“Liar, liar, liar….” He kept saying the word like a mantra, while viciously slapping her over and over again. Not because she was fighting him, as she lay like a wet cloth on the tangled sheets, but because he wanted to. She had to be taught a lesson. He had to teach her a lesson. “You know how I know you loved it, Lorna?” He sneered.
His face was so close to hers, she smelled the garlic from the sweat dripping from his pores. He kissed her on the lips. It hurt. She trembled violently from terror. Glancing into dark cold eyes through her blacken swollen eyes, she knew that he was going to kill her.
Putting his forehead against hers, in what was once a loving gesture, he asked softly, “Do you hear me talking to you?”
“Yes Nick,” she said through swollen lips. Crying like a wounded animal, “I hear you.” Half lying on the bed, Nick moved away, so she backed against the headboard.
What am I going to do, she frantically thought. Tentatively reaching for the phone, Nick snatched it from her hand and violently threw it against the far wall.
Lorna pressed her back further against the headboard. Her robe, long since forgotten, was fully open revealing her nakedness.
“Do you know how I know that you enjoyed it, Lorna?” he sweetly asked, voice deceptively soft. Pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket, he threw it at her. “Because of these,” throwing several more copies of the Mons Pubis viciously in her face. The pictures floated to the bed like soft rose petals.
There she was. Playmate of the Month. Naked for the whole world to see. The embarrassment of a decision made in ignorance, in the naivety of her youth, out of a desperation to survive, was staring her in the face and she could no longer hide. What she had done in secret was now known by everyone…including Nick.
Chapter 37
Claustrophobic. That is what Jean was feeling within the confinements of her small car. Everything was closing in on her. The exhaust from the traffic outside came rushing through the car vents like memories from a dark past choking her.
Coughing lightly, she turned on the car radio hoping to block out her tormenting thoughts, only to hear the radio preacher say repent or go to hell! She quickly turned the radio off.
Feeling frazzled because she had no idea how she was going to get Lorna to listen to her, she pushed further down on the gas pedal. Squeezing the steering wheel for support, her voice barely above a whisper, “I have to make her listen to me,” saying it as she ran a red light. “Lorna has to understand, she’s my little girl,” she said while running through a stop sign. Talking out loud to herself, Jean drove to Lorna’s in a mental emotional mess.
Clutching her neck with trembling fingers, Jean forced herself to breathe as memories of the past permeated her mind causing her to wheeze as if choking. The hideous memories whispered through the channels of her mind replaying each scene in a shadowy haze.
Lightly caressing her neck, her fingers began to stiffen as the memory of that murky night, hearing her husband’s harsh whispers coming from Lorna’s room burst forth in brilliant color.
Lightly squeezing her neck, she remembered hearing her little girl’s frantic pleas, don’t daddy, please daddy don’t. She remembered hearing Lorna’s whimpers of fear and being frozen with shock; she was afraid to know if what she was hearing was real so she could not bring herself to move.
She heard Harry’s demanding voice sounding so gleeful and menacing as the spring from the mattress creaked when he sat down on Lorna’s small bed. It was barely big enough for Lorna to sleep in, she remembered.
Jean was brought out of her dark trance hearing the blast of a horn. Looking up in time, she swerved to the right barely missing an oncoming car. The angry driver, sticking his head out of his car, called her a non-driving witch while giving her the finger. Quickly glancing into the rearview mirror, she eased off the gas pedal, glad that she was not stopped by a police officer.
Vowing to drive more carefully, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to the night when she awoke to the sounds of what sounded to be an animal in pain. So much pain, she thought. But it was Lorna. Crying, pleading with the man she thought was her father, stop it, you’re hurting me, please it hurts! Followed by grunts of pleasure coming from Harry as the small mattress continued to creak in protest from the pressure, as his large bulky body continued to plunge into Lorna’s small fragile frame.
Jean remembered feelings of anguish, fear, and betrayal. She remembered listening a little while longer until she heard Harry’s groans of release and Lorna’s cries of despair. Then Harry said, Now Lorna darling don’t cry. He was trying to soothe her. When that did not work, he threatened, if you wake your momma, she will be very angry at you, stop crying now…then there was silence.
Choking back a cry of despair, Jean remembered going to the bathroom and gazing at her reflection in the mirror. Then she passed Lorna’s bedroom, listening for any sounds, and returning to her own room, which she shared with Harry for eleven years. Lying down, she went to sleep and slept undisturbed. When she awoke again, it was morning.
It was a dream, she told herself; it was only a dream. But deep down, she knew it was not. Jean pressed harder on the gas pedal.
Nick slapped Lorna again, each time with more force. “You think I don’t know how much you enjoyed it!” he was furious. How dare she. She lied to him for months. Loved him? He thought as he sat there looking at her. “You’re just like my mother, you little slut, just like her….” he whispered.
Lorna lay as if dead. One of her eyes was swollen shut from him hitting her, the other hurt like crushed bones. This is hell, she thought, what did I do to deserve such pain? She wanted to close her eyes and die.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Voice dripping with venom, Nick grabbed a handful of her hair. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a pair of scissors. “I’ve always liked your hair, Lorna,” he clipped off a chunk. “It always smelled of vanilla,” he clipped off another chunk…
Jean pulled up across the street from Lorna’s apartment. She knew Lorna was home because she saw her car. Having no idea what she was going to say, she got out of the car running toward the building as if someone were chasing her. The elevator was taking too long to come down, so she decided to take the stairs.
Moving slowing toward Lorna’s apartment, she stood at the door trying to decide whether to knock, or just turn around and go away. She hates me, she thought. Staring at the door for several minutes, she did not have the courage to face her daughter, “I’ll go,” she whispered anguishly, “She needs more time.”
Turning away slowly to leave, she thought she heard angry voices. Pressing her ear on the door, her hand unconsciously reached for the doorknob turning it. The door opened.
Walking into the apartment, she heard Nick saying, “You’re mine, you little whore.” All of a sudden, she was back in front of her little girl’s bedroom door, hearing Lorna pleading and crying, please, it hurts…it hurts.
“No,” Jean whispered, like a zombie from the Night of the Living Dead, slowly walking across the shadowy living room toward Lorna’s bedroom. She eased open the bedroom door. The door creaked like fingernails scratching against a blackboard.
Jean slowly pulled the gun from her purse. Whispering, “No more Harry, no more will you hurt my little girl.” Nick turned toward her, neither one recognized the other.
Time seemed to stand still. Nick was remembering his mother; Jean, her husband. Raising the gun with a steady hand, pointing it at Nick, she pulled the trigger. Jean kept pulling the trigger when the gun was empty; all that could be heard in the now silent bedroom was the clicking sound of an empty gun chamber.
Neighbors all over the building heard the shots. Ronald, coming in late from evening mass, ran from his apartment into Lorna’s. Shocked by what he was seeing, making the sign of the cross over his body, he walked further into the bedroom. Stopping one step behind Jean, Ronald stared at the bed feeling as though he were part of a horror movie.
; Astonishment race throughout his body seeing Lorna a bloodied mess, lying sprawled across the bed with pieces of her hair scattered all around, like feathers from the aftermath of a violent pillow fight.
Her boyfriend’s, Nick’s, limp body was lying on top of her like a soggy filthy old blanket, and her mother was still standing in front of him, paralyzed, and pointing a gun. Frozen in her own world, Jean rhythmically continued pulling on the trigger. The empty chambers of the gun’s clicking sounds echoed throughout the room like loud claps of thunder.
Making the sign of the cross again, Ronald turned, unintentionally bumping into old Miss Patterson holding miss tiny, whom he did not know had walked in right behind him. She was so frightened that she had miss tiny in a grip so tight that the dog had started to whimper.
Catching her before she fell from him bumping into her, Ronald forcefully pulled her out of the room with him into the living room. Finding the phone, while Miss Patterson clutched miss tiny who was now barking from the force of her grip, he dialed 911.
None of the other neighbors had dared to come into the apartment. They were nosy, but only at a safe distance, and were congregated outside of the apartment door, lightly shoving each other to get a better look inside.
Taking Miss Patterson by her frail trembling shoulders to the front door, Ronald gently pushed her out of the apartment, closing the door and to all of the questions his neighbors were yelling at him.
Turning, he leaned his back against the door. He could still hear Jean in the bedroom, pulling the trigger on an empty gun. Sliding down to the floor on wobbly legs, Ronald pressed his head back against the door, eyeing the open bedroom.
He silently prayed as the police sirens drowned out the clicking sounds of the gun, while red and blue lights played upon Lorna’s living room walls like brilliant lights from a kaleidoscope. He did not move until he heard the police officers banging on the door, demanding entry.
When Ronald finally opened the door, there were six guns pointing at him. He did not flinch, after what he had just seen he was slightly numb from the shock. A cop, slowly approaching him, turned him against the wall, patting him down ensuring that he was unarmed.
Four police officers went into the apartment to investigate, while one took statements from the neighbors. After a series of questions, the cop who had patted him down, believing that he was the person who made the 911 call, took out his notebook and began to ask more questions.
The first cop into the bedroom, a rookie fresh from the academy, came running out of the bedroom with vomit running down his uniform. Another putting Jean in handcuffs, leading her out of the bedroom, saw the look of surprise on Lt. Brown’s face as she walked passed him in a zombie-like haze mumbling, no more, over and over again.
Watching the officer shuffle Jean past the steady growing crowds of police officers and neighbors, he turned hearing the squeaky wheels of the gurney carrying Lorna. She was still as death. Her face was so viciously battered, that if he had not known it was her, he would not have recognized her.
Not again, he thought, as the two medics rolled her past him, seeing that her once long beautiful hair was chopped off in massive chunks. The guy must have really hated her, he thought. Then another gurney rolled past him, carrying the warm dead body of Nick, filled with bullet holes, to the city morgue.
Lt. Brown, surveying the scene, clenched his fist, snapping his pencil in two. The unexpected show of emotions surprised one of the officers, but he said nothing, trying to control his own emotions as he continued to collect evidence.
Once the crime scene was secured and yellow tape placed across Lorna’s apartment door, Lt. Brown went to the hospital where both Lorna and Jean were taken to be examined.
Ronald, remembering Lorna telling him that Sable was like a sister to her, looked up the phone number for Van Cleef Enterprises, and called Sable to let her know what had happened.
Minutes later…
Rushing into the hospital, Sable, Stephen, and George asked every nurse or doctor they saw where they could find Lorna. Seeing Lt. Brown down the hall standing in front of a nurses’ station, in three-inch heels, Sable ran toward him at a pace that momentarily stunned him. Looking down at her shoes, he briefly wondered how she walked in them, much less ran.
“Where is she? What happened?” She asked franticly, trying to catch her breath. Stephen and George were at her side by now, looking at him as anxiously as she was.
Clearing his voice, he stared into the faces of three people who obviously cared about Lorna. “It seems,” saying in his noncommittal voice, “from what we can gather, Nick was torturing Lorna.”
“Oh my gosh!” Sable exclaimed. Both Stephen and George rubbed at their temples in disbelief.
Lt. Brown stoically continued. “Her mother arrived and shot him. Dead.” In the same noncommittal voice, “This is a mess,” he said sorrowfully. Looking at the closed door of Lorna’s room, “How much can one person endure?” He said as frustration took hold, causing him to put both hands in his pockets to keep from hitting something.
Lt. Brown felt sorry for the young woman. His information pointed to the father abusing her as a child, her running away from home, posing for a porn magazine, and on top of that having a lunatic for a boyfriend. If this young woman’s mind did not snap before, it sure would now.
Looking at Sable, “Did you know that the deceased had a mental problem?” he inquired softly.
“No,” she said, astonished. Pressing a hand to her chest, “I knew he said he loved her, and asked her to marry him.” Sable looked beseechingly to Lt. Brown, “I didn’t know.”
Stephen placed a gentle hand on Sable’s shoulders and glared at Lt. Brown. “Nick always seemed too,” she paused trying to think of the right word, “possessive.” Looking at the three men in earnest, “I always thought it was strange, but Lorna…she thought it was love,” she ended.
Placing her trembling hand on top of Stephen’s, which was gently caressing her shoulders, she intertwined their fingers. Squeezing his hand for comfort, Stephen softly kissed her on the temples.
Thinking that Lorna may need legal representation, George Van Cleef inquired softly, “Are you pressing charges against her?” For a minute, he thought Lt. Brown was not going to answer him.
“We won’t be pressing charges against Lorna, but her mother is another story. She’ll need a good lawyer.” Inhaling deeply, he thought that he really should consider retiring. He was tired of caring, which wasn’t a good thing in his line of business. Once you stop caring, you stop being human. Then you are no better than the scrums you are arresting, he thought wearily.
Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Dr. Reed came out of Lorna’s room looking as though he had not slept in two days. “She’s in a severe state of shock,” he said wearily. “Where is her next of kin?”
He looked at each of them, needing an answer before they could proceed with treatment. “We’ll have to have her evaluated by a psycharitarist, but in my professional opinion,” pinching the bridge of his nose, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut, “Her mind has snapped.” He ended tiredly, looking as though he would rather walk through fire than to treat Lorna again.
Sometimes seeing the same patient more than once for near death experiences can be detrimental to a doctor’s objectivity…or worse, his own mental health.
George covered his face with his hands, trying to think past the emotions running rampant throughout his body. Hands going to her mouth, “Oh my gosh no, no.” Sable cried out loud. Stephen pulled her into his arms as her body shook with anguish.
Lt. Brown, weary on so many levels, leaned on the counter at the nurses’ station rubbing at his temples. He knew who Lorna’s next of kin was. Sitting down in the nearest chair, he pulled out his cell phone.
Turning toward the nurse sitting behind the nurses’ station, Dr. Reed ordered several medications in hopes of stabilizing Lorna’s condition until the next of kin could be reached. It had to be soon; he knew time
was something Lorna did not have a lot of.
Chapter 38
We interrupt your program for this special announcement. Lorna Carter, the world’s most desirable woman, has just been…
His cell phone was ringing just as the news anchor announced the late breaking news. Rev. Thomas, snatching up his phone while his eyes were mesmerized on the television screen, did not hear Lt. Brown’s voice calling to him over the phone.
He could not take his eyes off the pictures flashing across the television screen showing Lorna as a little girl, then as the star of the month for the Mons Pubis. Part of him could hear Lt. Brown frustratingly asking if he could hear him. The other part was intensely focused on the newscast.
Lorna at five years of age in a pink dress with blue ribbons. Another showing Lorna at age ten in a plaid dress holding a Bible, standing in front of a storefront pictured with Jean. Then after a brief history describing her as a well brought up child raised by God-fearing Christians, a picture of her at sixteen dressed in a see-through black-laced negligee, with red shining spiked stiletto heels dangling from her toes.
Stunned, his phone slipped through his fingers, dropping on his desk unnoticed as his eyes stayed transfixed on the television.
His secretary, hearing Lt. Brown’s voice yelling for him, picked up the phone. Speaking briefly with Lt. Brown, shaking Rev. Thomas out of his fixation with the news announcement, she put the phone to his ear telling him it was an emergency.
His secretary watched as his eyes went blank as he slowly rose out of his chair in what seemed like slow motion. Then Rev. Thomas, eyes briefly focused once again on the newscast, paid no notice as his cell phone slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor in several pieces.
Fear. Guilt. Pride. All three accompanied him as he ran out of his office as if it was engulfed in fiery flames. Once outside, looking frantically around him, Rev. Thomas ran to his car at full speed as though something was chasing him, and something was…his conscience.
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall Page 22