As I stated in today’s earlier entry, we decided to do some extra water hauling to the garden. Sounds simple, right? Well, it should have been…but it wasn’t.
When we got to the water house, Dylan said he was going to wait in the truck. I couldn’t blame him. There he can sit in privacy and play his games or get out and wander about the yard or whatever. There’s also a stray dog that hangs around the house that he plays with sometimes. I think it’s a comfort to him. Whatever Dylan decides to do outside, it’s probably a heck of a lot more interesting than watching containers being filled with water. Once I’m done, he helps me carry the water outside to the truck. We can back the pickup in close to the front door, but the containers still have to be carried from inside the house and loaded into the truck’s bed.
Anyway, I soon realized that even on a dull Sunday afternoon, Barker was there…of course. And he was with his buddy, Reggie (Erika’s man). Apparently, they’ve taken to using the water house as their private hangout. They sit around drinking and occasionally shooting at things with their guns. I’m surprised they haven’t shot the stray dog that comes around yet.
I should have known better than to stick around once I saw Barker’s truck parked out front when we pulled up. But I thought we’d moved past the store incident that occurred several months ago, and I figured that having Dylan along would keep him from trying anything.
But I knew the instant I set foot inside the house that I was in for trouble.
Barker and Reggie were sitting on a couch in the living room. Two bottles of whiskey, a six-pack of beer, and several packs of cigarettes sat on the coffee table before them. There was also a small sealable plastic bag with some white powder in it.
The two looked up at me as I entered. Their eyes looked funny – like they were half asleep. They just stared at me as I explained that I wanted to haul some extra water to the garden. Barker gave a kind of nod – at least that’s what I think it was – his mouth agape. Neither of the two men said a word. I then asked if it was a good day or bad, referring to the cleanliness of the water. Barker just shrugged. Rather than stand around and wait for them to come up with a shared syllable between them, I moved on to find out for myself.
I took the four, empty three-gallon containers that I brought with me and headed for the kitchen that has been converted into the “filling room”. There, I got the water running and began the tedious process of filling the jugs. I’d brought a book along with me to read, and was sitting at the kitchen table minding my own business when the two men staggered into the room. At first, I figured that now having emerged from their stupor, the two men had finally figured out how to formulate a coherent sentence and were now prepared to unleash it upon me. But that was far from the case.
Reggie made the first move. He walked over, grabbed my book away from me, and tossed it onto the floor. The act caught me off guard, and it was such a childish thing to do that I almost laughed aloud. However, the knowledge that Reggie was romantically linked with Erika kept me quiet.
I found myself wondering if I was in for some trouble, but I was under the assumption that any drama from these two would come in the form of a verbal tirade or maybe even threats. But when Reggie pulled me to my feet from the chair I was sitting in, I realized they might have more in mind. Still, the seriousness of the situation hadn’t fully hit me. I mean, I’m pregnant, and in my mind, even the scummiest sleaze on the planet would tend to give preferential treatment to a woman with child.
Again, I was wrong.
With Chase away on the scouting mission, along with many of our security personnel, these two dirt-bags must have felt like they owned the world. And whatever drug they were apparently on was feeding these delusions of grandeur. After some remarks about “how fine I looked” and what they’d like to do to me that I don’t care to repeat in writing, the groping began in earnest.
Having thought only of comfort as a pregnant woman combating the overwhelming Georgia heat, I had worn a short and very loose-fitting (and fairly revealing) sundress. And while I was going for anything but a “sexy” look, it’s probably what I presented to these two mouth breathers.
Reggie immediately started trying to feel me up, and Barker was right up behind me before I had a chance to do anything. Hands were everywhere on me – arms, thighs, buttocks, breasts. Reggie tried kissing me, but I managed to duck away, landing his lips on my neck where he began sucking like a leach. I was doing my best to pull away, to fight back, to do anything and everything in my power to break free, but it was impossible. As soon as I managed to pull free from one of the men, the other one would restrain me.
They began moving me between them back toward the home’s two bedrooms. I knew that I was in deep shit at this point, and thought about screaming, but I knew it would do no good. No one else was around, and I realized that my cries would only bring Dylan running, and there was no way I wanted to involve HIM in this. With whatever these two men were on, they could beat him…or worse. And my own situation was dire enough without adding my little boy into the mix.
The stink radiating off the two men was almost unbearable. I almost lost my lunch twice when they tried to kiss me. Now that I think about it, vomiting probably would have been my best bet at escaping; but when you’re in such a situation, things are happening so fast that you aren’t even thinking straight.
As they were hauling me down the hallway, away from the kitchen, I first tried scratching my way free, digging my nails into whatever flesh I could find. But it didn’t work, so next I tried biting. I managed to bend over, get hold of an arm, and really sink my teeth in. I could feel the breaking of skin and hear the result of my efforts in a screech of pain from Reggie, but my attempt to get free was only met with a heavy smack in the face from Barker that stung like hell and temporarily dazed me.
Before I knew it, I was being tossed onto one of the beds in a back bedroom at the end of the hall. The bed was devoid of sheets or blankets – just a nasty bare mattress that bore the stains of previous occupants. But it was apparently good enough for these two greaseballs.
As soon as I was down, Barker held me while Reggie worked to remove my underwear. This was the point where I REALLY started fighting. It wasn’t that I wasn’t fighting before, but it was almost as though what was occurring wasn’t real, that what was taking place wasn’t ACTUALLY happening. Maybe my mind was just HOPING that it wasn’t happening. I don’t know. Whatever it was, the removal of my underwear hit the “panic” button. I frantically started trying to kick, flail, or squirm my way off the bed, but it seemed like the harder I struggled, the tighter the grips holding me became. I started screaming too. I just couldn’t help it. It was instinctual. Barker was lying across me, his full weight acting to pin me in place. He grabbed the sole pillow from atop the dingy bed and held it over my face, muffling my cries and making my fight even more difficult since I couldn’t see and my oxygen intake was limited.
I could feel my sundress being lifted up and away from me as it was bunched up around my chest, and suddenly my legs were being forced apart. Then I heard the sounds of a belt buckle jingling and a zipper being undone.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. It was all so surreal. I thought that if anything, danger would come from outside the town, not INSIDE! It was then that I began to cry. It wasn’t the act that was about to occur that hurt me (THAT actually filled me with rage). It was the fact that in this new world – after everything I’d gone through – I was being betrayed by the same townspeople I thought I could trust. Even though Barker was scum, I at least thought he had enough heart in him not to try something like THIS.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Just as I was about to give up all hope and end my struggle to resist, I was wrenched from my thoughts of defeat by two ear-splitting gunshots that were thankfully muffled by the pillow over my head. I felt hot spray on my exposed skin and the body at my waist move away. Then there was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. A seco
nd later, I felt Barker’s weight move from me as well. As he did so, I heard him cry, “WHAT THE HELL!?” before another gunshot rang out and I heard him scream in pain. Then there was the sound of heavy footsteps hurriedly leaving the room.
With the force of the pillow being relieved from my face, I took a quick moment to catch my breath and then moved the pillow aside.
I was shocked by what I saw.
Standing just inside the bedroom door, my smoking .38 that I keep in the truck’s glove compartment when traveling, still in hand, was Dylan.
I quickly arranged myself, getting my dress back down, and the hair out of my face before rushing to my little lad. He was just standing there, a stunned expression affixed to his face, the gun still held straight out before him as though he was afraid to lower it. I saw Reggie lying motionless on the floor at the foot of the bed, two bullet holes in his torso. Blood was seeping out from under his body and across the wood floor.
I grabbed Dylan and hugged him close, taking the gun from him in the process. I didn’t even check on Reggie. He looked dead, but I wasn’t sure. Frankly, I didn’t care, as long as he was incapacitated. Then I guided Dylan out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where water was running out of the container I had been filling and all over the floor. I set Dylan down in a chair, quickly grabbed a nearby rag, wetted it, shut the water off, and then took time to tend to him in his state of shock.
Breaking away from him for a quick minute, I took the .38 and checked outside. Barker was nowhere to be seen, neither was his truck. But I could see a blood trail leading out the front door and down the front steps, so I knew he must have been hit by at least one of the shots Dylan fired.
After ensuring that we were secure, I hustled back to Dylan, gathered him up, put him in our truck, and hauled ass back to town.
Once we arrived, I got Dylan home to our apartment, but I didn’t want to leave him alone, so I asked our next-door neighbor (one of the few people here I actually consider a TRUE friend), Lamar, to watch him while I went to find Gerald. I didn’t get into what had happened, but I could tell Lamar knew something was amiss. He didn’t ask any questions, and I didn’t offer any specifics.
Once I found Gerald at his apartment across the street, I asked if we could talk in private. I like his wife Carolyn, but she’s a bit of a gossip, and I didn’t want news of what had just transpired leaking out immediately. I knew it’d get out soon enough.
Gerald took me downstairs to a room in the building that he uses as an office. There, I explained to him what had just happened. He listened quietly, yet intently, never interrupting until I was finished several minutes later.
Then he immediately sprung into action. First, he told me to go home and be with Dylan to ensure that he was okay and that no one came after him in reprisal for the shooting. He asked me if I wanted him to send over a man to watch over us, but I told him we’d be with Lamar and that I felt safe with him.
Then he told me that he was going to get a couple people together to go out to the water house and see if they could help Reggie. He also said that he’d send a search party to look for Barker.
All that took place about two and a half hours ago. It turns out that Reggie was dead. Dylan had killed him. They found Barker in his truck just outside of town, he was unconscious from blood loss, having been shot in the upper thigh, but they think he’s going to pull through.
That’s when the worst happened – yes, even worse than the prospects of being raped by two barbarians. They came and took Dylan from me.
Gerald said they had to take him into custody not only because he was responsible for killing a man and severely wounding another, but for his own safety. He said that Dylan needed protection from people loyal to Barker and Reggie who might try taking revenge for what had happened.
Gerald has Dylan under guard (thankfully by one of the men from Spencer who I trust far more than Barker’s people) in the town’s small jail. Gerald said that we’re going to have to keep him there until a trial can be held. A TRIAL! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! The poor little fellow defends his mother, and this is the thanks he gets. How about trying Barker for assault and attempted rape? Un-freaking believable! How could something that began as such a ho-hum, no-nothing day, evolve into this?
Tuesday, August 12 th
12:44 p.m.
It’s lunch break. Everyone is either working or at this trial…if you can call it a “trial”. Feels like more of a witch hunt to me. I can’t even think about food right now. I’m a nervous wreck. It turns out that in this joke of a court they’ve rigged up, Dylan’s standing trail for his life. He’s just a boy, but they’re trying him as an adult!
Poor thing. It’s not like taking a man’s life and wounding another was traumatic enough for him, now he’s being treated like a common criminal. Gerald explained that it HAS to be handled this way. Barker is saying that I accompanied him and Reggie to the bedroom willingly and that Dylan shot them without provocation. As if anyone in their right mind could believe such insanity. Yeah! A pregnant woman with a hunk of a man like Chase by her side is going to risk all that for a roll in the sack with two piles of crap like Barker and Reggie. Sure, that makes a ton of sense. But that’s Barker’s story, and he’s sticking to it. And it’s pretty much my word (and Dylan’s, although he wasn’t there to actually see how things actually got started) against his.
Barker has recovered from his gunshot wound enough to testify on his own behalf. Gerald is serving as “council” for both sides, asking the questions to Barker, Dylan, and me when we take the stand. Barker began the testimony, being the supposed “injured party” (yeah, maybe physically, but certainly not mentally). I’m up after lunch. Dylan will wrap things up with his testimony tomorrow. Since he’s considered the “offender” in the trial, he goes last.
Gerald also acts as judge. All these rules are kind of being developed on the fly since we haven’t really had any circumstances that have called for an official criminal justice system to be put in place during our time in Glasgow. I’m so glad that Dylan and I could be the guinea pigs on which this structure is developed and tested.
The closest we came to any sort of judicial system was back in Spencer when the two men we captured during the attack on the town stood trail. But that was more to ease the residents’ minds when the men were executed than anything else.
This however, is different. This is one of our own on trial…one of MY own!
I actually just got my journal back. It was confiscated Monday morning. I guess people have seen me writing in it and they thought it might contain valuable evidence relating to my state of mind and my prior feelings toward Barker and Reggie.
I don’t really know if it being taken was a good or bad thing. Gerald read entries to the jury that I feel both helped and hurt our defense. Since Gerald is representing both sides in the trial, he’s pretty much trying to remain impartial, playing devil’s advocate. He’s simply putting all the evidence out there and then letting the jury decide. Before the trial started, he even took pictures of the “crime scene” with an old Polaroid and hauled the jury members out to the water house to see where the event took place. He said he wanted them to see the location in person so they had an idea of the layout of the home and could envision where and how events took place.
Speaking of the jury, I’m concerned about how they will decide their verdict. The jury is formed from nine randomly selected residents. Four of these people were chosen from our Spencer group (they put names – excluding Dylan, Gerald and myself – into a hat, and drew four), four were pulled from the Glasgow group, and one was selected from all the remaining names put together after the initial eight were selected. This last – potential deciding vote was from Spencer, which you would think would put things in our favor…but it was Erika. God only knows what that nut-job will decide considering our recent past together as well as the fact that Dylan shot and killed her man. I can’t imagine that her decision will go in our favor, but I guess there’
s always hope. Maybe some of the Glasgow group will surprise me and vote in our favor.
I guess I shouldn’t count on the Spencer faction’s votes as 100 percent certain. While I’m trying to keep an open mind and pray this new justice system will prove our innocence, I can’t deny that I’m disappointed in Gerald and his leadership (or lack thereof) in the matter. Knowing us as he does, I assumed that he would step up and vouch for us. I know he’s trying to play devil’s advocate and provide a fair and honest setting for the trail, but there shouldn’t even BE a trial. He should have stood up for us and told Barker and his cronies to go take a flying leap. We outnumber them anyway. What are they going to do other than bitch and moan?
These last several days have been a living hell to say the least. Chase and the others are back safely from the scouting mission to Olsten. He was shocked by the situation he returned to find unfolding. He’s been acting strangely ever since his return. Who can blame him?
The raiding party he accompanied managed to collect a few vegetables from Olsten’s small garden, but the food was hardly enough to make a dent in the supply needs of a town this size. I don’t even care at this point. Who can think about food at a time like this? I get one of my loved ones back safely, and now I have to worry about the other. All I can think about is Dylan and the baby. My thoughts ping back and forth between the two. Now I’m constantly left wondering whether I’m destined to lose another child. What if I lose both? In a word, it’s “TERRIFYING!”
I’m allowed to visit Dylan for one hour each day. I tried to convince the guard at the jail to let me stay overnight with him, but he refused. I know Dylan is scared witless. I keep telling him that it’s going to be okay, and I try to sound confident when I say it, but it’s hard to believe since I have no idea what will happen. All I can do is hope, pray, and try to focus on my upcoming testimony.
The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3] Page 36