybody who lives on the street knows I've been gone for over a week, and my car not being in the driveway is a fairly blatant indication I'm not there. Instead, I left the lights on to make sure they were still on when I got back.
For most people, turning a light off when they leave a room is an impulse. It's so ingrained into what they do on a daily basis unless there's another person actively using the room, as they leave, they reach up and flip the switch. If the lights I chose aren't on, it means someone was in my house while I was gone.
From the driveway, I can see the light burning in my kitchen and the other in my bedroom. The one in the attic would be more difficult to see because the only window not blocked by shutters is a small round cutout near the peak of the roof. But no matter how long I stare at it, I can't detect any glow from the overhead bulb I left on.
Gripping my phone tightly in my hand, I step out of my car and leave the door open. That leaves the cabin light on. A safety tactic that means if I don't come back within the next few minutes to close the door, it will call the attention of one of my neighbors, who can then alert Sam. It's unlikely at this hour that any of my neighbors are awake and peering out windows, but if there is a safety measure I can put into place, I'm going to do it.
The house is quiet when I step inside the front door. Walking through the house, I carefully check each room, every closet, and under my bed. When I'm confident it's empty, I go to the attic door and open it. There's only darkness overhead. I stay still and quiet, listening for any sounds of someone shifting or moving against the wooden floor. When there's nothing, I feel for the light switch beside the door. When my fingers touch it, I realize it's still in the up position. Flicking it up and down several times does nothing, and I let out a long breath, shaking my head.