While in the mall, it was heartbreaking seeing how happy and free everyone appeared. Although we got out of the house, we always had chaperones. Paul and Anthony always found a way to show up each and every time we were away from Hope House. I was not sure how it happened, but it did. We’d come up with countless ways to try to leave Hope House, but of course, we chickened out because we were hugely pregnant and had no place to go. However, while in the mall, something came over both of us. I wasn’t the only one feeling as if we were missing out on having a sense of freedom in our lives while we were witnessing the happiness of others in the mall.
“Candice, what are you thinking?”
“I don’t know, Nakita. Everyone we walked by looked so happy. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that type of happiness. I want and need that for me and my baby.”
“I thought it was just me. It must have been contagious or something.”
“Let’s just run for it. We can worry about everything else later.”
“I cannot believe I am saying this, but you’re right. We need to get as far away from Paul and Anthony that we can.”
Scurrying to the other side of the mall, we moved as fast as we could toward the exit. As we tried to get closer, we noticed two officers with their backs toward us. Turning to one another, we shared a smile of agreement. In all of my life, I hadn’t ever felt comfortable with any other decision I’d made before. Panting and completely out of breath, I called for the officers before they exited. When they turned in our direction, my heart jumped in my chest and my face blanched. I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Is everything all right, girls?” Paul smirked.
“We need to talk to you, Officer,” Nakita cut in, pointing to the other police officer.
“Sure thing. Is everything all right?”
“No, it isn’t. Can we talk to you alone?” She grabbed my hand.
“I don’t mind at all,” Paul chimed in before he walked in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on, ladies? I am Officer Greg. How can I help you?”
“My name is Nakita Mathews, and this is Candice Brown. Is that your partner?”
“Yes, he is.”
“He is a rapist. He and his brother rape us. We need help. Can you help us?”
“We should take this to the station. Do you ladies mind taking a ride in the squad car to the station with me?”
“We’d love to,” Nakita cried.
I stood there frozen, unable to speak. It was finally happening. I was going to escape Hope House.
“Candice, come on,” Nakita called for me.
Approaching the squad car, I could feel a weight being lifted off of me. That was until we sat in the car. Once the door closed behind us, Paul and Anthony appeared on the opposite side of the doors where we sat. Tears flooded our eyes in unison, while Officer Greg stood off in the distance.
“You can and will never escape us. We are your only protection. Paul and Officer G are the law, and I have the law behind me. If you try something like this again, you will pay long and hard for it. Now get back in that mall and act like this never happened.”
We couldn’t get our pregnant bodies out of that squad car fast enough. Fear, panic, and hysteria seized us simultaneously, shoving Nakita to her knees. I’d never before witnessed the look of terror that was painted across her face. Realizing her eyes were fixated on something to the left of her, I allowed mine to follow suit. Catching a glimpse of what captured Nakita’s attention caused the same look of horror to consume me.
“You can easily join Laura if you mention anything to another soul. That includes Nancy. Keep her out of it,” Anthony threatened.
After going the restroom to clean our faces, we silently headed to the car where Ms. Jasmine, our chauffeur for the day, waited. Ms. Jasmine worked alongside Ms. Nancy. She had a bachelor’s degree in education and was Hope House’s appointed educational provider. From what I was told, she was paid handsomely, which was probably why she stayed. Ms. Jasmine had to know what those monsters did to me and the other girls. Or was everyone oblivious to the abuse we’d undergone? In any event, Ms. Jasmine taught grades nine through twelve. Being that the five of us were at different grade levels, we had separate assignments and lessons. Samantha, Tracy, and Nakita were all in the eleventh grade, Judith took eighth- and ninth-grade courses, and I was in the ninth grade.
Fear prevented us from uttering a word to Ms. Jasmine. There was no way she and Ms. Nancy didn’t know. The police department was in on it. Everyone had to know. With that, we tried to play it off once in the car. However, the tensions in the car might’ve made an actual physical presence. It was thick, because it brushed up on Ms. Jasmine.
“Uhh, girls, what happened in there?”
“What do you mean, Ms. Jasmine?” I inquired.
“You two brought some uneasiness up in this car. I am going to need the both of you to step back outside of this car, breathe, stretch, shake, and let whatever it is go. I cannot drive with that mess on my neck.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jasmine, it’s my fault—”
“No, it isn’t, Candice,” Nakita cut me off before continuing. “I am having a lot of discomfort, and it is turning me into Crabby Patty.”
“Discomfort,” Ms. Jasmine and I sang as I looked in her direction to confirm this was a part of the act. Searching her face, I could not tell if she was serious.
“It’s nothing. I am due in another two weeks. I’ve been cramping for a while.”
“You’re expecting a child any day, so it is something,” Ms. Jasmine chastised.
* * *
It was certainly something, because it was midnight and I was awakened by Nakita screaming my name. “Candice, get up. I think she’s ready. Go get Ms. Nancy please.”
“All right, just try to relax,” I soothed.
Moving as fast as I could, I waddled hurriedly to Ms. Nancy’s room and ran directly into her as I turned the corner leading to her bedroom.
“Is everything all right, Candice?”
“Nakita needs you. Her contractions are stronger. She said the baby is ready.”
“Oh, my! Grab her overnight bag while I go and check on the mom-to-be.”
“I’ll call the ambulance.”
“Good idea, Candice. Thank you,” Ms. Nancy said, patting me on the shoulder.
“What’s going on?” Judith and Samantha asked simultaneously.
“We’re having a baby!” Ms. Nancy beamed, taking two steps at a time, making her way up to Nakita’s room.
* * *
Upon arriving at the hospital, Nakita was seen immediately. As the nurse was in the process of connecting her IV, tears began to well up in her eyes.
With labored speech, she requested, “Candice, I know we haven’t known each other long. However, in a short period, actually, from the first day that we met, you’ve grown to be the little sister I never had. With that being said, I’d like for you to come into the delivery room with me if you’re all right with it.”
“That isn’t necessary. We’ve prepared for this, Nakita. I will join you. Candice will be right out here when you’re done,” Ms. Nancy interrupted.
“I know we did, Ms. Nancy, but right now, if it’s all right with you, I need Candice by my side.” Nakita’s words sputtered out of her.
Shocked by her request, as tears stormed my face, I nodded yes in response as Ms. Nancy replied, “That’s fine.”
After that uncomfortable moment, things began to move at a rapid pace. Nakita was already nine and a half centimeters dilated. As Dr. Abraham checked her cervix for the third time, her water broke as he removed his hand. It was as if he turned on a switch while inside of her, because as soon as her water broke, the pain intensified. And with each contraction, Nakita let out screams of insults to the hospital staff.
“I can’t do this. Please give me something for this pain, you idiots!”
Moving closer to her bedside, I consoled her. “Nakita, it’s too l
ate for medication. Remember we learned this in the birthing class? Please grab my hand. You can do this. Breathe in and breathe out. Look at me while you’re doing it. Try not to focus on the pain.”
“I can’t do this, Candice,” she cried.
“You’re doing it.”
“Okay, Nakita, the head is crowning. On the count of three, I need you to push with everything you’ve got until I tell you to stop,” Dr. Abraham coached.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she panted.
“On my count: one, two, three, push.”
“Push, Nakita, push,” I tagged along with Dr. Abraham and the nurses as she squeezed the life out of my hand.
After just two pushes she was out! Adrianna Nicole Mathews, a beautiful baby girl weighing six pounds, four ounces, was born. Nakita allowed me to cut the umbilical cord, and I wailed alongside Adrianna. That was the most beautiful experience I’d ever witnessed. I was so grateful and honored that she chose me to experience the birth of her daughter with her.
After the nurses cleaned Adrianna up a little, they allowed Nakita to hold her princess. As she cradled her newborn, she looked at me through tears, which caused some of my own to flourish. She whispered, “For the first time in my life, I’ve done something right. I am afraid to bring her to Hope House. I assure you, I will protect her until the very last breath in my body. We have to try to get out of there for our babies’ sakes, Candice.”
Chapter Eight
Nightmares: Sins of a Father
Paul
I shot up straight in bed, covered in sweat and breathing heavily, frantically looking all around me, trying to get a sense of where I was. “That was a terrible nightmare,” I recollected as images flashed through my head all at once. “Will I ever be able to have a normal night’s sleep?” I said as I lowered my body back into a lying position and stared at the ceiling. “Why me? What the hell?” I panicked, afraid and enraged, wiping sweat from my brow.
As my eyes began to grow heavy, I decided to give myself a way to my pursuer: exhaustion. I could no longer fight to stay awake. Sleep was the winner here. I just prayed for a peaceful rest for the balance of the night.
“Anthony, why are you in the hall and not in the classroom?”
“Waiting for you. What were you doing in the bathroom?”
“Monsignor Whyte sent for us to come to his office.”
“Do you think we’re in trouble for what we did to Thomas?”
“Yeah.”
“Good morning, Paul and Anthony. When you two met with Sister Mary Eunice after class on Monday, you were informed to stay away from Thomas. It has been brought to my attention that the two of you did the complete opposite.”
“He started with us first, Monsignor Whyte.”
“Then what were you supposed to do after that, Paul?”
“Bring it to your attention.”
“Correct. Now, what do you think a reasonable punishment would be for the two of you?”
“Go to confessional and confess our sins.”
“Yes, all of your sins.”
“Please don’t, Monsignor Whyte. We won’t bother Thomas ever again.”
“Both of you remove your clothing.”
“We’re sorry. Please don’t hurt us again.”
“Kiss each other and stroke one another slowly while you’re doing it. That’s it, good job. Now I think I can join in on this brotherly love.”
My senses were knocked into the outfield. I was confused and unsure if I was still dreaming until I was suddenly enveloped by the stench of my own urine.
“Will it ever end and just go away?”
“I don’t know, but who are you talking to, Paul?” Anthony questioned, entering my bedroom and distracting me from my thoughts.
“Another dream, Anthony. They’re more frequent the older that I get. To make matters worse, I pissed the bed again.”
“I can smell it. Why don’t you go and clean yourself up? I am sure we can find something to take your mind off all of this.”
Gathering myself to head to the bathroom, I puzzlingly asked, “How is it that I’m the one with the nightmares and the bed wetter, but you’re perfectly fine? I’m the one who’s licensed to carry, protect, and serve, and here I am wetting the bed.”
“How can I be fine when all of this has caused me to get aroused just by thinking of my brother naked?”
“Does this mean we are gay? If word got out, it would be a problem.”
“No one will find out. Relax.”
“I’m trying to, Anthony. I can’t have Greg or any of the guys finding any of this out. They will for sure think we’re gay.”
“The only way anyone is going to find out is if you tell them.” Pointing to himself, he justified, “I know for a fact that I am not gay. We sex those pregnant girls really good. There’s no way we can be gay. Besides, you can’t be gay with your family.”
“You have a point.”
With each step that my pale, size-ten-and-a-half feet took toward the bathroom, my mind grew heavier and heavier with conflicting thoughts. I hated hurting those girls and allowing Anthony to hurt me, but I enjoyed all of it at the same time. Was there something wrong with me?
* * *
It all began when we were around 9 years old. Monsignor Whyte was a priest at the time. Anthony and I had just become altar boys/servers and didn’t take our job as seriously as the other 148 boys. Our first infraction caused us to have to pay a visit to Father Whyte’s office.
“Paul and Anthony, do you want to continue working as altar boys?”
“Yes, we do, Father Whyte,” we returned simultaneously.
“You have been trained and instructed as altar boys, so you will need to act in a very reverent and dignified manner. In other words, you should act just as Father acts. Does Father Whyte whisper to his friends during mass? Does Father Whyte joke around during mass? Does Father Whyte stretch and yawn? Does Father Whyte run in the church? Does Father Whyte swing his legs when sitting in his chair? Does Father Whyte look around the church during mass? Does Father Whyte only say part of a prayer and then stop? Does Father Whyte daydream during mass?”
“No, you don’t,” I replied and turned away. My face was burning, yet my fingers were icy cold.
“Anthony?”
“Yes, Father Whyte?”
“Does Father Whyte do any of the things that I’ve mentioned? You didn’t answer me.”
“Well, I have seen you spaced out a couple of times as well as look around the church.”
“Anthony!”
“What, Paul? Father Whyte asked a question, and I answered him. We’re supposed to be honest, aren’t we?”
“St. Paul tells us to obey all authority, and you, young man, have a hard time following instruction,” Father Whyte reprimanded, pointing in Anthony’s direction.
“He’s sorry, Father Whyte. He didn’t mean it that way.”
“He must pay for his sins,” Father Whyte scolded as he walked over to where Anthony stood and slapped him across the face.
“Please don’t,” I pleaded.
“You will make this worse than it has to be, Paul. Please go and sit on the sofa and remain quiet. The more noise you make, the harder the punishment will be for Anthony.”
“Yes, Father Whyte,” I conceded as I took my seat.
“Now back to you, young man,” Father Whyte readdressed, as he disrobed from the waist down and forced himself into Anthony’s backside.
Through muffled screams, Anthony whimpered as Father Whyte invaded him with his priestly penis.
After several forceful plunges, Father Whyte removed his bloodstained penis from my brother’s bottom. As he cleaned himself off on the back of Anthony’s button-down flannel shirt, he mocked, “This is the blood of Christ that had to be shed for your sins.”
Running to Anthony’s side as he descended to his knees, I consoled my weeping brother. “I’m sorry, Anthony. I am so sorry.”
“You two cry like two little gir
ls. That’s how you’ll be treated. Paul, unzip your brother’s pants and put your mouth on him,” Father Whyte instructed, pointing to Anthony’s private area.
With tears blinding my vision, I did as I was instructed until I was told to stop.
“You must never tell anyone. They will taunt you and call you names. However, you boys must go to confession, because you’ve participated in a sex act. You must confess your sins for committing a sex act. God is not pleased with you right now.”
Father, turned Monsignor Whyte, used his priestly penis to punish Anthony and me for years. He started out punishing Anthony only, provoking Anthony to take his frustrations out on me, but that didn’t last too long.
Father Whyte made sure I knew what the penis of a priest felt like as well. It wasn’t until we turned fourteen that things changed.
Mother made us go to confession for lifting girls’ dresses and sneaking into the girls’ gym locker room. We, in turn, received some priestly sex education, which was of course administered by Monsignor Whyte. Instead of going to class on that particular day, we had to go into his study where the lessons were to be taught.
However, the only lesson that was enforced was hours and hours of priestly penis 101. Following the session, we were sent back to confessional, and for the first time, it wasn’t with Father Whyte.
After kneeling and crossing myself, I whispered, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been four days since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sins: I’ve participated in a sex act and—”
“Paul?” Father McGivney interrupted.
Like fountains, my eyes filled with tears. Hearing his voice caused me to weep uncontrollably, and through trembling lips, I confessed. “I’ve participated in sex acts with Monsignor Whyte. Anthony and I hate ourselves for it.”
Before I could utter another word, Father McGivney was embracing me as we shed tears of the same pain.
The Case Manager Page 5