White Walls: Dylan Hart, #6

By R.M. Gilmore

Death comes to us all, but for Dylan Hart, it comes at a cost.

Waking in her own personal hell, she quickly discovers there's more than one way to spend eternal damnation. Forced to relive her terrifying past, Dylan fights to escape her torment.

But when she finds salvation in the face of darkness, all bets are off.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.M. Gilmore
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215481394

Book preview

the others from R.M. Gilmore

Dylan Hart

The Scene

Endless Night

Sacrifice

Forsaken

Bound

White Walls

Prudence Penderhaus

17 Marigold Lane

19 Marigold Lane

21 Marigold Lane

And the Creek Don’t Rise

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Thanks to:

Becky &

Ravin &

Tara &

Marlboro menthols.

For Auntie Jan.

Wish you could have seen how it ends.

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

-Mad Hatter, Alice in Wonderland

One

MAY

1992

This is no time for crybabies, Dylan, my dad’s sister, Aunt Rhett, scolded me, scowling down from high atop her black pumps. Toughen that skin, girl. You’re going to need it.

My big green eyes glided up her spindly stockinged legs, past the inappropriately short hemline of her black dress, and the tiny wrinkles around her lips, to fall on her scornful gaze.

No crying. I shook my head. She hated me. I felt it. Even at six years old, I knew she hated me. Why she hated me was another question entirely. A question I didn’t have an answer to and in a way, didn’t want.

Her shimmery pink top lip curled up at the sight of me. She swigged back a large gulp of red wine from the biggest glass I’d ever seen. The snarling lip was left stained dark purple from the liquid. It’s time to get in the car.

Teetering on two-inch heels, Aunt Rhett sauntered over brown shag carpeting with arms open wide. She scooped her aging father into her arms and squeezed him tight. His wide back bounced as he sobbed into her shoulder. I’d never seen my grandfather cry. Not once. Not until that day.

Old people I’d never met before sat shoulder to shoulder on the woven brown couch that had always been too itchy to sit on with bare skin. Everyone held glasses and plates filled with food and drinks, but no one drank or ate them. Other people milled around the living room and in the kitchen not eating. Not moving. As though someone had paused the movie, and everyone was just waiting for someone to start it again. An old man on the itchy couch cleared his throat. My thick hair bounced around my head as I turned to see who’d pressed Play.

A baby cried somewhere in the house while Aunt Rhett patted Grandpa on the back and kissed his cheek. The front door slammed, and I spun to see who’d come in, but no one was there. I ran to the long window beside the front door. Pulling back a thin white curtain, I peered out the glass to the front lawn. Spring flowers glowed under the bright sun. Long cars, steal that were more angles than curves lined the street. A few brightly colored hatchbacks and sports cars dotted the line of brown and tan metal. No one made their way down the walk from the front door. And still, a baby cried.

I hadn’t remembered seeing a baby in the church. Someone could have brought a baby; there were a lot of people there I didn’t know. Then again, other than Aunt Rhett and Grandpa, I didn’t know most of my dad’s family. From what I could tell, they were all really old. Other than that, they were strangers to me. Sitting on the hard, wooden pew, right in the front, I’d wished I had someone to talk to. Someone who would let me cry.

Hands pressed against my back. Stinging pain from healing sutures brought me out of my memory. Then the hands ushered me around the front door as it opened. I squinted my eyes against the light while the smell of wet grass and dog poop mixed in my nose. In the lawn, pieces of bright green, plastic grass glinted in the sunshine. Remnants of the Easter that had only just passed and the last time I’d seen my dad smile.

Aunt Rhett’s black pumps clicked on the sidewalk as she clomped down to the street. She shouldn’t have been driving. But no one stopped her. A different time, maybe. A time when people didn’t care so much about the dangers life had to offer. Or no one really cared what happened to me. In my six-year-old brain, no one cared. No one ever seemed to give a shit when it came right down to it.

The gold foil wrapper of a chocolate coin caught my eye in the grass, and I slowed to stoop down and scoop it up. As long as the ants hadn’t gotten to it, the wrapper intact and the chocolate hadn’t melted, there was no reason to leave perfectly good candy on the ground. My fingers brushed the rounded edge of the coin, but Aunt Rhett snatched my hand up and dragged me down the sidewalk and away from the treasure I’d found.

I kicked my feet in protest. The day had been long and boring and sad, and I hated my tights and my dress and my stupid hair, and I just wanted my daddy. No! I screamed and jerked my hand away from her. She teetered on her heels and stumbled backward.

Feverishly, my little feet tapped the pavement back to my treasure. I’d have it if it was the last thing I did. I’d found it. She wasn’t going to take it from me. I heard the clicking of her heels a moment before arms scooped me up only feet from the coin. Dylan, this isn’t the time for this nonsense. We need to get you home. Aunt Rhett’s smoky voice slurred in my ear.

I want it. I howled. It’s mine. I wriggled and kicked, but the old broad refused to let me down to complete my mission.

She let out a heavy sigh. Not again, she said, hauling me off to her car.

After a few long strides, my weight became a burden, and I began sliding out from under her arm. My itchy dress slipping up around my waist, ass out to the world, I wriggled one more time and slithered free. I tumbled to the cement, scraping my knee on its rough surface, and tearing a long run in my white tights.

Flustered and a little drunk, Aunt Rhett grumbled, Dammit, child.

In the hullabaloo, I’d escaped. Running full speed toward the shimmering golden foil that beckoned me. One chubby, small hand stretched out for what I knew would be a decadent treat amidst the chaos that surrounded me. Or some shit like that, I didn’t know, I was six.

My scuffed-toed shoes tapped the concrete, quicker the nearer I came to it. Aunt Rhett’s taps weren’t far behind. One, two, three taps, my fingers found purchase on the slick wrapper. Four, five, six taps. This time though, I didn’t allow it to escape my grasp. It was mine. I would have it if I wanted. I found it. I needed it.

You put that damn candy down. Right. Now. Aunt Rhett snarled, standing a yard away, feet shoulder-width apart, like a linebacker. Ready for what my six-year-old body had to dish out.

My chest rose and fell, heavy and hard with panicked breath. Pressing my lips tight together, I squinted at my aunt. Daring her to make a move. Methodically and with deliberate intent, I peeled back the gold foil.

Aunt Rhett slammed her foot against the ground, clicking loudly through the neighborhood. I said put that down. Put that down, right now, she screeched, bobbing her head with each word, sending the hairpiece she wore at the crown of her head bouncing comically. I didn’t laugh though. I had a fight to win.

Flicking one chubby finger under the foil, I popped it off in one piece. If it weren’t for the baby birds squawking in their nest, you’d have heard the sound of it hitting the sidewalk. Standing off with Aunt Rhett, no more than five feet away from each other, I decided then and there I’d never let another soul stop me from doing what I wanted to do. Even if it killed me.

Dylan Hart, if you put that chocolate in your mouth so help me God, I will turn you black and blue.

I opened my mouth and held the candy over the open hole. Threatening to drop it in for good. With a guttural growl, Aunt Rhett stomped toward me. Cussing under her breath the whole way. She wasn’t fast enough. Her eyes filled with rage when I shoved the chocolate coin into my mouth and noshed as quickly as I could.

The thing was too big for my child-sized mouth. Honestly, I probably could have choked if I wasn’t careful. One thick, leathery hand snatched me up by the chin, squeezing my cheeks together until the last of the chocolate oozed out like a Play-Doh fun factory.

Spit it out, she demanded. Spit that shit out.

I pinched my lips shut tight and gulped down the last of it along with a thick glob of spit. I’d won. There was nothing she could do about it. Unless she wanted to dig through my shit, she’d never see that candy again.

Goddammit, girl. Now you’ve done it. She didn’t give me any more warnings before she yanked me by the arm toward her boat of a car parked six or seven down from the house.

She opened the oversized, heavy door, and shoved me onto the bench seat in the back, slamming it shut behind me. No seatbelt, I curled my skinned knees to my chest and held them tight. Spots of bright red blood seeped through the fabric of my tights, drying around the edges and sticking to the skin. It hurt to pull on, but my own legs were all I had to hang on to in the event of an accident. At least I’d gotten to taste the glorious flavor of victory before I died. And chocolate.

Aunt Rhett stomped around to the driver side and pulled the door shut. She cranked the key over, and the ignition stuttered for a long moment. I hoped it wouldn’t start and I could stay and wait for someone else to take me home. Clanking and sputtering, the engine fired up and let out a growl when she pushed on the gas pedal.

It appeared as though I was stuck. I’d likely die in my drunk aunt’s piece-of-shit Lincoln months before my seventh birthday wearing the ugliest Pepto pink dress I’d seen in all my six years of life. Because no one else was willing to take me home from my own father’s funeral.

Hey, kid, your dad’s dead. Why not hop in this unsafe car with your drunk aunt, and don’t worry about that seatbelt. You’ll be fine. Sorry about your dad.

Aunt Rhett pulled away from the curb, missing the bumper of a Buick by a butt hair. Her blinker clicked left at the end of the block. Traffic came from both sides; no one stopped because they weren’t supposed to. Aunt Rhett didn’t stop either. A horn honked. The sun blared into the car through the front windshield off and on as we spun. I squinted my eyes against it. I held my hand up to block it, but it penetrated everything. Whiteness, utter and total brightness filled everything.

Don’t go into the light, Carol Anne!

Two

The memory of the day we buried my dad was gone in a literal flash. White light surrounded everything. I opened my eyes wide, forcing them to adjust, but they refused. I squinted again, and the light began to pulse. Strobing—blink-blink, blink—the light brought with it an icy bite that stung my skin.

Things moved in the brightness. Shadows, but not. People, but not. Square shoulders and round heads with no features moved in. Closer they came, hands reaching for me. A scream burst from my lungs, and I began to fall. Panicked, I flailed my arms around me, grabbing for anything to cling to. Anything to save me from my descent. I’d fallen like that once before and what greeted me at the end was nothing short of hell.

I’m dead. I’m fucking dead and this is hell. My true hell.

Dominika had actually killed me. The bitch. And wherever I was falling to was the afterlife. My afterlife. I landed hard on a clanking cushion before my life had a chance to flash before my eyes. My back hit first, knocking the wind from my lungs and sending my head bouncing after it. I opened my eyes to darkness. No white light, no beings moving around me, nothing but blackness.

I pulled in a long, stinging breath. A frenzy of wild hands landed on my limbs. They grabbed and pulled at me from all angles. Thick woven straps lashed around my limbs with quick precision. Frantically, I fought against the hands that gripped me tightly. Jerking my arms and legs away from the many strong hands that held me, I tried desperately to clear my darkened vision to see what held me down.

Fiercely, I fought. Pulling my arms and legs against the straps until I nearly ripped the off skin. I clamped my eyes shut tight and belted out a scream I was certain someone still among the living had to have heard.

My eyes flung open, pulling in the blinding white light again. I closed them instantly against the pain.

Am I dead? Is this hell?

A never-ending series of unseen hands frenziedly seized my body while I fought helplessly against them.

Thick, rough fingers gripped my thighs, nearly flipping me over on my side. A sharp pang stung deep in my back. Profound pressure took over my haunch, and hot liquid seeped between my legs and under my ass. I bucked wildly against the assault, but the straps and hands holding me down halted my movement.

The acrid stench of piss and bile flooded my nostrils. My stench of hell if I had to guess. Something not of this world took hold of my senses, weakening my body from the tips of my toes to my eyelids. I held my eyes closed tight against the terrifying darkness and blinding white light.

Suddenly, I was in motion. Descending on a surface that plunged into the depths of the unknown. An incessant metallic clicking echoed around my head, weakening my body with every click. Hands continued to grip my arms and legs, but their frantic movement had mellowed. The world, or underworld, began to fade away again as my breathing slowed to nearly nonexistent.

A loud thump then shook my moving surface. I opened my eyes, desperate to catch a glimpse of the space around me before my mind faded away into nothingness again. Vibrant, glowing light seared my blurry eyes. My head lolled from side to side as I searched for something familiar. Even the slimy black face of my beast would have been a welcome sight. In the least, I would have known where I was and what was happening to me. What I was up against.

My dry lips pressed together weakly as I forced them to form words. Mike, I murmured. His weak form tied to the bed the last memory of him I had to cling to.

A tall, slender being stood over me. Tiny whimpers escaped my lungs. I pulled at my muscles, begged them to function, but they refused. Vision blurred, it was impossible to make out anything I saw. Human. Alien. Beast.

Mumbled words from many lips slid through the room. They touched quickly on my senses before warbling into incoherency. A thready pulse thrummed through my ears. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, it went. On and on, the thrumming of my own blood rushed through my head, drowning out the disjointed communication around me. An incessant reminder I was indeed still with the living, in some way or another.

Pressing my lips together again, I tried to form words. Any words.

Daddy?

Hello, darkness, my old friend.

Three

Detective Michael Petersen

Fall 2007

I’d never seen her before, but she was the first thing I noticed when I walked into the criminological theory lecture hall.

Her ancient, black Converse sneakers were kicked up on one of the empty chairs next to her. There were plenty of other places to sit in the practically vacant lecture hall, but there was no way in hell I was going to sit anywhere else.

Can I sit? I asked, bouncing my knee against the side of her extended legs.

The greenest eyes I’d seen in my life looked up at me from the pages of a book. One dark eyebrow lifted, and an annoyed expression passed over her face. Young and too cocky for my own good, I smiled down at her. For a second, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her perfect mouth.

She lifted her legs only an inch, and I slid the chair out from underneath them, pulling it to sit beside her. She huffed and readjusted her body in her chair.

We’re the only weirdos, huh? I turned to look at her, an uncontrollable grin spread across my face.

She let out a long, exacerbated sigh and looked up from her book. Looks like we have some company. She pointed to the dozen or so others sitting chairs apart.

I don’t know. That guy, I pointed at a middle-aged bald guy, looks like he’s here for tips on his next killing spree. And those girls are obviously here to pick up on cops. I pointed out the two blonde bimbos giggling in the corner.

Her one eyebrow raised at me again, and I wondered if it was her flirting or loathing. And why are you here? Scamming for your latest victim?

I grinned smugly and leaned back in my chair. Avoiding the chicks scamming for cops. Kicking my legs out, I felt the front two legs of the chair lift off the floor, almost taking me all the way backward. I dropped my ass back in the seat, and the legs of the chair plunked down on the floor again.

You’re a cop? she asked, not noticing, or at least not mentioning, my awkward moment.

Last time I checked. Her tone brought suspicion out in me. Like she wasn’t too happy about my career choice.

She laughed quietly and turned her attention back to her book. Thanks for stopping by, she grumbled into the pages.

It was clear she was trying to get rid of me, but I’d never been a quitter. Holding her miniscule smile in my head, I refused to give up that easily. And why are you here?

Scamming my next victim, she responded dryly, never looking up from her book.

I’m glad I sat down then. She pinched her lips between her teeth, holding back a grin. It was at that moment I decided I needed to know the wild-haired girl in the Boba Fett T-shirt.

Before I could say more, the professor flipped off the lights and began his forensic slideshow. Watching her secretly from the corner of my eye, the girl’s eyes lit up when the first image, a dead man hanging upside down from his feet, popped onto the screen. She sat forward, taking in every image and every word the grizzly professor had to offer. The Barbies in the corner sneered at the screen, refusing to look at it full on. I hoped they were only there to audit—scam for cops—and would be gone by next class. I had a feeling the wild-haired girl would be happy for that too.

Two hours later, the lights flipped on, and everyone moved quickly from their seats to exit the building. Instead of rushing out like everyone else, the girl—whom I’d been eyeing for the majority of the two-hour lecture—slowly packed her book and school things into a weathered green bag. Her eyes flicked up a few times to track the professor. When he hustled out the back door, her shoulders slumped, and she packed quicker.

My heart thumped wildly in my chest. I couldn’t let her get up and leave without at least knowing her name. I stood, too quickly for my flustered coordination, lost my balance, and nearly tumbled over the top of her.

I caught myself on her desk. In a hurry? I spat out, inches from her face.

She turned to look at me, her nose almost touching mine. Are you on drugs?

Not currently. I stood up straight, giving her some space and trying not to lose it completely.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and stood. Maybe you should try some, she said flat and left me standing there.

Shit, I whispered to myself, running my hand over my hair. Hey, I yelled to her from the classroom door. What’s your name?

She didn’t stop, but slowed her pace. Seconds passed, and she didn’t answer. I almost thought she wasn’t going to. Coyly, she glanced over her shoulder and met me with those perfect green eyes. Dylan.

My thudding heart stopped at that one simple word. I shook my head at my own absurdity. What was so damn special about the girl in the Boba Fett shirt? I couldn’t wait to find out.

Taking off into a sprint, I dodged the masses, hunting for my wild-haired girl. A dozen yards ahead I spotted her. The army green bag she’d shoved her stuff into bounced against her ass while she hurried past people.

I caught up quickly as her short legs slowed her down. Close enough to scare the shit out of her and likely get myself maced, I shouted the first thing that came to mind, Mike. I winced at the sound of my own name.

What? She turned on her heel and shot me with a dagger-glare.

You Dylan, me Mike.

Her green eyes searched my face for bullshit. I knew that look because I recognized it in myself. Always questioning, always searching for truth. If she didn’t exude bad girl, I’d have said she was a cop.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, uncomfortable in the awkward silence.

Cool shirt. She lifted a finger and pointed dead center of my chest.

I looked down instinctively at my shirt, honestly not remembering which I’d put on that morning. The faded edges of my Black Flag shirt made me look like a transient. I glanced up at her shirt. Boba Fett stared back at me from behind his helmet. I hadn’t seen a chick wearing a Star Wars shirt since that awkward year in drama class. None of which were pushed to the limits with a set of major boobs.

You too, I said, eyes stuck on the awesomeness.

Thanks, they’re natural, she said sarcastically and