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No touch came. She let out a controlled breath, attempting to slow her rapid heartbeat. The man moved away, obviously having chosen the classmate next to her—Lucille, the girl who’d been responsible for her “cleansing.” She wanted to feel some measurement of satisfaction, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
No one deserved what these men were doing to them.
And she understood these girls—their opportunism, their poor judgment, their greed, their lack of empathy, and their jealousy. She was one of them. She’d displayed all of those things too. She was no worse, but she was also no better. She had no right to judge.
Later, Kandace lay in bed, listening to the drugged snores of Aurora and Sydney. She didn’t know if they’d been chosen and so she waited. The house squeaked, quiet footsteps echoing through the walls as girls were carried from their beds. No one climbed the stairs to the attic.
Kandace slid quietly out of bed, keeping her nightgown on as it was the only other clothes she had except for her uniform. She slipped her shoes on and made her way down the rickety set of steps, her muscles tensed at every squeak and creak, praying that if she was heard, it would be assumed that it was one of the men retrieving one of their “blessed ones.” She didn’t think she had to be overly quiet. Tonight, Lilith House was a bevy of activity, and they all believed quiet was unnecessary.
As she slipped around the corner, tiptoeing down the third-floor hallway, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Kandace’s heart lurched and she pulled herself into a doorway, pressing herself against the hard wood, her rounded belly showing past the jamb. She held her breath as a man, carrying a girl, moved from one hallway to another, his head turned in the opposite direction. The girl in his arms looked small and frail and Kandace clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw that it was the young girl who lived in the basement. The one with the dark curls and the hair lip. The one who couldn’t be more than fourteen years old.
Fury dripped through her, making her feel nauseous but what could she do? I’m trying to help you, I swear, she said silently to the unconscious girl. I can’t now, but I will.
“Dreschel,” someone’s voice greeted the man in passing, but out of her line of vision, both of their footsteps—thank God—moving in the other direction. Dreschel. I’ll remember your name. I won’t forget.
When the footsteps had faded, Kandace stepped out of the doorway and raced ahead, slipping down the back stairs, and moving swiftly down the hall, back pressed against the wall, head moving in both directions to ensure no one caught her.
When she’d made it to Ms. Wykes’s office, she pulled the pin from her hair, making the series of moves she’d mastered at this point. She had the door open in seconds. Sweating, her breath coming rapidly, Kandace slipped inside the room, closing the door softly behind her, engaging the lock and exhaling slowly. The Tiffani lamp on Ms. Wykes’s desk was on, the stained-glass shade deep red, green, and blue, casting the office in a somber glow. For several minutes she simply stood there listening, a few creaks and squeaks from above making their way to her ears.
She grabbed the wooden chair near the wall and slipped it under the knob, tilting it so she’d have time to . . . what? What was she going to do if she’d been unknowingly seen and Ms. Wykes and Jasper showed up again? She had no escape. The most she could do was find a weapon . . . her eyes darted around . . . the paperweight on the desk, or the pointy umbrella in the stand near the door. This time, she’d at least go down swinging.
Kandace rushed to the file cabinets, picking the lock of the first cabinet, and quietly pulling the drawer open. She rifled through the files, finding the first name in her memory, a surge of excitement causing her to inhale sharply as she pulled it from the drawer. She quickly found the second and third, moving to Ms. Wykes’s desk where she opened the first folder and gazed at the picture of the pretty young woman. God, she looked just like Dreamboat with those soulful eyes and full lips. Something caught in her throat and she swallowed it down, using her finger to quickly scan through her information. She’d been from New Jersey . . . Camden, New Jersey . . . Kandace scanned the page finding only basic information, but when she flipped the first page over, she let out a soft, “Oh.” She’d shown up pregnant. They’d contacted her family and they had requested that Lilith House facilitate an adoption. Shown up pregnant. Like Kandace had “shown up pregnant”? Kandace turned the page. God, her chest hurt. This girl who looked no older than sixteen had given birth at Lilith House under the medical care of Dr. Bill Woodrow. Her eyes scanned the sloppy writing, pulling out the words that told the story of what turned into a traumatic birth. Shoulder dystocia . . . lack of oxygen . . .
