No Going Back (Sawyer Brooks)

by T. R. Ragan

  The concerns she’d spoken of had to do with intimacy. She and Derek had been dating for a few months now. He was a childless, thirty-five-year-old widower, and yet they hadn’t slept together. Lately, Sawyer found herself wondering whether Derek didn’t like sex. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in having sex with her.

  “Not yet,” Sawyer said. “But we’re going to dinner on Friday night, so I’ll let you know how that goes next week.”

  Jane nodded. “What about your nightmares. Any improvement?”

  Every week, Sawyer found herself wondering why she was there. She was fine. She didn’t have time for therapy. But before Sawyer’s mind could wander too far, Jane would find a way to reel her in and make her wish their time together would continue for another hour.

  At the moment, Sawyer was at the regret stage, wondering why she bothered. “No improvement,” she said.

  “What are the nightmares about? Any reoccurring themes?”

  “Lately they have all been the same. I’m ten, maybe eleven, when I hear footsteps in the hallway. Drawing the covers over my face, I stiffen as I hear the floor creak right outside my bedroom door. But whoever is there soon moves on. I know this because I hear a door at the end of the hallway open quietly. It’s the door to my older sister Harper’s bedroom.” Sawyer’s leg began to bounce. She rolled her fingers into tight fists.

  “Do these nightmares scare you?”

  “No. They make me furious, so angry I wake up with a sore jaw after clenching my teeth all night. I had no idea until recently that my father was raping my sister. How many times did that man walk past my door and make his way to Harper’s room?”

  Sawyer took a breath, but it didn’t help. She felt tense and jittery. She and her sisters had gotten the short end of the stick when it came to parents. Neglect and sexual abuse ran deep in their family, as did the scars she and her sisters still carried with them and probably always would.

  “When I hear those overly cautious and disturbingly quiet footsteps,” Sawyer went on, “I do everything I can to try and wake up, but I don’t and I can’t.”

  “What would you do if you woke up?” Jane asked.

  “I would get out of bed and go straight to the kitchen, pull the sharpest knife from the drawer, and then make my way to Harper’s room and plunge the blade into my father again and again until I was sure he was dead.”

  Judging by the blank expression on Jane’s face, the words that poured out of Sawyer’s mouth were of more surprise to Sawyer than they were to her therapist. Sawyer didn’t consider herself to be an angry person. But suddenly she wasn’t so sure.

  “In the past,” Jane said, “did you fantasize about doing the same thing to the men who hurt you?”

  “No. I’ve never dreamed of killing anyone but my father.” Sawyer rubbed her knee, pressing down to make it stop jumping. “I also have nightmares about the Black Wigs. Have you read about them?”

  “The vigilantes?” Jane asked.

  “Yes.” After a pause, Sawyer said, “I recently dreamed about the Black Wigs. I’m not sure if I was wearing a wig, but I was definitely in the woods with a group of women who were wearing wigs and masks. There was a naked man tied to a tree. He was crying, blubbering about how sorry he was. One of the vigilantes kept waving a gun at him. Her hand was shaking. I didn’t know what to do, so I simply stood there, watching. Through it all, my mind was clear. I knew that what they were doing to the man was wrong. But I also understood why the women were so damn pissed off.”

  “How did the nightmare end?”

  “Just like that,” Sawyer said. “Me standing there like a useless wooden post, not knowing whether to run for help or stay and see how it all played out. Before I could make a decision, I woke up.”

  “You’re conflicted.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m investigating—I mean, I’m writing a story about the Black Wigs. I’m supposed to be unbiased, but I’m not. I hope Brad Vicente rots in jail. I hope Otto Radley is trapped without food or water in a room so small he can’t stand up. And I hope beyond hope that Myles Davenport’s heart attack was caused by severe trauma.”

  Sawyer met Jane’s gaze, waited for her to say something.

  Nothing.

  Sawyer let out a breath so long and heavy she felt her body sink an inch lower into the couch. “If the Black Wigs had a sign-up sheet,” she went on, “I guess my name would be at the top of the list. I’m weak and broken, aren’t I?”

  “You’re neither,” Jane said. “I think you’re going to be all right.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Harper Pohler drank a glass of water to alleviate the morning sickness, something she’d experienced when she was pregnant with Lennon and then Ella. This too shall pass, she thought as she glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was just past noon. She still needed to make lasagna for dinner tonight, take a shower, and then pick up Ella at two forty-five. She also needed to clean the house. It was a mess. Before she could grab the noodles from the pantry, she received a text telling her to log on to her computer.

  The phone number was unfamiliar, which meant the call was likely coming from a throwaway phone used by a member of The Crew—five female vigilantes who had found each other on the dark web and then formed their group. Early on, they had decided to use nicknames: Psycho, Cleo, Lily, and Bug. Harper was known as Malice.

  Weeks ago, after The Crew helped Bug kidnap a rapist, the man had suffered a heart attack and died. Days later, Bug disappeared, leaving the rest of them to deal with the aftermath.

  The Crew, referred to as the Black Wigs by the media, was now down to four.

  The television remote was on the side table next to a framed picture of Harper; her husband, Nate; and their two children, Lennon and Ella. The picture had been taken on their front lawn two years ago when Lennon was thirteen and Ella was only eight. She laid the picture flat so she didn’t have to look at Nate. Not because she didn’t love him, but because looking at him made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Three weeks ago, he had confronted Harper about her comings and goings. When she told her husband she wasn’t ready to talk to him about what she’d been doing in her free time, which would mean telling him about her involvement with The Crew, he had packed up and left to work a construction job with his father in Montana. It was a temporary move meant to give them space to think things over. She loved Nate and he loved her. When he did finally return, she would need to tell him everything. Before it was too late. If she wanted to keep her family together, she needed to help The Crew finish what they’d started and be done with it.

  Harper walked to her bedroom to get her laptop. She brought it to the living room, powered it on, and then used her nickname, Malice, to log on to their private group. The other crew members had already signed on.

  LILY: Did everyone see the story on the news about the insurance salesman who was killed last night in the Tahoe Park area of Sacramento? A person of interest was seen leaving the premises wearing a black wig, and the police are now linking the murder to us.

  Malice and Psycho answered in the affirmative. Everyone had seen the news.

  CLEO: Copycats are coming out of the woodwork. A group of young women who call themselves The Slayers are also in the news.

  LILY: I saw that. They’ve already posted quite a few videos on YouTube.

  PSYCHO: I think it’s all good. Rape and assault are becoming commonplace, and we’ve helped shed light on something that has been going on for far too long. People in authority are using their positions to do the unspeakable, and they’re getting away with it.

  CLEO: I read about a bus driver who admitted to raping a fourteen-year-old, but he won’t be spending time in prison.

  PSYCHO: Women are tired of being the ones held accountable after they’ve been harassed and raped. These random players who are taking matters into their own hands—copycats, or whatever you want to call them—only help take the pressure off us. The police don’t have enough resources as it is.


  LILY: Good point. Cleo, are you ready to tell us who we’re going after next?

  In Harper’s opinion, Cleo was the most damaged and fragile of the group. Her tough exterior was a shield. Cleo had been gang-raped at a fraternity house when she was seventeen. When she finally escaped her nightmare, she had done everything right. She’d gone straight to the hospital. She’d told her parents. They had taken the assholes to court. And all the boys she’d named had walked free.

  CLEO: I’d like to go after every single boy who touched me. But I know you’re all eager to move on now that Bug has left town and Malice is pregnant. So I’ve whittled my list down to three men: Eddie Carter, Don Fulton, and Felix Iverson.

  Harper brushed a hand over her swollen belly, thankful for Cleo’s decision to go after only those three.

  LILY: One at a time?

  CLEO: Yes. We’ll start with Eddie Carter, a numbers guy at EFK Financial. He’s married with two kids. Every day of the week, he works out at the gym close to his house.

  MALICE: Is that the same Eddie Carter who started the nonprofit program in California to help get families off the streets?

  CLEO: I don’t care if he gives scholarships to every young person in America. It’s guilt that’s driving him. Eddie Carter was the leader of the pack. He makes all the other guys we’ve gone after, with the exception of Otto Radley, look like wimps. He raped me and then held me down while others took their turns. He laughed, he jeered, and when it came time to get up on the witness stand, he told the judge and jury that he and I had had sex multiple times prior to the fraternity party. That was a lie. He and the others were let go without so much as a scolding.

  LILY: Eddie Carter must be punished.

  PSYCHO: I have to leave for work soon. What’s the plan? When and where do we meet?

  CLEO: Saturday. After he works out, I’ll be inside his Ford Escape, waiting for him. With the help of my Glock, I’m going to convince him to drive to the same abandoned warehouse off Power Inn Road where we took Otto Radley. And that’s where he’ll stay for a night or two.

  PSYCHO: How do you plan to get inside the car without a key?

  CLEO: Easy. I have a mini airbag and a long reach tool. I watched a how-to video on YouTube.

  PSYCHO: Nice. I’ll stay close to the gym early Saturday, then follow you to the warehouse.

  LILY: What happens when you arrive at the warehouse?

  CLEO: My target will be blindfolded and his wrists bound when we get to where you and Malice will be waiting. Be ready to toss questions his way, one after another. We’re going to cross-examine him, make him sweat, let him know he’s scum. I want to scare the shit out of him, threaten to do to him what we did to Brad Vicente. When it’s over, I’m going to let him know that his cushy little life is over. I’m going to video his face up close as he admits to everything he did. Then I’ll send a copy of the video to his wife and the police. Once he’s good and scared, we’ll leave him alone for the night.

  LILY: What about his car?

  CLEO: I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.

  MALICE: That’s it? Just leave him alone in the warehouse?

  CLEO: That’s it. See you all Saturday.

  After everyone signed off, Harper did the same. She then did a quick search on Eddie Carter. He had attended UCSD and was a part of Delta Sigma Phi. A friend of his on Facebook had posted an old photo that showed well over a dozen young men standing in front of a large colonial house with a wraparound porch.

  She had to dig deeper to find anything about the time Eddie and his friends spent in the courtroom. But there it was at the end of an article about fraternities in Chico. Just a small paragraph titled FRAT BOYS WRONGLY ACCUSED. The header said it all.

  And just like that, quick as a wink, images of a shadowy figure popped into her mind: Harper lying in bed, praying he wouldn’t come tonight. But that didn’t stop the man from walking into her room, slipping out of his clothes, and climbing into bed with her. The smell of whiskey clung to him. He brushed his stubby fingers through her hair, pressed his nose to her neck, and inhaled. “My sweet Harper. You’ll always be Daddy’s little girl.”

  Her brain shut down. Her body stiff, she closed her eyes.

  A few minutes passed in silence. And then like a bomb that had been detonated, Harper jumped up from the couch, marched through the kitchen, and opened the door that led to a small shed in the side yard where she kept cleaning supplies—bucket, brush, scouring pads, ammonia, and liquid bleach.

  The lasagna would have to wait. It was time to get to work. The house was a mess. Sheets needed to be washed. Mattresses needed to be turned over, and bathrooms needed to be scoured.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For too many reasons to count, it had been months since Sawyer had sat at her oldest sister’s dinner table. But here she was, her heart beating so fast she wondered if it might explode.

  Harper had wanted to meet Sawyer’s boyfriend, Derek. Sawyer never should have accepted the invitation. It was too soon in their relationship. Chances were good she’d never see Derek again after tonight. But then again . . . if he couldn’t accept her family for who they were, then why would she care?

  Derek looked at her. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I’m having a heart attack. We should go.”

  He smiled. “Take a breath. It’s going to be fine. It looks like both of your sisters have gone to a lot of trouble.”

  It was true. The house was cleaner than ever, which was saying a lot. Harper’s best dishes and a vase of fresh flowers adorned the table. And both her sisters were in the kitchen, where Sawyer could hear pans clanking and knives chopping.

  She and Derek had arrived five minutes ago. Harper and Aria had looked slightly frenzied as they introduced themselves. Aria then ran back to the kitchen, muttering something about the bread in the oven, while Harper explained that the kids were washing up. She’d told them to take a seat at the table and they would all be joining them in a minute.

  “Maybe we should offer to help,” Derek said.

  Sawyer shook her head. “She’s a control freak. She wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Lennon! Ella!” Harper shouted from the kitchen. “It’s time to eat.”

  Ella was the first to appear. She ran to Sawyer’s side and squeezed her tight. Lennon joined them too and took a seat at the table across from Sawyer.

  After Ella pulled away Sawyer said, “I’d like you both to meet my friend, Derek.”

  Lennon and Derek shared a nod.

  “Friend or boyfriend?” Ella asked, her eyes scanning every inch of him.

  Derek looked at Sawyer and lifted a brow in question.

  “I don’t think there’s a difference, is there?” Sawyer asked. “I mean, he’s a boy and he’s a friend.”

  Lennon laughed.

  Sawyer wrinkled her nose. “What?”

  “There’s a big difference,” Lennon said. “Friends hang out. Girlfriends do more than that. They don’t just hug.”

  “They kiss too!” Ella said.

  Derek laughed.

  “Exactly,” Lennon told his sister. “Girlfriends also expect you to support them emotionally and spend time with them. They like to talk about the future and stupid things like that.”

  Derek and Sawyer exchanged looks, both struggling not to burst out laughing.

  “Do girlfriends want to get married?” Ella asked.

  “Some of them do,” Lennon said, his eyes wide. “It’s scary. That’s why I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Harper walked into the dining room, wearing oven mitts and carrying a steaming dish of lasagna that she set on the table. “This is hot, so don’t burn yourself. Ella, could you please grab the basket of garlic bread from the kitchen and bring it out here?”

  Ella ran off just as Aria appeared with a wooden bowl filled with salad and placed it next to the lasagna.

  Ella returned with the bread and then took a seat next to Derek. “Girlfriends dress up more than friends do, I t
hink,” she added as if she’d never left the room.

  Harper took a seat at the head of the table. “What is she talking about?”

  Derek chuckled. “She asked Sawyer if I was a friend or a boyfriend, and we still haven’t gotten an answer, have we, Ella?”

  Ella shook her head. “No. Aunt Sawyer has not answered.”

  Before Sawyer could say a word, her brother-in-law walked through the front door. Nate had spent the past few weeks working on a project in another state. His hair was longer, his beard fuller. Sawyer had heard through the grapevine—Aria—that Nate and Harper weren’t getting along and needed a break from each other.

  “Dad’s home!” Ella jumped out of her seat and ran to him. Her thin arms curled around Nate’s legs.

  Nate dropped his duffel bag to the floor and knelt down for a proper hug.

  Lennon joined them.

  And then Harper.

  “Did you know he was returning tonight?” Sawyer asked Aria in a low voice.

  Aria shook her head.

  Before Nate could get situated, Ella explained what was going on. “Mom invited Sawyer and Derek to dinner. I think they’re boyfriend and girlfriend, but Sawyer isn’t sure.”

  They all laughed at that.

  Derek stood. Introductions were made, and the two men shook hands.

  After a while, Nate told everyone to go ahead and eat while he cleaned up. It wasn’t long before he rejoined them. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. As he filled his plate, he said, “It’s good to see you, Sawyer. What are you working on these days?”

  Happy to play along and pretend everything was fine, Sawyer dived right in. “I’m working on a few stories, but mostly the one about the female vigilantes.”

  “The Black Wigs?” Lennon asked.

  “That’s right,” Sawyer said.

  Lennon looked at his dad and said, “These crazy women are everywhere, and now a group called The Slayers are joining the cause.”

  “How do you know this?” Nate asked.