Love and Injustice

by Mary Crawford

  DeAndre hangs his head. “Dashonte told me I had to tell you this to help catch the bad guys. I need to go to the hospital.”

  “Okay,” I reply, shifting gears in my head as a knot forms in my stomach. “Do you want Dashonte to go with you?”

  “Oh hell no! I don’t need my brother there while they’re examining my private parts. You know, I learned about this crap in my health class. I just never thought it would happen to me. I thought rape was a girl problem.”

  “Sadly, it’s not. People think it is, but the truth is one in six boys are sexually assaulted in their lifetime. The real number is probably even higher. You’re not alone.”

  “The investor guy said because I had sex with him, it means I’m gay now. Was he right?”

  “No! Let me tell you what it means. It means he’s a criminal. He’s a pedophile, rapist, and a kidnapper. He’s a liar, a psychopath and a creep. You can’t turn a heterosexual person gay any more than you can turn a gay person straight. It doesn’t work that way,” I assure him as I send the hospital a text message asking for a sexual assault team to be on standby.

  DeAndre starts to gag a little. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be with a girl. The whole idea of someone touching me makes me sick to my stomach.”

  “All of this is brand-new right now. You haven’t even had a chance to process it. It all takes time. There are counselors who specialize in helping people recover from traumas like the one you experienced. I have a good friend who was kidnapped for five years and experienced many of the same things you did. If you don’t mind, I can put you in touch with him and he can help you find some resources.”

  “Do you think your friend can help make my nightmares go away? Every time I close my eyes for even just a second, I smell that guy’s breath on my neck. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep… I can't even think right anymore. How can I go back to school? I miss my friends but I’m not the person I was a month and a half ago.” DeAndre angrily wipes tears out of his eyes. “I don’t even remember who I was back then.” He struggles to draw a breath as he lets out a sob. His eyes dart around the room. “You’re not recording this, are you?”

  “No, you’re not a suspect. You’re a crime victim. We’re going to get some help. But your brother is right — the sooner we can get you tested at the hospital, the better. The team who is meeting us at the hospital is extremely professional. They know what they’re doing and they’ll make this as painless as they possibly can.”

  “They won’t think I’m a wimp because I didn’t fight back and stop him?”

  “No, no one will judge you for that. Many of the nurses have been through similar experiences. I’m not sure who the SANE nurse is today, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s Ryan Griffith. He is a great nurse. He understands what it’s like to go through trauma because he was captured and held briefly as a prisoner of war.”

  “Guess I’m not the only person with crappy luck. What’s a SANE nurse? I don’t think I’m crazy yet, even though some days I feel like it.”

  We walk out to my car and get in before I finish my answer. I elect to take my personal car instead of the squad car since DeAndre has an aversion to law enforcement. “Ryan definitely had more than his share of bad luck, but he was able to bounce back. SANE is just a fancy acronym for a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner. Ryan is a forensic nurse and he’s received special training to conduct sexual assault evidentiary exams for rape victims.”

  “Can you say that in English for me?”

  “When you get to the hospital, you’ll be assigned a nurse — maybe it’ll be Ryan, maybe not — who is specially trained to handle sexual assault cases. They will ask you questions in a way that will collect as much information as possible so prosecutors will have a chance to bring your assaulter to justice. They’ll also collect as much physical evidence as they can.”

  DeAndre grimaces. “So, my brother was right — they’re going to poke and prod me and take all sorts of pictures of me? Do I have to be naked in front of all those people? Can they knock me unconscious with some medicine or something — you know like they do at the dentist? I don’t want another horrible memory. The ones I have are bad enough —”

  “I’m sorry, I wish they could do it that way, it would be much easier for victims. Unfortunately, they can’t because they need your input. They have to know what you went through. We have to document everything that happened to you for the case against the sexual offender. That’s how we’re going to catch this creep. They have to take pictures. But what I can tell you is they won't ask you to parade around naked in front of the whole hospital. It’s done in a very respectful way. The SANE nurse will collect as much DNA as possible. Hopefully there’ll be some.”

  For the first time tonight, DeAndre smiles. “Actually, I think there will be. That’s how I got away.”

  I look at him with a puzzled expression and DeAndre explains. “You remember a while back when I was attacked with a knife when I tried to leave the gang life?”

  I nod. “I remember. They glued your skin together, right?”

  “Yeah, it left a gnarly scar on my chest. Anyway, when I told the investor guy I was a virgin, he was like totally stoked. He stopped using condoms. Then he noticed the scar on my chest. I told him it was because I had a blood transfusion and I showed him the scars on my legs from the time I was shot. I told him I had AIDS. He beat the crap out of me but he threw me out of the hotel and onto the street. I walked to the Greyhound station. I was totally stupefied when I learned I was in Sarasota and not Jacksonville. I took the bus back home. My mom wasn’t home, but Dashonte was and he brought me right to you guys.”

  “That was a genius strategy to get away. I’m impressed you thought of it.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it like the first week I was kidnapped.”

  “Sometimes, you have to wait for the opportunity to present itself, but you did great. You should be proud of yourself,” I insist.

  “I bet you say that to everyone you help,” DeAndre says.

  “Actually, I don’t. What you did was pretty extraordinary. You need to own this one.”

  DeAndre shoots me a shy grin. “You know, you’re an okay guy for a cop. Do you think you could stay with me while they do whatever they’re going to do? I mean, I’ve already told you my whole story. So, it’s not like you don’t already know. I’d kinda like to have a friend there.”

  “I’ll see what I can do to make it happen.”

  After I dropped DeAndre off and he ran into the very grateful arms of his mother, I was finally able to check my messages. I smiled when I saw one from Tori. She sent me a selfie with flour on her face. It was captioned, “There’ll be a surprise for you at my house whenever you’re ready. Come see me.”

  I try to slink into the house without waking up Calico Jack because it’s late. On Tori’s kitchen table, I see a big bowl of peach cobbler next to a big thermos of what I presume to be coffee. It didn’t take Tori long to learn exactly how I like my cuppa joe. Unlike Dylan, I like my coffee with a bucket load of cream and sugar. Tori fixes it just right. After I told her about my childhood memories of my grandmother living in a peach orchard in Georgia, Tori took it upon herself to learn how to make peach pie and peach cobbler just like my MawMaw used to make.

  When I open the refrigerator to grab a glass of milk, I notice Tori has whipped some fresh cream to go with the peach cobbler. I take it out of the refrigerator and set it down on the table as I go in search of my beautiful chef.

  I find her in the bathroom wearing her pajamas and fuzzy slippers, tying a bandanna over her hair. I stand behind her and kiss her on the back of her neck. “The peach cobbler looks delicious, thank you. But I don’t want to eat it alone. Come eat with me please.”

  She giggles. “That tickles.” She rubs her stomach. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve been snacking along the way.”

  “Oh come on. I don’t want to eat all that by myself! You’re perfect the way you are.
You know cobbler is irresistible.”

  She chews on her bottom lip indecisively. “Okay, I’ll have a little,” she capitulates easily. “It smells too good to resist.”

  “It does smell great. It’s exactly what I needed,” I comment as I walk hand-in-hand with her to the kitchen.

  “How are you? Your call took a while. I wanted to stay up, but I finally gave up and decided to go to bed.”

  I hug her close to my side and admit, “Today is one of those days where I both love and hate my job.”

  “Yeah? Did it turn out to be DeAndre?”

  “It did. The poor kid has been through hell. It has him questioning who he is and whether he’ll ever be the same. I don’t have answers to those questions. Like in the case of Isadora, the experience has fundamentally changed who DeAndre will be going forward. He asked me several times how he goes back to being the person he used to be — I didn’t know how to find the words to tell him he probably won’t ever make it back to being the kid he once was.”

  “I’m sorry you had to be put on the spot. You don’t really have the training and expertise to share that news with him. It’s life altering. It should have been a psychologist or something.”

  “He’ll have those people involved too. He’s got a great SART team involved at the hospital. I’m grateful Ryan is part of his team because he’s been through some trauma himself. The reality of the situation is that for some reason DeAndre trusts me. We’ve built some sort of rapport and I don’t want to break that trust by being less than honest with him. So, I had to tell him the truth — as hard as it was.”

  Tori wraps her arms around my neck and pulls my face closer to hers. She brushes a kiss across my lips. “I’m sorry. But as hard as it is on you, it’s a great sign that he asked you to tell him the truth. It means he trusts you. If he didn’t, he would ask you to tell him what made him feel good. We’ve all dealt with clients who want us to tell them a fairytale so they can continue to stay in their little bubble. As painful as it is, at least he’s making progress toward healing.”

  “Tori, I have to tell you, the truth is awful. DeAndre has years of counseling in front of him, and he was just beginning to get his life back on track. It seems so unfair. His grades were finally good enough where he might have actually gotten some scholarships and now it’s not even certain he’ll be in good enough shape to go back to school.” I scrub my hand down my face and wipe tears away. “Geez! Sometimes I hate my job!”

  Tori steps out of my arms and grabs a paper towel from the counter. She comes over and gently wipes my face. She lingers to give me a slow, thorough kiss. Tori grabs my peach cobbler from the table along with my thermos. She walks over to the couch and sets it on the coffee table. “Be right back,” she says. She opens the kitchen cupboard and gets another bowl down and dishes up some peach cobbler for herself. She pours some coffee from the coffee maker on the counter into a mug and dumps a little sugar into it. Tori motions for me to join her as she carries her peach cobbler and coffee over to the couch and sits down. She takes a sip of her coffee and then sets it on the coffee table beside my thermos.

  “I didn’t mean to keep you up. It’s late.” I protest as she takes a few bites of her cobbler.

  She shrugs. “It’s not as if I have places to go and people to see. I was planning to be up for you anyway.”

  “I could get used to coming home to you every day. I could easily get addicted to this little habit.” I confess.

  “I think it’s too late for me. I’m already addicted to you. I know why you hate your job right now. But I also understand why DeAndre trusts you with his deepest secrets. You’re passionate about your job, it’s obvious you care and you do your best to tell the truth. I think people can sense that. I know the current situation is tough, but remember it could be much worse. Think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there for DeAndre. He might not even have felt brave enough to come forward and be honest and forthright about what happened to him. You would’ve lost all the evidence against his perpetrator and that would have been disastrous. As painful and awkward as it is, count yourself lucky you can establish that kind of relationship with the people you serve.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been trying to build up trust with DeAndre and his family for over five years. I guess my patience finally paid off. I’m mentally fried. Sadly, we’re only halfway through this job — there are still two more missing kids.”

  “Did DeAndre have any information about them?”

  I shake my head. “No, he was too fragile today. I didn’t even broach the subject. I figured it was a topic better addressed another day. DeAndre’s number one job today was to get through a forensic sexual assault exam.”

  Tori snuggles against my chest. “No one should ever have to endure one of those … or witness it. In my book, you guys are both my heroes.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me. I just wish we lived in a world where exams like that were no longer necessary.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  TORI

  “MOM, DO YOU WANT MORE sugar in your tea?” I ask as the waitress brings a refill of my mom’s drink.

  “I didn’t have tea. I was drinking strawberry soda,” my mom insists.

  Fortunately, this little mom-and-pop restaurant is close to the rehab facility and we are frequent visitors, so they are used to my mom’s lapses in memory. The waitress squats down next to my mom’s wheelchair. “Oh, I’m sorry Miss Velma, we’re out of strawberry soda. Would you like to try orange?”

  My mom wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like orange soda. I think I’ll just have iced tea. May I have a lemon slice?”

  The waitress smiles and nods as she takes the lemon slice off the edge of the glass she just delivered to the table and puts it back on. “Is this all right Ms. Velma?”

  “Oh, that’s perfect dear. My daughter always forgets what I like to drink.”

  The waitress pats me on the shoulder as she walks around to my side of the table. “Can I get you ladies some pie?”

  “You should get Valerie peanut butter pie. She’s too skinny.”

  My heart breaks just a little. For a while, it seemed like the new medication was helping my mom, but she’s forgotten my name again.

  I smile up at the waitress with tears in my eyes. “My name is Victoria, but most folks call me Tori. I’d like a piece of peach pie please.”

  My mom looks at me with surprise. “Don’t be silly. You never eat fruit pie. When you were a child, you always said it was too sour.”

  Her words are like a thousand paper cuts. In the weird way that memory works when someone has dementia, she can’t remember my name or my phone number, but she remembers I didn’t like fruit when I was a kid. It just doesn’t seem fair.

  “You’re right, Mom. When I was in kindergarten, I didn’t like peach pie, but I’m older now. I like it fine these days.”

  My mom’s complexion turns a little gray. “I changed my mind. I’m not hungry anymore. I want to go lay down.”

  “What’s wrong? Is it your hip? Are you in pain? Do you need some medication?” I rattle off questions as I try to figure out what’s wrong.

  “No, child, I’m just tired of you. I want you to leave me alone.”

  I sit back in my chair, stunned by her mercurial mood swing.

  I struggle to hold myself together as I quietly pay our bill and escort my mom back to the rehabilitation center and tearfully tell her goodbye — although she seems to have disappeared to a place where she doesn’t remember who I am again.

  I can’t even begin to drive home because my tears are nearly blinding me. I move my car to a secluded corner of the parking lot and sob. When I envisioned my later years with my mom, I thought about vacations at Disney, painting classes, and cruises. I never thought there would be times I would rejoice when my mother remembered my name, or weeping on days where she would beg me to leave her alone.

  When I pick up my phone to text Cody, I jump a couple of in
ches in the air when it rings in my hand. The number says Identity Bank West, so I immediately answer it, despite my state of dishevelment. My heart is still racing when I answer, “Hello? This is Victoria.”

  “Umm, hi, this is Phoenix Wolf, Tristan Macklin wanted me to give you a call.”

  Immediately, I sit up straighter and turn the volume up on my phone. “Is there a problem? Is Cody okay?” I ask as a terrible thought crosses my mind.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. As far as I know, there’s nothing wrong with Detective Erickson. This is about the videotape Mr. Macklin asked me to evaluate for you.”

  “I apologize, I’m in a very strange mood today. Cody is in the middle of a difficult operation at work and I’m worried about him.”

  “I’m aware. That’s why Tristan has been working on this project. I’m gifted at detail work. Mr. Macklin and Mr. Roguen have been helping local law enforcement with the kidnapping case so they handed your case off to me — I hope you don’t mind,” he stammers awkwardly.

  “Just a moment please,” I reply as I take a napkin from my glove compartment and blow my nose. “Sorry, I’ve had a rough day. No, of course I don’t mind. I wasn’t expecting the head of the company to take on my case. I’m grateful for any help I can get.”

  “Okay. I’m happy to help. Do you mind if I give you a verbal report over the phone, or do you want me to come to the Florida office to report in person? I’ll be issuing a written report you can take to law enforcement, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, wow! You found that much? Do you think we need to talk in person?”

  “Not really, some of our clients just expect that kind of service,” Phoenix explains.

  “I see.” My mind is going through a million different scenarios, each more dire than the last. “Okay, can you just give me the highlights now, so I don’t cause myself to have an aneurysm when I think about all the things you could’ve found on the tape. I’m in my car right now but I would love to hear more later when I can take notes and maybe have my boyfriend with me. He can be more objective about it all.”