by Matt Shaw
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he continued, despite knowing she wasn’t answering any of his questions anymore. The chances of her answering this one were remote too. “You should have just told me!”
She didn’t tell him because she knew he’d be disappointed. Perhaps even look at her differently - once he learned that another man had ejaculated in his wife. She knew it would taint the picture of the perfect wife she so desperately wanted to create for him. She knew there’d be a good chance of the truth turning him away from her - even despite his promises that they’d get through it. By the time she got home, that evening, she just wanted to try and put it behind her. Looking back, she realised it was stupid and she should have said something - for the sake of her own sanity - but then hindsight is a wonderful thing. At the time, she just wanted to come in and put it out of her life. She kicked the clothes off, in the kitchen, and threw them straight into a black bin liner (which was collected by the garbage men that very week) before pulling some dirty clothes from the washing machine she had (luckily) forgotten to turn on before going out - all the time being quiet so as not to wake Mark upstairs. And then she went upstairs, straight past the bedroom door, to the bathroom where she proceeded to scrub herself until her skin was red raw and painful to the touch. She foolishly hoped that, by morning, she’d be able to put it from her mind.
Mark stood up with a determined look upon his face. “We need to tell the police! What if the man is still out there? What if he tries to do it again to someone? What if he succeeds? We need to tell the police everything...”
“Please...” Becky whispered, “...just hold me.” Mark’s blood was boiling. The thought of that scum walking around free whilst his wife was lying here, on the bed, scared shitless after what had happened and emotionally scarred pissed him off. He heard his wife’s plea begging to be held and knew it was an important one - she needed to feel his strength around her, she needed to be protected despite what she’d already been through - but he couldn’t bring himself to act upon her words. He paced the room, backwards and forwards, until she repeated her request - louder this time on the off-chance he hadn’t heard her. “Please just hold me.”
He stopped pacing and stared at her for a moment, her words sinking in slowly. He suddenly realised that, even though he was raging, he needed to be there for her. His anger could wait. His burning desire for revenge on the dirty fucking rapist could be put to the side, for now, just long enough for him to deal with her emotions. He forced a smile - one to suggest to her, no doubt, that everything was going to be okay just as he’d promised her on the landing - and he climbed onto the bed behind where she lay. He tucked in against her back and put his arm around her, pulling her close to him. His mind flashed to happier times; this spooning position had led to much happier times than where they were leading to now. Holding her so close, it wasn’t long before he felt her shoulders moving back and forth as she silently wept. Opening up to Mark had brought everything she had tried so hard to bury back to the surface again. It was just as raw now as the day it had happened to her. Mark wanted to keep talking about it - so many questions - but he knew the conversations were over. He knew as much as she was willing to share; on the way home from the girls’ night out she cut through the park and was attacked. That’s it. That’s as much of the story as he got to hear. He didn’t get the gory details as to how and where. He didn’t get to know what the man looked like. He just got enough to let him know that his wife needed him and that, on some levels, their marriage was fine. It wasn’t though. He knew it and he suspected she knew it too. Even now, with his arm around her, all he could think about was the faceless man fucking her.
He knew she didn’t want to hear it but he repeated it regardless, “We need to go to the police. They’ll know what to do.” He wasn’t sure how they’d know what to do about it but at least he thought it would open the door to various avenues they could go for help (to try and move on from what happened). And, maybe if she described the man to them, it might stop Mark from going out there and stalking the park at night like some lone vigilante on the hunt for rapists and muggers. Maybe they’d be able to go out there? Maybe they’d find the man responsible and bring him to justice. Mark’s mind shifted to the kind of justice he’d like to give the man if it were up to him; an extremely violent and bloody one. He wondered how long you could keep someone alive for whilst slowly torturing them. He’d try and make it last for weeks, if not months, and then he realised even that would be too quick. After all, Becky (and he, to some degree) would probably carry this for the rest of their lives. He closed his eyes and pulled his wife closer to him. Make the bad thoughts go away.
* * * * *
“Get in the taxi!” Chloe called out to Becky as she continued to drunkenly swagger towards the entrance of the park with her high heeled shoes hanging from her right hand by their straps. “We’ll drop you off first!”
Becky stopped in a pool of light cast down by the overhead street lamp which, with the other lamps dotted further down the street, helped illuminate the pitch black of the cloudy night. She turned back to Chloe and slurred her words that everything was fine and it would be quicker to cut through the park.
Becky was the drunkest of the group but even if she hadn’t been, she still would have tried to go home via the park. It was, as she slurred, the quickest route for her and she knew (even in her current state) it was a pain in the arse for the others to have to give her a lift home. After all, they lived in the complete opposite direction. The walk through the park was twenty minutes at most, allowing time for the extra steps taken due to being so unsteady on her feet after an evening of wine drinking.
Chloe was tipsy but sober enough to know that, at this time of night, the park wasn’t a sensible option. It was a nice enough area but - still - you try your best not to put yourself in potentially dangerous situations. She shouted back to Becky, who had continued her walk towards the park’s entrance, but Becky dismissed her with a cheery wave and a shout back of I’ll be fine. She leaned back into the car where the other two girls, Helen and Sophie, had already strapped themselves in - both of them also a little worse for wear.
“We can’t just leave her,” said Chloe.
“She’ll be fine!” Helen whined. “Come on I need to get home! I feel sick!” The taxi-driver shot her a concerned look (via the rear-view mirror) from the comfort of the front seat. He was used to drunks, working most weekends, and he was fine with handing out cleaning bills if they did happen to soil his car but it didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Helen noticed his glare and laughed, “Don’t worry - I’ll be good...”
Chloe clambered into the front seat of the car. Becky had already reached the park and stepped over the entrance. “She’ll be okay you think?”
“She’ll be fine - she only lives on the other side...”
The park itself was a fairly large plot of land. There was a pond in the centre with a network of paths surrounding it which, during the day, was enjoyed by joggers, dog walkers and people just wanting a break from the city life during their lunch-break. On the one side you had the shopping area of the town which was filled with the offices, cafes and nightclubs and, on the other side, a handful of middle class housing estates (such as the one Becky and Mark lived in). Of course if you took a wrong turning and wandered to where the park-keepers didn’t do quite as good a job with the weeding and general clearing of the park as they did in the other areas then the chances were you’d be heading to one of the other sides which, although by no means a poor area, wasn’t as good as where Becky lived.
As soon as she started to walk through the park - even in her drunken state - she regretted her friend’s offer of a lift home. The park had lights dotted around the main pathways, and she didn’t have any reason to step from these, but it didn’t stop them from being any less creepy in the stillness of the night. The wind was causing the trees around the pond to sway backwards and forward with gentle rustling noises, making Becky think some
one was standing out there, watching her, from the darkness. Tricks of the light, from the moon when it did manage to break free from the cloud cover before being swallowed up again, made shadows move giving the impression of things silently stalking her through the park and even when the wind did die down enough to silence the trees and the clouds did keep the moon hidden...The deafening silence was freaky.
Becky quickened her pace as her surroundings started to creep her out. One minute seemingly drunk and the next sobered by the still surroundings of the night life - she couldn’t wait to get home. For a split second she even contemplated turning around and heading back to the park’s entrance; a quick telephone call to Mark and she’d be sure he’d climb from his bed and come and get her. No, that’s not fair, she told herself, he has to get up early for work in the morning. She carried on walking despite the urge to turn around. She realised she was about half-way through now and it would be just as quick for her to continue along the path than it would be to turn around and go back towards the entrance she started at.
“Next time just get in the damned taxi!” she joked to herself. It had less to do with the fact she thought it was a funny thing to say out loud (especially as she was alone) and everything to do with the fact she just wanted to hear something normal instead of the creaking trees and rustling leaves and man coughing...Her heart skipped a beat as she spun in the direction of where the noise had come from. Much to her horror, a man was standing on the pathway, not more than a couple of feet away from her. “You scared the shit out of me!” she said, a smile on her face. She hoped the man was going to apologise. She hoped the man was going to make a joke of it. She hoped the man was going to go his own separate way. She even hoped he was going the same way as her and that he’d offer to walk with her - passing the time with small conversation about nothing in particular. Her heart skipped another beat when the man pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and pushed it towards her face with stern instructions not to make a fucking noise.
* * * * *
Becky woke with a start, the man’s raspy voice threatening her not to move echoing through her mind. She rolled over expecting to see Mark lying next to her (maybe even dozing himself) but he wasn’t there and where he was supposed to be was cold as though he hadn’t been there for some time. She sat up, sweat running down her back from reliving the nightmare of the park in her unscheduled dream. Talking about the incident, even briefly, with Mark seemingly awakened the thoughts enough to dream about them again. Great. She thought about what happened most of the time she was awake - wishing she had gone with her friends, wishing she had called Mark or her own taxi - and now she was stuck with them in her dreams again; something she thought she had more or less got over now.
She climbed from the bed and stepped out into the hallway.
“Mark?”
“I’m downstairs,” he called out, “in the sitting room.” Becky felt a little light relief at the sound of his voice. She thought, when she woke up alone, he may have stepped out of the house (perhaps to go to work?) for a while and she didn’t want to be by herself. Not now. She needed him nearby - just for now - to make her feel a little safer. She hurried down the stairs and towards the sitting room where Mark was waiting. When she got there, she stopped dead in the doorway. He was there, on the settee, sitting with a police officer.
The police officer jumped up and introduced himself but Becky didn’t catch his name. She didn’t even look at him. She was staring at Mark who was staring back at her.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Mark told her to sit down and offered her and the officer a drink. The officer ordered a tea but Becky said nothing. She just sat down on the sofa, a feeling of betrayal building within her tired body. She had told Mark about the rape because she felt as though she had to. Deep down she knew she needed to talk to the police about what happened too but - not yet - she wasn’t ready. And when she was ready it was going to be up to her as to when she’d do it and how. This wasn’t right.
“Your husband’s been filling me in,” the officer said. She noticed a small notepad in his hand, the once blank page filled with various scribbled notes.
“They’re here to help,” Mark told her. He gave her a wink and a reassuring smile but Becky didn’t register them. He stepped from the room and closed the door behind him to give the two of them some privacy to discuss what needed to be spoken about. He wanted to stay - of course he did - but he felt Becky might open up a little more if he wasn’t there. No doubt there were things which happened which she didn’t want to share with her husband and, although he wished she felt she could share everything, he understood.
Chapter Five
Mark waited in the kitchen until Becky escorted the police officer from the house. She closed the front door behind him after thanking him for coming over. Mark moved to the kitchen doorway, half expecting Becky to break down into tears again, having had to relive the night’s events with the officer. She didn’t though. She turned from the door. She was pale and looked as though she’d been crying but there was something else there - she looked angry.
“You okay?” Mark asked. It was a stupid question. He just wanted her to say something to him. Anything. Let him know that she heard him at least. Her eyes fixed onto him. A glare. “We had to call the police,” Mark said, “they can help.”
“You had no right to do that!” she said quietly. Instead of having it out with him, she simply went up the stairs towards their bedroom again.
Mark moved to the bottom of the stairs and called up to her, “What was I supposed to do? That man could still be out there! What if he does it to someone else? More to the point - why should he get away with doing it to you?” He stopped talking when he heard the bedroom door shut. It wasn’t a slam - it was just gently pushed too. Fuck. He hesitated for a moment before following her up the stairs to the bedroom. He opened the door. She was on the bed with her back to him
“I did what I thought was right. Okay? I’m sorry if you think I overstepped the mark but that wasn’t my intention.” He didn’t understand but he did his best to hide his confusion. He couldn’t see why she was trying to protect this scumbag from being caught. Had the shoe been on the other foot, he was sure he’d have wanted justice. And he was sure she would have been pressing him to get it just as he was pressing her now. He waited for her to talk to him - respond to what he said - but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look at him. He knew it was probably best to leave her, let her cool down a while, but didn’t want to. Not whilst she was upset. He continued despite the silent treatment, “What did he say?” he asked. “Are they going to look for him? Did they give any indication whether this was an isolated incident?”
He pushed too far. Becky asked to be left alone. She said, in limited words, that she’d talked enough and just wanted to put the whole thing behind her now. She said the continued questions were just upsetting her and that, if he loved her, he’d let it go. For now at least. Mark didn’t argue with her, nor did he go to her side and remind her that he’d be there for her. He paused a moment and then went to say something. He stopped himself. Another hesitation as his brain processed his next move. He wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened, he wanted more details than she was willing to give but he knew none of it was in his power. He stepped backwards onto the landing and pulled the door shut. A hope that maybe, after a rest, she’d want to discuss it further.
He went down the stairs and stopped in the hallway. The house, although a fair size, seemed to be closing in around him. The walls were coming in and the air becoming stale. He turned and left via the front door. Once outside he put his head between his legs and took some deep breaths. What the hell was that? A panic attack? The feeling he had let his wife down, the feelings of wanting to find the son of a bitch responsible...All closing in around him. He sat down. before he fell, on the bottom step of the porch tears welling up in his eyes as he struggled to shake the image of his wife being violated f
rom his mind. What she had been going through? What she had felt? The pain. The fear. The isolation afterwards. All thoughts running through his tired mind. To think - he was worried she had been cheating on him and that she’d fallen out of love. That would have been easier for him to handle. He wouldn’t have liked it but at least he’d have had options on how to fix it, or move on from it. How’d you move on from this though? Is it even possible?
Without a second though, he jumped to his feet and turned back to the house. He didn’t go in though. He merely leaned in and took ahold of the car keys hanging from the hook on the wall. He leaned back out of the house and closed the front door behind him before heading towards his car (thankfully not blocked in by Becky’s own vehicle for once). He unlocked the door with the key fob as he approached and jumped in as soon as he could. A second later and the key was in the ignition and the engine was purring like a kitten. Another second and reverse was selected and his foot on the accelerator. As he backed down the driveway he couldn’t help but notice Becky was standing there, at the bedroom window, looking out at him. He screeched the car to a halt only when it was in the road. His eyes fixed on her. Her eyes fixed on him. She was shaking her head as though she knew what was going through his mind. And she was right. She did know what he was thinking. Another second and first gear was selected, the clutch was dumped and accelerator pressed harder than strictly needed. The car wheel-spun down the road - half on purpose (showboating) and half because his temper had gotten the better of him. He wasn’t sure what else Becky was going to do about what had happened to her. He wasn’t sure what the police was going to do for her. Neither fact stopped him from not seeing the harm in going to the park himself. It would be getting dark soon. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d bump into someone lurking in the trees.