She took a deep breath. “A boy named Kelly stood up for me.”
“Fantastic. See, Melody? Not everyone in life is horrible. I’m glad you found a friend.” He made a note. “We should probably get started with our session.”
Melody relaxed against the couch back. She had been afraid he’d want all the details, and she wasn’t sure she could tell him. Not yet. Too fresh and cut too deep.
“I think we’re to the point we should start talking about why you stopped talking. From everything I can gather from your history, you stopped talking after your placement with the Hatchets.”
Her spine stiffened. She didn’t want to talk about the Hatchets. Some things were meant to stay buried.
Chapter Thirty-Five
February 8, 2013 – Melody, age 14
Snuggling under the comforter, I stretched until my toes hit the icy part of the bed. It’d warm up in a few minutes, but until then my toes would be little ice cubes. I stretched my arm out and snapped the desk lamp off with a click. Miss Prescott would be happy I’d caught up on most of my homework. Going to the library to finish the rest would be a good excuse to get out of the house tomorrow. Finding reasons to stay out of the house on weekends was a struggle sometimes. Especially during cold weather.
The branches from the red maple tree brushed against the window. Instead of creepy, the sound brought comfort. It reminded me of home and the time I had been frightened when the tree branches had scratched against the window pane. Mama had stroked my hair and told me the tree just wanted to say hello. And that it wanted me to know it stood guard outside my room. Then Daddy had come in with a drink of water, picked me up, and all my fears went away.
My chat with Evelyn floated back to mind. My heart hurt with homesickness crushing it to bits. I used to be happy. I pulled Raksha Waya out from underneath my pillow and hugged him tight. His fur, worn at the seams, had been almost rubbed off on his nose, but I loved him as much as ever. He was truly the only one I had left. My steadfast protector.
I kept him out of sight because Hatchet wanted me to get rid of him. Never.
Raksha was the keeper of the things I couldn’t say. And I had told him so much since moving here. Raksha, the protector was also Raksha, the secret keeper.
I tried to hold the memory back, but tonight I wasn’t strong enough. Evelyn’s questions brought everything to the surface. They brought back the night my personal hell had started.
A stair tread creaked. My heart pounded and I thrust Raksha Waya back under the pillow edge. Sadie had already come up and gone to her room. I closed my eyes and prayed to God and the Grandfathers—without hope of an answer. But I prayed anyway because it was the only thing I could do. Please, not tonight.
Hatchet came up the stairs slowly, each footstep on the stairs deliberate as he shifted his weight from one foot to the next.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart. If I convinced him I was asleep, he’d leave me alone. My racing pulse and shallow breaths would give me away.
His footsteps stopped outside my door.
Please let him change his mind and pass on by.
He jingled the change and keys in his pocket. When he fumbled with the doorknob, I rolled on my side and faced the wall. A single tear rolled to the end of my nose before dropping to the pillow below.
The door swung open with a squeak and he halted. After a few moments, he exhaled and closed the door as softly as he could. The snick of the tongue clicking into place was barely louder than a pin drop.
I forced my breaths to remain calm and steady, belying the rapid thumping in my chest as he shuffled toward the bed. Not again. Please, not again.
His knees banged against the mattress and for a moment—nothing. Then a finger carefully pulled the hair back from my face.
Breathe slowly. You’re sleeping. My nerve endings screamed and made me want to twitch.
He brushed his knuckles over my face with a touch as soft as down on a duckling.
A whimper escaped my lips.
He stroked my cheek. “I was afraid you had already gone to sleep.” His hushed words held the huskiness of desire. He unbuttoned his shirt and folded it over my desk chair.
God forbid his shirt ever get wrinkled. The moonlight shone through the window and glinted on the gold Saint Christopher medallion he always wore. My throat muscles hurt from holding back anger over what was about to happen. My nails dug into my palms.
I no longer had the same fear I had the first time he’d come for a late night visit. The memory of the knife he had held at my throat flashed and made my stomach churn. I had been so afraid he’d cut me, I couldn’t help but cry. All he had done the first time was stroke and touch me. A perverted form of cuddling. I had felt so dirty and ashamed after he left.
His slacks joined the shirt on the chair. Bile burned the base of my throat. He acted like it was his right and I had no say.
I didn’t.
His threats to cut out my tongue if I told anyone about his visits had effectively silenced me. These had escalated with the intimacy of his attacks. But he no longer made any threats. He didn’t have to.
He leaned over the bed and stroked my hair. A shiver of hatred ran down my spine. He kissed my cheek and I bit my lower lip willing myself to be unresponsive to his touch. It was the only power I had. The smell of his musky cologne washed over me, and I choked back a gag.
He pulled the comforter and blankets down and the cold air rushed in while he turned me onto my back. Straddling my legs, he leaned forward and kissed my lips and his medallion thudded against my chest. I stifled the urge to yank it off his neck and throw it across the room while screaming every obscenity I knew. I hated how it thumped against my chest—a mockery of two hearts beating as one.
His kisses increased in intensity, and his tongue forced its way into my mouth. I despised myself for kissing him back, but it kept him from getting violent. His hand trailed from my face down to my breast and he cupped and rubbed it through my nightgown. Slipping his hand inside my gown, he caressed my breast in a circular motion.
My skin burned at his touch and my breath caught in my throat as the tip became aroused. My body betrayed me and the hatred I felt for him.
He slid his hand down my back to my butt and worked my nightgown up. His hardness pressed against my leg as he softly moaned. The sour stench of his sweat overpowered his cologne the more aroused he became.
I couldn’t face what came next. Not again. More than hating him for doing this to me, I hated myself for not fighting back. For allowing it. I loathed every moment, every touch, every caress, but lay there like a willing participant.
God, if you truly exist, please make everything the church tells us about our loved ones looking down and watching over us a lie.
My knees locked together. Not that it would make a difference. It never did.
He smacked my side when he couldn’t get his hand between my thighs. He could do what he wanted to my body because he was bigger and stronger and would kill me if I even thought about telling anyone about these visits. I had to block the awful reality.
Music had always been my joy, but it had become my refuge.
He moved my thighs apart and positioned himself between my legs.
I escaped into the music in my head.
Someone who ... I looked up to
But darkened skies ... are never blue
Took my trust ... threw it on the ground
You told me not ... to make a sound
The Saint Christopher against my chest kept the tempo of each thrust.
Stole my spirit ... but not my soul
In faith and strength ... I’m in control
Thought I’d never ... get up again
Now I’m stronger ... than I’ve ever been
His neck veins bulged as he rocked over me.
The smell of sweat ... and cheap cologne
My fear of you ... when we were alone
Saying you owned ... every par
t of me
I prayed to God ... set me free
His dark hair flopped over one eye as he grunted and panted. He bit his lower lip, to keep from crying out.
Stole my spirit ... but not my soul
In faith and strength ... I’m in control
Thought I’d never ... get up again
Now I’m stronger ... than I’ve ever been
He climaxed and collapsed on top of me.
Bruised my body ... you made me bleed
You traded shelter ... for a wicked need
Took advantage ... of innocent eyes
But no one gets far ... on sin and lies
I sensed rather than felt his weight lift off me. He had finished—until the next time. I dragged the blankets up to my chin.
Stole my spirit ... but not my soul
In faith and strength ... I’m in control
Thought I’d never ... get up again
Now I’m stronger ... than I’ve ever been
Hatchet dropped to his knees next to the chair and folded his hands and bowed his head. “Lord God in heaven, hear my prayer. Please heal Evelyn or take these urges from me. I am Your servant and want to do right by You. But when You give me these urges, I am only flesh and blood.”
I wanted to throw up. Hatchet usually asked for the Lord’s forgiveness and for Evelyn to be healed. But now he blamed God?
“If it was not Your will, You would have made me celibate. Oh, God, give me the desires of Your heart and lead me to the path of redemption.”
I bit my lip so hard, the coppery tang of blood touched my tongue. Please God, just make him leave.
Hatchet rose from his knees and paced by the bed, muttering. I wished he’d put his clothes back on. I didn’t want to see his shriveled, saggy sack, especially in the cold. I couldn’t move for fear it would draw his attention.
The branches scratched the window, the red maple’s way of letting me know they were still protecting me from the evil outside. I gritted my teeth. But the evil wasn’t outside. The scratching brought up the memory of Mama telling me about God. If feeling loved was a sign God was with me, I had been abandoned.
After a few minutes, Hatchet finally reached for his slacks and put them on. Slipping on his shoes, he didn’t bother with the shirt. Evelyn wouldn’t see him sneaking in because they slept in separate bedrooms.
As soon as the door closed, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I turned to face the wall, the sobs sending shudders through me. I pulled Raksha Waya from under the pillow and clutched him tight. I couldn’t take much more. The secret visits had to stop.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Spring 2015 – Melody, age 16
As her tears subsided, Melody clutched a sodden tissue in her fist. She stared at the blue and burgundy rug. Unable to meet Roger’s eyes, she didn’t want to see his disgust for not stopping Hatchet’s visits sooner.
“Thank you for sharing your experience with me, Melody.” Roger kept his voice low and soothing. “You know you were not to blame in any way for what happened, right?”
She couldn’t keep the sob from creeping into her voice. “But I shouldn’t have let him do that to me. I should have stopped him sooner.”
Roger grabbed another tissue and handed it to her. She dabbed her eyes.
“I disagree. You were taken out of a bad situation and put in one where, on the surface, it was a better environment for you.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Hatchet was bigger and stronger than you, and he threatened you with bodily harm if you told anyone.”
“But I shouldn’t have been such a coward.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think trying to fight him off or defying him would have been the brave thing to do?” He shook his head. “No, you would have been foolish and would have wound up harmed or even killed.”
She dropped her gaze to the coffee table. “Maybe I’d have been better off dead. Then I would have joined Mama and Daddy and Quatie Raincrow. No more pain.”
His shoulders rose as he inhaled. “Melody, you are the most unique patient I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. You’re smart, talented, and found a brilliant way to communicate when plain words were too scary and had not served you well. You have so much to offer the world, it would have been a shame—no, closer to a crime—if you weren’t here to fulfill your destiny.”
The emotion behind his words took her aback. What had happened to the aloof, wise-cracking, even-keeled doctor who let nothing ruffle him?
“I know, I’m supposed to be the impartial, dispassionate physician. But you have been gifted with such tremendous talent, I’m not sure you realize how blessed you are.” He jumped up and paced the length of the room in front of the windows. “Hypothetically, should Hatchet have harmed or killed you, I likely would never have had the opportunity to meet you. And my life would not have changed.”
He faced her, hands on hips. “I’ve admired your strength and resiliency from the day you first walked into this office. And the way you’ve dealt with the lousy life circumstances which have been meted out to you.” He brushed back his brown curls. “In someone with less strength, not only would you have stabbed someone, but I’d be dealing with a junkie or alcoholic, or both. Or someone who goes out of their way to inflict the same harm on the world that the world has given them.”
Was that how he saw her? She didn’t feel strong. She felt weak and beaten down.
“But not you. You met your troubles head-on and coped with them in the best way you could. And you never lost touch with your past. Your love of nature and music sustained you through your darkest times.”
She couldn’t live without music. It spoke to her in a way she couldn’t describe. Even to herself.
“Hatchet was the one in the wrong. He knew it and proved it by his secrecy and threats. He is sick, but he had a choice. You didn’t.”
Choice. The word hit her hard. She hadn’t had any choice. She hadn’t wanted or asked for any of it to happen. Hatchet was the one who had always come to her.
The tears fell again, only this time they weren’t the tears of shame, but of release. A huge knot in her stomach had come untied and the emotion leaked out her eyes. She yanked some tissues out of the box.
Roger brought her a glass of water. “I don’t want Miss Prescott to blame me for dehydrating you during our session today. You need to replenish.”
“Thank you.” The words barely squeaked out.
He sat in his chair and leaned forward. “Hang on to the words of the song you shared with me. It got you through the worst ... and the words are true. You are stronger than you’ve ever been.”
The water helped the tears to abate and a measure of control crept back in. She had survived—not only Hatchet, but everything fate had thrown at her.
“I’ll get off my soapbox now, but anytime you want to talk about this, I’ll be ready to listen. And I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it, you were not to blame.”
Rebecca brought steaming mugs in from the kitchen. She handed one mug to Melody and sat next to her on the couch. “Quatie used to say hot cocoa was the best cure for your ills, and after all these years, I’d have to say she was right.”
Melody wrapped her fingers around the hot mug and shuddered as warmth radiated through her hands.
“If you’re cold, grab a throw. And while you’re at it, I’ll take one.”
Melody set her cocoa on the side table and opened the cabinet to pull out the throw blankets. The day had been balmy, but when night fell, the temperature had plummeted and her jammies and robe weren’t doing the job.
Snuggling under the blanket, she grabbed her cocoa and took a sip. The liquid spread warmth through her from the inside out. She took a deep breath and relaxed. Sitting with Rebecca in the evenings was nice. Content at last.
Rebecca raised the footrest and settled in with her cocoa. “It feels so good to put my feet up. Today was a long day. A lot of hurry up and wait. Had to go to court tod
ay with one of my cases. A long day with no results.” She took a sip and sighed. “I did have some good news about you, though.”
Melody’s eyebrows rose and she waited for Rebecca to continue.
“John Ludloff contacted me today. Not only is he willing to take you on as a client, he wants to take an active role in managing your career.”
Melody’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the cup and her voice left her.
“Don’t get uptight. We’ll take things one step at a time. He wants to put together a plan and you and I will go through it together.” Rebecca smiled. “It’s fantastic to have someone so renowned get so excited about your talent.”
Melody inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid I might not be able to sing in front of people anymore. I used to love it.”
After a sip of cocoa, Rebecca set her cup down. “I am certain you’ll find the joy in your voice again. And remember, that’s why we put you in choir. So when you’re ready, you can sing in an ensemble setting.”
Being with Rebecca made Melody feel safe ... at long last. The urge to share a part of her day welled up. “I told Roger about Hatchet today.”
Rebecca grasped Melody’s hand and squeezed. “I’m so proud of you. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to talk about. How do you feel now?”
“Okay.” Melody took another sip. “Better. Roger said it wasn’t my fault and that I didn’t have a choice.”
“Of course you didn’t have a choice.” She faced Melody. “Hatchet is a sick man. I’ll never forgive myself for placing you there. You did nothing wrong. And I’m so glad you told me what was happening so we could stop it.”
Melody ran a finger around the rim of her cup. “But I didn’t tell you right away.”
Rebecca covered her mouth. Then she took a deep breath. “I’m not going to lie ... I wish you had come to me the first time Hatchet touched you. But you’re not to blame for not speaking out. I carry the blame because you felt you couldn’t tell me.”
Rebecca blamed herself?
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