Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

by Lisa Ann Porter

  When Sable declined his offer to dance, in front of his friends no less, he looked as if he could kill her right there on the spot. Brad slowly bent down and whispered in her ear that she would pay for embarrassing him, that no one turned him down, no one, least of all her, a nobody from the lowest class.

  One rainy night as Sable was coming from the library, she saw Brad emerging from some thick hedges alongside the library. Having to pass the hedges to get to her dorm, she was not stupid enough to believe that he would let her pass without a confrontation.

  As she was about to turn and go the other way, she saw his reasons for being there and was surprisingly shocked. Cindy, one of the girls from her dorm, who was quiet and somewhat shy because of a severe acne condition, was too busy trying to get some of the leaves out of her hair to notice her.

  Brad did. Brad, looking at Sable serenely, smiled slowly, turning sinister telling her without saying a word, that he had plans for her. Turning away from the sight before her, Sable took the long route to her dorm, wondering if Cindy knew the kind of person Brad was—nasty, ruthless, and untrustworthy. A rapist.

  Three weeks later, physically and mentally tired from all her studies and from working part time at a bouquet downtown twenty hours a week, Sable stepped off the elevator on her floor in time to see Cindy leaving her room, then raced down the hall toward the vending machines.

  Thinking nothing of it, since Cindy and her roommate Sheila were very good friends,who often studied together. Sable sluggishly walked toward her dorm room. Thinking of the hot shower she was in much need of after a very long day, slowly opening her room door, she immediately wondered why the lights were off.

  Sheila would not be asleep this early, she knew. Reaching for the light switch, turning on the lights, someone grabbed her from behind, roughly shoving her toward the bed.

  Momentarily stunned, she turned her head toward her assailant, as the tiredness that had a strong grip on her earlier, fled as her mind became alert of the air hummed with danger. Brad.

  Cindy had left Brad in her room. He told her to get them some sodas to mix with the bottle of rum. Dangling the bottle playfully in his fingers, Brad kicked the door closed with lazy confidence, and then took a drink from the bottle, eyeing her with lustful decision.

  “Why didn’t you go with her?” she demanded, slowly rising from the bed, trying to pull her blouse together with shaking hands. Some of the buttons came off when he had grabbed her.

  “I told the little mouse we needed some privacy.” Approaching her leisurely, his voice dripping with double meaning, “Since Sheila is at the basketball game…you were at the library, this room would be perfect…Cindy’s roommate studying for a test and all…” he ended smoothly. One moment they were talking, then without warning, Brad reached out, grabbing the front of her blouse again and ripping it from her body.

  She remembered hearing the tearing sound of her blouse as more buttons flew to the floor. A scream was stagnant in her throat from terror, as Brad, throwing her down to the floor, continued to rip at her clothes, while groping her breasts and her private parts with vicious intent.

  Sable fought him and fought him hard as tears streamed down her face while gasping for breath, fearing for her life. What Cindy saw when she opened the door made her body shake with intense terror. Brad, viciously slapping Sable across her face, while ripping at her clothes like a maniac, was laughing as if he truly was insane.

  Sable was mourning like a wounded animal, through swollen lips that resembled car tires. Her bloodied fingers, clawing at his face like the paws of a terrified puppy treading water trying not to drown, resembled the hands of a bloody corpse awaiting autopsy.

  Cindy, a premed student, yelled out blood-curdling screams, awakening sleeping students throughout the dorm, who ran out of their rooms wondering if the dorm was on fire.

  Someone had called 911, not the campus police. For that, Sable will always be thankful. The incident did not make the local news; no one at school was surprised. The alumni tried to smooth things over, but Sable and her father refused to be compensated, and filled criminal charges against Brad. They did not want the Chadwicks money.

  Both Sable and her father wanted Brad expelled, or George would see that the school paid the consequence. Brad Chadwick was expelled from school, and promised Sable that one day she would pay dearly.

  The last anyone had seen him, he was walking across the campus lawn as if he owned it, turning to the few friends he had, giving them a sailor’s salute, and then he got into a white limousine.

  The police were unable to locate him to make the arrest. Twelve years later, the scum was back and as far as she was concerned still filthy dirty. The pen she held in her hand snapped in two.

  The dull buzz of the intercom interrupted her dark thoughts. “Ms. Van Cleef, Lorna Carter is here to see you.”

  “Lorna?” I do not have time for this, Sable thought wearily. “Please tell Ms Carter that I will talk to her later, I have a deadline to meet.”

  “I…I think you better talk to her,” Julia said quietly. The maternal concern lacing her voice coming through loud and clear in her quiet office.

  Sable, tilting her head slightly in consideration, sat momentarily stunned. Julia had never countered any of her requests, she thought. Looking at the closed office door, this must be very important, she thought with apprehension. She did not like it. Something was wrong. Rolling her shoulders to relieve tension, she gently pushed her chair away from her desk.

  “Okay… send her in, Julia,” Sable said wearily as tension began to roll to the pit of her stomach.

  Walking in looking pale as a lifeless body lying in a body bag, Lorna’s eyes were shining with bleak despair. “Sable,” sounding much like a lost child crying because of fear, “you got to help me…please…you’ve got to help me.”

  Falling to the floor, inches from the chair before Sable’s desk, groans slid through Lorna’s lips like liquid. She was in excruciating pain. Tears silently flowing down her pale cheeks fell to her silk blouse, leaving stains of hopelessness.

  Sable had never seen Lorna this way, ever. Her appearance had Sable momentarily frozen in her chair from shock. Rising from her chair, all tension and dark memories forgotten, she rushed to Lorna’s side trying to hold her as they both fell to the floor in uncontrolled abandonment.

  Wrapping her arms around her, Sable felt every tremor rippling through Lorna’s body as silent tears became gulping wrenching cries of anguish, causing Sable to tremble as Lorna’s pain rippled through her body as well.

  Lorna rocked like a child in her arms, sounding like a wounded animal. The pain she was feeling made her shake with every gulp of air she inhaled, while exhaling brought forth sounds of hopelessness and despair. Sable, tightening her hold, continued to rock with her for a while, and then using strength she did not know she had, pulled herself and Lorna to their feet.

  Gently releasing her arms from around Lorna’s trembling shoulders, Sable took Lorna’s face in her hands, taking a good look at her for the first time since she entered her office.

  Lorna had never gone anywhere without makeup, and right now she was not wearing any, not even lip-gloss. She looked as if she had not slept in days, and her clothes were in desperate need of ironing, looking much like a piece of paper that was balled for the trash, then opened for saving.

  “Lorna, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Is it Nick?” Alarmed, Sable waited anxiously for an answer. Despite what Lorna said about Nick, she did not trust him.

  Lorna, eyes haunting, spoke softly. “Help me Sable…please help me.” Bursting into hysterical tears that shook Sable to the core, Lorna covered her face with shaking hands. Swaying on her feet, like a drunkard, Sable gently pushed her into the chair, kneeling at her side watching in horror as Lorna began rocking like a scared child in a dark room.

  Screaming, “What is it?” and grabbing Lorna by the shoulders so that she could see her face. Sable felt fear, as she had not felt sinc
e college, rippling through her body, as tears clouding her eyes blurred her vision. “Tell me Lorna, what has he done?”

  Suddenly, as if Lorna had turned a knob to stop the gushing flow of tears, she sat back pulling her legs up under her, then in a quiet voice void of all emotions told Sable about her childhood.

  Trancelike, as a robot on autopilot, her voice steadied, childlike in monotone, she softly told Sable how her father molested her since the age of five. Her mother, knowing of the torment she suffered night after night, did nothing to help her. A small bit of wonderment lacing her voice as she briefly looked into Sable’s tear-glazed eyes, “…she blamed me.” She said while tears silently ran down her pale cheeks.

  Her eyes unfocused, though she was looking at Sable, Sable could tell. Lorna had withdrawn into herself again, as the monotone childlike voice continued the horrid tale, as if uninterrupted. She told of her pregnancy, and running away from home.

  Constant fears and shame were her roadside companions, when she was on the run. Fearing, she would be caught and sent back. Hoping, that she would.

  She was quiet for a long while. Sable, eyes now swollen and red from the tears she could no longer hold back, clutched Lorna’s arm in a grip that should have been painful. It was not. To Lorna, it felt like comfort. It felt like love.

  Love. A warmless smile briefly touched her lips, as the horror of her childhood exalting to the turbulent teenage years, full with uncertainties of what was happening in her body. Her pregnancy, and the shameful memories of hearing her baby crying, but that could not be true, because she was having an abortion. The room was dark she remembered.

  Shivering, she slightly turned her head toward Sable, eyes still unfocused. “Babies are not alive during abortions, right?” her voice whispering in puzzlement. Uncertainty making her brows furrow saying softly, “Rorlo promised that I wouldn’t be doing my baby no harm, because it wasn’t alive yet.” She continued in the same childlike whisper, as if she was not supposed to tell, “…he promised.” Then she stilled as if frozen in time, going to a place—the safe place where her father could not touch her.

  Eyes wide with horror, body shaking with unleashed fury, Sable jumped to her feet and began pacing her office. Rubbing her hands down her arms as if cold. Tears of helplessness covering her cheeks as the memories of her assault, from so long ago, mingling with the horrific events of Lorna’s childhood. She came face to face with her own fears, ones she thought she had long ago buried by not thinking about them. Through work, she had been able to hold them all at bay until now.

  “I’m famous, you know.”

  Sable stopped pacing. Kneeing before Lorna again, she gently pulled Lorna into her arms, and started to rock her as if she were a child.

  “I’m famous…” Lorna softly whispered in agony. They both shivered in unison. “…because I’m a star…my father saw my pictures in a magazine…and is coming to see me.”

  In a voice filled with anguish, she solemnly told Sable about hearing from him by phone three days ago, and since then, she has been living in terror. And how the last three days up until now were like living in a nightmare, which she could not awaken from.

  Lorna came short of telling Sable about Amber and Ray. She stopped herself just in time, remembering Rorlo’s warning. Gently pulling away from the hold Sable had on her, she looked up into Sable’s tearful eyes. Despair shrouding both their faces. Hope gone from her eyes, hopelessness taking its place. To Sable, Lorna looked as if death itself could come for her now, and she would not have the strength to fight back. Both their eyes were swollen and red from crying.

  Lorna’s hair, pulled into a ponytail, resembling the child she once was, lacked the luster of the glamorous women of the magazine centerfold. Vulnerable. Hopelessness. Shame. Sable had never seen Lorna this way, never. Shaking her head, she pulled Lorna back into her arms hugging her protectively.

  “Have you heard from him since he last contacted you?” She asked urgently. Her mind was racing from calling the police, to calling her father. She had to do something. She had to think of something or some way to help her friend. Her own fears were buried once again.

  “No…not by phone.” She said quietly, staring vacantly in front of her. But Lorna was convinced that he was on his way or worse was already in town. “When I went to the mailbox, there was a rose inside with a note.” She hysterically started to laugh.

  Sable said nothing, just continued to listen. “It said I have missed you girlie.” Looking at Sable, “You see, that’s what he called me back then…girlie.” She closed her eyes and curled into a ball.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t from Nick?” Sable asked hopefully. Anxiously waiting for Lorna’s answer, she unknowingly clutched Lorna’s fingers in a painful grip. Neither of them noticed.

  “No, Sable…” Lorna said locking her tearful eyes to her, rocking back and forth, and then the tears started falling again, “No… it is him, and I would die before I let him touch me again. I swear Sable… I will die first.” Then she began mourning from deep within, and Sable knew she meant it.

  Chapter 11

  Quietness. It can be a good thing if the mind is settled and at ease. But, when it brings back the memories of the past, memories of despair, hurt and pain best forgotten, the quietness can be like a war zone, where bombs are constantly dropping on the pieces of landscapes delicately put together by hopes and dreams of a fragmented mind molded by pain.

  Sitting quietly in his office, George Van Cleef mulled over what both Sable and Stephen told him. He had work to do, if he was going to make Joseph Chadwick pay for what he did to Jennie. To him. Memories began to cloud his vision, playing in his mind as his manicured hands clenched into tight fists.

  Jennie Chadwick. Dead for many years. The painful memories of her stab George in the heart like a dull knife. His vision was clouded. She was Joseph Chadwick’s only daughter. His fist squeezed tighter. George and Jennie met when George came to the Chadwicks’ mansion to cut their grass. Jennie often spent hours watching George from her bedroom window, daydreaming sweet fantasies. A young girl in love.

  Sometimes, to get his attention, she would do silly things that angered him, demanding he stop whatever he was doing to help her with something, which usually turned out to be something really stupid in his opinion. The clouded vision liquefied behind unblinking eyes.

  Once, while screaming as if she was being tortured, she came rushing into the horses’ stable demanding he remove a cricket that had landed in her hair. After calming her down enough to get the bug out of her hair, he then had to settle down the horses, which no doubt believed their lives were in danger because of her screaming.

  George wanted to wring her pretty little neck. Instead, he calmly walked off to keep from touching her again. On too many occasions, George thought in quiet frustration that Jennie intentionally sought him out just to antagonize him, and he was getting darn tired of it. He had a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it.

  With keeping his grades up in school, because he had to, if he did not, his mother threatened she would make him quit working. He knew that she meant it despite the fact that they needed the money; he was also mentally exhausted because of his concern for her.

  A lone tear drizzled down his cheek unnoticed. In the quiet of his downtown office, George was reliving pain that he had held onto for years. His tightened fists began to slightly tremble.

  His mother, he remembered as if it were yesterday, was looking more tired than usual, losing weight from what he saw, and he did not like it.

  He knew something was wrong, but whenever he would ask, Beth would just smile and say things were just fine. He knew it was not. He tried hard to take care of her, attend school and work a little. His fist vibrated with the fury he felt as a helpless teenager.

  More tears joining the lone tear rushed down his cheeks as past memories continued to assault his mind. He remembered saying to himself that he did not have time for girls right now, not just Jennie
, but any girl. Not that he did not know how Jennie felt, he was not stupid, but he knew he could not let himself be distracted.

  George needed all his energy to work; they needed the money. He kept his grades up, or he would not be able to work. Jennie Chadwick was more than distracting. The little witch knew it, he thought. Many times, while during one of the million things he had to do daily, he wanted to wring her pretty little neck. In simmering frustration, he continued with whatever task was at hand with unwavering focus. George allowed the tears free reign, as his fist unclenched at the sweet memories of love forever lost.

  One day, George got so weary of Jennie and her spoiled ways, he actually pulled her onto his lap, turned her over, and gave her the spanking he said that she was in much need of. Jennie was appalled. She called him everything in the book and then some.

  Momentarily stunned by the words that came out of her mouth, he almost smiled. Until he remembered, out of all the silly things she had done in the past, this was the one and only time that, she had succeeded in distracting him. This made him even angrier.

  When he had finally let her up, she furiously stomped to the opposite side of the stable. Gingerly rubbing her butt, for he had spanked her good, she continued viciously cursing him up one side and down the next, vowing to do him bodily harm.

  George slowly walked over to Jennie, looking into her furious blazing eyes, and took a very slow deep breath. Because he was still very angry with her, he bent his head closer to hers, and kissed her. It was either kiss her, or strangle her. A smile touched his lips enjoying the sweet memory.

  He remembered gently holding her arms behind her back, with one strong calloused hand. With the other, he held her head delicately and kissed her hard. Then softly. And then hard again, with so much tenderness Jennie’s knees weakened. If George were not holding her so securely, she would have hit the ground like a ton of bricks.