Elle Unleashed: A Gripping Psychological Thriller with a Twist Read online

  Elle Unleashed

  Elle Series Book 3

  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 book ONLY. No part of this 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 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 book contains graphic scenes that may be considered triggers to some readers.

  Dedication

  For my dearest friend, Cathe Green. Where to begin? Thank you for listening to me change my mind and then change it again, only to change it once more. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re a precious friend, one I am so grateful and proud to have on my side. I love you always, sister of my heart.

  Acknowledgment

  A big thank-you to my fabulous editor for always managing to fit me in on short notice, for simply being amazing and understanding my needs before I voice them! She’s beyond amazing.

  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/

  Research link on Dissociative Disorders.

  https://www.nami.org/learn-more/mental-health-conditions/dissociative-disorders

  Chapter One

  Waylon Redding’s face swam in Elenore’s vision.

  “How much?” he rasped, ducking his head enough to see her from the lowered passenger side window of his car.

  “Forty dollars.” The voice coming from Elenore felt foreign to her, as if it belonged to someone else. And she realized that, in a sense, it did.

  Somewhere deep inside, Elenore was aware that Elle attempted to emerge. She wasn’t sure how she knew; she only knew that she did.

  Waylon glanced up and down the street she stood on. “Get in.”

  This is it, Elenore thought, opening the door and climbing inside.

  And then his smell hit her. She remembered it invading her senses the night he’d grabbed a handful of her hair in the theater parking lot… The night he’d shot Evan.

  “You got a particular place in mind?” Waylon put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. “If not, I have somewhere.”

  Elenore couldn’t seem to speak now that she found herself in the enclosed vehicle with him.

  Her insides began to shake, and her vision grew tunneled. She shook her head, unable to do little else.

  Turning to stare out the window, she watched the lights of the city grow smaller in the distance.

  Her body grew colder the longer she sat there, the sound of Waylon’s voice swimming around in her oddly unresponsive mind.

  “So, sweetheart, you got a name?” she heard him ask, his question registering somewhere in the depths of her psyche.

  Her vision tunneled even more, to the point where she could no longer see him in her peripheral.

  And just like that, her body slid lower in the seat, relaxing to a strange euphoria.

  She ran her palm along the side of the small handbag she held, loving the feel of the pistol beneath her fingertips, and then slowly cranked her head in his direction.

  “I am Elle…”

  His right hand released the wheel to slip across the car and caress her arm. “I like that name.”

  Elle’s gaze lowered to his stroking fingers. She reached into her small handbag, pulling the gun free with calculated movements.

  Without missing a beat, she stated in a deadly soft tone, “Take a right at the next intersection.”

  Waylon’s fingers stilled. He glanced nervously at the gun aimed in his direction, then swung his now terrified gaze back to the road. “W-what are you doing?”

  She felt a modicum of satisfaction at his nervous-sounding tone. “Just drive.”

  “If it’s money you want, I don’t have much. But you’re welcome to whatever is in my wallet.”

  Elle watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. She was more than a little content in the knowledge that Elenore had slipped completely into the background at this point, giving Elle full control. “Do you believe in karma, Mr. Redding?”

  “How do you know my name?” His hand moved back to grip the wheel.

  “I know lots of things,” Elle answered in a singsong voice. “Like the fact that you prefer young girls. You even raped one no more than fifteen years old. You also hurt the prostitutes unfortunate enough to climb into your car.”

  The vehicle came to a stop at the intersection. “Why are you doing this?” He chanced a quick look in her direction.

  She lifted the gun higher. “Take a right.”

  He hesitated for a moment and then did as she demanded. “If you’re looking to rob someone, you picked the wrong person. Like I said before, I don’t have much money.”

  Elle narrowed her eyes. “You think it’s money I’m after? That’s what you do, Waylon. You rob people at gunpoint.”

  He didn’t speak again for several minutes. And then, “Whatever it is you’re planning to do, you won’t get away with it.”

  Elle ignored his attempt to get inside her head. “Turn left onto that clay road up ahead.”

  “Please,” he whispered, slowing the vehicle to make the turn.

  His plea fell on deaf ears. Elle possessed zero sympathy. And even if she did, she certainly wouldn’t waste an ounce of it on the likes of Waylon Redding.

  The headlights suddenly flashed across the dark waters of the swamp in the distance, sending Waylon’s already bobbing Adam’s apple into overdrive. “P-please lady. Whatever—”

  “Shut up,” Elle bit out, releasing the safety and pulling the hammer back on the gun, “or I’ll paint this car’s interior with your brains. Now stop right here and get out. Slowly.”

  He came to a stop and put the car in park. His hands shook so much, it took three attempts to open his door.

  Elle got out as well, her pistol steadily pointed in his direction. “Step around in front of the car.”

  “Please don’t do this,” he begged, inching toward the beam of the headlights with his hands held out in front of him.

  She ignored him. “Get down on your knees.”

  He began to beg in earnest, his disgusting voice swimming around inside Elle’s head.

  Flashes from the night in the movie theater parking lot suddenly lit behind Elle’s eyes in haunting clarity. The fear Elenore had
experienced at Waylon’s hands. Evan’s heroic attempt to protect her. The explosions. The bullets ripping through Evan’s body. Elenore’s endless screams…

  “On your knees!” Elle shouted, her mind replaying Elenore’s screams, over and over.

  Elle saw the instant acceptance entered Waylon’s eyes. He understood in that moment that he wouldn’t make it out of there alive.

  He dropped heavily to his knees in front of her.

  “Look at me,” Elle demanded, taking a step toward him. “I want my face to be the last thing you see.”

  She waited for him to lift his terrified gaze to her own. “This is for Evan.” She pulled the trigger, the sound of the explosion matched only by the bullet slamming into his chest.

  His body jerked back in shock but remained upright.

  She pulled the hammer back once more, bringing the barrel in line with his forehead. “And this is for all the young girls you’ve defiled and left scarred for life.”

  Another explosive sound ricocheted off the surrounding trees. Waylon’s head flew back, and his body toppled over backward.

  Elle moved to stand over him, satisfied at the gaping hole in his skull.

  She calmly replaced the pistol in her small shoulder bag and set out to remove Waylon’s clothes. Just as she’d seen Evan do with Elijah, she would burn the clothes and drag the body to the water’s edge for the gators to dine on.

  Waylon Redding would be no more than a memory before the sun came up the following morning.

  Chapter Two

  Elle drove Waylon Redding’s car back to town in a daze.

  She had killed again.

  Not that she felt remorse for taking Waylon’s life. She didn’t. He deserved to die. Same as the others did…

  Somewhere deep inside, Elle knew that Elenore would feel horrified at what she’d done. Only, Elenore hadn’t been responsible. Elle had. And Elle would see to it that Elenore never felt the sting of regret again. Ever.

  Arriving back in town, Elle pulled into a back alley a few streets over from where she’d left Evan’s car.

  She quickly checked her surroundings for signs of life. Satisfied at being alone, she parked, wiped her fingerprints free from Waylon’s car, and quietly made her way out of the opposite end of the alley, the end where cameras were sure not to be present.

  Moving as casually as possible, she walked a good three blocks in the opposite direction from where Waylon had originally picked her up.

  The streets were abuzz with people entering and exiting shops when Elle stepped onto the sidewalk.

  She adjusted her shoulder bag and calmly strode south amidst the crowd.

  Evan’s car came into view approximately ten minutes later. She dug out the keys from her small shoulder bag, unlocked the door, and climbed inside.

  The air conditioner came on with a flourish as she inserted the key and started the engine.

  And then, the sound of sirens reached her ears.

  Elle’s fingers locked onto the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Her heart began to pound, and her palms grew sweaty. Had someone heard the shots and witnessed her dragging Waylon into that swamp?

  Her right hand slipped off the wheel the closer the sirens got, until she found her fingers wrapped around that gun once more.

  What was she planning to do, shoot her way to freedom?

  A vision of Evan skated through her mind.

  Elle released the gun as if burned. She would never harm an innocent. No matter what the circumstances.

  Flashing lights suddenly appeared up ahead. Elle held her breath, half expecting the patrol car to slide to a stop and open fire on her. But it flew on by.

  Exhaling a shaky sigh of relief, she put the car in drive and pulled out into the steady stream of traffic. She would be home and in the safety of her room in less than fifteen minutes.

  * * * *

  Elle rapped her knuckles on Ida Mae’s back door.

  “Who’s there?” the elderly neighbor called out in a low tone.

  “It’s Elle.”

  The door slowly opened to reveal a disheveled-looking Ida Mae. Her gaze swept over Elle before she stepped back to permit her entrance. “Sarah’s asleep.”

  Elle wasn’t sure how to react to the woman’s knowing stare. In fact, she wasn’t certain why she’d run to the elderly woman’s house the second she exited the car to begin with.

  Ida Mae pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “Here, have a seat, girl.”

  It took a moment for Elle to realize that her hands shook, and that Ida Mae obviously noticed it as well.

  Elle dropped heavily into the chair she’d been offered and glanced up into the concerned eyes of Ida. “It’s done.”

  Something akin to satisfaction flashed in Ida’s eyes. She tugged another chair free and sat facing Elle. “You’re trembling. Are you okay?”

  Elle licked her lips, glanced down at her hands, and then met the neighbor’s gaze once again. “It was easier than I thought it would be.”

  Ida watched her closely. “Did you dispose of the body properly? The last thing we need is for his remains to be discovered.”

  Elle thought about the gators fighting over Waylon’s carcass. “There’s nothing left of his body to discover.”

  Other than a slight head tilt, Ida Mae didn’t acknowledge that revelation.

  “Well,” Ida began, pushing to her feet. “He can never hurt anyone else again. You did the right thing, Elenore.”

  “It’s Elle, please. My name’s Elle.”

  Ida Mae squinted back at her for long moments. “Okay then, Elle. Why don’t you stay here tonight? I’d feel better if you weren’t alone. That couldn’t have been an easy thing to do, killin’ a man.”

  Elle wondered if Ida Mae would be so gracious if she knew how many deaths she was truly responsible for. “Why are you really helping me?”

  Turning away, Ida shuffled over to a cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. She poured them both a drink and returned to her previous seat at the table.

  “Drink this. It’ll help with the nerves.” She handed Elle a glass and then downed her own drink.

  Elle took a hesitant sip, cringing at the strong flavor and the burn of it sliding down her throat.

  “Finish it,” Ida ordered, nodding toward the nasty-tasting concoction.

  Holding her breath, Elle turned up the whiskey and downed it in one fell swoop. It took everything she had to suppress the shudder now threatening.

  Ida poured her another. “Now sip on that one.”

  When Elle simply sat there expectantly, Ida blew out a haggard-sounding breath. “You want to know why I helped you? Because I know his kind. Parasites like him who prey on the innocent, who hurt children and abuse their women. They walk around sucking up oxygen. Our prisons are full of them. And do you know who has to feed them? We do. Our tax dollars.”

  Rising to her feet, Ida untied the sash on her robe, presented her back to Elle, and tugged down the strap of her nightgown. “We’re not so different, you and me.”

  Elle’s gaze zeroed in on Ida Mae’s pale, fragile-looking shoulder, and her stomach lurched. There, barely visible beneath the aging, loose skin were dozens of thin, white scars.

  Too stunned to speak, Elle could only sit there, unable to look away from the evidence of what could only be described as numerous beatings.

  “How…” Elle began, only to swallow and try again. “How did you know?”

  “That you’d suffered the same fate?” Ida righted her robe and returned to her seat. “Evan told me. But I would have recognized the signs on my own.”

  Had Evan told Ida about Elijah’s death? Elle opened her mouth to ask when Ida’s next words stopped her.

  “Your daddy deserves to be locked up for what he did to you.”

  Elle wanted to tell her that Elijah got exactly what he deserved, but she held her tongue. If Evan had wanted the elderly woman to know, he would have confided in her.

  �
��Who did that to you?” Elle questioned in a soft voice, the whiskey beginning to still her trembling.

  Ida’s gaze grew distant. “My stepfather. He beat me from the time I could walk until I eloped at seventeen years old. I left the state and never looked back.”

  Elle took another long pull of her drink. “What happened to him?”

  Ida shrugged. “Last I heard, he and Mama divorced, and he ran off with a woman with four kids. God knows what kind of Hell they lived through.”

  “He’s still alive?”

  Ida Mae leaned back in her chair with a laugh. “I doubt that. I’m pushing eighty. He’d be over a hundred years old now.”

  Embarrassed by her question, Elle shifted her gaze to the remaining whiskey in her glass.

  Seconds ticked by when Ida Mae laid her bony hand over the top of Elle’s. “Go on to bed, girl. You look like you could use some sleep.”

  Elle finished off her drink and got to her feet. She carried the glass to the sink, washed it, and placed it in the dish strainer.

  Unsure of what to do next, she sent Ida Mae a hesitant nod and quickly fled to the guestroom to climb into bed with Sarah.

  Chapter Three

  Evan raised the head of his hospital bed and studied the strange look in Elenore’s eyes. She’d brought Sarah to the hospital for a visit and now stood near the foot of the bed, holding the little girl’s hand.

  Clearing his throat, Evan asked, “Is the temperature dropping any? It should start getting cold in a week or two.”

  Elenore shook her head. “Not yet. But Sarah will need some warm clothes. Especially since it snows in Atlanta.”

  Something in Elenore’s voice sounded off.

  Evan reached across to his bedside table and extracted a credit card from his wallet.

  He extended it toward Elenore. “Would you mind picking her up some things? Get yourself some warm clothes as well.”

  Elenore accepted the card. “I’ll buy Sarah’s with this, but I can get my own. I have some money still in my account.”