Edge of Darkness Box Set

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “She’s saying she was raped,” Sam announces as she too stands and holds me tight.

  Oh my God. My heart is beyond repair now, I can’t believe Sam told them. They shouldn’t know, they’re going to hate me. I already hate me, and knowing they’ll despise me too, makes me sick.

  “What did you say, Sam?” Dad whispers in a small broken voice.

  I look over to our parents and Mom is sitting with her mouth open, tears now freely running down her face. Dad’s collapsed back to the sofa, his body is stiff and rigid.

  “She had her drink spiked, and she was raped.”

  “Jesus, Sam! What the hell?” I yell at her. Her face drops because I’ve yelled at her. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Dakota, sit down,” Dad instructs. He leans forward on the sofa and balances his elbows on his knees. Sam and I go and sit. Dad looks to us both, his jaw tight and his shoulders squared back. I won’t look at Mom. I can hear her crying and I don’t want to see the absolute humiliation on her face because I’ve disappointed her.

  Dad runs his hand through his hair and lands his palm on the back of his neck. There’s a vein that protrudes from Dad’s temple whenever he’s really angry, and right now it’s throbbing.

  He regains himself, and looks straight at me.

  “You were raped,” he says flatly.

  I nod my head.

  “At your prom?”

  I nod again.

  “Your drink was spiked?”

  I look down at my feet, but nod.

  “Tell me exactly what happened. And don’t leave a single thing out.”

  Tears fall from my eyes, landing on the floor boards. There’s a tiny puddle of tears quickly growing. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and pull my shoulders back.

  I’m strong, I can do this. I can tell them.

  Looking up at Mom and Dad, I open my mouth and tell them everything that’s been happening, from the night of the prom until now.

  Mom and Dad sit opposite me, quietly listening. The more I tell them the more their shoulders drop and the more I see the shame flitter across their faces.

  But I have to do this. It’s toxic to hold something so monumental inside. It was bound to kill me, to send me over the edge of reality and straight into the depths of hell.

  I can do this. I can be strong. I will be strong.

  It takes me no less than an hour to relay everything that’s happened. I don’t hold back on anything. Nothing. As I finish talking, I notice a huge sense of relief flood me. It’s as if a giant load has been lifted off my shoulders, and now, although I still need to deal with the aftermath of what’s happened, I can finally move on with my head held high.

  Mom and Dad sit opposite us, processing everything I’ve told them. They blink slowly, look at each other, and back to me.

  “We need to get the police involved,” Dad says breaking the tense air in the family room.

  “I’m going to find you a counselor, Dakota. We need help dealing with this. Neither your father or I are educated in helping you through this.” Mom stands and makes her way to me, she sits beside me and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I thought you were just going through normal teenage stuff, not this. I’m so sorry,” she keeps repeating. She brings me into her body, hugging me tightly and kissing my temple.

  “You believe me?” I ask, stunned. I look at Sam who gives me a warm smile.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Dad adds.

  “I just thought . . .”

  “No, Dakota. Don’t ever think we won’t believe or trust you,” Dad says. “For now, go have a shower and clean up. I’m going to make a couple of phone calls, one of which will be to the police.”

  I break out of Mom’s tight hug. Shaking my head, I look at Dad. “No, you can’t. What if it gets out and everyone knows?”

  Dad picks his phone up and shakes it at me. “That ship has sailed. These pictures have been uploaded to a group and hundreds of people were added to it. Everyone is going to know, regardless of whether you want them to or not. The next step is getting the police involved. Quietly though, because we don’t want everyone knowing they’re involved. It might compromise any investigation they conduct.”

  “I can’t, Dad.”

  Mom squeezes me harder, and Dad moves to crouch before me, his hands embracing mine. “You have to. This is the only way we can move forward. The. Only. Way.”

  It feels like an eternity passes, but I know it’s only been a few seconds when I finally realize, this is the natural progression of healing. Of moving forward and standing tall. I didn’t choose this. He, whoever he is, did this to me. “Okay,” I whisper. I’m stronger today than I was yesterday, because I’m no longer burying a horrible secret so far down it has the potential to turn septic.

  “Go have a shower, and lie down for a little while. But no one, and I repeat no one is to be told about the police. I want them to catch this bastard and put him behind bars, and if the rapist knows the police are involved and gets wind of it, then he may destroy any evidence he has. We need to be smart.” Dad points to me, then Sam.

  “I promise, Dad I won’t say a thing.” Sam crosses her heart for extra measure. “Because I want him caught more than anything.”

  “I promise, I won’t say a word.”

  “Okay, both of you, go. Your mother and I need to talk.”

  Sam and I stand and head into our rooms.

  She whispers as we walk down the hall, “How do you feel?”

  “Truthfully, I’m relieved, but this is only the start. I think this is going to get much worse before it gets better.”

  “Mom and Dad won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “I know,” I say, ashamed of myself for thinking they’d see me differently because of the assault.

  Sam stops walking when we reach my room. She hugs me and says, “I’ll always be here for you. No matter how tough things get.”

  “I love you,” I tell her.

  “I love you too.”

  She lets go of me and walks to her room at the end of the hall. “Sammy,” I call.

  She turns around with a huge smile on her face. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that since, that night.”

  Huh, so it is. “Thank you for being my sister.”

  She smiles wide again, and goes to her room. I head into mine, and wait for whatever is about to happen.

  Something’s bubbling away, the calm before the storm. It’s not yet turbulent, but soon I’m about to weather the worst storm of my life.

  Regardless of what lies ahead, I smile, because I have the support and love of my family.

  The numbness inside me eases.

  Finally.

  Chapter 37

  I’ve been lying on my bed, listening to music and trying to relax. I heard the front door open about ten minutes ago, then Mom and Dad and some other voices, talking. I assume they called the police and they came to the house to interview me.

  Although I know this has to happen, it doesn’t make it any easier on me. My nerves are thrumming and my heart’s been beating at a constant fast speed. I haven’t been able to stop shaking either. I’ve got blankets piled high on me but I can’t stop shivering.

  “Dakota,” I hear Dad’s gruff voice beckon.

  I take a few deep breaths before throwing all the covers off and heading out to the family room, where everyone is congregated.

  I round the wall, and come in to see Detectives Miller and Young standing in the family room, talking with Mom and Dad.

  “Hello, Dakota,” Detective Young says to me. “I’m Detective Tracey Young, and this is Detective Andrea Miller.” She holds her hand out to shake. I take it and smile.

  “You both came to my school. You two and Detective Garcia talked to us about vacation, and the possibility of things going wrong. Including statistics on sexual assault and what we should look out for.”

  “Yes, we did. We were
trying to educate as many students as we could on the potential dangers you could be faced with. I’m glad you remember us. Is it okay if we sit?” she asks me.

  I look to Mom and Dad, seeking their approval.

  “Don’t look at your parents, focus on me and Andrea, okay?” she asks gently.

  “Sure,” I say casting my eyes downward. I try to flick them to the side to look at Mom and Dad surreptitiously, but I can’t see them.

  “Your mom and dad have told us a few things, but if it’s okay, we’d like to hear from you?”

  “Um.” Oh God, embarrassment floods me. Having to tell a complete stranger.

  Andrea can see the hesitation in me, she can tell I’m ambivalent about tell them anything. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, can you get us a drink please?”

  “Of course,” Dad answers.

  They leave the room, and I look at both police officers. “Shouldn’t they be here?” I ask pointing my thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

  “They can be, if it makes you more comfortable. We’ve already talked, and they’ve said they’ll do whatever you need them to. But how about we talk for now, maybe you can tell me what happened, and if it’s okay with you, we’ll record it so we don’t forget anything. Is that okay, Dakota?” Andrea is so gentle and sweet. She’s not talking at me, or trying to force me to say anything at all. She’s simply waiting for me to open up to them.

  “I can do that.”

  She takes a small recorder out of her pocket and shows it to me. I squint at the old thing. “I know, it’s dark ages old. But it’s still accurate.”

  “In TV shows I’ve seen, the police usually make the person go to the police station, and they sit in a room while the interview gets recorded.”

  “We can do that, but in these types of cases, we try to make things as comfortable for the victim as possible. Under stress, you may forget something and in our experience, we’ve found having the support of your family works best.”

  “What type of detectives are you?”

  “There’s a whole team of us who specialize in trauma victims.”

  “Trauma?” I question.

  “We look into a lot of situations similar to yours.”

  “Oh,” I answer. My shoulders tighten and I begin to think how many situations there are similar to mine. My mind goes to the statistics they were giving us at school. Forty-four percent of girls under the age of eighteen are sexually assaulted. I shiver. That number is so high it’s nothing short of horrible.

  “I’m going to start the recorder and we can begin. Okay?” Tracey asks. She presses a button on the recorder, places it between us, and smiles. “What we have to do is identify you. Your name, age, what school you go to, things like that before we continue with the events of that night. Is that okay with you?” I nod my head. “You need to speak, so we can get it all on this.” She taps the recorder.

  “Oh, sorry. Okay.”

  Andrea and Tracey both ask me questions, and they have an incredibly soothing quality about them. They ask me questions in their simplest form, without trying to trick me or make me stumble.

  They’re very easy to talk to, and they don’t trivialize anything I tell them. They’re listening to me, and I’m overcome by the most amazing feeling of validation.

  “Can you tell me what you did with the dress you were wearing?”

  I shudder and slump over, curling in on myself. “I hid it,” I say.

  “Where did you hide it?” Andrea asks.

  “I was waiting to put it in the trash, but it’s in my closet, in a box right at the back.”

  Andrea and Tracey both smile at me. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, can you come in here please?” Tracey calls. Mom and Dad appear in the hallway, Dad with his arm around Mom, and Mom still clutching a tissue. “Is it okay with you if I go to Dakota’s room with her and one of you please? Dakota’s kept the dress she wore that night.”

  I look between them all, trying to understand what she wants. “Do you want the dress?” I ask.

  “Yes, we do.”

  “I can go get it.” I stand and start heading to my room.

  “Dakota, we need to be in there with you, just to make sure we handle this right. But we need your parents’ permission, and we need them to witness what happens.”

  “Oh,” I respond.

  “Of course, please.” Dad sweeps his hand out, indicating the direction of my room.

  Dad, Tracey, and I all go into my room, where I uncover the box and start to open it. “We’ll wait until we get back in the family room.” Tracey smiles. I hand her the box, but she shakes her head at me.

  I find it strange, but we all head back out, me carrying the box. Andrea is standing beside the coffee table, pulling gloves on. “Come over here, Dakota.” She points beside her. I go to her, with the box still in my hands.

  “Before you open it, tell us what you’ve put in the box.” She points to the box but keeps her intense gaze on me.

  “My prom dress.”

  “Did you wash it before you put it in here?”

  “No. I took it off when I got home and shoved it in there. It makes me sick even thinking about it and how it looked.”

  “Okay, can you put the box on the coffee table, and open it up please?” I do as they ask, and then place the lid on the table. Tracey picks up the recorder, describing every detail of the dress, from its color to how it looks. When she finishes describing the dress, she looks at Andrea who takes the dress out of the box and lifts it so it’s completely visible.

  “Oh God,” I mumble, horrified at the state of it. I feel two sets of hands on me; Mom to my right, Dad to my left. Both of them embrace me while they watch what I’m seeing.

  The dress is ripped, torn, with grass and blood stains on it. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Mom whispers. “I should’ve been there for you.”

  I shake my head at her. My emotions are colliding inside me. Sickness, shame, disgust . . . everything is dancing off each other.

  Tracey describes everything on the dress. Every tear, every stain, every discoloration. Andrea turns the dress inside out and there are huge patches of dried blood. “Oh God.” I bury my head in my hands, unable to look at or listen to anything else they’ll point out.

  Suddenly my heart tugs in one direction, my stomach roils in another and all the contents of my stomach are on their way up. “I can’t.” I grab my mouth to stop the vomit coming out and run for the toilet.

  Barely making it, I flip the lid and lose everything I had in my stomach. Numerous sets of footsteps follow me in. Mom and Dad are both apologizing as they fall to their knees beside me. They grab me, sheltering me while crying.

  Dad keeps repeating the same words, “We’re so sorry.”

  I pull back, and look at my parents. Dad’s a strong man, but even he’s broken by the state of my dress and what it means.

  “I can’t imagine how difficult this has been for you. How much you’ve had to hide. I’m so sorry, Dakota. I wish I’d been there for you that night. No fucker would’ve put his hands on you. Done that to you.” He points toward the family room, indicating my dress.

  “We’ll get through this, as a family. We’ll get through it.” Mom’s now the strong one and Dad’s a mess.

  It takes a lot for my Dad to cry. The dress was the final straw to break his strong personality.

  We stand together and once I’ve washed my mouth and brushed my teeth, we all head back out to the police officers. The dress is back in the box, and the box itself is sealed with yellow tape proclaiming ’EVIDENCE.’

  “Are you okay, Dakota?” Andrea asks as she approaches me and rubs my back.

  “I am.” I smile weakly at her, although the tears are on the verge of falling.

  “As you can see, I’ve placed the dress back in the box and sealed it. We need to take it to run DNA tests on it. We also need DNA from you. There are a number of ways we can do that. A blood test, or a few strands of hair. But with consent from you and your parents,
we’d like to do one right now called a buccal smear.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, now I’m even more nervous than before. It sounds so invasive.

  “It’s a small cotton swab, and we use it to collect a sample of cells from the inside of your cheek. All you need to do is open your mouth, and we do the rest. It doesn’t hurt; it’s completely pain-free,” Andrea says.

  “Here’s the swab,” Tracey says, holding up something that looks like an extra-long Q-tip.

  “If you want to do this, we’re okay with it,” Dad says, looking to Mom who nods her head in agreement.

  “Okay.”

  “Come sit beside me, Dakota,” Tracey says. She takes another pair of latex gloves out, and once they’re snugly fitted she takes one of those swab things out. Andrea has another bag, and is writing my name and date of birth on it. Nervously, my eyes flicker between them, trying to watch them both at the same time.

  “What I’m doing is putting all your information on it, so it doesn’t get mixed up when it gets to the lab,” Andrea says.

  “Okay.”

  “Now if you can turn this way for me, and open your mouth as wide as you can, I’ll swab the inside of your cheek.” I follow her instructions and before I know it, it’s over. “See, that wasn’t scary, was it?” I shake my head.

  ”Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, could you take a seat please.”

  Mom and Dad sit beside me, one on either side.

  “Have you been sexually active since that night?” Andrea asks me.

  “What? No. I . . . yuck. Oh my God, no way.” I shudder.

  “You’ll need to get a blood test, to make sure you’re clean and safe.”

  Clean and safe? What the hell? “Huh?” My brows draw together and my mouth drops open. “What does that mean?” There’s a stillness inside my mind. It’s blank and calm, no thoughts processing. “Huh?” I say again.

  “Dakota, you need make sure you don’t have a sexually transmitted disease,” Andrea says as gently as she can to not to freak me out.

  But freaking out is exactly what’s happening. “Sexually transmitted disease?” I repeat. “Like AIDS?”

  “Any type of disease,” she says, trying to get me to look beyond the terrifying fact I may have AIDS.