Lost

by Sarah Ann Walker

  Deborah handed me the contract from a folder and as I looked over it, I was still determined to leave regardless. But honestly, I was shocked by the terms of the leave. She had made everything so easy I couldn't believe what I was reading. I was unable to even comprehend what I was looking at, until she explained it all to me.

  “You're an amazing employee who has been through a lot this past month, so I drafted a proposal for you to look over. Basically, you stay as an employee, on leave for exactly 6 months from the day you sign this, and we agree to continue paying 60% of your salary while on leave. You must sign a non-compete, only valid for the 6 months you’re on leave, but otherwise, you're free to do whatever you want. Take a vacation, relax at home, get a part time job out of the industry,” she smirked. “But come back when the 6 months is over, or come see me if you decide you really are resigning. Either way, you have 6 months with partial pay to figure out what you want to do.”

  Looking at Deborah and the kindness she was offering I choked up a little as I asked, “Why?”

  “Like I said, we don't want to lose you, and I think you just need a little time. I understand you've had a lot going on personally, and though you were ridiculously professional at work, I could see you were personally struggling. So before you came in to quit, which we didn't want, I set up this proposition for you.”

  “But I could just take a leave anyway, and file-”

  “With the government, yes. However, you would make just slightly less than 40% of your current income. So, by doing this, I had hoped with the larger income we were willing to pay you for 6 months, you would feel obligated to return,” she grinned again. “Look, I don't know all the details of what's going on with you, but I know you were recently sexually assaulted, according to the little bit of information your mother gave me, and I know this must be a very hard time for you. So I was trying to make it a little easier for you to get help, get better, and then come back to us here. And again, we don't want to lose you. So take the paperwork, read over it this weekend and let me know what you decide on Monday.”

  “This is so generous,” I said still a little stunned by the offer. “But who will do my job?”

  “We'll have it covered. Don't worry about it. Worry about you,” she said kindly.

  “Okay. Thank you. I’ll sign it right now. I don't need to read over it. Thank you so much, Deborah. I did just need a little time to figure everything out. Thank you,” I said again already flipping through the pages to the little colored stickers where I had to initial and sign.

  And that was it. After a hug, and a few more soothing words from Deborah, plus the offer to call her anytime, I walked out of Halton Facilities an hour late Friday night, but free.

  I was free from the stress and pressure of my job while I tried to get my life back together.

  My birthday was just over a week away and all I could think about was turning 26. That was my first goal with my new freedom- my birthday. I needed to be 26, because 25 had been awful for me.

  And financially, I was okay. 60% of my income would make everything tight, but I also had a tiny amount of savings, so if I did find a part time job to make up the difference, I could actually make it work. I could take my little breather while I pulled myself back together. I needed the little break Deborah offered, which was better than I would have had if I'd actually quit, which I had intended.

  *****

  During the 2 weeks after Peter’s visit, I had been struggling worse than ever, but I pretended harder than ever to look okay. No one knew he had come to me, and no one knew I had let him go. And as each day passed, I couldn't even believe I had let him go.

  There was a part of me, albeit very small that tried to take comfort in the fact that he was a police officer doing something more than I knew or understood to help the greater good. That little part of me struggled every single day, fighting the depression and the sadness that threatened to strangle me in my bed, but I tried so hard to make it enough to continue.

  I fought every single day getting out of bed, and accepting the fact that the man I loved couldn't be with as opposed to didn't want to be with me. But it was hard. Knowing he was more than just a man who broke my heart helped. Slightly.

  Every single day I had a pep talk with myself, and tried to reason every other person on the planet had suffered a break up. Everyone else knew it hurt, suffered the initial pain, but then got over it. Everyone knew what I was going through, and they all survived. I knew that logically, but the reality felt anything but.

  No one could possibly understand the depth of my pain because I simply couldn't express it. I was weak and broken, and I hated myself and my feelings, and my insane inability to move on.

  I was stuck in my tragic world of missing him, wanting him, and looking for him everywhere. Peter coming to me and making love to me may have emotionally helped me move back into my bedroom, and maybe even helped me move past the rape quicker. But his visit prompted a whole new devastation over his absence again.

  But I tried to live, like he told me to.

  3 weeks after I left Halton Facilities I did get a part time job, working in Pandora’s, which I loved. Pandora’s was cool as hell and close to my apartment, and really, just an opened door away from seeing Peter again, should he enter it.

  Peter was everywhere all the time still, and I missed him with everything I was. But at least he was helping do something greater than I understood, which was the mantra I held each and every day of my life.

  I still held onto the knowledge that Peter was doing something good, something worthwhile, even as I slowly wasted away looking for him.

  Driving down streets I looked, and in every window of every store in the village I looked for him. I looked everywhere, and I looked always.

  But I never found him, until I did.

  CHAPTER 35

  “Sophie? I'd like you to tell me why you're here?”

  “I am. Please... Just listen. I'm almost there. We're almost done,” I say bursting into tears.

  “Why are you crying, Sophie?” He asks me gently.

  Exhaling my sadness as I look at him, I try to understand why I'm here, but all I can think about is the last year and a half of my life. I think about the little pieces of happiness I've felt- the happiness that I held onto, as the only thing that got me through all the pain I've lived. I remember the 3 months of happiness I had, but all I feel is the pain of its loss.

  “I'm lost...” I whisper suddenly.

  “How are you lost? What are you feeling?”

  And looking at him I take a deep breath before speaking my absolute. “I still love him,” I say simply. And that is all I feel. What else can I possibly say?

  “Tell me about your rapist?” He asks suddenly. So I tell him.

  *****

  I received another call from Detective Dent on March 4th telling me they had a suspect in custody. She told me she was sure they had the right man, but obviously there was more investigating, and more forensics needed before they formally charged him. She did tell me quite adamantly though that she was sure she had him.

  Dent told me they picked him up outside Perry's gallery, based on a tip from Michael Sharpe who she had spoken to after the attack. She had spoken to both Michael and Perry after the attack, and though both had alibis, and were never suspects in my rape, she did want me to know that she believed Perry's gallery was involved. So she waited for a break in the case.

  Apparently, Michael called her to tell her about a man who was in the gallery often. He told her of the man who was very unassuming, but who for a few weeks had been asking many questions about Peter Connor, his paintings, and about Sophie Morley. He asked if I had been around again, and he asked if more paintings of me would come in and where he could buy them. He asked too much about Sophie Morley, and Michael became very suspicious because no one knew who I was in relation to Peter's paintings.

  Dent received a description of the man, and asked Michael and Perry to try to detai
n the man for as long as possible should he return. She asked them to call her immediately if he returned so she could ask the unknown man some questions.

  I was told the man entered the gallery again and Perry maintained a long conversation with him about me, to my horror, until Michael could reach the Police. The man was subsequently taken into custody for questioning by Detective Dent and her partner Detective Dolby.

  I also found out 4 hours after the first phone call, that the man named Frederick McGregor confessed to everything and didn't seem to even care that he was being charged with rape and sexual battery.

  Sadly, I was told by Detective Dent he had no remorse, nor did he even request a lawyer's presence. Frederick McGregor was my rapist, confessing to everything that occurred, even giving additional information the Detectives withheld from him, which obviously I was curious about, but didn't ask.

  I was called later again and told a formal statement from me was required again because I didn't recognize the man's name, and I was also asked to look at his photos to see if I recognized him physically at all.

  I was promised when I arrived at the police station there was absolutely NO chance of seeing the man because he had already been moved. I was also told I would be safe, and I could have someone accompany me to the police station for further questioning while I looked over the mug shots. I was told to try to remember anything I could on the way to the station to help ensure a conviction.

  So late in the evening on March 4th, my mom and I went to the police station again. We went quietly, and with little said between us as she drove. My mom was stoic and strong as usual, waiting for my mood to set the tone once again. But I had no mood.

  I was scared and numb at the same time. I was glad the nightmare of who did it, and why did he do it was going to be over, but I didn't really feel much of anything at all.

  Once inside, everything moved quickly and smoothly. I looked first at the photos and knew I had never seen the man before in my life. I answered all the questions asked, and was even recorded given my sworn statement as to the fact that I didn't know Frederick McGregor at all.

  There were a few questions about Perry's and the paintings, and if I had told anyone about my association with the paintings, but I hadn’t, so I answered truthfully. I explained that I had only told my immediate family, and didn't know anyone else who knew about them or even about me for that matter, other than Margaret at the health food store.

  Eventually, Peter was brought up and I was asked if I knew his location, which I didn't. Strangely, I was asked if I had seen Peter Connor since the assault, so I lied and said I hadn't.

  I'm not sure why I felt like I needed to lie, but if Dent was asking, it meant she wasn't the one who had reached Peter to tell him what had happened in the first place. I didn't know why, but I felt like I needed to protect Peter from being found during whatever job he was on.

  But I answered everything else asked of me honestly and calmly while my mom waited in the hall. And then I asked my questions.

  After Detective Dent stopped recording, I asked why he did it. I asked such a simple word with all the potential in the world. Why? That's all I needed to know- Why?

  Looking at me with compassion, I knew she couldn't tell me anything specific because of the investigation and subsequent charges, as had been explained to me earlier, but she did anyway.

  Exhaling deeply, while repeating the obvious, 'this is confidential- NOT to be repeated', Detective Dent leaned back in her chair further from me and the table, and said the only words that mattered.

  “All he said as an explanation was 'Peter Connor loves her, so I had to take her.'“ And I nearly threw up after she spoke. “That’s what he said no matter how hard Dolby and I pushed for more information. He admitted to everything regarding the entry of your apartment, to loving the paintings, to sexually assaulting you,” she said as I sat in a stunned silence. “Are you okay,” she suddenly asked reaching for my hand, but I could only nod. “We’re through here. You'll be contacted soon, but probably not to testify because he's confessed.”

  On a gasp, I begged, “What else did he say?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes...” I shook my head to clear it. “Please tell me what he said, I need to know.”

  “Well, he said he didn't mean to hurt you,” she said gently as I cried out. “He said you hurt your own arm because you were fighting him. He also said the only reason he physically assaulted you was because you refused to open your eyes. He said you kept saying Peter over and over again, so that's why he punched you in the face until the neighbor started banging on your door.”

  “What else?” I begged again when Dent paused.

  “There's nothing more, Sophie. I'm sorry. We tried to get more from him, but he stopped talking. He didn't give any more explanation than that, except for his full confession to the actual assault. But before he was led out to booking, he did ask if you were okay, and then he asked if you still had the paintings?”

  “Why?” I choked. “What the hell do the paintings have to do with anything? I don't understand,” I moaned.

  “I don't know, but we're trying to find Mr. Connor to bring him in for questioning. We need to know if he knows Mr. McGregor, and if so, how.”

  “Peter doesn't know him. Well, maybe he does. I don't know. But Peter didn't know how he hurt me.”

  “How do you know?” Dent asked me suspiciously. And in that moment I realized I had screwed up.

  “Um, I just do. Peter wouldn't know someone like that guy,” I gave as a lame excuse, but I could tell Dent knew I was lying. I could see the calculated look she gave just before she asked again if I had seen Peter Connor since the assault. But again I lied.

  “Are you protecting Mr. Connor, Sophie?” Dent asked professionally, almost like she didn't like me anymore. But I didn't care. If Peter was in trouble, or these were the kind of cops Peter was up against, I knew he needed my help. I knew he needed me to protect him while he was doing whatever he was doing.

  “No,” I breathed with as much conviction as possible in my voice. “I haven't seen Peter, and I don't know where he is. I haven't seen Peter since he broke up with me almost a year ago. Can I go now?” I asked accidentally, knowing my mistake as soon as I asked it.

  If I wasn't hiding anything, I wouldn't have wanted to get the hell out of there so quickly. If I wasn't lying, I would've sat calmly and waited for Detective Dent to finish up with me. If I was being honest with her, I wouldn't have looked guilty as hell while I tried to get out of there as quickly as I could.

  She let me go anyway though. Knowing I was lying, and knowing I was full of shit, Detective Dent let me walk out of the door, to my waiting mother in the hallway. She let me go to face the endless questions I would obsess over alone.

  When my mother and I returned to my apartment I was exhausted.

  “What can I do to help?” She asked.

  “Honestly, nothing. Thank you for taking me and for coming over, but it's late and I'm exhausted, and I want to go to sleep. Do you mind leaving? I promise to call in the morning.”

  “You're so strong, Sophie. You always act so together and tough all the time, but just remember, you don't have to if you don't want to. I'm here if you want to just freak out a little, okay?”

  “I will,” I smiled and that was all we said as she walked out my door for home.

  Once she left, I was again alone with my paintings and my drawing, and a world filled with question after question regarding the elusive Peter Connor.

  I was left with a world full of pain and sadness and confusion and paranoia.

  I was sure McGregor had something to do with Peter's life or his job or the undercover investigation, or whatever the hell he was doing, but I had no way of knowing, or of finding Peter to tell him.

  I was exactly back to where I had started. I loved a man I couldn't find, and I begged for a man who wouldn't come.

  “But what about your rapist? What came of him?”
He again asks me gently.

  “He's going to be convicted, which apparently he wants. The DNA collected from my nails matched his, and he has fought nothing while he waits for his trial. He refused a trial by jury, and though he has representation, he doesn't want it. He has told anyone who will listen that he raped me, and he doesn't seem sorry in the least. He apparently has a history of mental illness and he lives in a halfway house not too far from where I live in the village. But that's all I know.”

  “And how does that make you feel?

  “The same. Nothing. I feel nothing about anything anymore.”

  “Can you elaborate? What don't you feel?”

  “Can I finish my story first?”

  “Of course.”

  Knowing the end, I take a big breath and finish.

  CHAPTER 36

  4 days ago, 2 months after Peter left me again, I saw him.

  I saw him and suffered the worst of karmic cruelty.

  The very day I knew I couldn't keep living without him, I found him lifeless in the street.

  Leaving Pandora's, I decided to walk home, keeping my car in the little back lot overnight. It was warm for April, and it was a clear Wednesday evening and I decided to walk for no other reason than the Fates had finally stepped in. The Fates decided enough was enough, and they stepped in to give me back Peter.

  Walking home, I passed Murphy's and thought about a plate of their awesome cheese fries, but knowing I hadn't eaten in a few days meant serious gut rot if I did, so I passed Murphy's and...

  The déjà vu was so intense I stopped dead in my tracks.

  I remembered him. I saw him once when I first moved in almost 2 years earlier. I saw him, and I knew.