Edge of Darkness Box Set

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “But first, I want to ask a question,” Detective Garcia steps forward, and in synchronized movement, Detective Young steps back. “How many sexual assaults do you think go unreported to the police every year? Here are your choices: thirty-two percent, forty-four percent or fifty-five percent?”

  There’s low murmuring among the girls, but Sam, Sophie and I remain quiet. I mean thirty-two percent is huge, so I’m hoping the figure isn’t any higher than that. “Hands up. Who thinks it’s thirty-two percent?” Detective Young waits and most of us put our hands up, including Sam and me. “Now who thinks it’s forty-four percent?” A smaller number put their hands up. “And who thinks it’s fifty-five percent.” An even smaller number put their hands up. “Interesting.”

  “Okay, everyone put your hands down. Now I want this side of the room to stand up.” She indicates my side of the gym. I look to Sam and Sophie and give them both a smile as we stand, still holding hands. The three cops are circling each other, when one speaks the other two step back.

  “Do you know the name of every girl who’s standing?” Detective Garcia asks. “Just a yes or no.”

  Collectively we all shout out the answer. Most girls say ‘yes,’ with a few saying ‘no.’

  “All those girls have been sexually assaulted.” She points to those of us who are standing. The hair on my arms stand straight and a feeling of nausea rises up. “Just over four out of ten people are sexually assaulted. Forty-four percent.” She goes quiet and walks the length of the room. The three female police officers keep their eyes on us.

  The room is chilly, the atmosphere thick from shock . . . or maybe terror. “Scary number, isn’t it?” Detective Young says in a solemn, heavy voice. “But do you know what’s worse than that number?”

  Not a sound can be heard; it’s eerily silent. Everyone’s looking toward the cops, who have our complete attention. I can’t help but sneak a look sideways to see how everyone’s reacting to these horrific stats.

  “Here’s the scariest part: the first two rows standing, keep standing, the rest of you sit down.” Sam, I, and Sophie all sit down along with most the other girls. There are only a few left standing down the front. “See these girls standing?” Detective Miller stands right in front a handful of girls. “These are the girls who go to the police and report it.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper tightening my grip on Sam.

  “Sixty-eight per cent of you will not tell anyone. You’ll hold that in you, and never say a word. Maybe you’re too ashamed or maybe you think it was your fault. What you need to know is sexual assault is never the victims fault,” Detective Garcia takes over. Her words are harsh, but her tone is soft. Holy crap, she’s describing me.

  The room breaks out in horrified gasps. “What’s even worse than those figures is that four out five assaults are committed by someone the victim knows. Four out of five. Think about that for a moment, because it’s not the creepy old man your parents have told you to avoid, it’s not a random act someone commits because they see you walking home from school. Four times out of five the attacker is someone you know.”

  My hands tremble with fear. I’m trying to calm down, but my body is betraying me. “It’s okay,” Sam whispers, clutching my hand even tighter.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Scary, right?” Detective Young says. “To think so many of you have been or will be sexually assaulted by the time you turn eighteen. Your friend, the one you’re sitting next to, or the little sister you love, maybe she’s already been assaulted, or maybe she’s being groomed by someone she knows.”

  Spit gathers in my mouth, but I seem to have lost the ability to swallow. My jaw is tightly clenched and all I can think about is Sam. I’m praying she hasn’t been touched. I sneak a look beside me, and catch her looking at me. There are tears in her eyes. My heart drops to my stomach and I can’t help but cry. My greatest fear has now come to light. By her reaction I think maybe she’s a victim, too.

  “We’re here because we need to educate you on the facts. Summer vacation is hours away. You’ll be spending time at the beach, at parties, maybe even camping with your friends. But do you know the most common way these assaults take place?” she pauses and looks out over the sea of girls. “A drug is slipped into your drink.”

  Oh my God.

  “Remember, four out five assaults are perpetrated by someone we know. It could be anyone—a friend, boyfriend, brother, uncle, father or even a friend of theirs.”

  The statistics are abhorrent, vile. My body’s reaction is even worse. I’m hot and cold, and I’m shaking uncontrollably. My skin is covered in pebbly goose bumps while my breath is caught in my throat.

  “There are ways to safeguard yourselves so you don’t become statistics,” Detective Miller says. “First of all, don’t accept a drink from anyone. If you want a drink, go get it yourself. Don’t take a drink from anyone, not even your friends. Why? Because someone could have slipped a drug in there and even your friend didn’t see it. So it’s best to eliminate that threat completely and get your own drinks.”

  “Second.” Detective Garcia holds up two fingers and continues, “If you put your drink down for any reason whatsoever, do not pick it up and drink it. It doesn’t matter if it’s full or almost finished. The drugs they use are tasteless. Some will knock you out within minutes; some may take half an hour. Some will immobilize you but you’ll still be awake and aware of everything being done to you.”

  “Third, keep your hand over the top of your drink. Or better still, take a bottle of water with you and keep it in your hand and capped the entire time. If you put it down . . . tip it out and recycle the bottle,” Detective Young says.

  “Remembering these actions may save you, but they’re only tips to help prevent an assault from happening. We can’t be everywhere at once, but we can give you the tools so you don’t put yourself at any higher risk then you already are.”

  “We believe knowledge is power, and if you know these small life hacks, then maybe you won’t become a statistic,” Detective Miller says in a straight, no nonsense voice.

  Nothing can be heard, not a word, not a whisper. Just the harsh reality of what almost half of us have already or will experience sinking in.

  “And one of the most important things we will tell you is something you won’t believe if you are assaulted. You need to know you are not responsible for an abuser’s behavior. You are not at fault if this happens to you. You weren’t asking for it, you weren’t flirting, you weren’t dressed slutty.” Detective Young air quotes ‘slutty.’ Her piercing gaze captures each of us, but I feel like it lands and stays on me.

  Shivering, I look away and focus on nothing. I heard what she said, I’m not responsible and it wasn’t my fault. But I can’t tell anyone now. It’s too late.

  By the time the three detectives finish talking, there are a lot of tears and an air of heaviness in the gymnasium. The atmosphere is thick with worry and dread, and there are many hushed whispers as we all file out. There’s a distinct shift in all of us. The detectives went over everything with us. From the affects a drug can have on us, to what we should do if we suspect we’ve been drugged.

  Too late for me.

  Chapter 17

  “We need to talk,” I say to Sam the moment we’re home. Grabbing her arm I drag her into my bedroom and close the door. “Tell me, Sam. Tell me it didn’t happen to you.” My heart stops as I wait for her to speak. “I saw the way you had tears in your eyes when the detective was talking about the statistics.” I begin to pace in my room, terrified of the words about to spill from her mouth.

  “I was crying because it happened to you. And if those stats are correct, it won’t happen to me. You’ve taken something which could’ve made me the victim instead of you.” Her eyes are brimming with tears as she tries to hold them back.

  “You’re the prettiest girl I know,” I say to her, trying to coax her into a sense of normalcy. “You know, you look exactly like Mom. You have th
is beautiful, thick blonde hair.” I gently reach out and brush my palm down her silky strands. “Your gorgeous, dark eyes.”

  Sam smiles weakly at me. “We both have Mom’s eyes,” she corrects.

  Breathing deeply I try to convey to Sam how important she is to me. “I’d rather it be me than you.”

  Her shoulders fall and she buries her face in her hands. I try to hug her, but she shakes her head at me. “I know this is stupid, but I feel guilty because I would hate for it to have happened to me, and hate it even more that it happened to you.”

  “You weren’t there, Sam. And even if you were, I’d never let it happen to you. Out of the two of us, I prefer this outcome.”

  “I wish people like these monsters didn’t exist. And I’d prefer we didn’t have to hold our drinks and guard them in order to avoid getting drugged.” She looks up at me with the most deadly look in her eyes. The venom deep in her dark brown eyes can’t be mistaken for anything but what it is—hatred. “And I wish for the fucker who did this to you to be dead.” Her words are as calm as the ocean on the most serene of days. She means it, with every drop of blood in her body.

  Lightning strikes my body with as much force as the eerily potency of Sam’s sentence. “I want him dead too, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  “There is, Dakota. You have to tell Mom and Dad.”

  “It’s too late now. It’s been almost two weeks. I should’ve told them when I got home, then maybe something could’ve been done. But I did everything the police said I shouldn’t have done. I came home and had a shower, washing any evidence off me. I’ve kept it a secret for too long, and now it’s too late.”

  “It’s not. If you tell Mom and Dad they can do something.”

  I half chuckle at Sam, her positivity blinding my reality. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Look, I need to get through tomorrow and then we’re going for two full weeks to Canada to see Aunt Carol and Uncle Ben. We’re going to spend time with Jamie and Alyssa and I’m going to work hard on putting this all behind me.”

  Now it’s Sam who lets out a laugh. Though I know she’s not happy, because the only thing I see in her eyes is anger and the agony of the entire situation. “Is that what you think is going to happen? You can’t push it aside. You can bury it only for a while before it all erupts and comes to the surface.”

  I squint my eyes at her, and resolve to bury this awful event. Bury it so deep, push it so far into a darkened corner that I’ll never be able to reach it.

  “Girls, get ready for dinner.” Mom opens the door and smiles at us. “I’m making tacos. Can one of you set the table please and the other take out the trash.” The question is rhetorical, because she isn’t expecting us to say no.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say to Sam, already starting the process of banishing my secret to the furthest corner of my mind.

  “Okay,” she responds, transfixed by my words. “Okay.” Sam nods her head and stands to leave my room. She puts her hand on the doorknob to open it, but she stills her hand and in a steely voice whispers, “For now.”

  Over the next hour, Sam and I set the table and then I take the trash outside. Dad gets home and has a quick shower before we sit for dinner.

  “How was school today, girls?” Dad asks as we settle into dinner.

  “They split the entire school up. The girls in the gym and the boys out on the back field, and they had three female detectives for us, and Taylor said there were three male detectives for the boys and they gave us a talk about staying safe.”

  “Is that right?” Dad asks. “That’s a great idea, splitting the kids in girls and guys. If there are any questions, then there’s less chance of embarrassment.”

  “It is a great idea,” Mom adds. “How long did the talk go for?”

  “It went from after lunch until the last bell,” I say.

  Dad picks his taco up and takes a huge bite out of it. Half the filling falls on his t-shirt, and some more lands on his plate. “Well that didn’t work out so well.” Dad smiles at us, and we all laugh.

  “Your father and I have some bad news,” Mom says. Questions about the talk the police officers gave at school are pushed aside.

  “Oh, what?” both Sam and I chorus together.

  “We can’t go to Canada. Jamie got chicken pox about a week and a half ago and Alyssa has been showing signs of it, too.”

  “Oh man. Really? I was looking forward to it,” I say. I can’t tell Mom and Dad why. But I was hoping to use the time away from here to bury the past, and come back to a fresh new start.

  “But, your mom and I have decided, considering I’ve already got those two weeks off from work, there’s no need to waste them. I’ve cut it down to one week, and we’re going camping.” Dad’s face lights up with an eager smile.

  I look to Mom and she’s just as happy as Dad. Looking to Sam, I widen my eyes and give her a small look. Mom and Dad look delighted they’re taking us camping, the least we can do is pretend we are too. “Yay! That’s awesome.”

  “It is?” Sam asks.

  “Yes.” I grit my teeth toward her and try to kick her under the table, but I miss her and get Mom instead.

  Mom and Dad are trying, and I suppose camping might be fun. “Hey,” Mom protests. “Kick your sister next time, not me.”

  Dad chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Did you kick Mom?” Sam snickers from behind her taco.

  “I was trying to kick you.”

  “Well you missed and got me instead.” Mom looks at me, and I can’t help it, I burst into laughter. “Yeah laugh now, ‘cause you’re stacking the dishwasher,” Mom says with mirth in her voice.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun. Just like when you girls were little,” Dad says. He walks over into the kitchen and comes back with a fork. “It’s not making it into my mouth any other way.” He points to all the taco filling sitting on his plate. “Just think, we’ll have s’mores, and share a tent, and go swimming in the lake.”

  “It’ll be fun,” Sam finally concedes. “I’m in.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I add. “It’ll be heaps of fun.”

  Dad and Mom smile triumphantly. Mom looks at Dad with so much love in her eyes. Dad works as an engineer for a steel company, working long hours and sometimes six days a week. This camping trip is more for Dad to unwind than anything else. I’m sure it’ll bring us closer together as a family.

  Lying on my bed, listening to the soft tunes on the radio, my eyes drift shut. I try not to fall asleep because it’s still early, but the rhythm of the song currently playing is relaxing.

  “Dakota!” Sam bursts into my room.

  “Oh my God, what?” I startle out of my relaxed state.

  Sam’s phone is in her hand, her face is ghostly white, and her eyes are huge and round. I know, by her appearance, whatever it is, isn’t good.

  “Look at this. Taylor told me to go to his page and have a look. I opened the app, and I, along with a bunch of other people have been tagged in a photo. A photo of you, on the night of your prom, and you’re . . .” She swallows so loudly I hear her as she down casts her eyes.

  “I’m what?” I ask, dreading the answer.

  “Look.” She thrusts her phone toward me. Taking it out of her outstretched hand, I swipe at the screen to reveal a picture of me. I’m on the grass, like the other picture, with my eyes closed but I’m holding my dress up showing my panties to everyone.

  “Shit,” I whisper as tears start falling freely. “Who posted it?” I click on the picture and the name above it, but an error message comes up. “What is happening?” I yell at the phone. I go to the home page, and scroll the newsfeed trying to find the picture. “Where is it?” I keep looking. My shaking hands are making it difficult to touch the screen, and the whirling of my mind is making it even harder to focus.

  “Let me.” Sam grabs the phone out of my hand, and looks for the picture. “It’s gone,” she says after a few incredibly long and drawn out seconds.

  I
grab my phone, and open the same social media app. I’ve been avoiding going on social media since that night, afraid of what could be on there.

  My nightmare becomes real.

  Countless messages, over ninety-nine notifications and numerous friend requests all light the top of the screen in big, bold red numbers. I hastily look through my newsfeed, but I can’t see any pictures anywhere. “I don’t have anything,” I say while I frantically keep scrolling.

  Sam’s on her phone desperately immersed in the seriousness of this moment. “I can’t find it anywhere. It’s in my notifications saying a Lauren White tagged me in it, but when I look for it it’s disappeared, and so has this Lauren White’s profile. I don’t know what’s happening here, Dakota,” Sam’s voice is frazzled, as is my brain.

  We both sit on my bed and keep looking for the picture, thankfully after what seems like hours neither of us can find it. “What if someone other than Taylor saw it?” I ask. “Oh God.” The beating of my heart hasn’t stopped thrumming wildly inside my chest. My own pulse is hammering in my ears, and my breath seems to have stopped.

  “It’s not there,” Sam whispers and puts her hand over mine, stopping me from searching for it.

  “Someone posted it, which means people saw it.”

  “If it’s a fake account, which I bet it is, then that means they wouldn’t have had friends, only the people they could tag. And I think you can only tag a certain amount of people, meaning not everyone would be on at the same time.” I flick a look to Sam. One that screams, ‘are you kidding me.’ “I know, what teenager isn’t on their phones. But maybe just maybe not everyone saw it.”