Where Darkness Dwells

by Lynnette Brisia

  Our parents were beside themselves on what to do. This was not “normal” for their children. But we’d lost normal that night in November. And that realization is what finally woke Carmen up.

  She told our families Evie and I had been through enough. She told them she could see it. I... we were different now. We might have only been seventeen, but we weren’t merely teenagers any longer. Our experience had aged us too fast.

  Separating us was not helping us in any way. If anything, it was only making things worse. It wasn't sex. We weren’t looking to each other for that need. If anything, sex was the last thing on our minds. What we needed was comfort. We’d been all the other had. That connection was vital to our well-being. Vital to our very survival.

  After that, we were both released from the hospital and allowed to finally go home.

  Evie and I are visited by shrinks twice a week from Colorado Springs, who specialize in cases like ours. She speaks to a woman named Alicia, and I visit with Alicia's husband, Everett. They're good people. And I feel a sense of comfort with Everett that I didn’t think I’d ever get from another stranger. I know it’s the same for Evie with Alicia. There is just something about the two of them that has helped us become less fearful of the littlest things.

  But even they can’t help us in every way. And unfortunately, home is not what it used to be.

  On recommendation from our shrinks, and the fact that we were both at the top of our class in grades, we were awarded our school diplomas because the stress of returning to finish out our senior year was too great. The unexpected noises, the mass of people moving about, the uncertainty of what each day will bring? Not to mention the fact that we were both snatched in the school parking lot, has left us unable to even look at the building any longer.

  It also didn’t help that the local and national media caught wind of our experience and started stalking the streets and grounds around the school. Everyone wanted the scoop on our story. They were never going to get it though.

  Because of this, and the distance from Palisade to the Springs, our parents, both mine and Evie’s, opted to move.

  In a quiet area just west of Salida, another small community that seems isolated enough for us to manage, our families have houses not far from the other. There is high security fences and alarms attached nearly everywhere. We both have dogs, her a German Shepard, and me a Pit Bull. We are as physically safe as we can get.

  My father is still a doctor though he works in a clinic now instead of an office. My mother still transcribes, though because the work is not as steady for my father, my mother has taken on a part-time job as a secretary for an automotive insurance company. Evie’s father is no longer a sheriff. Instead Mr. Drake, or Russ, as he prefers to be called, is a security guard at some apartment chain.

  As a result of the things we’ve gone through, we refuse to be separated for very long. Which means when we sleep, if we do at all, we're usually found, side by side, hands clasped tight, breaths mingling. Our parents don't know what to do anymore. They can't help us. I feel bad. But I can't help them understand either.

  I can't even imagine going to college now. Besides the idea of being so far away from Evie, I can’t handle the thought of being so exposed to the world.

  Our friends have been to visit. Once before we moved, and twice since, but with their eyes full of pity, curiosity, uncertainty; we haven’t made any follow-up attempts. It all makes me skin crawl.

  They'll never understand the horrors we suffered. And we can't help them. We don’t want to help them. They know the bare minimum. The rest of our shame, we hold to ourselves.

  Troy and Bethany did start dating. I suppose our disappearance was enough to get them to stop playing games. The two major cliques no longer exist.

  Still, more often than not, we avoid everyone. We're too quiet and withdrawn now for them. It’s hard to pretend anyhow. The people we were, the social, outgoing in-love-with-life kids; they’re both gone. Dead.

  I suppose in a way, we did end up buried in the brush in that Utah wilderness after all. At least a part of us did.

  All I do is stay close to Evie. She clings to me with her still fragile hands, and looks up at me with those brown eyes that melt my heart. We both know we're lucky to be alive, but the horror of what we experienced has left us dead inside.

  I feel guilty for that too.

  Nothing can be done about that though. This is the hand we were dealt. All I we can do is try to figure out a way to live again.

  NINETEEN

  "Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them."

  ― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

  Seven years later….

  It took nearly two years before our bodies returned to a healthier weight. While still making progress, we knew we’d never be as physically fit as we had been prior to our capture. And unfortunately, we experienced many set-backs along the way. Physical and emotional scars running long and deep.

  Our kidnappers and their ring leader were all tried federally and convicted. Each were given life sentences as a result of the trafficking as well as murders of Jackson and Sandra, and attempted murders of Evie and myself. Only Billy Truit was offered the possibility of parole after twenty-five years. That's all the concession the judge was willing to give him. Not that he’d really ever see freedom again. But still. It had to be enough.

  The court proceedings were rough on us. And our visits with Alicia and Everett were double during the duration.

  Mostly, we try not to think about our captors. The price of dwelling on them, against our frail psyche’s is more than either of us is willing to spend. I know prison is not pleasant for them. From the limited amount we've heard, they are tortured by other prisoners repeatedly. The fact that they are kidnappers. That they abused children they had taken sexually, seems to agitate the other prisoners. Even Little Missy does not seem to be having it easy.

  But it doesn’t matter. I take no joy in this knowledge. It doesn't change what was done to us. It can’t.

  No matter how much torture they are afflicted with, it could never make up for the anguish Evie and I went through. I don’t think even their deaths would bring us any comfort. We still have the memories. We are still plagued with the nightmares. We still carry the physical, mental, and emotional scars. These things don’t just cease with the passing of time. They don’t disappear with punishment brought forth against the guilty.

  They are a part of us now. Tangible. Bitter. Volatile.

  The first time Evie and I had sex, sex that we both wanted, that no one had forced us to have, or was there to watch and ridicule, was a few days after she turned eighteen in October.

  While our peers were all off and adjusting to life as college freshman, Evie and I were starting over. My parents were both at work, and we were resting in my bed, eyes watching but unseeing daytime television. As Maury Povich announced to the audience he had the results of the DNA test, we turned to one another and knew.

  That day was the day we made love for the first time. Unofficially, that's the day we lost our virginities. Or at least, it’s the day we consider that we did.

  Tears, from both of us, were shed. It was terrifying and beautiful, and nearly what a first time should have been like for us. Had we had the choice in the matter, that is.

  If not for the stigma of what we'd experienced hanging over us. If not for the fact that Evie did not feel pain from a first penetration, or the fact that I lasted longer than any virgin realistically would; you wouldn't have known this wasn't the first time we had been intimate.

  Resting over her, cradled so perfectly between her thighs, I fumbled, and trembled, wanting to be good for her. Needing this to be good for her. And she felt shy about being so exposed. But there must have been something in my eyes, or on my face that allowed her to overcome that shyness, that last bit of hesitancy. It was just the two of us. Together. Natural. Beautiful. Willing.

  In the end, we worshippe
d one another in love. It was just us. There was nothing wrong with what we were doing. There was no disgrace attached anymore.

  I know some might think it happened too soon. I mean it had only been a few months since our rescue, after all. So I know, although we kept it to ourselves, our first real moment of intimacy, I know had anyone actually known, they probably wouldn’t have approved. Or understood. But we can’t think about others. Something that is supposed to be natural and lovely had been made perverse and ugly in our lives. We simply reclaimed it and rebuilt it and all that it stood for. While it is probably surprising we were able to be intimate so soon after our ordeal, we both understood what was going on. So in the end, it wasn’t too soon at all.

  Even with the scar of our abduction hanging over us, never once did we find discomfort in being in one another's company. There were never moments of doubt or uncertainty. Never once did we fear all we had were the grisly moments that had shaped who we now were. We wanted more than that. And we realized our terrified declarations of love were not spoken out of fear but out of truth. We loved each other completely.

  I married Evie when we were twenty-one. We had wanted to marry sooner as I’d asked for Evie’s hand just before her nineteenth birthday. Tie ourselves contractually to one another the way we would always be in circumstance.

  Due to our ordeal, a family court decided we were not fit to wed, that we were too emotionally battered to understand what we were asking. Trapped mentally, at seventeen, they'd said. It didn’t matter the strides we’d made, the accomplishments we’d achieved to be more than a victim. They didn’t see us as adults capable of making real-world decisions. It was a long battle; one that thankfully my parents and Evie's dad came around to supporting us on. And so finally, we were able to wed the Christmas before I turned twenty-two.

  It was a small ceremony. Held in my parent’s backyard, our only guests were our families and Alicia and Everett. Evie looked positively radiant in her floor length plum colored gown she and my mother had found during at weekend trip at the Outlet Stores in Castle Rock. With its long sleeves, sweetheart neckline, and delicate lace overlay, she looked like an angel, the color complimenting her caramel skin perfectly. Her long hair was down, decorated with flowers, just like that day during Homecoming week. Her overwhelming beauty made me feel underdressed in my simple charcoal gray suit.

  I have no problem admitting I cried so thankful to have been gifted the moment of watching her walk down the make-shift aisle, snow falling all around us, to become my wife.

  For as traditional and normal as our wedding was, we could not say the same for much else in our lives. We didn't attend college, forgoing our dreams of Providence and Hanover. We’ve never gotten real jobs.

  Crowds. People in general. They worry us. Make us nervous. We don't function like normal human beings anymore. And while we are able to leave the house, move about in public places, drive or do every day “regular Joe” activities, uncertainty makes us not really want to. We’re not agoraphobic, but we are isolated, and now introverted to the highest degree.

  We were paid restitution by the government for what we suffered. Jackson and Sandra's families received payment as well. It was a hefty sum. It’s allowed Evie and me to exist without monetary worry.

  Even if it was money as a result of losing our innocence.

  We bought a house just outside of Salida, not far from where our parents still live, and only really leave to take walks around our property. We love the way the sun feels against our skin. The way the wind blows through our hair, once more cut short for me, while Evie still has her long locks. We take pleasure in the rain and snow as it tickles and caresses against our faces. The trees and seclusion give us a sense of peace we can't find anywhere else.

  Every friend we had prior to our abduction, we've lost. Or if not lost, we are no longer close or comfortable with one another anymore enough to continue the original attachment.

  It just wasn't possible to maintain them when we struggled for so long to maintain ourselves.

  This sometimes makes me sad. Evie and I were what one would consider popular. We both had many friends, many close relationships and participated in all sorts of activities. But I can’t change what happened to us. I can’t change the differences we now have from who we were to who we are now. No matter how badly I want to, I can’t connect the link between our old world and this new, tumultuous one.

  Though we use it sparingly, because of the internet and social media, I've heard things here and there about those I used to know. Thankfully, their lives seem to be good. To be normal.

  We learned Mandy and Jared married right after college, moved to San Jose, and are expecting their first child, a boy, in the fall. Troy and Bethany, after breaking up in college, reunited and eloped in Vegas last year. They live in Tallahassee.

  But more than anything, Evie and I keep to ourselves. Our parents, my sister, they all still visit us. Alicia and Everett drop by occasionally to check in. Though we haven’t been patients of theirs for some time now, the still like to follow up with us. Other than that, the only real interaction we have with the outside world is with the doctors still monitoring our health.

  Given our ordeal, and the damage our bodies endured, our hearts, not to mention other vital organs, are not as strong as they should be. Time, care, medicine, none of it can repair the state they now reside in. So we are constantly observed.

  We exist in our bubble where things we know, things we can control, keep us company. I play piano a lot, not great, but a lot. Evie paints. These are things to distract. They soothe. They allow us to pretend everything is fine when it feels like the world is once again falling out of control.

  I made sure to tell Agent Walker to pass on the last words Jackson spoke to me. Now Vanessa will know he will always love her. It was the release of last bit of burden I felt from that terrible time.

  One thing that did happen, before we were married, we found out Evie was pregnant. We'd never learned if Evie could conceive or not. Had never really wanted to deal with anything else just in case she couldn’t. So we were properly surprised and amazed to discover we were going to have a baby.

  I can’t even describe the amount of joy this brought to me, to us, to our lives. If felt all encompassing. In the end, it turned out we were having twins. Riley and Abigail. A boy and a girl, born just over three years ago.

  With dark olive skin, butterscotch hair, and hazel eyes, my children are the perfect blend of the two of us.

  I don't really know how to describe the amount of love I feel for those two. For their mother. My frayed heart is simply too full to fathom.

  Watching Evie's belly grow. Watching her body change. Watching, with awe and so much fucking joy as our two precious angels were born. These moments have filled my heart with a quiet bliss I didn't think I'd ever feel. It is all encompassing. Heaven in its purest form.

  But even with that love, Evie and I cannot help but struggle every now and then.

  Because of our circumstances, Evie and I have a Will. In the event something happens to us, Carmen and her husband, Alaric, or Ric, as he likes to be called will raise our children with their own child, Max. In the event something happens to them, our parents will share custody.

  Our goal is to have our children remain in our house as they grow. It is listed in our Will, and all parties understand this request and have agreed to it.

  We also have a spot designated for where we would like to be buried. It's on our property. It's our most favorite spot with the best view. Keeps us close to our families, to our children.

  We hate that we are so prepared for any and all possibilities. We hate that we're not normal enough to think these things are a later-in-life necessity. We hate that circumstance left us vulnerable. Hate that it made us lost in a world we should have been driven to conquer. We’d had such beautiful aspirations too.

  I want so badly to know, if not for our kidnapping, we would have found ourselves in this same place
. Or at least someplace similar. I hope we would have become a couple, fallen in love. I imagine we would have gotten married like we did, but with maybe more guests to watch, and had our two beautiful children.

  I want this so badly for our innocent selves that sometimes, the darkness seeps back in before I can fight it off.

  We are not innocent. No matter how many times we are told we are. No matter how many times we are told what happened wasn’t our fault or that the situation was “out of our control.” We will never be innocent again for what we were put through.

  The things I was forced to do, forced to do to Evie, forced to watch be done to Evie? They eat at me still, seven years later. They tear at me in moments when I am smiling. They attack in the moment when I am watching, with so much pride, my son try to catch a ball thrown to him by his Papa's Liam and Russ. In the moments when my daughter is playing princess with Nana Kathleen and Auntie Carmen and I can't help but laugh at her rules for engagement.

  It’s during these times, these innocuous and pure times, a sliver of wakeful recollection will prick at my mind, will push into my thoughts as voices I work so hard to forget lie to me about where I am and who I've become.

  They taunt me about Evie and tell me my beloved children are bastards born from another man. They tell me my wife, the woman I love with every fiber of my being, enjoyed his touch enough to “let” herself fall pregnant from his seed.

  Of course I know these thoughts are lies. Lies I never believe. Besides not being legitimately possible, given the time that has passed, I know my wife. I know her with everything that I am. In fact I know Evie better than I know my own self. But still, they nudge and prod until I cannot breathe. I hate that I have them at all. Hate the weakness they inspire.

  Because then they pull in memories of fact. Memories of pain. Memories I can’t dispute. Memories that haunt, torment, and rage.

  Evie knows these thoughts, these memories. She suffers her own after all. In the times when they invade, we seek the other out. Hold one another until familiar and loving touch has left us reassured we are safe. Our children are safe. We are free and have nothing to fear any longer.