The Rise of Rachel Stark

by J. A. York

  Despite playing under the lights for the first time, and in a light snowfall, it was another blow-out win for Chante – a 63-14 clobbering of Eastview High that sealed a second straight unbeaten season for Chante.

  The restaurant was packed with kids who had been at the game and were celebrating the win and the unbeaten season. It was so festive and noisy that it was hard to hear Little Richard belting out "Tutti-Frutti" on the jukebox.

  Before he sat down, Bull went from table to table, booth to booth, shaking hands, slapping backs, hugging the girls, and delivering the same line he had delivered after every game of the season:

  "Just another day at the office, folks. Just another day at the office."

  When he got back to the table, he said:

  "I just realized. That's the last time I'm ever going to say that line. It hasn't sunk in yet, and when it does, I'll no doubt turn into a slobbering, blubbering idiot."

  "Wait a minute," Jimmy said, "I thought that's what you already were."

  "You're lucky I left my tomahawk at home. But one of these days, paleface. One of these days … "

  Samantha – Sam – the waitress, appeared at their table and took their order.

  "OK, is that it?" she said.

  "Just one more thing, Sam," Bull said.

  "Bull, don't do this," Jimmy said.

  "No, it's OK. Sam, answer me this. Have you ever, like, bought a record or got one as a present or something?"

  Jimmy put his head in his hands and groaned.

  "Well, sure. Hasn't everybody?" Sam said.

  "Well, what did you do with it?"

  "What did I do with it? What do you mean?"

  Jimmy was giggling.

  "Shut up, Jimmy. No, Sam, this isn't a trick question or anything. When you got the record, what did you do with it?"

  "Brought it home?"

  "No, but after that."

  "Unwrapped it?"

  "No, after that, after that."

  "Well … I suppose I listened to it."

  A triumphant grin spread across Bull's face.

  "Well, listen to it again, Sam."

  Sam knitted her brow, shook her head and walked away.

  "I've always wanted to say that, you know?" Bull said, still grinning.

  Jimmy was laughing so hard he almost slipped under the table.

  "Bull," Rachel said, "the line is, 'Play it again, Sam.' "

  Bull's face fell to the floor.

  "Oh my god, it is, isn't it?" he said. He smacked his forehead. "I am an idiot. I am a total idiot. My life has been destroyed."

  "That's OK, Bull," Rodney said. "It was close enough for a town this size."

  ●●●

  Next up was basketball.

  After they had eaten, the six of them climbed into Sheldon's car to take Rachel up to the cemetery. Rodney was going to spend the night at Sheldon's house, because the four boys had talked Coach O'Connor into opening the gym for them so they could shoot a few hoops Saturday morning.

  The quick drive up the hill was spent mostly laughing at Bull's faux pas. They were still laughing when they dropped Rachel off. She waved goodbye and watched Sheldon's car disappear down the hill.

  It was a clear night, and the full moon was bright enough to leave shadows. Rachel pulled her coat collar up against the November cold. The snowfall, she noted, was heavier on cemetery hill than it was down in the Chante Valley.

  She had taken only a few steps when she was knocked down from behind with such force that she almost lost consciousness.

  She tried to understand what was happening as two men dragged her face down to a spot behind a mausoleum, where they were out of sight from the road.

  As her vision started to return, she saw that the men were wearing ski masks. Neither spoke.

  Scream, she remembered reading somewhere. Screaming is your best defense. But in a cemetery there is no one to hear your screams. Her head was starting to clear, and suddenly she knew what was happening.

  She started to tell them to stop, but one of the men slapped her face. When she tried to scream he slapped her face again and again till she nearly blacked out. The other man pulled up her dress and pulled down her panties. She struggled, but they were like a pack of wolves devouring a lamb.

  One of the men knelt, pulled her arms above her head and pinned them to the ground. The other spread her legs apart.

  "Hey, you're making snow angels, honey," one of them said.

  "Shut up!" said the other.

  Rachel lay still, her cheeks burning with pain. Blood from a cut on her forehead rolled down into her left eye. Do not resist, her semiconscious brain told her. They might kill you if you do.

  Then the man who spread her legs apart raped her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  They switched positions, and the other man raped her.

  Then they stood up.

  "Tell that stinking little brother of yours – "

  "Shut up!" the other man said. They ran off, and she heard their car tires spin and spit gravel as they sped off down the hill.

  Rachel lay there for some time, watching the moon, wondering whether it looked the same at this moment in Tennessee. Maybe she could go home to Tennessee now. It was better there.

  Something bad happened. What was it? She couldn't remember. Minutes ago she was riding in a car with her friends. Yes. They were laughing. They were joyous. They were cherishing each other, happy to be with each other, reveling in their friendship.

  And then they disappeared. Just like that. She wished Tabby and her friends would come back and get her, pick her up in their arms and take her home. Maybe if she waited just a little longer they would come. Maybe if she lay quietly in the snow, among the headstones and the dead, a miracle would happen.

  So she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the pain kept her awake. And over and over and over she heard the men talking.

  "Hey, you're making snow angels, honey."

  "Shut up!"

  "Tell that stinking little brother of yours – "

  "Shut up!"

  "Hey, you're making snow angels, honey."

  "Shut up!"

  "Tell that stinking little brother of yours – "

  "Shut up!"

  They weren't men. They weren't men at all.

  They were boys.

  And she recognized their voices.

  Danny Jackson and Oscar Olney.

  ●●●

  Rachel didn't know how long she had been lying in the cemetery snow when she suddenly realized that she was very cold. Then she remembered what she had read somewhere years ago: If you are in a situation in which you might freeze to death, do not let yourself go to sleep, like your body might want you to do. Because you won't wake up.

  When she tried to get on her feet, she noticed her panties were still dangling from her right leg. She pulled them off and stuck them in her coat pocket. Then she struggled to her feet, but was not quite certain where to go.

  She looked around and finally saw the path her body had made in the snow. She followed it to the tire tracks not far away, then followed the tracks out of the cemetery. When she got to the main road she remembered where she lived and how to get there.

  But she couldn't remember what had happened and why she was lying in the snow behind the mausoleum.

  The cloudless sky allowed the full moon to light the way for her, but it also allowed whatever warmth there was on earth to escape into space, and the temperature had long since dropped below freezing.

  The road at this point had always seemed so level when she rode home in her Dad's pickup, but she knew she had a long, uphill walk home. She was unaware that blood was still slowly draining down her legs, running into her shoes, soaking into her dress and dripping onto the road, where it quickly froze. Each step was painful, and she stopped often. Sometimes she bent over and placed her hands on her knees, waiting for the pain to subside. Sometimes she kneeled on the frozen gravel until the pain from kneeling was w
orse than the pain in her groin.

  She thought about Jimmy. She wished he was there to make her laugh, to tell her everything was going to be all right. It kept her going. To think about Jimmy.

  Suddenly she heard a high-pitched whine in her ears that seemed to come from the middle of her head. A wave of nausea came over her. The road seemed to buckle, and she felt herself being tossed about.

  She crashed onto her knees, and she felt the frozen stones tearing into her flesh. She pitched forward, and she could not find her hands in time to keep her face from smacking into the gravel.

  There she lay, in the middle of the road, unconscious.

  When she awoke, she saw that she was at the driveway to her home. She crawled across the road and started down the driveway on her hands and knees. She tried several times to get up, but fell each time.

  Finally, cold, tired, bleeding and confused, she managed to open the door to the trailer and crawl inside. She shut the door behind her. Everyone was asleep, so she crawled into the living room and huddled in front of the little electric heater there.

  She jerked and gave a little scream when the living room light came on.

  "I heard you come in, Rache – oh my God! Rachel, what happened?" her mother said.

  "Benjamin! Benjamin! Come here!" Holly screamed. She kneeled beside Rachel. "Honey, your face. Your dress. You're bleeding. What happened?"

  Benjamin came running. The little kids were crying. "Shut up!" he yelled at them. "Shut up and go back to sleep!"

  Shut up.

  Rachel remembered.

  Hey, you're making snow angels, honey. Shut up!

  Tell that stinking little brother of yours – Shut up!

  "They raped me," she said softly.

  "Who did?" Benjamin demanded.

  "Oh no. Oh no. Oh my god," Holly said, sobbing.

  "Holly, for god's sakes, get ahold of yourself. Get a washcloth and clean her up. Look at her face." Holly ran into the kitchen.

  Benjamin put his arm around Rachel, who was still sitting on the floor in front of the heater.

  "Honey, tell me what happened. Who raped you?"

  Rachel tried to get up but couldn't.

  "Rachel?"

  She turned to him.

  "I don't know. They were wearing ski masks."

  "They? There was more than one?"

  "Two of them."

  "They both raped you? Both of them?"

  "Yes. I think so."

  "Oh my god. Where was this? Where did it happen?"

  "In the cemetery. I remember. Jimmy and the rest … dropped me off there. Like they always do."

  Holly returned with a wet washcloth. She kneeled on the floor beside Rachel.

  "You have a cut on your face," Holly said as she wiped the blood.

  "I hurt," Rachel said.

  "I'll put a bandage on it, sweetheart," Holly said.

  "Not my face," Rachel said. "It's not my face."

  Holly turned to look at Benjamin. "We have to get her dress off and stop the bleeding," she said.

  "Then I'm taking you to the hospital," Benjamin said.

  ●●●

  Forty-five minutes later they were in the Neehawk General Hospital emergency room. Rachel slept the entire way, her head on her father's shoulder as he drove.

  The ER physician, Dr. Green, carrying a clipboard, came out after he had finished examining and treating Rachel to talk to Benjamin, who was alone in the waiting room. The doctor was tall and grandfatherly, with a shock of silver hair and a benign expression. His appearance immediately put Benjamin at ease. They shook hands, and the doctor sat in the padded chair next to Benjamin.

  "She'll be all right; she'll be fine," the doctor said, looking over the papers attached to his clipboard. "She does have lacerations to the hymen and bleeding consistent with that of a young woman who has been raped. She has lost some blood, but it has been stopped.

  "Her pulse was a bit elevated, which is quite understandable. Rape is a very traumatic experience, and from the laceration and scrapes and bruises on her face and the lacerations and abrasions on her hands and knees, it appears her rape might have been particularly violent. We gave her a very mild sedative, mostly to help her sleep tonight. There is no reason she can't go home now. But first I wanted to talk to you in private for a minute. There are a few things you should know.

  "Rachel is considerably calmer than most rape victims I have treated. I noticed that even before we administered the sedative. But that is not abnormal. There is no typical response among rape victims. Many women are agitated, even hysterical. Others, like Rachel, are calm.

  "But don't let Rachel's calm demeanor lull you into thinking that everything is OK with her. She may be calm on the outside, and in turmoil on the inside. In other words, she might be hiding her emotions, repressing them. And that is not a particularly good thing by any means. It can lead to severe depression and other serious psychological problems in the long term. So keep a close eye on her and her behavior. Keep in close touch with her, especially in the first few weeks. And make sure she knows that you and her mother and the rest of the family are there for her, whatever her needs might be. She is going to need all the love and support she can get.

  "Tell me, is Rachel in school?"

  "She's a senior at Chante High."

  "I recommend you keep her out of school for at least a week. Maybe more, depending how she's doing. How you clear that with the school is up to you. I can only tell you, and you didn't hear this from me, that many teenage victims of rape suddenly are stricken with severe cases of the flu that can keep them out of school for up to a week. And if they need more time, they can get mono. You know what I mean?" He gave Benjamin a smile. Benjamin smiled back.

  "But seriously …"

  Dr. Green lifted the clamp on his clipboard and pulled out a pamphlet.

  "We don't get an excessive number of rape victims here," he said, "but we give all of them this pamphlet. It has a lot of information that can help you and the family make sure Rachel recovers from this trauma as quickly and as completely as possible. It can answer a lot of questions you might have in the weeks and months to come.

  "I mentioned that you and your wife should keep a close eye on Rachel in the beginning, especially."

  He opened the pamphlet and ran his finger down an inside page.

  "Here is a list of things you might watch for. Vomiting, nausea, anxiety, trembling, nightmares, crying, disorganized thought, etcetera, etcetera. And if you run into something that you can't handle or need help with, it shows you where you can find professional help."

  He handed the pamphlet to Benjamin, who thanked him.

  "Any questions?" Dr. Green asked.

  "No, no I don't think so," Benjamin said.

  "All right," the doctor said. "Let's go to Rachel's room. I have one more matter I want to talk about with both of you. And then you can take her home." He gave Benjamin a smile, and Benjamin followed him down a long, shiny hallway.

  Rachel's eyes were closed when the doctor drew the curtain aside and he and Benjamin entered her room. She was lying on a bed under a white cotton blanket that had been heated before it was placed over her.

  Benjamin put his hand on her shoulder. "How do you feel, Rachel?" he asked.

  She opened her eyes. "OK. I'm OK." She closed them again.

  "We have given her an anti-biotic to help ward off any infection," the doctor said. "If she has any pain, any over-the-counter painkiller she's not allergic to should take of it just fine." He moved closer to Rachel's bed.

  "Rachel?" he said. "Are you awake?"

  She opened her eyes. "Yes."

  "I need your attention for just a minute. And then your Dad is going to take you home. OK?"

  "OK."

  "I am going to urge you, Rachel, with the support of your Mom and Dad, to consider reporting the rape to the police. And this is a question for both of you, Benjamin. Have you given any thought to that?"

  Benjamin tu
rned to Rachel.

  "Honey?"

  "I … maybe in a day or two. I'm a little confused right now," Rachel said. She wanted to talk to her friends. She wanted to talk to Jimmy. They would know what to do.

  "Understandable," Dr. Green said. "But don't wait too long. The legal and law enforcement systems, not to mention juries, tend to look askance at women who wait to report a rape. Even waiting a week is considered a long time. Plus, your memory of the circumstances and the incident itself will fade in time. That's perhaps a good thing for you, but not so good if you want to build a good case against your assailant."

  "Will the hospital report the rape?" Benjamin asked.

  "Some hospitals do. But it is this hospital's policy only to recommend that you report the rape to the police. We will not report the rape unless you ask us to.

  "Even though it takes courage to report a rape, and even though it can be a tough, painful, scary process to go through, we strongly urge rape victims to do it. Rapists who don't get caught and punished tend to rape again and again. That's why it's so important for rape victims to tell the police what happened.

  "It's the only way to stop these monsters."

  ●●●

  Rachel slept till noon the next day, Saturday. Benjamin gave the younger kids strict orders not to wake her and not to run around "making noise like a bunch of hooligans."

  When she awoke, her first thought was not about the rape. It was about a dream she had just before waking. In the dream she was walking through their living room in her pajamas when suddenly a border collie puppy came bounding toward her, wagging its tail furiously and wearing a broad smile.

  How wonderful, she thought. But where did it come from? They had a dog, a mutt they called Pudge, in Tennessee. But he died of old age not long before they moved to Nebraska. And how they missed him, old Pudge. And now they had a new dog, it seemed. She kneeled and reached out both arms, waiting for the pup. But before she could touch him, she woke up.

  What a nice dream that was, she thought, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. She only wished she could have petted the dog. She pulled the cover back and swung her feet onto the floor.

  Or did that really happen, she asked herself. Do we really have a new dog?