Fight Dirty (22 page)

CHAPTER 41

T
he administrative wing was quiet, but it didn’t feel empty, so Morgan took her time as she edged her way down the hall. Since she hadn’t seen any signs of computers or a file room near the entrance this morning, she turned to explore the rest of the area behind the main offices.

These rooms were smaller than the classrooms.
Probably meant to be administrative staff offices
, she thought, given that they were on an interior corridor and had no windows. The first was furnished with a desk and chairs, giving off a distinct vibe of guidance counselor.

The second surprised her. Behind its door was a ma
n’s
bedroom. The bed, with its rumpled sheets that from the smell hadn’t been washed in quite a while, took up most of the space, leaving room for only a small dresser and a clothing rack with several suits dangling from it. A door opened onto a single-stall bathroom strewn with dirty towels and shaving gear.

Sean Chapman, the administrator sh
e’d
met earlier, had mentioned something to Greene about living on-site. Providing the children with therapeutic guidance day or night, h
e’d
put it. As director, h
e’d
have access to the files. Definitely no room for them here, though.

She tried the next door. This room was a living area, probably also for Sean, given the large-screen TV, gaming console, leather recliner with a well-worn butt dent, and empty beer bottles on the floor. It appeared as if it was originally meant to be the staff lounge with its small kitchenette at the back of the room. She crept inside, scanning the area for any signs of a laptop or other computer equipment.

A ma
n’s
voice sounded from the hallway. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Morgan spun. The door was closed; he hadn’t seen her. Yet.

“No. He can wait. We need to talk.”

There was nowhere to hide—no closets, no large piece of furniture to duck behind, no room between the refrigerator and the wall. Last resort. She opened the bottom cabinets below the countertop between the sink and the refrigerator. Most people filled the top ones first—easier to reach than squatting down low—and she didn’t expect Sean to have a lot of dishes to store.

Bingo. The cabinet was empty except for a few empty plastic food containers, tossed randomly onto the shelf. Morgan slid inside, folding and flattening her body along the bottom shelf, closing the cabinet doors just as the roo
m’s
door opened.

“Get in there.” She peered through the crack between the hinges. Sean Chapman, still in his suit, shoved Deidre inside. She stood, facing away from him, shoulders slumped, as if waiting orders. He entered behind her and closed the door. “Look at me.”

Deidre slowly raised her head and turned to face him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted, mere inches from her ear. Deidre took a step back, but he grabbed her shoulder and held her in place. “That stunt with the new girl? I told you a thousand times you need to back off.”

“You needed her to confess.” Deidr
e’s
tone was meek. “She confessed.”

Sean made a noise of frustration and raised one hand. Morgan thought he was going to hit her, but instead he pushed her away and ran his fingers through his hair. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull? Bad intel is worse than no intel.”

He spoke as if ReNew was in the business of interrogating prisoners of war. Morgan blinked, realizing that was exactly what their business was. They weren’t satisfied with just raking in the dough they made off their exorbitant tuitions, even though they spent no money on actually teaching the kids exiled here. They also used the secrets divulged by the kids during their Purge and so-called counseling sessions to blackmail their parents.

After that, no matter what the kids reported about how awful their stay had been, no way would the parents take action.

Tha
t’s
why Micah said no one was released until they broke—except Bree. She hadn’t broken. At least not here, not until sh
e’d
gone back home.

So what was the data in the files Robert Greene wanted her to destroy?

“My job is saving souls.” Deidr
e’s
voice was soft, but from her expression, it was clear she understood that her words were an act of defiance. “The good Reverend Doctor says—”

“Your good Reverend Doctor is about to turn us out on the street if you don’t get your shit together,” he snapped. “Any more complications and he’ll shut this place down and move on. Without either of us.”

Deidre stepped back as if he had slapped her. “No. H
e’d
never—I’m meant to be with him. He promised me.”

“You’re no good to him, bringing lawyers and cops in to nose around. We barely survived that fiasco with the Greene girl. One more screwup an
d . . .
”

She spun away, arms flying around her chest as if hugging herself. “He can’t leave me. We belong together. If I can find the one, maybe this new girl—”

Sean stared at her in disgust. “Don’t you see? Benjamin doesn’t love you. He’ll always be the one to leave you.”

Then he surprised Morgan. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Deidre, pulling her into a tender embrace. “Not me. I’ll never leave you, Deidre,” he crooned in a low voice. “Never.”

She burrowed her face into his chest.

“We’ve got it good here, little sis,” he said, fingers combing through her hair. “Don’t screw it up.”

Little sis? Morgan pressed her eye against the crack. There was a definite resemblance, although Sean was several years older than Deidre. But the way he touched her, talked to her, it wasn’t what she expected from a big brother protecting his little sister. More like a pimp convincing a reluctant whore to seduce a john.

Sean disengaged from her and stepped away. Deidre stood, still with her arms wrapped around her chest, staring at the floor. “I won’t mess up again. I’m sorry.”

“Good.” He opened the door. “Go. Get ready for him.” She shuffled to the door, still looking down at her feet. “Remember. Whatever he wants, whatever it takes. Make him happy. Our future depends on it.”

She nodded and left. Sean stood in the open door, watching, a scowl on his face. He glanced inside the room as if debating returning inside, but then turned toward the administrative offices and let the door bang shut behind him.

Morgan waited a few minutes before crawling out of her hiding place in the cabinet. She opened the door and scanned the hallway. All clear.

She resumed her progress down the hall, heading away from the main offices. There was nothing on the ReNew blueprints specifically labeled as a file or records room, but it was obvious that Benjamin and his people cared little about what a roo
m’s
original intended purpose was.

The corridor ended in front of the main doors to the schoo
l’s
chapel. To the right was a narrow passage that led behind the administrative offices. The only major landmark in that direction that she could remember from the floor plan was a door at the very end, which was a side door that led into the back of the chapel. Inside the chapel there was another door on the opposite side leading into the classroom area, no doubt locked.

She doubted the Rev would use a chapel to house his computer storage, but that still left the rooms lining the corridor as possibilities. The first was a storage closet for office supplies. It was pretty much just empty shelves and a few reams of paper—of course, since there was no actual classroom instruction going on here, not much need for many office supplies.

The next was stacked with more of the lightweight plastic chairs and tables that sh
e’d
seen beyond the locked doors in the student area. Across the hall, though, she hit pay dirt: a windowless room containing several desks with computers and hard drives. No paper files, but given the audio and video recordings the Rev and Chapman collected, why would they need them?

She settled into one of the workstations and accessed the computer. No security to speak of, her main obstacle was finding Bre
e’s
files scattered among seven years’ worth of folders. They were coded by date and time stamps, so Morgan chose the date BreeAnna arrived at ReNew.

Even for that date there were thirty-four separate recordings. She remembered seeing cameras in the Re
v’s
counseling room, the intake room, and the commons room. Who knew where else he was eavesdropping on the students’ secrets? She clicked on one, hoping it wouldn’t be bathroom porn.

A woma
n’s
cries pierced the air. Morgan stabbed the “Mute” button and held her breath, pivoting to watch the door. She left the chair and checked the hall. Empty. When she returned to the computer, she saw who the woman was—Deidre.

She was naked, kneeling on some kind of single-person pew, flogging herself so hard that Morgan winced with each stroke even though she couldn’t hear it. Pacing around her, gesturing to a large cross hanging above them, his mouth open as he screamed at Deidre, urging her to hit harder, to purge her sins, was Reverend Benjamin.

Morgan didn’t need the sound on to know what he was yelling at her—Deidr
e’s
tortured expression of self-loathing was enough. Finally she slumped over the railing, exhausted, the flail dangling from her hand. The Reverend snatched it from her and took over, striking her so hard that he drew blood. His hand slid to his crotch as he smiled at the camera. The camera panned to a table beneath the cross. It held a variety of whips, scourges, and other instruments of torture, as well as large containers of salt and vinegar.

No wonder Deidre was so screwed up. Sh
e’d
been here seven years, since she was twelve—had the Rev been using her as his whipping girl all that time? Brainwashing her into truly believing she was evil, probably the same bullshit that had made Deidre feel responsible for the sins of the other students as well. Anything to twist her mind and keep her compliant.

Morgan knew the routine all too well—it was what her father did with his fish. H
e’d
play games, turning them on each other, would even make them hold each other down while he or another fish tortured them.
Survival of the fittest
, h
e’d
tell them. Only, of course, none of them survived. He didn’t care; he had his fun. Just like the Rev.

Carrier of the blood, salvation through pain, sacrificial lamb
. Now Morgan understood why Deidre had been so desperate to convince Bree to take her place. And when that failed, sh
e’d
now fixated on Morgan as a possible replacement.

Morgan clicked on another file from the same date. The intake room. Bree was shoved inside, the door closed behind her, leaving her in the dark. Sh
e’d
pounded against the door, calling for her mother, until the doors behind her opened and Deidre and the Red Shirts appeared.

Morgan knew what happened next, so she opened the folder for the next day and found a file from the Re
v’s
first session with Bree. The girl sat in her flimsy plastic chair, eyes sunken and glazed over, as he interrogated her, tearing her life apart, trying to get her to admit to the transgressions her mother had accused her of.

But Bree appeared more stunned than guilty. She said nothing, merely shaking her head in denial with each accusation. The Rev stormed and yelled, showering down eternal damnation on her and her family, until tears streamed down Bre
e’s
face, but still she said nothing.

Morgan noted the code for the Reveren
d’s
sessions and flicked through the next several days. Same shouting and screaming, but Bree simply sat, never saying a word. Toward the end she no longer appeared stunned. Rather a shy smile crossed her face. Triumphant in her silence.

Whatever Greene was afraid his daughter had disclosed, he need not have worried. From what Morgan could tell, Bree never confessed to anything.

She pulled the stem from her glasses, revealing the USB plug. Greene had loaded his scrubber program, but it wouldn’t run until she activated it. Morgan plugged her glasses into the computer, which read it as an external drive. First, she deleted Green
e’s
program—no way in hell was she erasing the pain and suffering these kids went through. With this evidence, she could close ReNew for good and finally get some measure of justice for Bree.

Her glasses didn’t hold enough memory for all the files, so she copied most of Bre
e’s
and a few of Deidr
e
’
s onto the drive and uploaded the rest into a cloud account. It would take several hours for all of the material to be saved—after all, the Rev and Chapman had been doing this for over seven years—but there was no reason for her to stick around that long; the program could run automatically.

Using a voice over Internet protocol, she called Greene. “I
t’s
done. Come get me.”

“Really? Already?” Greene seemed surprised.

“You aren’t paying me by the hour. How long before you get here?”

“You made sure the program uploaded properly? Everything is erased?”

“All the digital files. I haven’t found any hard copies yet.”

There was a long pause. “Have you spoken to Jenna Galloway since you arrived?”

Jenna? How the heck would she talk with Jenna? “No. Why?”

“Never mind, if you’ve done your job, then I can handle any loose ends.”

What the hell did that mean? “Are you coming to get me?”

“Don’t worry.” His voice turned warm, soothing. “I’m on my way.”

He hung up. Morgan frowned at the screen. Then she called Andre. “I
t’s
me.”

“Morgan. Is everything okay?”

He sounded worried. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Nick discovered that BreeAnna was home alone the night she died. And she had a visitor. Someone rang the doorbell, and she let them inside the house, right around the time the medical examiner said she died.”