by L. D. Davis
He shrugged. “We don’t know. Nor do we know whether or not you took it deliberately.”
“I didn’t take it deliberately. Why would I do that?”
He shrugged again. “Why would anyone shoot poison into their veins? Besides, how can you remember whether or not you did it deliberately? Your memory of that day is extremely hazy and uncertain.”
I let out a small humorless laugh.
“So, basically, what you are saying, Officer…”
“Detective Caine,” he said, sitting up straight in his chair and trying to look important.
“So, what you’re saying…Officer Caine, is that you don’t believe that I was raped because I was on drugs.”
He didn’t like that I didn’t address him by his correct title, judging by the small line that appeared on his brow. He wasn’t experienced enough to keep his Cop Face on at all times.
He forced his expression back into neutrality. “I did not say that, Miss Grayne. Though, I do wonder how you were able to discern any definitive truths from that day, considering the drugs that were in your system that caused so much confusion.”
“I woke up naked covered in semen and urine,” I hissed.
“Your accused rapists could argue that you like to get kinky when you’re high,” Caine deadpanned. “We’ve seen stranger things in consenting relationships.”
“The doctors documented the bruises and other injuries consistent with rape!”
He nodded once. “There is that,” he conceded. “But without DNA evidence, and considering your state at that time, your case would have been very difficult, if not impossible to prove, even if it were true. Again, even your bruises and other injuries could have been consistent with sex games. It is for these reasons, in addition to the fact that we had to make room for other cases, that your kit was discarded.”
I got to my feet, so infuriated that I was only a breath away from jumping over the table to attack the officer. I had heard of police treating some rape victims like liars and criminals, but I hadn’t experienced it myself. The officers that spoke to me after the rape had been firm, but kind.
“Let’s stop the bullshit, Little Man Caine,” I said sharply. “You don’t believe me because I was a junkie and because of my record. You are probably one of those assholes that thinks a girl asks for it and gets what she deserves. For the record, I met one of my rapists two nights ago. Of course, he denied raping me, because he seems to think I asked for it, too, but I know in my heart of hearts what happened to me. I didn’t make it up and I didn’t hallucinate it.”
I slapped a yellow Post-It on the table with the creepy guy’s name, Emilio Salvador. Grant and Kyle got the guy’s name in less than an hour.
“That’s his name. Do your job and look into it.”
Caine stood up and leaned forward with his hands on the table until he was almost nose to nose with me.
“You do not tell me what to do, Miss Grayne. You especially do not tell me how to do my job. You are walking a fine line.”
“Fuck the line. You think because you have a gun and a badge that you intimidate me? Maybe, just maybe when your balls finally drop you can try it again.”
I turned away from him and started for the door, but I stopped just before stepping out of the room.
“By the way, you should start informing your victims before you destroy their evidence.”
“We did inform you,” he snapped. “Three years ago, a letter was sent to and received at 435 Hillside Drive, an address in New Jersey.”
I halted with one foot out the door. Looking over my shoulder with wide eyes, I said, “That’s not my address. I haven’t lived there since I was sixteen years old.”
He shrugged. “It was the address on your license, the only address we had for you.”
I didn’t know what to think. My mother usually gave me all my mail. She never opened it or snooped through it, as far as I knew. Why would that one piece of mail not get into my hands? It made my doubt for the police department deepen.
“We aren’t finished here, Miss Grayne,” he said, barely containing his anger.
“We were finished when I walked through the door,” I snarled, and walked out.
My mother’s car was in the driveway when I arrived the following morning. I had never stopped by uninvited, not even once in all the years that I had been living outside of her house. We didn’t have that kind of relationship; we didn’t drop in on each other for a cup of tea or because we were in the neighborhood. A few times I’d run into her and Taylor at the mall or at the grocery store, but it was always awkward, not at all a pleasant surprise.
I rang the doorbell instead of using the key that she had given me eight years ago—once she realized that I wasn’t going to rob her blind and sell whatever I stole for drugs.
A few moments later, I heard the soft sound of her body against the door as she peeked through the peephole. The lock disengaged and the door opened.
My mother appeared to be stunned as her wide eyes took me in. “Mayson.”
“Mom,” I said stiffly, in a greeting.
Her face smoothed over into stone. “Come in.”
I went inside and stood awkwardly by the door as I looked around. “Where’s Taylor?”
“Taylor is at school. Come into the kitchen. I’ll make you a cup of hot tea.”
I had forgotten that my sister started going to public school in the fall.
“Lucky Taylor,” I muttered, following my mom into the kitchen. “She gets to be with kids her own age.”
Mom glanced at me before averting her eyes and concentrating on the great task of hot tea-making. It had been so quick, but I almost thought I saw remorse in her eyes, but that wasn’t possible.
“What brings you here today?” she asked, turning around to look in a cabinet.
“I found out yesterday that I missed an important letter a few years ago because it was ‘accidentally’ sent here instead of to my P.O. Box. I know it’s been a few years, but do you think you may have put it aside somewhere and then forgot?”
I saw her back stiffen, but her voice remained calm and normal.
“I don’t think so. Where was the letter from?”
“Umm…” I hesitated. I didn’t want her to know what happened to me because I wouldn’t be able to stand the uncaring coldness I would get from her. Most likely, she would think the letter was regarding was some fine I didn’t pay from my junkie days. “It was from the police, or maybe the D.A. in North Carolina.”
She didn’t respond. She went on fixing damn tea as if she hadn’t heard me at all, but I knew she had to have heard me. She was just ignoring me.
My nerves were already rubbed thin and raw after my encounter with Emilio Salvador, and then my dealings with dumbass Officer Caine.
“Either you fucking saw it or you didn’t, Jasmine,” I said stormily.
She whirled around so fast that some hair came out of the neat bun at the back of her head. “I saw it!” she shouted.
Stupefied, I stared at her wild, tear-filled eyes. Her face was angry and anguished, and her chest heaved as if she had just run a mile to get there. I waited for the stoniness to return to her features, but I was further stunned when it did not. Instead, her face began to crumple in slow motion.
“How dare they send you a letter to tell you that your rape no longer mattered?” she said scathingly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I exclaimed. “How could you keep that from me?”
Fat tears rolled out of her eyes and down her cheeks.
“The letter came while we were down the shore. By the time we got back and I came across it, it was too late. I thought if you knew, it would only hurt you. You’d been through so much already, Mayson.”
“It would have hurt me, but I had the right to know!” I shouted at her. “And since when did you care about what hurts me?”
“I’ve always cared,” she said vehemently.
“Bullshit! You haven’t cared about me si
nce I was a child—if you even cared about me then.”
“Of course I cared about you! You’re my daughter.”
“The only thing you cared about was making me into some fucking prodigy princess! The damn pageants, the piano lessons, and the dancing. You denied me the childhood I should have had to try to make up for the shit you wanted and didn’t have! I didn’t want to be a princess, Mom! I didn’t want to be a concert pianist or to be a part of some ballet company!”
“I just wanted you to have better opportunities than I did!” she shouted back.
“You should have wanted me to be happy!” I choked out my next words, as I began to cry. “Instead, you made me dance until my fucking toes bled!”
She stared at me for a few seconds before her face crumpled again. She covered it with her hands as she sobbed loudly.
“And you give Natalie ballet shoes? How did you expect me to react?” I demanded of her.
She dropped her hands after a minute and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
There was grief in her words when she spoke. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. I didn’t even know you were bleeding. You didn’t utter a peep, not one complaint. I didn’t know until later that night when you were asleep and I went into your room to get your dirty clothes. I tripped over your ballet slippers and picked them up. I was going to hang them up on your door, but when I got close to the hallway light, I saw the blood.” She put a hand over her heart and shook her head, making more hairs fall loose. “I felt so terrible. I threw those damn slippers away. I let you go over to Emmy’s that weekend, to give you a break and give your feet time to heal. I wanted to talk to you about it, I tried to.”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember you trying to talk to me about it.”
“I did, I swear to you I did, but even back then, you were so damn stubborn. You ignored me, put on your new ballet shoes and went back to your regular routine.”
“I was twelve, Mom! You should have tried harder! I thought you just didn’t care.”
“I’ve always cared, Mayson.”
I shook my head again as more tears rushed from my eyes. “You can barely stand to look at me.”
She looked at me with bewilderment. “What are you talking about? It’s you who can barely stand to look at me!”
“You show emotion to everyone else except for me. The instant you see my face, you turn as cold as a corpse.”
“Because that’s how you want it, Mayson!” she shouted. “You reject any kind of emotion from me. I am so sick of pretending and wearing that blank face just so you can continue to live in this dark fantasy world where I am the wicked, unemotional villain!”
“I don’t reject you!” I argued. I felt the sting of truth in her words but didn’t want to admit it.
“You do reject me, on every level. I’m not allowed to care about you. I’m not allowed to be kind to you. I’m not permitted to smile at you. If it were left entirely up to you, I wouldn’t even be allowed to see you. I have to practically beg you to come to dinner just once a month, and I don’t see you any other time.”
“You only make me come to dinner to make sure I’m not doing drugs so that I am not violating the terms of the trust fund.”
She looked even more bewildered. “I ask you to dinner so that I can see you, Mayson. I have you here because you’re my daughter and I love you and it’s the only time I get to see you.”
When I rolled my eyes, she took a few steps forward and pointed in my direction.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” she snapped. “It’s the truth. You’re the one that acts like you don’t give a shit.”
My eyebrows rose. My mother rarely cursed. I couldn’t even remember her ever saying the word shit.
“We ask you about your life, and you give these one-dimensional responses like you can’t be bothered. Taylor tries to talk to you, but you act like you can’t stand her, like you resent her. You hurt her feelings every time you come, and I always have to tell her that you do love her, that you do care for her. Am I wrong? Should I stop making excuses for your hatred toward us?”
It was my turn to be bewildered, though, it wasn’t as genuine as my mom’s had been.
“For the record, I did invite Taylor to come with me to the beach, but you all were going on a ‘family’ vacation.”
Mom shook her head again, looking angrier by the second. “No, don’t you dare. We were invited to stay with one of Aaron’s friends only a few days before Taylor told you about the trip. We hadn’t even bought our airline tickets yet or really begun to plan. I sent you a text a few days later and asked you if you wanted to go, and you said no.”
“I said no because it felt like I was an afterthought!”
“You said no because you were too proud to say yes!”
We stood on opposite sides of the kitchen glaring at each other. Both of us still had tears spilling from our eyes.
“You said you always cared but…” I swallowed hard. “I tried to call you after…after what happened to me, and you didn’t come.”
She sighed impatiently. “Mayson, I did come. I couldn’t come right away because Taylor was sick that day. She was in the Children’s Hospital with pneumonia. I had to wait for Aaron to come relieve me so that I could go to you. I took the first flight I could get. When I finally got to the hospital to see you, you wouldn’t tell me what happened. You were mad at me for not coming sooner and you wouldn’t even talk to me or look at me.”
My brow furrowed. “I…I don’t remember that…”
“I do,” she said firmly. “I knew in my gut that something horrible had happened, but the staff wouldn’t tell me anything. You eventually started screaming at me to get out, and then I was barred from coming to see you at all. I didn’t see you again until you came out of rehab and came back to New Jersey. You weren’t shouting at me anymore, but you didn’t want to tell me what had happened to you. Then I thought I should just leave it alone because you were really trying to pull it together in a way I’d never seen before. I just wanted you to succeed, so I stopped asking. I did eventually find out what happened, though.”
A fresh river of tears rushed from her eyes as she sobbed.
“How?” I whispered. “How did you find out?”
It took her a minute before she was able to speak somewhat clearly.
“The damn hospital sent your bill here. I never understood why hospitals billed victims for rape,” she added angrily. “It was a very detailed statement. I cried all day that day, and the next day I called the hospital and raised hell for sending that damn thing. What if you saw it? What if it made you relive it?” She sniffed. “Aaron and I paid the bill and agreed not to tell you about it. I didn’t even want to ask you about it because I wanted you to move on.”
“You knew all this time,” I sobbed. “You should have said something to me, Mom! I was dealing with that alone! I had no one! I was afraid and I didn’t have anyone! You don’t find out that your daughter was gang raped and then not try to be there for her!”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” she argued weakly as she cried. “Why did you keep it to yourself?”
“I was traumatized, Mother! It fucked me up in the head more than I already was. It wasn’t open for discussion.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I stared at her through my tears. She had a hand over her mouth as she tried to quiet her body-racking sobs.
“Was it still that hard for you to love me, Mom?” I asked, my voice cracking with my emotion. “I beat the crap out of you and took your husband’s life when I was sixteen, so what…you punish me by letting me suffer alone?”
Her eyes opened wide as her hand fell away from her mouth.
“I wasn’t trying to punish you. I made a poor decision. I thought I was doing the best thing for you because you were doing so well. But Mayson, my God…is that what you really believe? You believe that you…you were responsible for your father’s death?”
“It’s not what I beli
eve, Mom. It’s what happened. You said so yourself.”
Two days after I’d attacked my mother, my dad found me in the dance studio, searching for a hidden stash of drugs. After telling me that he had already found it and disposed of it, he’d revealed to me that he would be escorting me to a rehab facility on the other side of the country in a matter of hours, where I was to remain for at least sixty days. Then he was going to send me away to boarding school until I was eighteen.
Of course, that hadn’t sat well with me. First I’d cried my apologies and promised to do better. When that didn’t work, I’d begged. When my dad—who had always given in to me—ignored my pleas, I’d let my monster out. I’d screamed and cursed and raged. I’d told him he was a horrible father and that I had hated him. I’d sworn that I’d kill myself if he tried to send me away.
“You’re already killing yourself, Mayson,” he had said with sorrow in his green eyes.
Then those green eyes opened very wide. His hand fisted into his own shirt as he grunted, groaned, and tried to speak, spraying spittle from his mouth. He collapsed to the floor, still clutching at his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, making harsh noises as if he was struggling to breathe.
I had dropped to the floor beside him, gripping his shoulders and screaming for my mom. My dad had stopped struggling. He’d stopped clutching at his chest. He went absolutely still, with his eyes still fixed unseeingly on something above us.
“Daddy! Wake up! Please!” I had shaken him violently as I tried to get him to respond, even though I knew he was gone. “I’m sorry, Daddy! Please, please, please! I’ll do whatever you want me to do! Daddy, wake up!”
My mother had run into the room and slipped and fell a few feet away. She crawled the rest of the way, with alarm and dread etched into her bruised and battered face.
“What did you do?” she’d demanded, shoving me away. “What did you do to him? What did you do to him?”
I had watched in frozen horror as my mother administered CPR, even though she was sobbing hysterically and calling his name. She told me to go call 911, but I couldn’t move. I was stuck there on the floor, like an old piece of chewing gum.