by L. G. Davis
“That man is a monster. He hurt my baby. My Denise used to be a maid at the hotel from hell. He ruined her, and then he threw her out. But that wasn’t enough for him. He had to kill her too.”
The reporter is as shocked as the people around her. “What makes you say that, Mrs. Sanchez?” he asks. “Are you accusing Mr. Wilton of murder?”
Mandy’s chest rises and falls, then she gazes straight into the camera. “The police said she jumped from the window, but I didn’t believe it. I still don’t. Cole Wilton did it. He killed my baby. My daughter would never take her own life. She had a son she loved very much. She would never leave him willingly.”
“Mrs. Gonzales, do you realize the enormity of this accusation?”
“It’s not an accusation,” Mandy’s voice rises as people watch her in horror. “It’s the truth. That man deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life. When he fired my daughter, he threatened that if she ever said anything, he would kill her. He kept that promise.”
“Why didn’t she go to the police about the death threats?”
I had asked Mandy to speak up, but I never expected her to accuse Cole of murder. She’s doing the work for me.
“The day she said she would go to the police, she ended up dead.”
When Mandy is done talking, and the topic changes to something else, I switch off the TV and lie on the bed. My head is spinning as I stare into the dark. As much as I’m glad Cole is being brought to justice, I’m horrified about all the things he has done. With so many accusations against him, it will be hard for the authorities to let him go. They have to deny him bail, surely.
I want to sleep, but I can no longer do so. I’m both exhilarated and frightened. It’s a relief to know that Cole is being held responsible for something, but he’s a very wealthy man. If they make the mistake of allowing him to be released on bail, he could run. Nothing would stop him from changing his identity and living another life in some other country, where he might even continue to fulfil his sick desires.
In the morning, I bundle Clark into the car and take him out to buy breakfast, so we can eat it at a park. At the checkout counter in the grocery store, my gaze moves to the magazine and newspaper display stand.
Cole’s face is on the cover of several papers. To distract Clark from seeing Cole, I give him some money and tell him to move ahead because he’s a big boy and can pay for our food. He grins up at me and takes a few steps forward.
I’m about to reach for one of the papers when I spot another with a small photo of Cole in a corner of the cover, next to that of another man. Brett Wilton. The headline makes me want to throw up.
Father and deceased son were sexually abusing employees for years.
28
Tears plop onto the article on the floor of the bathroom. I don’t want to believe the words.
He was my husband, the man I loved from the moment I saw him, the father of my son. He couldn’t also be a monster like his father. He couldn’t have done all the horrible things I’m reading about in the papers that are spread around me on the bathroom floor.
From the other side of the locked door, I can hear the sound of Clark playing a game on my phone. I have the TV remote with me, so he can’t switch it on.
I thought it was over. I thought Cole would finally pay for his crimes. I never expected to be hit with a bullet that would scar me even further.
Brett would never have done the things he’s being accused of. And yet, it’s all there in black and white. Several women came forward to accuse him of sexually molesting them on several occasions in various rooms of the hotel.
The can of worms that I opened has also revealed other truths that bring a sour taste to my mouth. It didn’t stop with Cole and Brett.
Multiple allegations also say that Cole Wilton and his son, Brett Wilton, were offering maids to other powerful men who stayed at the Fort Haven hotel, to do with as they pleased during their stay.
Several more reports claim that the Black Oyster was not just a hotel. It was a secret brothel, a retreat for monsters like Cole and Brett Wilton.
As much as I’m desperate to bury my head in the sand, the truth is unfolding inside my head as well. Pieces of the puzzle are clicking into place.
I knew it. Deep down I saw the signs, but I didn’t question anything. What normal person would have believed such horrors were going on right under their nose?
I should have known that Cole wouldn’t stop at raping his son’s future wife. After what he did to me, what would have stopped him from doing the same to other women?
But Brett? I knew he lived his life doing everything to prove to his father that he was a man, that he was not the coward his father thought he was. He was desperate for his father’s approval. How far did he go to prove himself?
The worst kind of betrayal eats at my insides when I replay some of the words I read. They will forever be burned in my mind.
I wouldn’t have believed a word anyone said about my husband, but one of the women was quoted as saying she was raped by Brett seven years ago.
I got pregnant with his child. When I told him, he fired me and forced me to get rid of my baby. His father showed up at the clinic and offered me money to disappear. He said he would kill me if I returned.
It doesn’t matter that most of the women who accused Brett of raping them mentioned dates before I married Brett. Maybe he fell in love with me and stopped. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t erase the sins he had committed. He had been leading a double life that he hid from me.
The tears are flowing hot and fast, dripping down my chin and into my neck. My head hurts. My entire body hurts. I can’t think. I can’t move. I don’t know how I will be able to take care of my son when I’m such a mess.
How will I be able to hide my pain from him.
“Mommy, are you crying?” he asks from the door. I didn’t know I was that loud.
I gather up the papers and stuff them into a plastic bag, which I hide in the cupboard under the sink. Then I take a breath and open the door. I pull Clark into my arms. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I mutter into his hair. “Mommy is just so sad.”
“But daddy is sleeping in heaven. He doesn’t have pain.”
“I know.” I cry harder, my body shaking. “I’ll be fine. We will be fine.”
I don’t know whether I’ll ever be okay again. Too much has happened. How will I ever recover from this? It feels like my life is over, and I feel terrible because I have someone else to take care of.
I have to pull myself together for Clark. He’s all that matters now.
I hate Brett for what he did, and I’m even glad he got cancer. I’m not a bad person. I never want anyone to hurt, but he hurt me and so many others. Then again, he would have suffered even more in prison than in death. I wish he could look me in the eye right now and see the pain he has caused me.
How could he be so evil? How could he stoop to his father’s level? How could he hurt those poor women?
During our marriage, he spent a lot of time at the hotel, sometimes through the night because of what I thought was some emergency. I should have known that instead of being in his office, he was probably sleeping with the employees.
The first thing I noticed when I started working at the hotel was that all the housekeeping staff were stunning. Even though I had been told often that I was pretty, I felt like a frump next to most of the women around me.
Now it all makes sense. Now I understand why Cole was furious about his son dating and then marrying me.
He hired me to be shared between the two of them, but Brett wanted me for himself. That’s why Cole did it. He wanted to put a mark on me, to own me before Brett did.
The sick bastard.
I spend the rest of the day waiting for the night, when Clark would sleep again, so I can grieve in peace. As soon as he starts snoring, I head back to the bathroom. I wish I could open the front door and start running, to scream out my frustrations at the top of my lungs, but I
can’t leave Clark. I’m stuck in this place, in my little bubble of misery that’s getting smaller and more suffocating with every breath I take.
I clutch my chest and bend over the sink, watching my tears dripping into the bowl, darkening the grime that’s so deeply ingrained into the ceramic that it cannot be washed away.
I allow myself to cry because that’s all I can do. While my son sleeps in the other room, I’m crumpled onto the dirty tile floor, my arms wrapped around myself, my nails digging into the flesh of my arms.
I thought I knew pain. I thought I knew disappointment, but what I’m experiencing is something so all-consuming that it steals my breath right out of my chest, leaving me with only a gaping hole in the center of my heart.
“Brett,” I whisper through my tears as snot slips into my mouth. “How could you? How could you do that to me... to us?”
I feel guilty for only crying for me when there were so many others who were hurt, some even more than me. They were all used and thrown away like rags. They probably thought I was one of the lucky ones, or that I knew what was happening and didn’t care. Brett wanted more than my body. I don’t doubt that he loved me. I don’t doubt that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, but his father had so much control over him. I hated it when Cole called his son a coward, but now I think he was right. Brett was a coward not to have stood up to his father.
One of the women said they were glad that Brett died. They said he was violent and cruel and treated them like pieces of crap.
That was not the man I knew. The man I knew was gentle and loving. But I guess I never really knew him. Was he a rapist or was he a loving husband and father? Now he’s gone and I can never ask him that question. But Cole is alive and he will pay for his crimes. With any luck, so will the other men who were also involved.
Some of the male guests who came to the hotel had been identified, and the police were already making arrests. Several of them were from out of town. It seemed they only came to Fort Haven to take advantage of what was being offered at the Black Oyster Hotel. Then they went back to their lives, maybe even to their wives and kids, leaving behind shattered hearts and bruised bodies.
I want to walk out there and add my story to all the others. I want to tell the police exactly what Cole did to me, but unlike those women, I’m also labeled as a murderer.
I have to trust that whatever Cole is hiding will come to the surface.
My phone beeps with a text message. I drag myself to my feet and grab it from where it lies next to the sink.
It’s Denise’s mother again.
Thank you, she says. Thank you for encouraging me to speak up. I hope he dies in prison.
That’s my hope as well. I want Cole to pay for both his sins, and also Brett’s.
29
This morning, I woke up determined to fight. Other victims out there are fighting, coming forward with their stories, however painful. They are facing their worst nightmares, and here I am hiding.
Yes, I have more to lose. I could end up behind bars, but the desire to speak up and share my truth burns inside me like hot lava.
I had planned on calling the cops yesterday, but hearing what Brett did completely threw me off. But I’m doing it now. I’ve switched the sim cards, and I’m speaking to a Fort Haven police officer. After telling her that I worked at the hotel and Cole also raped me, I move on to the topic of the murders.
“Cole Wilton is capable of more than rape.” My voice is lowered so Clark doesn’t hear the conversation from the room. To be on the safe side, I’ve also turned on the shower. “I think he killed his son, Brett Wilton, and the housekeeper.”
“Ma’am, can you tell me what makes you come to that conclusion?”
“I just know it. Please investigate him.”
“Ma’am, I need you to tell me your name.” It’s the second time she’s asking me since we started talking.
“My name is not important. What’s important is that you start an investigation into Cole Wilton. He killed his son, his son’s housekeeper, and possibly Denise Sanchez.”
I don’t have the evidence, but I trust my gut. I was right before when I suspected he sexually abused his employees. I could never have imagined the scope of it, but my feelings did not let me down. Now that I’ve done my part, the police should stop searching for me and turn their full attention on Cole.
“Ma’am, we cannot go on without proof to support your claims,” the police officer continues.
“Find the proof.” I hang up.
I want to tell them more, but I can’t without revealing who I am.
I thought long and hard last night about all the pieces that were missing. The night Brett died, I definitely heard a sound. Cole had to have been in the house. I don’t know what he was doing there, but he was there.
I’m not done yet. I’m determined to prove he was the murderer, but I can only go to the cops and show my face if I have concrete proof.
Bracing myself, I call Marjorie again. The last time we talked, she would only talk about what a good person Cole is. A lot has happened since then. She could have changed her mind. My job is to convince her to tell the truth.
She picks up on the first ring. “What do you want?” she asks. The strain in her voice tells me things have certainly changed since our last conversation. She no longer sounds excited to be interviewed.
“Ma’am, last time we spoke you told me that you entered the house with Cole Wilton. Do you still stand by it?”
“So, it’s you,” she says with a sigh. “I already told you everything that happened.”
“So you say, but our paper prides itself on its accuracy, so you’ll understand that I need to follow up, considering the circumstances.” I pause. “I’m sure you’ve heard that Cole Wilton is accused of raping several women in his hotel.”
Marjorie goes quiet, but her heavy breathing is very audible. I start to worry that she will hang up on me like she did last time.
“All lies,” she finally blurts out. “Everything that’s been told about him is nothing but lies. There’s no proof.”
“But there is,” I shoot back. “The women he raped, the victims, have come forward to tell their stories.”
“He’s a very wealthy man. I wouldn’t be surprised if they only want money from him.”
“Like you?” I ask without flinching. “We did a little research on you, Miss Smith. We’ve heard claims that you have been needing a hip replacement surgery for quite some time, but until recently, you couldn’t afford it. Yet now our sources say you have had the surgery. May I ask where that sudden windfall came from?” I watched a lot of videos of her being interviewed. Not in a single one of them did she have the cane she had been using for years because of her bad hip.
“That’s my business,” she shouts.
“Was it Cole Wilton?” I keep pushing. I’m still surprised she’s not hanging up. Maybe at some deep level she wants to tell me the truth. “Did he bribe you into keeping the truth from the police? Do you realize that by hiding his secrets, you are hurting innocent people and actually hindering the police from doing their job?”
She doesn’t respond, so I continue, piling on the guilt. “You are standing by a man who did terrible things to innocent women. He used them like sex slaves.”
“Those women could be prostitutes and they lied!” I hit a nerve because her voice is wavering. “I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Like you gave Meghan Wilton the benefit of the doubt? What if it was your child? What if you had a daughter that worked in that hotel and was raped by Cole Wilton? If you’re hiding something to protect that man, now is the time to come out so he can be put to justice.”
“Mind your own business. I don’t want to be featured in your paper.” When she hangs up, my blood is pumping, my face hot with anger. It’s not the end. Even though she refused to admit the truth, she still might. I never thought Denise’s mother would go to th
e cops, and yet she did. All I needed to do was give her a push.
The only thing I can do right now is cross my fingers and hope for the best. There’s not much else I can do from a distance.
Marjorie is the backup I need for the cops to believe me. What I told them over the phone will become even more real if she comes forward as well and tells the truth. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the truth will come out eventually.
Like the truth about Brett.
I’m still hurting when I think about the things he did, how he blinded me into thinking he was a good man even though he was doing his father’s dirty business.
I’m about to open the door and get back to Clark, when I remember something. The day of our anniversary, Brett received a call from his father. He was informed that two housekeepers had quit their jobs at the hotel. He insisted that he had to handle the situation. Come to think of it, every time someone quit, it was usually he or his father who handled it. They probably went to pay off the women or threaten them with death. Or they eliminated them completely. What if Brett wasn’t only a rapist but was involved in eliminating the women who threatened to expose them? What if he was involved in killing Denise?
The thought makes me slump forward as a dagger of pain shoots through me. I turn back from the door and throw up in the toilet.
Images are floating inside my mind, images of Cole and Brett sitting in one of their offices or suites, discussing which women were becoming too much trouble and should be fired. Did they also sit around a table to discuss which women were beautiful enough to hire?
I wipe my mouth and rinse it, then I stand tall. I can’t let this break me. Life is filled with nasty surprises, and I have to be ready for them. I have to be ready to fight back this time. I’ve always been a victim in my life, but that’s over now. Anger is my fuel. Anger at Cole and anger at the man I used to call my husband.
“You will get through this,” I whisper to myself in the mirror, then I return to the room to eat lunch with Clark and pretend everything is all right when it’s far from it.