Edge of Darkness Box Set

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “I’m okay. The counseling session really kicked me in the ass. Ever heard the saying, feeling like you’ve been put through the emotional wringer?” He nods. “That’s how I’ve been feeling.”

  “It’s got to be tough having to face it all again.”

  “You have no idea, Reece. But I can’t help but wonder how he does it. Whoever did this to me did it without a conscience. I mean, how can he live with himself? I’m struggling, really I am. Most of the time I feel ashamed and humiliated, then other times I feel worthless. Like I wasn’t even worth asking permission to have sex with me. And then there are times I start thinking ‘how dare he?.’ How dare he do this to me and not give a shit about how I’m affected! He’s ruined my life, ruined me, and he gets away with it? That’s not fair. He shouldn’t be able to do this and walk away with no repercussions.”

  “You’re right. And clearly he’s not a man, not even an animal. He’s a predator.”

  “I’m really nervous about going to school next week and having to face everyone. I’m not sure I can handle the whispers or the stares or even the shaming they’re going to put me through.”

  “Why would they shame you?”

  I flick Reece a look of disbelief, my brows scrunched together as I shake my head. “You can’t be serious. Everyone will have seen the pictures from that group. He’s not only humiliated me by doing what he did, he’s continuing to embarrass me by posting photos of me everywhere on social media. How degrading for my Dad to have a co-worker approach him and say his son has been added to a group that’s showing explicit pictures of me.”

  “Who’s the admin of the group?”

  “Apparently someone who has no profile information.”

  “How were they not taken down? There are rules and administrators who looks after these sorts of things on social media. I posted a picture last year of me flipping someone the bird and it got reported as soon I posted it. So how is it possible this group hasn’t been reported or taken down?”

  “I don’t know if it has, and I don’t want to look. But Dad’s co-worker said he went online and took screen shots to show Dad. He also said there were hundreds of members added by the admin.

  “The point is, he ruined me, Reece. He took something which wasn’t offered to him. Even now I have to wait for six months to find out if I’ll have a life sentence with a disease I’ll never be able to get rid of. Not only that, he continues to make my world crumble by uploading photos he took. I’m tired, Reece. Tired of hiding, but also tired of having to face the rumors, the stares, and whatever else is going to happen when we get back to school.”

  Reece huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

  “It’s a rollercoaster. One moment I think I’m going to be okay, then something pushes me back into isolation and and makes me want to hide myself away from everyone. The next minute I’m okay again. I’m so grateful for my family, and you, and Sophie. Without you guys I don’t know where I’d be.”

  “Can I hold you, Dakota?” he asks shyly. It’s the first time I’ve seen him hesitant. I nod and sit up on the lounger. He moves and sits beside me, then brings me in nice and close to him. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this. But you’ve got me to help you through it. You can always count on me. All you need to do is call me and I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”

  “Thank you.” I close my eyes and get lost in his comfort. “For now, all I need is for you to hold me.”

  “I’m never letting you go.” He tightens his arms around me. I feel his warmth, and how protective he is of me. I love the feel of his arms around me. It’s comforting and soothing.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Who do you want for math this year?” he asks after a few minutes.

  “I can tell you who I don’t want—Mr. C. He gives me the creeps, just the way he pops up all the time and watches us. There’s something so wrong about him. The night of the prom, when I started feeling light-headed, I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face and as soon as I came out he was there waiting for me. It’s almost like he knew what was happening to me.”

  “You’ve never liked him. Do you think it could be him?”

  “At this stage, I have no idea who it is. It could be him, I mean he’s in the perfect position to do something like that. He’s always around, and he’s got beady eyes that look at everyone. It feels like he’s always checking me out.”

  “Have you told anyone how he makes you feel or that it could be him who drugged you?”

  Crap, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about the police, Reece included. “I told my parents,” I lie. I need to protect myself and I also need to protect the work the police are doing. If Mr. C did do this to me, and they have a lead, and if he gets wind of it, he may disappear and he’ll never be caught. I just have to pretend like everything is normal.

  “As long as someone knows, maybe they can do something with that information. Please do me a favor. Whatever you remember just promise me you’ll tell someone. Even if it’s only me.”

  “I promise. But nothing more is coming to me. I’ve had a few dreams, but nothing new.”

  His arms around me reassure me and tell me how everything will be okay. It’s not the words he speaks, but his actions that give me comfort. My life feels different . . . fuller, enriched from the moment we took our friendship to something deeper.

  Chapter 41

  “Dakota, Tracey called and she and Andrea are on their way over,” Mom says.

  It’s Wednesday afternoon, only a few days before school starts again. I’ve been having intense counseling sessions with Tara and they seem just as difficult as when we started. The only difference is I don’t feel quite as overwhelmed and hopeless when I leave her office. I have another session with her later today. Friday was difficult. It hit me hard and had me questioning everything about myself, but more specifically everything I believed about the world.

  I’ve lost faith in my self-worth and my ability to judge people. If someone I know can slip something in my drink, in a public place, use me so badly—and get away with it—then what chance do I have? David versus Goliath. More like an ant versus the universe.

  Mom announces that the detectives are on their way and it causes a negative reaction within me. A huge part of me doesn’t want to know what they have to say. I’m anticipating them saying something like, ‘Sorry, Dakota. We’ve done all we can, and we’re closing the case.’ That would be the worst possible scenario. But with the statistics I’ve been researching, it’s also the most likely. If that does happen, what was the point of me stepping up and telling the world what happened to me? No good would come of it, only pain and heartache for all involved.

  Of course, the best possible outcome would be for them to tell me they know who sexually assaulted me and they’ve arrested him. They may ask me to testify when it goes to trial.

  But that brings another deluge of emotions. Great, they caught him . . . shit, I have to testify and relive the whole ordeal. Not only relive it, but tell twelve strangers what he did to me, dredge up a painful and humiliating event all so they can decide what will happen to him.

  Then there’s the other worst possible scenario. Me going through an emotional trial, losing days or maybe even weeks of school, of my life, because he’s screwed me so badly on an emotional level that I’ll have no choice but to hide at home in humiliation and hope the world swallows me whole.

  “Oh God,” I whisper to Mom.

  We’re in the kitchen, staring blankly at each other, anticipating the arrival of the police officers. At every sound, we look toward the door. Everything in my body is wound tight, and it’s hard to keep from breaking down, falling apart and losing hope.

  “They’re here,” Dad says coming into the kitchen.

  “No matter what they say, stay strong. We’re here for you. You know that, right?” Mom affirms, gripping my hands in hers. I nod. I can’t say anything because I’ve lo
st the ability to comprehend and reply.

  Anxiety is ripping through me. It has put its tap shoes on and is dancing all over my heart. My muscles tense, all of them bunching around my shoulders and the back of my neck. A splitting pain relentlessly stabs at the base of my head.

  “Sweetheart,” Dad says dropping his arm around my shoulders and looks at me with a kind smile.

  I turn to him, tears a threatening to spill. But I work my ass off to keep them at bay. I will not crack, I will not crack, I. Will. Not. Crack.

  There’s a knock on the door. I look at Mom, whose own demons are just barely controlled. Dad’s jaw is tight and his eyes are hard as steel. He lets go of me and walks over to open the door.

  Be brave, Dakota.

  “Detective Young, Detective Miller,” he greets them as they come into the house.

  “Tracey and Andrea will do,” Tracey says, smiling at Dad.

  She comes further into the house and her eyes land on mine. It’s true what they say. Police have a certain way about them. Their eyes are suspicious of everything around them. Andrea gives me a warm smile, but I notice exactly how watchful her eyes are too.

  “How are you, Dakota?” Andrea asks as she makes her way over to me.

  I weakly smile, because at this moment I can barely think let alone speak.

  Be brave, I repeat to myself.

  “We’re doing okay,” Mom thankfully answers for me while her hands rest on my shoulders.

  “May we have a seat?” Tracey asks.

  You can do this, Dakota. No matter what the result is, I have to be strong. I have to accept whatever they’re going to say. I have to push hard and deal with it.

  “Please do,” Dad says and sits opposite Tracey and Andrea. “Dakota,” he calls and indicates for me to sit beside him.

  Timidly, I make my way over to the sofa, and sit beside Dad. I’m so close, there’s almost no distance between us. Dad swings his arm over my shoulder, and brings me into his comfort.

  “How’ve things been?” Tracey asks looking straight at me.

  Mom opens her mouth to answer for me, but I hold my hand up for her to stop. “It’s been hard. There’s a struggle inside my head every minute of the day.”

  “Okay. Maybe what I have to say may help you deal with it a little better.” She smiles and looks to Andrea who gives her a small nod. “We came here today because we want you to know we have a solid lead.”

  The room remains quiet, giving me a few seconds to let the words resonate and actually sink in.

  Oh God. They have a lead.

  “Sweetheart, are you okay?” Dad asks looking at me, his face rapidly draining of color. Blinking, I stare at Dad. Did he speak? “Sweetheart.” A searing pain rips behind my left eye and I cringe away. “Get some tissues!” Dad calls to Mom.

  Tissues? Who needs tissues? I jump off the sofa to run into the kitchen for tissues, but Dad yanks me back down to the sofa.

  The two detectives are staring at me, and Mom springs to her feet in a panic, running to the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” I ask while looking around the room, trying to see who’s hurt. The intense pain behind my eye almost cripples me, sending me crashing into the back of the sofa. “Oh God,” I cry, clutching at my eye.

  “What’s going on?” Mom cries while shoving a tissue box in Dad’s lap and tilting my head forward. She holds tissues to my nose, and it’s then I notice the deep, crimson liquid pouring out of my nose.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper, unsure as to why my head’s being so relentless in its blistering pain, and why my nose is bleeding so profusely.

  “Look at her hands and neck. Her hands are shaking, and a rash has broken out on her neck,” Andrea says.

  I’m looking around me, trying to see who they’re talking about, but all eyes are on me.

  “She’s having a panic attack,” Tracey states as if she sees them often. Maybe she does.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re right here.” Dad wraps his strong arms around, crushes my head to his chest and starts rocking us. Suddenly all the blinds are drawn, and the ceiling fan is cranked up to high. I can hear the familiar whir of the blades cutting through the air.

  “Get her some water. Let’s calm her down,” Andrea says.

  Dad’s shushing me while rocking back and forth.

  Without warning, my shoulders give, my hands unclench and I relax into Dad and his supportive frame.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He keeps pressing kisses on my head; light, soothing kisses. The sound of his calming heartbeat acts as a sedative. “Shhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” My arms wrap around Dad and I hold onto him as tightly as he’s holding me.

  It takes a while, but everyone settles down. Mom, Tracey and Andrea all sit and turn their gazes to me. “How are you feeling now?” Mom asks.

  Peeking out from behind Dad’s arm, my eyes travel to all three pairs of eyes. “Embarrassed. I’m not sure what happened.”

  “Have some water, Dakota, it’ll help,” Andrea offers.

  Dad slightly pushes me, holding onto my shoulders. “Are you okay?” I nod my head and smile. He leans over, grabs the glass of water and hands it to me.

  Gulping it down I finally place the glass on the table. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain it. I felt okay, but you all went into panic and I didn’t know what was happening.”

  “Your body went into shock, and your mind probably couldn’t deal with it, so it stopped processing. That’s the likely reason for your reaction and also explains why your nose was bleeding, your neck broke out into a rash and you were trembling,” Andrea explains.

  “I also had the most bizarre pain in my head. It literally felt as if someone drove an ice pick into it.”

  “We can come back another day and explain to you what’s happening,” Tracey offers.

  “No! No, I need to hear what it is you’ve come here to say,” I tell them. I am strong. I can do this.

  Find courage, Dakota.

  Tracey smiles and nods her head. “You’re such a strong girl, Dakota. I’m proud of you.” She winks at me. “We came here to tell you how we have a lead. We can’t say too much about the investigation, however we’re very close in making an arrest.”

  “Do you think you know who it is? Could this go wrong? Have you got it wrong?” I ask a barrage of questions.

  “Go wrong? How so?” Andrea asks singling out only one of my questions.

  “Is it possible you’ve made a mistake, and you’ll come back to me and say, ‘Sorry, Dakota, but we were wrong and we’re actually nowhere near close to catching him.’? Is that a possibility?” I press my hands together nervously.

  “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t feel confident that we’re close to catching the perpetrator. We wouldn’t give you false hope, or even tell you unless we were quite sure.”

  “So you’re saying this lead is solid and will most likely lead to an arrest?” I look at them, begging for a yes.

  And my hope is answered. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re saying,” Tracey says.

  “Okay.” I don’t know how to deal with this information, or even how to process it. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  I’m not feeling anything. I’m not happy, I’m not sad. I’m indifferent. Numb.

  “We wanted to stop by and let you know what we can so far. We’ll let you get back to your family now, and we’ll be in touch when we have more information.” Both the detectives leave, and I’m sitting on the sofa, my jeans and t-shirt completely blood soaked and I’m completely immobilized.

  “Are you okay?” Dad asks sitting beside me, and Mom opposite.

  “I don’t feel anything, at all. Nothing. I’m trying to listen to my brain, but there are no thoughts going around. Everything inside me is quiet.”

  “Quiet?” Mom asks confused by my words.

  “Yeah, like I’m detached from what Tracey and Andrea said, kind of like dazed. I don’t think their words have s
unk in. At least, not yet.”

  “Maybe that’s why you looked so stunned with us when we panicked because of that nose bleed.”

  “I didn’t know my nose was bleeding. And still, even with that.” I look down at the red on my hands and on my clothes, and I don’t freak out. “Even that . . . I don’t have any reaction to it.”

  “Okay, well let’s go get you changed. We have an appointment with Tara in an hour.”

  “Alright,” I answer standing from the sofa. “I’m not sure how I’ll do today.”

  This has been my life since I started with counseling. One moment I’m okay and functioning, and the next I’m a complete and utter mess. Before Friday, I was learning to hide all the hurt, and it was so much easier. Now though, my mind is unsure of what to do or how to respond, so it remains quiet and doesn’t respond at all. Instead my body breaks and shows obvious signs of stress.

  I go into my room and sit on the bed. I forgot why I’m in here. I look out my window and watch as a bird sits on the sill and looks into my room. It chirps at me, and the happy sound makes me smile.

  “Dakota, we have to go,” Mom says. “Get changed.”

  Vacantly I stare at Mom. “Where are we going?” I ask Mom.

  “We’re going to see Tara, remember?” she smiles but her tone is strained and filled with worry.

  “Oh yeah, Tara.” I stand and head toward my door.

  “Dakota, you need to get changed.” Mom’s words are slow, and her tone is soft.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.” I pull out clothes and change, not really sure why I need to. Mom stands at my door, watching me with a careful scrutinizing eye.

  “You need to wash your hands and face. Come on. Let’s go, clean up.”

  “Right.” Emotionless, I follow Mom. She keeps looking at me over her shoulder, her eyes intently watching me as I numbly follow.

  We head into the bathroom, where Mom washes my face and hands then leads me out to the family room. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I don’t know, I think so.

  Mom takes my hand and leads me out to the car. She helps me put my seatbelt on and then gets in the driver’s seat and reverses out of the driveway. “Where are we going?”