Dawn of Eve, MJ Howson [lightweight ebook reader TXT] 📗

As she rode the elevator to her penthouse, Dawn’s eyes studied the hand-sewn craftsmanship of the Silver Cross Kensington Pram carriage. She knew in her heart that the stroller would never carry a child again. The doors opened, and Dawn pushed Eve to her apartment door and stepped inside. The warm air welcomed her after the long walk home. She kicked her boots off and removed her coat. The tile floor felt chilly against her bare feet.

Dawn considered making a cup of coffee or tea to warm her insides. She briefly contemplated having a glass of wine. Instead, she carefully removed the stroller’s cotton blanket and ascended the spiral staircase to the second floor.

The door to the nursery was open. Dawn gently carried the blanket to the changing table. As she did, she suddenly felt a prick against her right foot. Dawn looked down to see a rhinestone from Eve’s dress. She dragged her foot across the carpet to remove the tiny jewel. Dawn took her time to fold the coverlet’s edges back until she could reach the red velvet dress and what remained of Eve.

Fresh towels and blankets filled the changing table’s drawers. Dawn removed a white satin blanket and placed it beside Eve’s remains. The nearby gel beads no longer gave off any scent. She moved the pieces of Eve over to the fresh blanket and then carried it over to the crib, gently placing it inside.

Dawn noticed Eve’s other white shoe resting on the floor near the rocker. She picked up the shoe and ran her thumb across the bits of paint covering the leather. Dawn placed the shoe inside the crib next to the dress. Dawn spent some time arranging the porcelain fragments to replicate, as closely as she could, Eve’s arms, legs, body, and head. The last main piece to insert was Eve’s left eyeball. With a gentle touch, Dawn clicked it into place.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Dawn said. She kissed her fingertips and placed them on what was left of Eve’s head, her two eyes now open. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one.”

Dawn walked around the end of the crib and headed toward the door. As she did, she felt something cold and hard pierce her bare foot. She stopped and winced. Dawn looked down, expecting to find another rhinestone or perhaps a piece of porcelain. Instead, she knelt down and picked up Eve’s locket.

Dawn ran her thumb across the brushed gold metal piece of jewelry. She squinted as she studied the detailed etching and the W engraved on the front. She flipped it over and stared at the 12/22 etched on the back.

“Today’s the twenty-first,” Dawn looked at Eve’s shattered body. “That was the last entry in your diary. I . . . I guess I’ll never know what happened to you.”

Dawn twirled the pendant in her fingers and carefully inspected the hinge. She bit her upper lip as she ran her fingernail along the edge. Dawn cautiously applied a bit of pressure against the clasp. The locket opened.

Forty Two

Eve

Dr. Cole paused as he reached the top of the stairs and placed his black leather messenger bag beside his feet. His heart pounded as he tried to catch his breath. The chilly air in the hallway burned his lungs. He glanced over the railing of the winding staircase next to him and regretted not taking the elevator.

The crumpled note in his hand, scrawled with his wife’s handwriting, read Bellows 620. Dr. Cole crammed the note back into his pocket and used the checkered wool scarf around his neck to dry his brow. He grabbed his bag and walked down the narrow, dim hallway until he came to apartment number 620. With a deep breath, he knocked three times and waited.

“Coming.” The muffled voice could barely be heard through the thick black wooden door.

Soon, a series of locks unlatched, and the door swung open, accompanied by a series of thumps. The air from inside greeted Dr. Cole with a warm embrace. He was surprised to see the man on the other side of the door sitting in a wheelchair.

“Mr. Bellows?” Dr. Cole asked. “I’m Winston. Doctor Winston Cole.”

“Call me Jeffrey.” Jeffrey presented a welcoming smile and motioned for Dr. Cole to come inside. The two men shook hands briefly as the doctor entered. Jeffrey closed the door behind him and said, “Follow me.”

Jeffrey’s appearance did not match the picture on his online author profile. That black and white photo showed a lean-faced man in his early 50s with a wavy receding hairline and trimmed sculpted mustache. In person, Jeffrey looked a decade older. A ragged unkempt salt and pepper beard covered his face and neck, and his balding scalp contained nothing but wisps of white hair. His clothes smelled like they hadn’t been laundered in several weeks.

Dr. Cole glanced at his wristwatch–1:10 p.m. He said, “I’m sorry I’m a bit late.”

Jeffrey led Dr. Cole down a short hallway and through a small living room. Dark, heavy, wood-framed furniture covered in thick upholstering filled the room. Bookcases lined the walls. Maroon drapes, along with dirt-covered windows, kept most of the light from entering the space. A musty scent hung in the air as if the windows had never been opened.

The two men entered Jeffrey’s office. Much like the living room, full-sized bookcases covered the walls. The wheels on Jeffrey’s chair squeaked as he maneuvered his way across the room.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jeffrey asked.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Dr. Cole dabbed his brow before unbuttoning his coat. A walnut desk sat at the back of the room, facing inward. Jeffrey motioned to the two chairs in front of the desk. Dr. Cole picked the closest one and sat down, opting to leave his coat on. He opened his bag and removed a folder with the information Flo had given him about the cult. Dr. Cole also grabbed a yellow notepad and pen.

Jeffrey