Body Tox (The Bodies duet #1)

Chapter 24

“ I s this it?

Asher snickered, his hands tied in front of him, and his jacket covered the bindings from snooping eyeballs. This asshole had been leading me on a damn goose chase.

We had walked around the small town of Anchorage so often that I was getting whiplash.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” I huffed, pushing my fist into his back and leading him forward.

I couldn’t see his smug grin, but I knew it was there.

“I am highly educated in many things, Little Wraith. Want a demonstration in some of them?”

Everything this man said had some hidden sexual meaning, and it pissed me off to no end that I loved that about him.

“Mr. Ballard, if you don’t take me to the orphanage, I am going to rethink your circumcision,” I warned.

He stopped abruptly, and I smashed into his back, which may as well have been a steel wall. I blinked, a bit dizzy, and he whirled around on me, trapping my hands with his bindings. I growled, but he pulled his elbows harder into his side, effectively immobilizing me.

“Why do you want to learn about my past?” he asked, his eyes looking scared.

I studied him.

The lean form of his body, the intricate patterns and images on his arms leading up to his neck…he was a wall of protection, yet somehow, this place was painful for him, a festering wound he couldn’t hide.

“I have my reasons,” I said, struggling with his hold.

He pulled my body closer to his, my face inches from his. I could feel the cool air warmed by his breath. His scent overwhelmed me. He was all man, with a hint of sweetness layered in. He smelled minty, like a tangy candy.

“Why do you smell as fruity as your personality?” I mused, but he looked as serious as a heart attack.

“Gum. I’m an addict. Addicts chew gum, Little Wraith.”

It made sense.

Why did the fucking smell of gum make me dizzy?

“You peel back layers of someone’s skin before?” he asked in that same serious tone.

I smiled, my knowledge of flaying fresh flesh in my mind. My hands itched for my dagger.

“Of course.”

He shook his head and shoved me away from him. Stumbling to find my balance, I finally caught my footing and made my way back over to him.

“What the fuck was that for?” I bumped his arm with mine.

Asher’s glare snagged mine only long enough for me to squirm, but he resumed walking, completely ignoring me. I furrowed my brow, not understanding exactly the change in his demeanor, but he took a diverted path.

Before I could ask why, we were staring at a big, lopsided sign hanging from two posts. Underneath the sign was a gate that led to a little yellow house.

This place was tucked into a corner of the town, shrouded by overgrown trees and bushes that looked like they hadn’t been tended to in years. The house was a dull color, the siding flaking off like a shaved fruit. The sign was aged and had mold and algae on it.

‘Evangeline. Home of the lost, not forgotten.’

I stopped and stared at the sign, but Asher walked forward without glancing at any part of this place. He reached his bound hands to the side, pulling his hoodie off.

We stopped at the door, his face still hidden in the hoodie. But he continued looking at the ground.

“Lead away, then, Ms. Svenson.” His words were cold and distant.

I didn’t have a chance to respond because he smashed into the doorbell with his shoulder and remained standing with his head down.

An old woman dressed in conservative robing and a headscarf answered the door.

“Hello, I am sister Beatrice. How can I help you?”

Children’s voices were in the background—little chirps and chatter of kids of all ages. Asher kept his face hidden.

“Uh yes…” I cleared my throat. “Hi, sister, we’re here as journalists. We’re interested in the history of this facility.”

The nun eyed me and Asher. We probably looked like we were muggers as opposed to nosey reporters, but whatever.

“Hmm, yes, I see. Well, the children here could do with some good press. Of course, come in.”

I thanked her, and we walked inside. Asher remained silent and stoic.

This place was small, with a bunch of kids littering around the place in different areas. Some were at old school wooden desks scribbling on some paper, others were on the ground doing arts and crafts, and some were running around the place like tiny nut balls.

They looked happy for all intents and purposes. There weren’t any silent corners or abusive actions I could see. All the laughter was enough to give me a migraine. I tried to gauge Asher’s response to this peppy place, but he refused to look at anything or anyone but the floor in front of him.

“This place sure is lively,” I said, and the nun smiled. Her old beady eyes were prideful.

“Of course, dear. We try very hard to give these children the lives they deserve before they acquire homes for themselves.”

Acquire homes?

It was as if she was speaking about a litter of puppies and that they needed to be perfect little angels in order to be picked by some idiot dazzled by a cuteness factor. Good god, this person probably wouldn’t even be required to have a proper education on what the hell it meant to own something.

“I see,” I responded, standing awkwardly by the door.

The inside of the place looked as old as the outside. There was peeling wallpaper of some kid-friendly bears and shit, and the stains and aging of the floors and interior made me wonder if it was up to code.

“There are thirty children here currently. We have sixteen in foster homes,” Beatrice explained, adjusting her bifocal glasses and smoothing her dress.

“We would love to expand our facility one day to accept more children, but of course, the rumors do not help the ability to get donations.”

I quirked my eyebrow. “Rumors, ma’am?”

She looked down solemnly. “Yes, dear. The haunting rumors that have accumulated over the years.”

I glanced at Asher, but he turned his body away from her, pretending to study a speck on the wall.

“Haunting?” I pressed, a bit freaked out and more than skeptical.

The old nun stared at me quizzically.

“Why yes, dear. I assumed all the townsfolk knew the rumors of the ghost of Evangeline.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I’d lived most of my life in a gilded cage, only being given information my father thought was necessary. I didn’t know about ghost stories.

“I am kind of an outsider,” I said. “Came here not too long ago.”

The nun studied me again, and her big glasses made me feel every bit like a bug under a microscope. My broken pants were rolled up to my belly button, giving me the high water look on my ankles.

“I see,” she replied, picking up a laundered item and fluffing the coats. “Well, there is a horrid rumor that the owner’s daughter of this facility is haunting this place.”

I looked around at the happy tots, seeming unfazed by the heavy rumor hanging over their heads.

“The owner’s daughter?” I said. “What happened to her?”

The nun looked down mournfully. Her gray eyes seemed haunted by the memory alone.

“She passed, dear. Evangeline was a troubled little thing, and she took her own life. In this very home as it were.”

Asher’s face was pale, and he looked like he was trying not to throw up.

I recalled the braid pattern of his tattoos. He had said it was a memorial tattoo for his friend.

Was that Evangeline?

“Oh, I see,” I said sadly.

“Why do people say it’s haunted?” I wondered aloud.

A little kid jumped between us, making ghost sounds and sticking their tongues out.

“Evangeline haunts us all,” he shouted. “She laughs in the hallways and turns off our lights!”

The nun shook her head, scolding the young kid and ushering him back to the others.

“That’s exaggerated.” she chided. “Our wires are old and frayed. We are often left with making repairs ourselves when rodents chew the cords.”

I thought about that. This place looked old and dirty, and I couldn’t see the lady as the best electrician.

“Do you have any help here, ma’am?” I asked. “Like other staff?”

“No, dear.” She smiled sweetly. “The death of the last headmaster was the final staff member to grace our halls. It has been just me for many years.”

Geez, this old lady had held up the castle herself to keep these kids from being turned away.

Admirable.

But why did Asher hate this place so much? Was there more to it? And why would a kid hang herself?

“Thank you, sister, for your honesty. Can we see some albums of past children and staff here?”

She smiled, seeming to snap out of her sad spell.

“Why, of course, child, right this way. Is your companion okay?”

I looked over to Asher. He was entertaining a toddler who decided his leg was the perfect spot for smacking a plastic toy.

I tried not to laugh and waved him away.

“He is fine. He loves kids.”

She hesitated but then nodded, leading me up some creaky stairs to a room in the back corner. The same theme of old wood, peeling ceilings, and dingy wallpaper greeted us.

This room looked like an office of some kind, with a small bed on the far back wall.

Did she sleep here?

A large portrait was in here, and children lined up on the grass outside. The house looked vibrant and new in the background. The yellow was not pale and shined as bright as the sun in the photo.

The smiling faces of the orphanage kids were just as bright, except for the little girl in the front row at the center. She was maybe twelve or so and had big blonde braids and bright blue eyes. Her smile was there, but it was filled with pain and emptiness none of the others had.

A man stood with the kids, chunky and smiling, along with everyone. His hand was placed on the sad girl’s shoulder, and his other hand was hidden behind the others. His robes looked like a shadow.

A familiar face stuck out to me in the crowd. On the other side of the girl was a little boy. His light brown hair and vibrant eyes looked full of life. He was using the little girl’s braid as a mustache.

It was Asher.

“That’s our troubled little Evangeline. This picture was taken a few days before she died,” Beatrice said, walking to the photo and handing me a stack of photo albums.

“I see, poor little girl.” Her eyes were definitely haunting.

“Who are the other children? I don’t see you in this photo, sister. Did you join the orphanage later?”

She pointed to the corner of the photo, a shadow showing as the photographer. Of course, she’d always been here, just unseen.

“This is Nigel Richman. He was the headmaster.”

Creepy man gripping the girl’s shoulder. Got it.

She named different kids, pointing and smiling at each, her memories taking her back to all her adventures shown within her smile.

“And this one?” I said, sliding my fingertip over Asher’s childhood photo. Even at that age, he was sporting a cheeky smile.

The headmistress put her hand on her forehead, shaking her head no and sighing.

“That’s Asher Ballard. He was an ornery child! Constantly hanging the children’s dolls on the door handles with craft string, and putting elastic on the sink handles. Prankster through and through, that boy.”

She sighed again and relaxed her expression into a somber one.

“This place has failed our dear Evangeline, but in my heart, I feel it also failed him. He was always in trouble with the headmaster and never stayed long in a foster home. He became a sort of role model for the children here, and something happened that made his teasing behavior change one day. The last I saw him, he told me that I was the light of this place, and without it, it would be extinguished.”

I studied the boy in the photo. He appeared to be free-spirited and lively. He definitely didn’t seem to be the broody Asher I knew.

The question remained, though…what took away his light?