Chapter 30
Lauren appeared stricken. Stricken and panicked.
She had always taken it upon herself to watch over Chelsea Daniels, our naively innocent fish out of water from small-town, USA. But even Lauren, who hailed from a family of law enforcement officers just as I did, had become caught up in the beer, the beat and the frat brothers of the fraternity party. We all were guilty of this.
Aching to cut loose and have a little fun, the Five had gone our separate ways at the party. In doing so, we forfeited our strength in numbers. I had nearly fallen victim to an attack. And if such a close call could happen to the daughter of a police chief, what malice might have befallen our wide-eyed, innocent Chelsea?
I didn’t want to think about it. But I could tell that Lauren couldn’t stop herself from contemplating the very worst.
She dashed over to Josh Elliot. He was the closest thing we had to a friend in the frat. Lauren went right up to him, grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled his reddened face down to her level.
“If anything happened to her,” she seethed.
Josh, who had been drinking, looked dumbfounded.
“Where is she?” Lauren pressed, her face an inch from his.
He shrugged half-heartedly. Even Sonya looked disappointed in her man.
That’s when I walked up to my man. Was he my man? He was certainly my hero of the moment.
“You have to help us,” I pleaded to Dante. “Our friend is missing.”
Dante’s eyes lifted from mine and found the steps leading up to the brothers’ bedrooms. He nodded his head in that direction. I followed his stare.
“There,” he said.
I looked back at him and nodded. And then Dante led the way.
He pushed his way through the crowd. And I followed, calling to the Five.
“Let’s go,” I shouted.
Frat brothers watched open-mouthed as Dante took the stairs, two at a time. We were not permitted in the living quarters. Only brothers and their guests. But Dante didn’t care, and neither did we.
“Hey,” someone called out. “You can’t go up there!”
But the protest was feeble. And none of the brothers was in a position to stop us. Dante led the charge up the steps, and we followed – me, Sonya, Amanda and Lauren.
Dante brushed passed a bleary-eyed brother making his way down the steps. He did a double-take at the pizza guy in his uniform shirt making an unannounced house call to the living quarters of the frat. But the frat guy was too shocked or too drunk to stop him – or us. We paraded right past him.
By the time I hit the landing, Dante was already kicking open the bedroom doors. He didn’t know who we were looking for, so he needed me there for the IDs. He waved for me and I joined his side. And one by one, I stuck my face into the kicked-open doors, only to see men and women in various states of undress and sexual activity. In most cases, it was one guy and one girl. Usually, they stared up, dumb-founded at us. Sometimes, they scrambled for covers to hide their naked or partially naked bodies. Some were in the middle of doing it, or close to it. And there were plenty of eye-popping erections and swinging boobs to be seen. Lots of white asses, too.
But no Chelsea.
Not all were couples. In a few of the rooms, there were various threesomes. Sometimes, two guys and a girl. Sometimes, one guy and two girls. We were witness to the wild side of the frat house after-party. The drinking, dancing and public groping that went on downstairs were merely the preliminaries. This, these closed-door, X-rated bedroom scenes, were what this party was all about.
Yet, in all the sexual practices that we glimpsed as Dante kicked in door-after-door in search of Chelsea Daniels, at least it appeared consensual. From the sublime to the ridiculous, at least both parties (and in some cases, three) consented to their unusual sexual practices.
So were we overreacting? Was it any of our business if Chelsea had found someone to enjoy some privacy with – and a little of the sexual liberation that came along with college?
Sure it was possible. Small town, sheltered girls liked sex, too. And when they are first liberated from their small worlds and circumscribed existences, sometimes they can’t wait to experience all that college has to offer. Most notably, the men.
But this didn’t sound like our Chelsea. And if anyone knew this, it was Lauren, who looked terrified, as she caught up to Dante and me.
Lauren screamed out Chelsea’s name over and over. Each and every time Dante barged in on another amorous, undressed couple.
And then we found her.
Oh God, did we.
We had made our way down the long hall. And by then, the frat brothers were fast on our heels, ready to throw us the hell out of there.
Just then, a door swung open under the force of Dante’s kick. And the stench of vomit hit us in the face.
We saw a partially naked figure on her knees deep in the shadows of the room. And in that moment, everything changed.
There she was. Our pretty, small town girl, having been stripped of all dignity -- and who knew what else?
Chelsea had managed to pull on her panties. But she couldn’t seem to figure out how to strap on her bra. Her other clothes were scattered on the filthy floor, near where a puddle of her own puke fouled the room.
A soiled, king-sized mattress lay on the floor. It sheets were wrinkled and yellowed. But no one else was there. Just Chelsea, naked, save for her girly panties. She was down on all fours, crawling to collect her clothes. Begging to gather up what was left of her dignity.
I nearly threw up myself as we entered the room. There was the stench, sure. But it also was the shattering sight of Chelsea and what had been done to her.
My reaction was nothing compared to Lauren’s. She shot into the room and fell to her knees, taking Chelsea into her arms.
“Oh, what did they do?” she cried, her eyes squeezing shut and tears seeping through. “What did the bastards do to you?”
I saw Chelsea’s blank expression, peering over Lauren’s shoulder. She was either bombed out of her mind, or she had been drugged. Because Chelsea didn’t know what had happened.
Dante stayed by the door, dropping his head, shaking it in sorrow.
I walked in, haltingly. So did Amanda and Sonya. We stood in a small circle around Lauren and Chelsea, both still on their knees on the floor. By now, we were all weeping.
Sonya began picking up Chelsea’s clothes. Amanda reached down for something else. She stood, holding a Barack Obama mask in her hand. Amanda held it up for us to see.
“What in the hell?” Amanda whispered, bewildered as she inspected the mask.
Just then, a couple of the frat guys tried pushing into the room. Dante moved to block the door.
“Get the fuck out of the way,” one of them barked.
Dante held firm, and then Josh Elliot called them off.
“Take it easy, all right?” Josh pleaded.
“This is your problem,” one of the angry frat brothers spat at Josh. “You brought them here. You deal with it.”
Sonya turned and caught Josh’s eye. They locked stares, then Sonya shook her head and glanced to the floor.
“What is it?” Josh called. But Sonya didn’t answer. No one did. Not for a long while.
Lauren was helping Chelsea get dressed. She wasn’t weeping anymore, but tears were streaming down her face. Amanda handed her Chelsea’s blouse, and Lauren buttoned it up, as a mother might for a little girl.
Sonya turned to Amanda.
“Shouldn’t we call the cops?” Sonya whispered. “I mean, this is fucked up.”
Amanda bit her lip. “I don’t know. Chelsea’s really out of it. I mean, if she’s drunk, she’s not much good as a witness, is she?”
I turned and looked between them both.
“What if she was drugged?” I asked. “And what about that mask?”
Neither Sonya nor Amanda had an answer. We looked back to Chelsea. Lauren was getting her up now. Sonya bent down to hold her skirt,
so Chelsea could step into it.
As she did, Amanda looked at our friend. But the vacant, distant eyes that radiated from Chelsea’s blank face where not those of the wide-eyed girl we knew.
“What happened?” Amanda asked. “Did someone hurt you? Should we call the police?”
One of the frat brothers at the door overheard this.
“Cops?” he repeated. “No Five-Oh, okay? She had a little too much to drink, is all. Let’s not turn this into a federal case.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Lauren swung around, then darted to the door.
“You think the cops is all you have to worry about?” she seethed, eying each of the frat guys, but most especially Josh. “I’m from Philly. The Italian part. And we got ways of settling scores that got nothing to do with the law.”
“You threatening us?” someone from the back said.
Lauren shook her head.
“I’m making a promise,” she answered coldly. “Give up who did this to our girl.”
“Or what?” one of the guys shot back.
“Or it’s gonna rain shit,” Lauren answered.
Sonya assisted Chelsea from one side and Amanda from the other, and they walked her forward. As they neared the door, Chelsea reached out an absent hand for Lauren.
“No police,” she whispered. “My family. They wouldn’t understand.”
Lauren turned to her roommate, and her heart broke anew. I watched Lauren’s face crumble and collapse before my eyes.
“You heard her,” someone called from the door. “No cops. It’s just one of those things.”
Now, I was the one who’d had enough.
“One of what things?” I shouted back. “Tell me. One of what things?”
I stepped to the door and scanned all the faces. But the frat boys’ eyes dropped, one by one, to the floor.
No one could answer me. And I couldn’t answer my own question. For as we walked Chelsea out of that frat house that night, using a rear entrance to save her from the prying eyes of the party, which had resumed full throttle downstairs, we didn’t know the full scale of the depravity that had been visited upon the most innocent among us.
The text would come early the next morning, sent to Chelsea’s iPhone. Yes, we recovered her phone and her wallet. All her personal belongings were intact.
It was her person that had been shattered.
The text continued a message, all in caps. And it had the power to send chills down all of our spines.
“BETTER KEEP QUIET,” it read.
The image underneath would never leave my memory. I’d see it in nightmares for the rest of my life.
It was Chelsea, on her knees on the filthy mattress. There were two male figures, both wearing Barack Obama masks – and nothing else.
One had Chelsea from behind, and the other was in her mouth.
Underneath the image was a final line.
“WOULDN’T WANT THIS SHOWING UP ON THE INTERNET, WOULD YOU?”
As soon as Chelsea glimpsed the message, she dissolved into tears, anew. Lauren, who had stayed up all night keeping vigil, rushed to her bed, then took the phone from her shaking hand.
Lauren looked at it, then clenched her fist around phone as if wanting to crush it. She gritted her teeth and wanted to kill somebody. Instead, she just hugged Chelsea and comforted her.
“Don’t worry,” Lauren said. “No one is going to see this, you hear? If it’s the last thing I do, we’re going to find these monsters. We’re gonna find them and make sure they never do this again. Are you with me?”
Chelsea peeked up at her friend, witnessing the steely resolve etched on Lauren’s face.
Meeting Chelsea’s eyes, Lauren tried to smile. But it just wouldn’t come.
“Don’t you worry,” Lauren assured. “You have friends. Good friends. The five of us have each other’s backs, see? And we’re gonna set this right. Oh boy, are we gonna make them pay.”
Later, when the rest of the Five first saw that text and the repulsive photo, we didn’t hesitate. Not one of us did.
We were all in.
The cause was justice for Chelsea.
And hell to pay for all those who had hurt her.
To Be Continued…
Don’t miss the second installment in Lucy St. John’s groundbreaking College Night Series:
Look for “Intuition – Book Two in the College Nights Series”
Coming Soon from author Lucy St. John.
And if you are new to author Lucy St. John, don’t miss her thrilling, evocative and erotic Morgan’s Chase Series, now complete and available in audio, print and e-book.
Innocence Page 30