by Leah Holt
I did my best not to move, unsure if I even could. It wasn't worth trying, I had no clue what the hell they were going to do. So I pretended to still be out, I focused on the sounds and what they were saying.
“The sun's almost up, do we really need one?”
I wish I knew who was who.
It was hard to figure out which man was which when I didn't dare open my eyes. I was afraid one of them might see I was awake.
Growling, the first man snapped, “Just fucking do it.”
Feet shuffled around me, going distant, coming back close, walking away again.
Slowly, I peeled my eyes open to a thin crack. There were trees around me, the sun was coming up over the horizon, a fire was burning right beside my head.
The two men were standing somewhere behind me, their words ominous and blood- curdling. “I want her,” one of the men said, but I couldn't see which one. Everything had this haze, a foggy color I couldn't shake.
“Fine, I'll take the other one, I don't give a fuck.”
You have to run, get up and run! I wanted to take charge of this, take charge of my body and do something to stop these two assholes before it all got worse.
I knew Sara must have been next to me or near me, I just couldn't move enough to see her. I was trying like hell to get up, to do anything at all. But every part of my body felt heavy, weighted down by an imaginary force.
“Is she still out?”
“I don't know, let me check.” A hard boot crashed into my side, crushing my ribs and making me scream inside my head. I think I might have mumbled or made some form of a sound, but I couldn't be sure.
Whatever it was, it wasn't a scream, it wasn't a cry or any sound that I could repeat. Trapped inside my own body, my voice was there, but the sound was missing.
A heavy hand dug into my shoulder, sticking my skin with sharp nails and lifting me up slightly. I stayed as still as I could, trying not to breathe too heavy or move my eyes under the lids. “Yeah, she's still out. How about her?”
I could hear feet and a shuffling sound. Then I was hit by a surprise. Sara screamed, she let out a gut-wrenching, horrified screech. She sounded more like an animal than human, it wasn't a natural scream.
Forcing my eyes open, the sound of feet hitting the ground gave me something to focus on. I saw a blurry image that was hard to make out. But I knew instantly what it was.
“Fuck! Go, go get her!”
Sara had taken off running. I wanted to scream at her to run, to run as fast as she could. But all I could do was root her on in my mind, giving those men a solid 'fuck you' and middle finger to go with it.
“Shit, grab the truck and meet me on the other side.”
The truck started up as heavy feet pounded into the distance. This was it, this was my chance to get away, to hide, to do something.
Using all the strength I could find, I started to drag my body across the ground, using my nails to grip the dirt and my palms to pull me forward. It was excruciating to move, all my muscles were tensed, cramping under the skin and shocking my nerves.
But I couldn't just lay there. They would be coming back for me, I had to get away. I wouldn't have another chance, there was no way they would let their guard down now.
Dragging myself inch by inch over the ground, I felt the feathery hands of leaves against my head and cheeks. Pulling my body as far into the bush as I could, I lost my fight.
My brain began to throb, my vision was doubled as my lids fought with my eyes to close. I didn't want to go to sleep, I didn't want to let myself drift off into the unknown, but I wasn't being given much of a choice.
I didn't have anything left. I was broken, I was shattered. . .
I was done.
Chapter Twenty-One
Vera
“It wasn't Pax.” Shaking my head, I steadied my hands on the desk and stared down at Detective Deacon. “I remember it all, I can tell you what happened now.”
Smiling up at me, he steepled his fingers, and nodded for me to sit. “Vera—”
“It wasn't him, he had nothing to do with it. I know who did this, sorta—” Wiggling my fingers, I shut my eyes and took a quick breath. “I know their first names, I don't know them, know them, but I can see their faces and it wasn't Pax.”
Plopping into the chair, I dropped my bag to the floor and kept talking. “There were two of them, Sara was right about that, but she identified the wrong man. One of them looked similar to Pax, he had a shaved head and tattoos, I can see why she picked him. The other guy had shoulder length hair, and his eyes. . . His eyes were black, he looked dead, like he literally had nothing inside. They had given us a bottle of water, only it wasn't water—I didn't know it wasn't water—”
“Vera,” Deacon said, reaching his hand across the table and tapping it lightly. “Stop, we already have everything we need—”
“No!” Snapping my back straight, my eyes burned into his. “It wasn't Pax, I'm not just going to sit back and let you guys toss him away into a cell. He. Did. Not. Do. This.” Each word was loud, formed with exaggerated syllables and heightened vowels.
I hadn't been able to see Sara yet, we weren't supposed to have contact, not until after my memories came back. But now I knew, I saw it all, every detail, every sour smile. I could even remember the small scar that Glenn had right above his left eyebrow.
Sara had been wrong, she had identified the wrong man.
There was no way I would just let them keep going with this. It was wrong, it was despicable, it was a number of other colorful choice words I decided to keep inside.
“I won't let you charge him with this, I'll refuse to take the stand and testify against him.” Lowering my eyes, my brows dipped in angrily. “Pax is innocent.”
The detective leaned back, resting his hands on his beer belly as a broad smile turned his stoic expression into a wild painting of swooping lines and brush strokes. I waited for him to question me, to tell me I was in denial and that my memories were wrong.
He had this air about him that made me anticipate a challenge. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes dull and glowing at the same time. The way his cheeks were puffed made me think he was about to laugh in my face and call me foolish for letting my mind play tricks on me.
But all of it was as vivid as if it had just taken place only seconds before. I could see both men, the way they looked at each other as we drove silently down the street. Both of them knowing what was in store, while Sara and I sat oblivious in the background.
Their kind smiles weren't drawn from someplace that harbored good, their smiles were drawn from the depths of hell as fiery hands burned scars across my body, both emotional and physical.
“I know, Vera.”
“I won't do it, I just—” Stopping myself, I felt my lips hold their position to keep speaking, my mind stuck on the idea that Pax was still guilty in his eyes. “What did you just say?”
“I said I know.”
“What do you mean you know?” My brain was spinning a mile a minute, trying to figure out what he meant.
Did he mean he knew I wouldn't take the stand?
Was he saying that he knew I'd come in and try to push their investigation in another direction?
What did he know?
Flipping through a stack of folders, he plucked one out from the middle and opened it up. His fingers flew over the papers, folding one on top of the other as he quickly glanced over them. Tugging out a handwritten statement, he sat quietly, reading it to himself.
It seemed like minutes had passed, but it was probably only a few seconds. Lifting his eyes to mine, he looked between the paper and myself. “Do you know a woman named Joy Runner?”
Shaking my head, I said, “No, I don't think so, it doesn't sound familiar.”
Placing the paper to the side, he pulled out another one. “What about a man named Glenn Stonington or Devon Whittfield?”
My heart jumped inside my chest as sweat immediately began to bead up on my forehead and my fingers beg
an to shake in my lap. “The man who drove the truck was named Glenn and the other guy, he went by Dev.”
Nodding along as I spoke, he tossed a few more papers to the side, resting his hands on the center of the stack. “Vera, we know Paxton wasn't involved in taking you girls that night. Two days ago a woman named Joy came in and to be honest, I didn't even consider that her case could be linked to yours.”
Cupping my mouth, my eyes widened as I listened. Joy had an identical story, only she hadn't been drugged. They hadn't given her the same sympathy potion they had let Sara and myself share. The poor woman was beaten, raped, and left for dead in the woods off Thirty-Seven.
It was a miracle she had survived. It was a miracle we had survived.
If Sara hadn't taken off, if Pax hadn't found me. . . This ending might be very different. We were lucky Joy hadn't been drugged, we were lucky that we didn't have to endure the same torture that she did.
For how lucky I should have felt, I was saddened to know that poor woman had gone through so much more than we had. It didn't seem fair, it didn't seem right.
For all the bruises and pain I went through, for all the healing I had done. . . She had far more to work through.
“She knew the men, she had known them for years, and it was good for us—and you, that she could give us their names. When we went to their apartment with a search warrant, we found something.” Rifling around in the drawer in his desk, he pulled out two clear bags, both labeled evidence. “Do these look familiar?”
My purse, it's my purse and my phone.
Reaching out for the bags, I flipped them over and upside-down, turning them sideways and running my fingers over the clear barrier. “This is mine, they're both mine.”
“We got the men who did this to you and Sara, they've been arrested and are going to be charged with aggravated kidnapping, rape, and attempted murder.” His hand found mine, squeezing it hard. “We got them, Vera, they're going away for the rest of their lives.”
Tears had started to pool in my eyes, making the room go fuzzy. Wiping my face, I sniffled. “And what about Pax? What happens to him?”
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he tapped the desk with his fingertips. “We sent him home yesterday. I was going to come out and talk to you this afternoon, let you know the new developments and tell you that you were really safe now.”
I was already safe. I was safe when I was with him, when I was in his arms, when I was in his bed.
The detective could try and steal his thunder, he could stand tall and hold his arms against his hips like he had just saved the world. But I knew better, I knew who the real hero was.
“I was already safe, Detective, long before your men found me.”
Tilting his head into his shoulder, he eyed me curiously. “You realize he still kept you in his home even though he knew we were looking for you? We brought you home, Vera.”
“I understand that, but there's a difference.”
“And what's that?” he asked, tucking his elbows into his ribs and holding his jaw.
“He found me first, he brought me home.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vera
She kept it. . .
The rust-covered red Festiva was parked in the driveway, covered in leaves and a light dusting of snow. The passenger side back tire was flat, smushed completely into the dirt, the hood partially opened, leaving room for any small animal needing an escape to find refuge.
I sat in my car, nervous and excited, ready and not completely ready at all. I hadn't seen Sara in a month and a half. We had been kept apart, quarantined from each other as if I had the plague.
But now that it was finally over, I could finally move on with my life. There were no more questions or fear of manipulation and twisting the truth. There was no more doubt and wonder as to how my injuries had come to be and who's hands deposited them on my skin.
I had it all now, no more questions.
My car hummed quietly as the windows started to fog, clouding up my view of her house. The blinds were drawn, front light still on over the door from the night before.
Is anyone even home?
The house looked vacant, sleeping under a sheet of white as the snow began to pick up, falling more steadily. Taking in a labored breath, I ran my fingers through my hair, itching my scalp.
It was so hard for me to get out of the car. So much had happened since that night and I hated to admit it, but I was afraid of the person I might find behind that door.
There was no question in my mind that I had changed, I had grown up over night, waking to a woman I almost didn't recognize anymore.
I had gone from naive and oblivious to the dangers that lurked outside my existence to a woman who searched the eyes of a stranger for any malice, peering into their gaze for a glimpse of what was really inside.
Trust issues. . . Yeah, they existed.
But it wasn't that I had lost my trust in Sara, I just wasn't sure who I was going to see now. Would it be the same wildfire that had been my best friend? Would there still be the same spark in her eye and glimmer in her smile?
Or was she broken, cut into pieces and never going to be the same?
How could anyone be the same?
You don't come out of something like this as the person you were before. . . It's not possible.
The thought scared me, it made me second guess my choice to drive over and see her. Staring down at my phone in the small cubby on my dash, I debated driving off and calling her instead.
If she was different, if she wasn't the same person she had been. . . Would I like the new woman she had manifested into?
What we went through would always connect us, it would always bind us in a lifelong commitment to each other. She was the only other person on this earth that could truly relate to me on the same level. She could understand my pain, my resistance to let in new people, to open my arms and welcome in the the warmth of someone new.
Tapping my thumb on the steering wheel, I turned off the engine and opened the door. I had to see her, it wouldn't matter who she might be now. Sara was my best friend, that would never change.
Shutting the door softly, I flipped up the hood of my jacket and walked to the front door. The snow had turned from small light specks into giant wet flakes, sticking to everything they touched.
The ground was mostly covered in a thin blanket of white, my feet crunched over the crisp top layer, leaving a trail of footprints in my wake.
Standing under the eave, I slipped my hood off my head and reached for the doorbell. Pressing the dimly lit button, I stepped back, looking around the house, and peering at the windows.
A plastic turkey hung on the faded yellow paint of the door, one leg had broken off, the discolored wings were cracked, spidering out like small streams on a map. Cornucopia pictures were scribbled with color and taped to the picture window on my left.
Leaning over the banister, I could see Sara's name printed on the bottom and dated fourteen years ago when we were seven. Her letters were huge and blocky, written in multiple colors.
I remembered coloring those in school as a class, using old, broken crayons that had probably been there for years. It was funny how you could draw so much from one simple picture, one small memory to feed a moment in time.
I could see my tiny hands in my head, holding a yellow crayon that was about the size of a pea, pinching it between my fingertips and coloring some of the flowers that were decorating the outside of the cornucopia.
I wonder if Mom kept mine?
“Vera?” The voice caught me off guard, causing my body to jerk in surprise.
Twisting around, Sara was standing on the step, her eyes already teary and glossing over. I stood silent, not speaking, not even sure how to begin or what to say.
On the outside she looked the same. Her hair was still a deep burgundy with bleached tips, her makeup bold and bright just as she always had it.
But there was one difference,
her eyes. They seemed dulled, clouded in depression and sadness. Tilting my head, I thinned my lips, forcing a tight smile. I was doing my best to not just burst into tears right there, before one word was uttered, before a single sound was made.
Sara let the storm door close on its own, her arms hung by her sides, hands open and fingers splayed wide. “I—I. . .” She sniffled, snapping her hand to her face and wiping away the tears. “I—”
Swallowing hard, I took in a deep breath as my eyes welled up instantly, sending a wave of tears cascading down my cheeks. On impulse I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her neck and hugging her tight.
Her arms clung firmly to my back, her fingers curling up and holding my shoulders. And as we stood there crying, sobbing on each others shoulders, I knew instantly. . .
Our friendship had changed, it had altered in a way that most people would never understand. Through that, we were forever bound, fused together by one night.
It wasn't just me, it wasn't just her. . . It was both of us.
Her voice was weak, tumbling out through quick breaths. “I'm so sorry, Vera, I'm so sorry.”
Pulling away, I held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Why would you say that?”
Wiping her face with her hand, she ran her wrist under her nose as her lip trembled. “Because it's my fault, all of it was my fault.”
“You didn't do anything wrong, Sara, you can't blame yourself for any of it.”
Throwing herself back, her arms flew up in the air, slamming back down against her thighs. “But it is my fault. I drove us out there, I convinced you to get in the car with those guys, I told you to drink that shit. . .” Pausing, Sara curled her arms under her ribs and hugged herself. “None of it would have happened if I hadn't done those things.”
Gripping her shoulders, I turned her to face me, spinning her on her feet and making her wobble. “Don't you dare, don't you ever blame yourself for this. You couldn't have known what was going to happen, neither of us could. None if it was your fault.”
Sara stared at the ground, nodding her head. She was listening, but she wasn't feeling what I was saying. Her eyes continued to cry, the water rolled out drop after drop, dripping off her cheeks and landing on the cement step, melting through the snow that had blown up from the wind.