I Am Elle Read online

  I Am Elle

  A Psychological Thriller

  By Ditter Kellen

  www.ditterkellen.com

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  Copyright © Ditter Kellen

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Ditter Kellen. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Ditter Kellen

  P.O. Box 124

  Highland Home, AL, 36041

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains graphic scenes and adult language that may be considered offensive to some readers. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely where they cannot be accessed by underaged readers.

  Dedication

  To my beautiful friend, Cathe Green, who held my hand and cracked the whip when I needed it. If not for her keeping me grounded, I would have changed the ending to this book a dozen times. Thank you, Cathe, my sister, my heart, for believing in me. I love you BIG.

  Acknowledgement

  A big thank-you to Andy Bingham for beta reading this story and for loving the twisted as much as I do!

  A huge thanks to retired deputy Tommy Cook for his help with police protocol and procedures.

  Research links used for suppressed memories and the neurobiology of abused children.

  https://news.northwestern.edu/stories/2015/08/traumatic-memories-hide-retrieve-them

  http://www.dana.org/Cerebrum/2000/Wounds_That_Time_Won%E2%80%99t_Heal__The_Neurobiology_of_Child_Abuse/

  Prologue

  Wexler, Alabama

  Population 2415

  “Elle!” Elijah Griffin shouted, the back door slamming in the distance, a testament to his mood.

  He’d been drinking again.

  Elenore hovered behind the chicken coop, her bare feet catching on briars in her haste to escape her father.

  “Elle Griffin? So help me God, girl, I will take my belt to you if you don’t bring your ass here at once!”

  She didn’t want to leave the safety the shadows of the chicken coop provided. But she was afraid not to.

  If she remained here, and her father found her hiding from him, he would hurt her. Badly.

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back. One thing Elijah Griffin hated worse than disobedience was tears.

  Elenore wiped at her eyes with the hem of her dress and stepped from behind the coop.

  The evening sun had begun its descent, casting shadows along the side of the house and hiding her father’s expression from view.

  But Elenore didn’t need to see his face to understand what he wanted from her, what he’d been taking from her for years.

  She lowered her head and slowly moved in his direction.

  “Where’ve you been, girl?” He gripped her upper arm in a painful hold. “Get your ass in that house.”

  Elenore stumbled toward the steps at the back door. She swallowed back the panic that rose in her throat at the knowledge of the horror that awaited her inside.

  She could feel her father tight on her heels, knew he would be on her within seconds.

  But hard as she tried, Elenore could fight the tears no longer.

  And the tears would make it worse…so much worse.

  “Are you crying?” he slurred, his hand suddenly in her hair.

  He jerked her around to face him. “What have I told you about crybabies?”

  “I-I won’t do it again.”

  He stared at her for achingly long moments, unsteady on his feet. “Get in your room.”

  Elenore didn’t want to go into her room. She knew what would happen to her once inside.

  He backhanded her across the face.

  The copper taste of blood filled her mouth.

  With her jaw now throbbing to the beat of her heart, Elenore staggered toward her bedroom door, Elijah following close behind.

  She could hear the buckle of his belt tinkering as he released it and slid it free of his beltloops. She turned to face him.

  “Take it off,” he demanded, nodding to her dress.

  Her fingers trembled so badly they barely functioned.

  He took a step toward her. “Now!”

  Elenore jumped, lifting her shaky fingers to the first button at the top of her dress.

  There would be no stopping her father from what he intended to do to her. There never was.

  Elenore took a slow, deep breath, lifting her gaze to a place just beyond his shoulder. She forced her eyes to relax until the wall behind him faded into the distance. Her vision grew tunneled, and her mind floated off to a place where nothing or no one could touch her. Especially not her father…

  Chapter One

  Ten Years Later

  Elenore kept her gaze on the floor and accepted the two bags of groceries the bag boy handed her.

  “Do you need some help carrying them to your car?”

  She knew the bag boy spoke to her, but she pretended not to hear him. Besides, if he saw that she didn’t have a car, there would be no hiding the pity that would surely come.

  And Elenore hated pity, nearly as much as she despised her father’s pet name for her. Elle. It wasn’t so much the name itself as the way he said it…like a caress. She inwardly shuddered.

  “No, thank you,” Elenore whispered, scurrying off in the direction of the automatic doors.

  The noonday sun beamed overhead, temporarily blinding her with its intensity.

  She squinted against the brightness and hoisted the groceries up higher in her arms. She had a two mile walk ahead of her, and she needed to hurry if she thought to have dinner ready by the time her father arrived home.

  The bags grew heavier the longer Elenore walked, until she thought for sure her arms would fall off.

  A truck slowed to a stop beside her. “Need a lift?”

  Elenore wanted to say yes, but of course, she didn’t. Too many questions would be asked. She’d had her run-in with some of the town folk in the past, which only served to anger her father.

  She shook her head and continued on.

  “Suit yourself.” The truck drove away.

  Elenore arrived home approximately forty minutes after leaving the grocery store. Her feet ached almost as much as her arms did.

  At least her father wasn’t home. For that, she was grateful.

  Since Elenore was no longer a minor, the state of Alabama had cut off any financial help Elijah had been receiving after his wife left him twelve years earlier.

  He’d been forced to work on a more permanent basis, which afforded Elenore a daily reprieve from his presence. She loved being alone, with no one around but her animals.

  Now that Elijah had a little money, he usually spent it on card games and prostitutes, which kept him busy more often than not.

  Today would be a “not” day.

  After putting the meager amount of groceries away, Elenore tied an apron around her waist and strode out to the chicken coop to gather the eggs.

  She shooed the hens aside while attempting to dodge the piles of chicken droppings in her path. If not for the eggs and occasional meat the chickens provided, Elenore would go hungry.

  Elijah left thirty dollars on the kitchen counter every Friday. Barely enough to buy the essentials, such as toilet paper and shampoo, let alone bread and canned foods.

  So, Elenore had quickly learned how to budget…and shoplift anything she could fit in her pockets.

  Once the eggs were gathered, she took out the chicken she’d killed the day before and started dinner.

  Elenore had learned at an early age to shut down her emotions and do what had to be done. Besides, she told herself, killing a chicken was essential to her survival. Nothing more.

  The old clapboard house she shared with her father quickly grew hot after turning on the oven. Even with the windows open, it became stifling. If not for the giant oak trees surrounding the house, she would probably be forced to cook outside.

  Elenore wiped at her damp forehead with the back of her hand and switched on the television to watch the local news.

  A pretty blonde anchorwoman sat behind a horseshoe-shaped desk, her red lipstick gleaming in the overhead lights as she spoke into the camera. “Alan Brown makes the third person reported missing in the past two months. All three men are said to be from Haverty County, Alabama.”

  Pictures appeared across the screen, with each man’s name resting beneath.

  Elenore wiped her hands on her apron and moved closer to the television.

  “Hector Gonzalez,” the anchorwoman continued, “was last seen nearly eight weeks ago at his place of employment. Dennis Baker went missing approximat
ely a week later. And now, Alan Brown has disappeared. If you have seen or have information on the whereabouts of any of these men, we urge you to contact the Haverty County Sheriff’s Department immediately.”

  The sound of a vehicle pulling up out front brought Elenore’s head up. Her father was home.

  She quickly switched off the television and hurried back to the kitchen to check on the biscuits.

  His truck door slammed, filling Elenore with dread. There would be only one reason for his early arrival home… He’d been drinking.

  He stomped his way up the back steps to the kitchen and threw open the door. “Elle!”

  Elenore could smell the liquor on his breath long before he leaned down and spoke mere inches from her face. “How long before supper?”

  She backed up a step. “I—It’s almost ready.”

  His eyes narrowed, his gaze slowly lowering to her chest. “Good. That means we have time for a father-daughter talk.”

  Elenore swallowed her fear. “T-talk? What would you like to talk about, Daddy?”

  “Take it off.”

  Nausea was instant. “I— The biscuits will burn.”

  “I don’t give a shit about biscuits.” He took a step forward, his hand going around to her backside. He squeezed it painfully before jerking her hard against his body. “Do what I said, girl.”

  Elenore’s insides turned cold. There would be no stopping him, no talking him out of what he was about to do. She’d been through it enough times to know what would come next. What always came next.

  He released her, spinning her around and shoving her toward the small kitchen table against the opposite wall.

  The sound of his belt coming off could be heard over the thundering of her heart.

  “Turn around,” he slurred.

  She couldn’t face him for fear she would vomit on him.

  He stepped in close behind her, pressing his disgusting erection against her backside. “Turn. Around.”

  The vomit she fought so hard to hold back shot to her throat, hovering there in the form of bile.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back, his wet, disgusting mouth hovering next to her ear. “You look just like your whore of a mama.”

  “D-Daddy, p-please,” she whispered, knowing without question that begging would do no good. It never did any good.

  He twisted her hair tightly in his hold and forced her forward until her face pressed hard against the tabletop.

  His free hand yanked up the hem of her dress, tossing it upward around her shoulders.

  Her underwear came down next, and then the sound of his sliding zipper echoed throughout the room with haunting finality.

  Elenore gripped the edges of the table in preparation of the pain she knew would come.

  She bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from crying out, her gaze locked onto the wall in front of her.

  She forced her eyes to relax, the sound of the table scraping across the floor beneath her fading to the background. Her vision grew tunneled until her mind slipped into a place that shut out the pain and humiliation of his invasion. A place he couldn’t follow. No one could follow…

  Chapter Two

  Elenore awoke the following morning, her entire body throbbing in pain.

  She rolled over in bed to find the sun had already risen.

  Panic quickly gripped her. Her father would be up soon, wanting his breakfast.

  She tossed the covers back, wincing as she threw her legs over the side of the bed.

  The tenderness at the juncture of her thighs was matched only by the pain in her shoulder.

  Glancing down, she took in the bruising on her upper arm, the same arm her father had held behind her back as he… She shut down her thoughts, her mind unwilling to recall what had happened to her in that kitchen.

  A knock sounded on her door.

  Elenore righted her tattered nightgown and surged to her feet.

  Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest in anticipation of Elijah’s entry.

  Odd that he knocked, she thought with more than a little fear, watching intently as the doorknob turned and Elijah stepped into the room.

  He stood there, staring at the floor for long moments, and then he extended a cup in her direction. “Thought you might want some coffee.”

  Confusion began to mingle with her fear as it always did. The man standing before her now was not the same man who had hurt her yesterday afternoon when he got home.

  He took an awkward step forward, still holding that cup in his hand. “Go on, take it.”

  Elenore hesitantly moved toward him and accepted the cup of coffee he held.

  He cleared his throat. “Look, Elle. I…um… I’m sorry about yesterday. You know how I get when I’ve been drinking. I would never hurt you for anything in the world.”

  More confusion settled in.

  “I love you, Elle. I don’t know what I would do if you left me like your mama did. I’ll stop the drinking this time. I swear it.”

  Elenore’s heart shifted. Her father loved her. That’s all she’d ever wanted from him—his love and acceptance.

  Part of her loved him in return. But that part, way down deep in her soul, hated the very ground he walked on.

  Tears began to gather in her eyes. Maybe he meant it this time? Maybe he realized the monster he became when drinking, and he would finally quit?

  She couldn’t answer him, so great was the ache in her chest. She ached to be loved, ached to run away and never look back. But mostly, she ached for revenge.

  How could she simply forgive him for the pain and humiliation she’d consistently endured at his hands. Hands that should show love and compassion. The very hands he held out to her now.

  Elenore took deep, calming breaths, a coping mechanism she’d learned at an early age. She forced her mind to shut out the incomprehensible memories of the day before, set her coffee on the nightstand, and moved on wooden legs into her father’s outstretched arms.

  He gently rocked her, murmuring soothing words above her head that made little sense. “You forgive your ole man?”

  She nodded, more out of habit than consent.

  “Good girl.” He released her and took a step back. “Don’t worry about making breakfast for me. I’m going fishing with Dale Mitchell this morning. I’ll just grab something on the way.”

  Elenore stood rooted to the spot long after her father left the room.

  Her emotions were all over the place. How could a man who was supposed to love her do the things he did to her? Was it her fault?

  She’d come to the conclusion over the years that she was somehow to blame for her mother leaving. And that Mary Griffin’s sudden departure was the sole reason her father drank like he did.

  Elenore waited until she heard Elijah’s truck leave the yard before she stumbled to the bathroom and vomited.

  She retched so long and hard her stomach muscles screamed in protest. Yet no matter how much she heaved, she couldn’t rid herself of his smell on her.

  Staggering to her feet, she turned on the shower, stripped out of her well-worn gown, and stepped under the spray.

  She would scrub herself until she bled, if that’s what it took to feel clean. But Elenore would never feel clean again. Never.

  After her shower, Elenore took down a green dress that had seen better days. But the sleeves were short and the material thin. Which seemed practical given the sweltering heat that was sure to arrive.

  She would give anything for a pair of jeans, or pants of any kind, for that matter. But Elijah refused to let her have them. He claimed they were of the devil and reserved for men and… whores.

  Slipping on the dress, she moved to stand in front of her mirror. She pulled her long blonde hair back into a ponytail and stared at her reflection. She really did resemble her mother.

  Resentment boiled up inside her, the longer she stood there, looking at herself. That is what Daddy sees when he looks at me, she thought with more than a little disgust. Mother.

  An image of Mary Griffin’s crying face suddenly flashed through Elenore’s mind. “Elijah, don’t!”