“That’s all it will ever be. My word against his. And who would believe me, anyway? I’ve had sex with Ben for a year, hundreds of times in all sorts of ways. I’m sorry if this shocks you, but I liked it—even when he got rough. Until tonight. Tonight was disgusting. Tonight was . . .”
“Rape.”
“Yes. Rape. But he’ll claim in was consensual and no one will doubt him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I? He’s bragged to the whole football team about what a ‘hot little piece’ I am. You think he won’t ask his teammates to testify about me? Of course he will. I’ll be publicly accused of being a slut and a liar. Then what happens to my goal of becoming an attorney?”
“You’re upset, Elise. You’re not seeing things clearly. Surely you believe in justice—in a legal system that protects the innocent and punishes the guilty.”
“Our legal system is flawed, Trey. You of all people should know that. Your own father spent nine years on death row for a crime someone else committed. Uncle Johnny was a victim of our legal system.”
“He won in the end.”
“Sure. After your mother and his attorneys fought for nine long years to prove his innocence.”
“So fight like my mother did. Fight for justice. Fight for all the girls and women who are victims of sexual assaults. Prove that a strong woman can defeat a rapist who thinks nothing can touch him. You once told me you want to be a criminal law attorney so you can defend the innocent and convict the guilty. Don’t wait. Start right now. Call the police.”
He handed the phone to me. I stared at it like it was a snake. “I can’t,” I said. “Not now. I need time to think.”
Trey sighed. “Do you care about this guy? Is that it? Are you protecting him?”
“No, that’s not it. I . . . it’s complicated.”
“No doubt. All right, Elise. Think about it. But let me take you to the hospital for a rape kit exam, so evidence will be available if you decide to file a report.”
I knew about the importance of forensic evidence in criminal cases, so I consented. Trey took me to a hospital near the university, where I spent four hours being questioned and examined by a sexual assault nurse. Cotton swabs were used to collect DNA evidence from my mouth and genitals, and pictures were taken of my external and internal injuries, including a video of the inside of my vagina. The process was humiliating and exhausting.
We left the hospital after midnight, and I had a final exam in the morning. I needed sleep but was afraid to be in my apartment alone. Ben still had a key.
Trey solved that problem. “We’ll go back and get what you need,” he said. “Just the essentials. Then I’m taking you to my apartment.”
So that’s what we did. I quickly packed clothes, toiletries, my electronic devices and some books, including Aunt Elise’s manuscript. We soon arrived at Trey’s apartment at the corner of 18th Avenue and Agate Street, just half a block from Hayward Field.
Trey’s two-bedroom apartment was on the top floor of a three-story cedar building with a large upper balcony. He told me he’d been living alone since his roommate moved out in September.
“Do you need anything?” Trey asked as I unpacked in the spare bedroom.
“No. Thank you. I just need to get some sleep. And Trey . . .”
“What?”
“Thank you for being there for me tonight. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
He smiled. “I’ll always be there for you. We Larsons stick together, you know. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I lay awake for much of the night, and my fitful sleep was disturbed by nightmares. I woke up screaming at some point, blindly shoving a big body away from me, certain it was Ben. But it was Trey. He held me in his arms until I stopped trembling and my heart resumed its normal rhythm.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought you were Ben. I was so afraid . . .”
“I know,” he replied, smoothing my tangled hair. “But that will pass. We Larsons are a strong bunch, especially the women.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I am. And in the meantime, I’ll be by your side.”
Trey stayed by my side the next morning as he walked me to my last final of the term. Unfortunately, it was in one of the two pre-law classes I shared with Ben, and I dreaded seeing him again. But Trey assured me that he’d wait in the hall while I took the exam and would walk me back to his apartment afterwards.
Ben was sitting near the front of the classroom, talking to a classmate while they waited for the exam to begin. I sat at the back, hoping he wouldn’t see me, but of course he did. He turned around and stared at me with that sullen look I knew so well—the look that promised punishment. I knew he’d stopped by my apartment and found me gone.
I don’t know how I got through that exam, but I did. I wrote as fast as I could, hoping to finish and get out of there ahead of Ben. No such luck. He was right behind me as I turned in my exam and walked into the hallway, where Trey was waiting. Ben’s anger was palpable when Trey moved close to me.
“Are you her bodyguard now, Larson?”
Trey ignored him and took my arm. “Let’s go.”
Ben followed us down the hall, his voice rising. “Maybe you’re doing more with her body than guarding it. Good luck with that! You’re not man enough to satisfy her.”
Trey released my arm and turned to face Ben. They were the same height and of similar athletic build, but Trey was Johnny Larson’s son—formidable and intimidating when necessary. The strength behind his calm demeanor was evident as he met Ben’s red-faced bluster with cool composure.
“I’m a better man than you will ever be, MacAllister. Elise is through with you. Touch her again and you’ll regret it, you sorry son of a bitch.”
Students passing in the hallway slowed to watch the confrontation. Ben took two steps forward, his big hands balled into fists. Trey did not move, but he was clearly ready for anything Ben might do.
Ben sensed his adversary’s resolve and stopped. “Screw it,” he growled. “Not here. But this isn’t over. I’ll deal with you later. Both of you.”
Chapter 5
T rey and I left for Christmas vacation the next day. He drove while I mostly slept, just relieved to be away from Eugene and Ben. Trey and I argued over telling my parents about the rape; he advocated disclosure but I refused, saying I needed more time to think. He finally gave in, leaving me in Boise after a few polite words with my parents.
It felt so good to be home. I was an only child and rather spoiled, I’ll admit. But I was secure in my parents’ love for each other and for me. And although we were a nuclear family of three, we were part of the whole Larson clan. So we were really a family of twelve, and we got together often to celebrate birthdays, holidays, graduations or just about any reason to have fun.
Our family loved Christmas—especially my mother, who unleashed her decorating skills with a passion. I lacked her creative flair but happily assisted every year until now. My mother was very intuitive and naturally noticed my lack of enthusiasm and the falseness of my smiles. So when she came into my room at the end of my first week home, I knew what to expect.
I was propped up in bed, just starting to read the first chapter of Aunt Elise’s book, when my mother sat down and looked at me in that certain way of hers. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
I sighed. “Promise you won’t tell Daddy?”
Mom shook her head. “I don’t keep secrets from your father. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”
So I told her about my relationship with Ben: how exciting it was at first; how he became possessive, controlling and abusive; how I forgave him each time, hoping he’d change. Finally, after much hesitation, I told her about the rape. I told her how Trey had helped me. And then I cried while she held me close.
“My sweet baby,” she soothed. “My darling girl. I am so sorry.” But her commis
eration quickly turned to anger. “He cannot get away with this. You must report it.”
“But Mom . . .”
“No. No arguments. Your father will know what to do. So will Johnny and Jason.”
“Mom! Surely you don’t intend to tell everyone!”
“We’re a family, Elise. Families help each other.”
“But it’s Christmas! This will spoil Christmas for everyone. Can’t you at least wait?”
“I’ll see what your father says. If he thinks it’s okay to wait, we’ll wait. But only until Christmas is over.”
My parents decided to wait, but only until the day after Christmas, which was ten days away. In the meantime, Mom took me to a gynecologist for a complete exam. My external and internal injuries were healing and would result in no permanent damage, but my emotional state was a different matter entirely.
I slept poorly, cried often and had no appetite. I mainly stayed in my room, curled up in bed with Aunt Elise’s book. My parents urged me to speak with a counselor who specialized in assisting victims of sexual abuse and rape, but I declined, believing I could handle this without professional help.
Ben called me on Christmas Eve morning. I answered by mistake, not recognizing the number on my caller ID. He’d tricked me by calling on a different phone than his.
“Don’t hang up, Elise,” he said. “Please.”
“What do you want, Ben?”
“To wish you a Merry Christmas, and to say I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? Tell me.”
“I’m sorry I got a bit rough.”
“A bit rough? You raped me!”
“Come on, baby. I was angry—I’ll admit it—and I took it out on you. But rape? Get serious. I’m no rapist. I’m not some desperate guy who needs to rape a woman for sex. Women are more than happy to give it to me, and that includes you, Elise. Especially you.”
“You didn’t rape me for sex, Ben. You raped me for punishment, for domination, for control. You wanted to prove your power over me.”
“That’s bullshit. Who put these ideas in your head? Your cousin?”
“Leave Trey out of this. I’m capable of thinking for myself, and I know what you did. You forced me to have sex after I clearly said no. Several times. You hurt me. Saying you’re sorry isn’t enough.”
“So what will you do? Report it?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Maybe.”
“Then let me tell you something, and there’s no ‘maybe’ about it. If you report it, I’ll tell everyone—the cops, the investigators, the whole damn world—what a slut you are. By the time my father’s attorneys are through with you, no one will believe your story. I’ll be vindicated and your reputation won’t be worth shit. You’ll never be an attorney in this or any other state. Do you understand me, Elise? If you take me on, you’ll lose. You’ll lose everything. Because MacAllisters always win.”
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “You know what, Ben? You’re wrong. You are a loser. And maybe it’s time people find out what you really are.” I hung up and just stood there, trying to calm my pounding heart.
I was in no mood for Christmas after Ben’s phone call, but I went to Ontario with my parents and was swept into my grandmother’s traditional Christmas Eve celebration. Everyone was there: Granddad Quinn came from Portland and Cousin Quinn flew in from Minneapolis after his Vikings defeated the Green Bay Packers the day before. CJ’s boys, Elias and James, idolized their Uncle Quinn and were thrilled to have him home for Christmas.
Quinn was like Ben in many ways. Big, handsome and aggressive, Quinn had supreme confidence in his physical and sexual prowess as a man and a football star. So when he crushed me in a welcoming hug, I pulled back, suddenly frightened. Naturally he noticed.
“Elise? Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing. I’m happy to see you, Quinn.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Really.”
Grandma rescued me with a call for help in the kitchen. The Swedish Christmas feast was soon ready: potatis korv, lefse, lutefisk, Julskinka, rye bread, vegetables and salads, followed by an assortment of cakes and Swedish cookies. Everything was delicious as usual, and I recovered my appetite enough to enjoy it.
My grandmother amazed me. She was eighty-eight years old and as active as ever: cooking, cleaning, tending to her many flower beds in the summer, and generally overseeing the lives of her family members. She was more like a mother than a grandmother to Quinn and Trey, who were babies when Elise died. Even though Grandma was in love with Granddad Quinn (Elise’s father), she refused to marry him and leave Johnny alone to raise his sons. But they maintained a loving relationship nonetheless, with long visits and trips together.
Trey sat beside me when we all gathered in the living room to open the mountain of gifts. His presence reassured me, so I was able to relax and enjoy the evening with our family as Elias and James crowed with excitement over their gifts.
Afterwards, we all took the traditional walk through the snow to our nearby church for the Christmas Eve candlelight service. As usual, Elias and James were in the lead while the rest of us walked in pairs: Grandma and Granddad, Jim and Lisa, CJ and Stacey, Trey and me, Johnny and Quinn (talking football, no doubt).
Trey didn’t say much, but I knew he was thinking about my situation. So was I. And at the close of the service, during the hush while the candles were lit and flickered all around us, I asked God to give me strength.
As agreed, the day after Christmas was disclosure time. Quinn flew back to Minneapolis that morning, which gave me one less intimidating male to deal with. But I still had to face my uncle.
The five of us—I, my parents, Johnny and Trey—sat in our family room in Boise while I described what Ben had done to me. I was embarrassed and frightened, not only by my memories of that terrible night, but also by the anger I saw on Johnny’s face.
My uncle is an alpha male: a big, powerful man and the unquestioned head of our family. No one challenges his authority or his decisions regarding important family matters (except Quinn on rare occasions). And he is fiercely protective of those he loves, especially us women. So as I finished talking, I shrank from the fury I saw in Johnny’s eyes, momentarily afraid he was blaming me in some way.
He said nothing at first—just stood and walked to the window, forcing himself to calm down. I remembered how Elise had told him to take deep breaths and count to ten before he acted. Maybe he was taking her advice, because he was calmer when he turned around and looked at me.
“The bastard can’t get away with this,” he declared. “Elise, you must file a report right away.” It was a direct order.
“Shouldn’t we talk to Jason first?” my father asked. “I think we need legal advice.” Jason Colter was Johnny’s attorney and his best friend.
“What we need is to make damn sure that rapist is locked up for years. If Jason can help with that, fine. But MacAllister can’t be arrested until Elise files a report. I’m astonished that you’ve done nothing for two whole weeks! What the hell were you thinking?”
“We wanted to give Elise some time . . .”
“Time! I know all about time in a criminal case, remember? The wheels of justice won’t turn unless they’re pushed, and pushed hard. Starting right now. Not tomorrow or next week or next year. At least a rape kit exam was done that night, thanks to Trey’s insistence. Thank God that much was done before you all decided to take some time.”
I was astonished when my mother spoke up. “You’ve got no right to criticize our decision, Johnny. Elise was traumatized and emotionally fragile when she came home. She needed time to recover, to think about what to do. As a victim, she has a right to decide how and when to proceed in this case. As her parents, we respect that right and will support her decisions. Her decisions, Johnny. Not yours. Not this time.”
We sat in stunned silence. Except for Quinn, I’d never heard anyone oppose my uncle. Certainly not my
mother. And I was even more surprised by Johnny’s reaction.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s her decision. But she must decide quickly, because this bastard needs to be locked up. Elise, do you want to talk to Jason?”
I nodded. Johnny called Jason, explained the situation, and handed the phone to me. I spoke with Jason for quite a while, describing Ben’s attack and rape while Jason asked clarifying questions. When I was through, he asked me what I intended to do. I said I wasn’t sure how to proceed, or even if I wanted to proceed at all. I needed his advice as an attorney and trusted friend.
“All right, Elise,” he said. “I won’t sugarcoat this for you. Here are the facts. Rape cases are extremely difficult to prosecute and even harder to win. Nationally, out of every one thousand instances of rape, only thirteen are referred to a prosecutor, and only seven result in a felony conviction.”
“Seven out of a thousand? But why?”
“Many victims choose not to report because they fear retaliation or believe the authorities won’t do anything to help. Of the cases that are reported, most are declined by prosecutors due to lack of sufficient evidence to support the charge. The few cases that go to trial often end in dismissal or acquittal because the defense team manages to destroy the credibility of the rape victim.”
“You’re saying they’ll attack me?”
“Of course. Since there were no other witnesses, it will come down to your word against his. MacAllister’s attorneys will ruthlessly attack your honesty and your character. They’ll focus on your sexual history, painting you as a woman with loose morals. MacAllister will be portrayed as a man with upstanding qualities—an innocent victim of your false accusations. It’s exactly what any good defense attorney would do in a case like this, and MacAllister’s attorneys are top-notch.”
“What about the forensic evidence from the rape kit exam? The bite marks, bruises and internal lacerations? How can they dispute that kind of proof?”
Forbidden- Our Secret Love Page 3