The Constant Silence: Part 1

The Constant Silence: Part 1

         Contorted on the white concrete, she screams sin. A dark butterfly pinned. Body undulating in silk ocean waves, she tries to escape. Face turned away, the blushing mouth exhales in strain, trying to catch the breath that escapes. Eyes closing, her lashes brush alabaster cheeks in dainty charcoal rows. The thin spikes of her cost-a-fortune heels no longer feel as sexy as they did in the store. The passion fruit leather serves only to support her as she strains away, binding her from escape as effectively as chains. The silver rectangle filming the park smacks the ground as her arm is thrown away. Old bruises fade as new ones form.

         Muscles showing like ropes thread down the bareness of his glistening skin as slamming her wrists to the ground he makes himself known to her again. Her hair spills like an onyx crown across the coldness of the ground as in defiance she looks away. The aviators hide his eyes but too often she has seen what they hide. Knowing what follows she struggles to break his unforgiving hold. The sickly sweet of sweating perfume wafts through the air, catching the breeze as she calls to the men so close by, but entranced they stand as the scene unfolds before them. There’s no one there who cares to hear her screams, only a red light blinking beside her face, to remember what has transpired on this decadent day. A reminder of her, bruised and broken, spread out before them. The stench of alcohol, beer bottles clink. They feast.

         As night falls so does she, they leave, depositing her upon the ground like trash, a shattered heap. She feels the scrape of rough pavement beneath the bones of her back, every breath rattles out. The stickiness between her legs makes her gag. Tender skin aches as she tries to crawl away, copper taste of blood dripping from her split mouth as she drags herself across the chaos of the ground. Collapsing by the tatters of her dress, she grasps the remnants of her purse and searches through the folds. The battery charm beeps as she stabs in buttons on the phone; weaving in and out of consciousness she waits until the operator answers.

          All she can say is, “Please,” before the darkness sweeps and shock settles in, making lead of her traumatized limbs. 

         She drifts against the ground. Every second a stab as she breathes in and out, the hourglass quickly emptying out. Unsure if they’ll come, or if they heard her plea, she would try again but she can’t find the strength to lift her aching hand. It doesn’t matter anymore; the cold penetrates the bone, as she lies against the concrete of the basketball court. Wondering how long it will take for someone to notice she’s not home in bed. Wondering, wondering, until finally sirens pierce the night.

         Screeching tires sound across the grass as the rainbow strobes break the silence. Oppressiveness as they rush to her side, the snap of the oxygen mask goes over her face. Distantly she hears the voices, the questions, the demands. She screams as they touch her but no one hears, terrified she tries to fight, but only sinks farther into the night inside her mind. She closes her eyes.

         For three years fear was her constant companion. Its tendrils crawled along her skin burrowing into her mind where it festered and grew. A constant reminder of her past mistakes, a reminder she chose to ignore the day she picked up the phone to end it all. As she listened to the ringing she stared into the mirror above the bathroom sink, gently prodding the swollen flesh under one tearing eye. Skillfully wielding the makeup wand to erase the sight from her clear green eyes. Never again she’d swore, checking the latch on the bathroom door. No more, I tripped, I fell, makeup brush, cover-up, and questioning stares. The ringing stopped, he’d answered the phone, “What!”

         She’d stared at her face in the mirror, wondering where the girl she used to be hid within the pale bruised shell. She shouldn’t have to live like this she’d told the man on the other end of the phone; despite his denial she tried to convince herself she was worth more.

         Hands lift her body from the tatters of a broken mess, attempting fast gentleness as the gurney squeaks out a raucous sound. The radio crackles, the doors slam shut, and the needle pricks the long blue vein in her rubberized arm. The burn begins, the pain numbs, and she mumbles softly as the paramedics work.

         “Please.”

         Dizziness assails her when she wakes. She’s moving quickly, like an arrow from a bow, rocking like a ship that’s slipped its moor. Fluorescent bulbs on white washed walls rush overhead, the sight pokes her eyes. She’s blind in the light. Turquoise gowns run down the hall beside her, string-tied caps, white facemasks, and a hand upon the cart, but it’s not an escape from the nightmare she’s living. A new cover is strapped over her face, a cloud of bubble gum candy and all those faces fade. She sinks again, back down again, where terror lies in wait, sharp claws waiting to take.

         “If you ever try leaving, I’ll kill you.”

         She’d lightly smacked his arm, “Stop teasing.” She’d laughed trying to ignore the panic that accompanied such a threat. His arms tightened around her, her spine cracked ominously as he squeezed. She’d choked and tried to breathe.

         “Don’t laugh.”

         She’d tried to turn her head but he’d grabbed her shoulders and shook, snapping her head back. A fading flower on a fragile stem, she’d squeaked as she tried to push away. He hugged her tighter against him, smoothing a hand down her arm, raising goose bumps and fear as his voice dropped and tears touched his face, “I just love you so much, I can’t be without you.”

         “Liar,” She wanted to say.

         Beeps and clicks, the echo of his words bouncing around in her head, sucking in a deep breath to clear her mind, causing spots to dance in front of her eyes. One hand trembles on the antiseptic bed. The sound of pen sticking to paper taps out a sound as the nurse on duty takes vitals from the end of the bed.

         “How do you feel?” Scrubs rustle as she closes in.

         “My mother?”

         Understanding creeps across the nurse’s prim expression; pursing her lips she observes the girl’s struggling movements to sit up. “The police came to take your statement, she’s speaking with them now.”

         Sinking back into the sheets she clutches her abdomen, “Ah, broken or cracked?”

         The clipboard lowers and the nurse looks speculatively over the foot of the bed, “Not your first time.” She receives a shake of the head and sighs as she checks the chart, “Cracked. Stitches to superficial cuts, fifteen total. Nothing severe so you’ll probably be released tomorrow at the latest.”

         Her fists clench in the blanket, the knuckles turning white.

         “I’ll let your mother know you’re awake,” a pat on the hand followed by drowsiness and settling peace.

         Voices whisper in the hallway as she drifts on a sea of memory, “Not severe.”

         Her eyes open again as the afternoon light is seeping through the blinds, gilding the room in flashing rays. Her hand upon the bed lies clasped by another, a brunette whose face is turned away, arm bent beneath her resting head as strands of silky hair caress her weathered cheek. 

         “Mom.”

         The head lifts slowly and bleary eyes look sadly at her battered face. “Oh baby.” She grasps tighter to the hand she holds.

         “The cops were here. You talked to them.”

         “They wanted to know why you were at the park. They won’t be handling the case though, they’re sending someone else.”

         She turns away, “I was finishing a film project for school. It’s due soon, I only needed a few more takes of the park. I didn’t know I was being followed.”

         Her mother smoothes the hair away from her mottled face, “I’m sure it’s a great film.”

         Memory snaps in place, a blinking light and laughing face, “You have no idea.”

         They sit unspeaking as the sun continues to sink. She flinches when her mother pets along her arm. Without the constant stream of drugs her mind begins to function at a higher rate. When the nurse returns she asks why she hasn’t been released yet.

         “They had to sedate you, you were screaming and fighting the doctor. We’re waiting for the majority of that to wear off. Plus, blood tests, we’re waiting for results.”

         Images flash but nothing grabs hold as she tries to remember what the nurse has told. A strobe light, sirens cutting through the night, laying on a cart as they hurtled down a long bright hall, but screaming, it’s there, she just can’t find where. Before, when she was in the dark, alone, stuck to the pavement like ice, falling snow, she’d screamed, she knew she had, but no one came. The vagueness of haunted memories, stone cold eyes boring into her face as her body is slammed to the ground again and again.  Her mind shuts down at the moment when she shattered and fell into the wind. When she gave them what they came for and lay placidly under their pillaging hands.

         Blank face, hide the pain, she asks, “When can I leave?” just as a squat little man comes barreling in, stethoscope in prominence about his slender neck. Stooped, wire rims hanging off his nose, he constantly pushes them back where they’re supposed to go. The nurse stalks closer, looking as though she’d like to shove him down and trample him beneath her white shoes.

         “How are you feeling this evening Miss…McKenna?” Papers shuffle as he consults the folder he’s been given about her condition.

         A wry grin touches the corner of one scabbed lip, “Wonderful. I could go home.” She adds hopefully.

         “Excellent, excellent.”

         Her mother sits incredulous, the nurse renews her glare.

         “Oh! Rionna McKenna?”

         “Yes.”

         Glee touches his features and he snaps his fingers in demand at the nurse, “Tell them she’s awake.” With an apologetic glance the woman turns on her heel and leaves. He looks back at Rionna, a wraith swathed in white upon the bed. The only color purple and stitches to set off her jet-black hair. “The police are waiting outside.”

         Angry her mother leaps from her chair, “And you think you can just invite them in, demand they see her now?”

         Rionna shakes her head, “I’ll talk to them. You want to get something to eat?”

         Her mother’s eyes are anguished as they see her lying so still, determination seeping from her pores, “Are you sure? They can wait.”

         “I want it done. Over with so I never have to think of it again.” She leans against the pillows propping her up in bed, “If they find my camera it’ll all be on film. Marcus took it before they…”          

         The doctor, sensing he has made an error tries to correct his misstep in his own awkward way, “Lucky for you to know who it was!”

         She turns her face to him, the marks on her body eerily highlighted by the fluorescent glow of hospital lights, “You know, that stethoscope doesn’t make you a doctor.”

         He cringes at the detachment of the insult, trying to remember she has the right to be upset; never considering perhaps his comments weren’t very helpful. First week as a resident and already the patients hate him, of course it’s just trauma that makes them irritable.

         “Well, they’re right outside, I’ll have Jackie bring them now.”

         She continues to stare past him. He doesn’t wait for an answer but proceeds to usher them in. “She’s fine,” he assures as they hesitate at the door, two blue uniforms, muscles, and guns.  “Just superficial wounds, be out of here in no time. Best to catch her while she’s on her back.” He chuckles as he leaves the room.

         The officers stare, eyes following the retreating man down the hall. One jerks violently and makes a move, a hunter wanting to stalk the doctor down the corridor. The older of the two lays a hand on his arm. Violence won’t help, not in this room. The younger collects himself and lets out a breath, “Superficial my ass.”

         Rionna lifts a tired hand and brushes the hair carefully away from her bruised and swollen face, “He’s right you know, I’ll be fine in a few days, just a bunch of bruises and cracked ribs.”

         “He’s supposed to be a professional, not having fun at his patient’s expense.” The younger man looks at the girl in the bed for the first time. Shock riddles his face. Recognition almost sends him to his knees.

         Oblivious to the sudden connection, the older man moves heavily into the room, taking a careful step toward the bed. Hesitating to make the girl feel more comfortable as she tracks his progress without blinking, wary of both men as they approach.

         “Feel free to have a seat.” She motions toward the chairs on the side of the bed as her mother stares listlessly out the window, rejecting her daughter’s suggestion of food.

         “This won’t take long Miss McKenna”

         The graying hair of the older officer catches her eye as he pulls out a pad, “I’m Henry Clark. I’ll be in charge of the investigation. He’s Alec Donovan.” He jerks a thumb toward his companion.

         “Yes, I know,” She turns her attention to the tall dark man, “How’ve you been? Last I heard your sisters were in college and you were traipsing around Iraq, maybe Afghanistan.”

         Officer Donovan grimaces and pulls out a pen, ignoring the stare of his partner as he sits in the hard plastic chair. “I got discharged a few months back. I was going call, but…”

         “You didn’t want me to know?”

         “I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me. Emma said you were engaged.”

         “Your mistake.” She laughs harshly, raises her hand, naked of any diamond band, “As for engaged, we all know how that turned out.” 

         Officer Clark clears his throat, “Miss if you would be more comfortable with Donovan outside.”

         “No, it’s fine, we’re just old friends,”

         “Well then, let’s begin,” and with such a simple statement, in the name of justice, she is forced to live it all again.

         “Why were you at the park Miss McKenna?”

         She sighs heavily, “I’m taking a class on child development. One of our projects deals with the idea of play and how it affects children. I was focusing on the benefit of parks to neighborhoods through a documentary. I was filming the last piece last night. I needed a better shot of the basketball court without the glare of too much sunlight. I waited until the sun was setting, when it was angled away from the shot I needed.”

         Officer Clark nods as he jots down notes, “When were you aware you were being followed?”

         “I was almost done shooting when an SUV pulled up to the court. I thought it was just some kids wanting an evening pick-up game.” Her voice breaks, “I didn’t understand what was happening. I recognized one of them immediately, one of Marcus’s friends, I think his name’s Rob, started pulling beer from the back. I was nervous so I started to head back to my car…”

         Alec interrupts, “We don’t have to do this now, if it’s too difficult we can come back.”

         She shakes her head, “I don’t want to forget anything that’ll help convict.” Closing her eyes she begins again, lost in the dark with those men, “I didn’t get far, someone grabbed my arm, they jerked me around, and I dropped the camera. I saw Marcus walk toward me, he picked it up, gave it to one of the others. I tried to run but they were too strong. They pinned me down, right under the basketball goal. I’d worn a skirt.”

         Her mother chokes, a sob escapes her throat, turning from the window she graps Rionna’s hand, “Stop! Please.” She turns to the men, ink pens, paper in hand, “Don’t you have everything you need? Do you have to hear everything?”

         Officer Clark stands up, “That should be enough information for now. Mrs. McKenna if you’d like to step outside with me, I need some family information please.”

         Squeezing her daughter’s hand, Becky McKenna reluctantly follows the man from the room. Only Alec and Rionna are left.

         He looks at her, a million questions in his eyes, “Had anything like that happened before?”

         She nods too embarrassed to raise her head, “When I realized what was happening, I tried to break it off, give the ring back. I’d forgotten what it was like to walk around without hiding…bruises.”

         His jaw clenches as he puts away his pen, “If I’d known what was happening, nothing could have kept me away.”

         “They filmed it, with my camera. If you find it, you’ll have everything you need.”

         “Ri.”

         “Alec, please.”

         “We’ll find it, I promise,” leaning over the rail he presses a kiss in the center of her hand, “try to get some sleep. We’ll be in touch.”

         She’s released the next morning, a sleepless night lending puffy bags to her already bloodshot eyes. A pharmacy stop and twenty-minute drive later she’s back at home, pretending she’s fine. Trying to ignore the need to take a baseball bat with her when she dares to venture outside at night. The nurse had tried to warn her about what could happen, had attempted to tell her about therapy sessions she could attend. But all she wants is to feel normal again, unwilling to accept a stranger’s advice, she’d rejected the nurse’s advances, as she had Alec’s unspoken plea for understanding.

         The first week home she drives to the University for her Practicum, goes to work, and acts as though everything is as it was before. In public, she produces a façade of recovery. At home it’s much the same. No one seems to realize it’s all false strength, no one sees she’s living on nerves. She pretends to be as she was before. But in the middle of the night, she jerks awake, drenched in sweat, runs to the bathroom and is violently sick. Memories haunt her; she sits alone in class, is cautious. Has to force herself not to shrink from anything male. Reacts violently to a certain cologne smell. Dark circles merge with the bruises that slowly fade from dark to yellow smudges on her face. Her ribs continue to ache.

         She’s running out of courage, and prays she gets good news soon. All she’s gotten lately is the run around on why arrests are yet to be made. She can’t stand being balanced on the edge of a knifepoint, sitting at home. She’s thinking of running her car off the bridge at the end of her deserted country road. The water’s deep. She’s pretty sure if she drives fast enough she won’t have to wait to drown. If she could block everything out she’d be okay, but the flashbacks keep coming, and when the panic starts she ends up on her knees in the bathroom, stuffing her fist in her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. She attributes her actions, her bruises, her stitches to the car accident she’s pretended to be in. It’s easier than the truth and holds the pity, the probing questions, at bay.

         Two weeks from hospital discharge, she comes home to find a cop car in her drive. Alec Donovan, Officer Donovan, she reminds herself, waiting to be let inside as she pulls her car in the narrow space behind the house. No one else is home and she can’t help the suspicions that leap on her back as she clutches her pepper spray and approaches the walk where he waits. It doesn’t matter that she’s known him since she was fifteen. That they’d graduated from the same high school only a few years apart, or even that they’d dated before he’d dumped her for a war. It’s been three years since they last spoke; he’s not the same person he was then. She doesn’t recognize the man sitting on the stoop, starched uniform and gun belt looped across lean hips.

         He watches her approach and spreads his hands, a gesture of peace and surrender. He squats to sit on the dusty step, putting his pristine uniform in jeopardy to gain her trust. He sees her struggle with the heavy backpack but fights down the urge to help her with it, knowing moving toward her is likely to gain pepper spray in the face. Instead he comments on the day.

         “Beautiful weather. I’m hoping it just keeps getting nicer as April slides into May.” He stretches his feet in front of him and leans back on his elbows.

         Rionna lets a small grin escape, “Combat boots? Aren’t you supposed to be a cop?”

         Grinning good-naturedly he sticks his feet out and scrutinizes them, “I couldn’t let a good pair of boots go to waste right when I’d gotten them broken in.”

         “I thought military boots were tan?”

         “They might have been.”

         She laughs and moves a small step closer; leaning on the patio table to relieve the pressure the bag puts on her ribs. No matter how long it’s been she still recognizes his sense of humor, even if everything else has changed.

         Seeing the discomfort flit across her features Alec bounds to his feet and reaches to help. He can’t stand to see any more pain in her face, not when all she’d done was try to move on, to forget about him. When he’d told her it was over, he’d known exactly what he was throwing away, but he’d thought he was keeping her safe. When he moves, she chokes on her laugh, scrambling backward and tripping on a patio chair.

         “Damn it,” Alec spits out, grabbing her before she can tumble to the bricks. She stiffens as his hands wrap around her waist brushing skin where her t-shirt has become twisted. At the first touch she cringes, expecting a crushing grip but his hands are warm and calloused, gripping her waist firmly, helping her balance before slipping the bag from her shoulders, depositing it in the chair she tripped over before moving a step back. Breathing hard she leans against the table trying to reconcile his touch to that of another, nausea boils up and she brutally stems the thought, unwilling to be sick in front of him.

         Alec kicks himself as he watches her try to recover, knowing he’s messed up, shaken her trust by moving so purposefully toward her without warning. It’s been three years since they spoke, and the last time, the last time was brutal. No way does she still see him as anything, even a friend. A knife twists in his gut at the thought of never being close to her again, “Rionna,” he starts softly, taking a hesitant step forward, “I’m sorry honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

         She releases her breath in a whoosh of sound, “It’s ok. I’m fine.” But her voice shivers denying her statement; she doesn’t notice her shirt is still twisted or that the bruises on her sides show like Technicolor signs. Fingertip bruises from cruel hands that tighten his jaw and bring on a murderous rage. Alec has to keep himself on a tight rein when all he wants to do is kiss those bruises away. He’s seen the photos the hospital took when she was weaving in and out of consciousness, read the report on how she screamed out the bastard’s name when they put her on the gurney. How she didn’t stop fighting until the medics gave her the strongest sedative they had. He hasn’t stopped thinking about the story she told the day they went to question her, when despite everything she wondered when he’d gotten out of the army. It’s haunted him, from the moment he saw her lying listless in that grotesque white bed, her face a mess of scrapes and bruises, all false bravado in the face of disaster. Her humor had caught his eye and turned his head when all he’d wanted was to follow that quack doctor down the hall and bang his face against the nearest wall. If he’d known what would happen, it wouldn’t have mattered how old she was, he never would have left.

         Carefully he takes her hand, the one that’s digging marks in her palm, and leads her forward to the steps of the house. Sitting again he tugs her down beside him and she lets him without protest, still feeling tremors roll down her body. Keeping possession of her delicate hand he turns it over in his, examining the scrapes across her pale skin, trying to think of the best way to approach the reported reason why he came. But she knows.

         “You found the camera?”

         He looks up, into her shining eyes, so much trust in his uniform, more than deserved, “Yes.”

         “And the video, it was enough?”

         Turbulent eyes stare back at her, a blue-gray sea of emotion swirling in the depths of the iris. They’d found it, and it would convict. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind.

         He clears his throat trying to remove the burn of unshed tears, of the rage he wants to hurl at the world, “The prosecutor is convinced we won’t need anything else. The perp would be smart to take a plea deal before he ever entered the courtroom. And the others, his friends, they’ll be charged too.”

         She nods, faintly relieved.

         “Have you thought anymore about counseling? When I called your mom said you’d refused”

         “You watched the tape.” It wasn’t a question, instead, a simple statement of fact.

         He hadn’t wanted to watch, she already haunted him. He didn’t want to see them use her body, hold her down, violate who she was, and have to hear as they enjoyed what they did. But he was the arresting officer; he’d known her when she was still just a kid. He had a job to do and he couldn’t let her down, not when he felt at fault. So he’d stood silently as the video was played, notes were taken, case adjustments made. No one involved was going to walk away clean. Watching took its toll; the room was full of tension, they’d heard the rip of clothes, the slap of flesh against flesh and the beating of fists, the strike of one booted foot into ribs. It was almost bearable until the screaming stopped. Until she’d lost the strength to fight, until she’d turned her face away and looked with bloodied face into the lens, broken eyes staring into space. At that moment silence had spread throughout the room, there was no doubt conviction would occur. It didn’t calm his blood. It didn’t help that he had to uphold the law instead of marching down the cellblock and pulling that worthless trash into the alley to end his life in a single gunshot. He’d never hear the name Marcus again without feeling sick.

         “I’ve been thinking about it, off and on, I should probably go to a meeting or two. Get myself straightened out. I’m more than a little lost. Sometimes it’s better, some days it’s worse. Mostly I just feel stupid, stupid for trusting him with so much, stupid for believing what he said.”

         Remembering what he’d asked he pulls back, the sunlight on his face, and the bruised woman beside him. Alec traces the veins on the top of her hand and feels compelled to say,  “I’d never raise a hand against you Ri. I know you don’t believe me, not after everything that’s happened. I know he probably promised the same thing. But dammit, if you wanted to leave I’d let you.” He slips one hand up to cup her face, careful not to startle her as her eyes turn wild, “There are plenty of men out there who mean what they say, he wasn’t one of them but that isn’t your fault.”

         “I should’ve known.”

         “How could you?”

         As though she’s testing what he’s said she tugs her hand, easily it slides from his grasp. His eyes are dark, his face strained, as he sits on the front step trying to convince her counseling might be best to deal with all the pain. She hears what he says but is afraid to believe what he says. So she just listens. They sit until night begins to fall and her parents pull into the drive. He’s invited inside but declines, he has early shift the next day. She waves goodbye from the step as he walks across the drive to his patrol car, his words wrapped around her, comforting, soothing. “I’d never hurt you Ri.” She hears it echo and wonders if, despite everything, she should believe.

          She walks to the counseling center on campus the next morning, determined to put Alec’s advice to the test.  Apprehensive when she enters the office, on the edge of panic when she looks at the receptionist, she thinks of pleading she’s lost. Only Alec’s words from the night before, his warm hand on hers, and the sunlight shining on his laughing face keep her from running away. She waits on one of the ugly orange chairs and when the horned-rimmed glasses call her name, she goes. When the woman asks why she’s there she tells the truth, “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

         All business she takes out a pen, “What are you afraid of?”

         “Do you have to write this down?”

         She puts it down, clasps her hands on the steel top desk, a slightly annoyed look wrinkling her face.

         Rionna’s eyes drift around, sketching the office. Soothing landscapes against the white block walls, shelves of well-thumbed titles sit on shelves.

         “Are you religious?” green eyes clash with brown.

         “Not particularly.”

         “Then you may not understand. I’ve considered suicide and then I thought of murder, but I don’t feel like suffering the fires of hell. I’ve already been there. I don’t have any desire to be kept in such a place forever.”

         The woman waits as Rionna pauses in expectation, waiting for judgment to fall from her wrinkled lips. When she only stares at her from her birdlike face she shrugs.

         “Do you know what it is to be afraid? How crazy you feel when everyone just moves along, not noticing how little by little you’re falling apart inside? No? Of course not.”

         “Why don’t you start with why you’re considering suicide?”

         She jerks her head, “Have been, but that’s not really an option.” A deep exhale, “Rape. I hate that word, it’s so crude, but it can’t even begin to describe such a thing. It eats away at the soul. I keep remembering the way he smelled, the taste of blood, and screaming, God, the screaming. I can’t get it out. But of all of it, the way they laughed, that haunts me the most. The way they enjoyed what they did. I just can’t decide which of us should die.”

         The woman regards her with wary eyes, like she’s an animal at the zoo, “Have you had counseling?”

         Rionna snorts in disgust, mopping her damps eyes with a sleeve, “This is the counseling center.”

         “I’m sorry. I don’t specialize in rape. I mainly deal with roommate remediation.”

         “So, what? You’re just going to turn me away?”

         “Of course not.” The woman’s face puckers as though the suggestion were unwarranted, “I’ll refer you to a specialist, someone well versed in guilt counseling.”

         “Guilt?”

         “Yes dear, this happens all the time. What with a campus this size, the drinking and partying, naturally some young boys just can’t control themselves with so many pretty girls. No need to be…”

         But she’s already out the door; she doesn’t need to hear anymore. Throwing open the exit she dashes down the steps. Running down the walk to the wooded area in the quad. She drops her bag, grabs her knees, and tries to catch her breath as her heart races, panic sets in. Sucking air she sits heavily on the ground. All she needs is a voice, someone who cares enough to listen. Pulling out her phone she punches in the number Alec promised she could call. As it rings she clutches her knees to her chest and rocks.

         A deep voice comes over the line, “Donovan.”

         “Alec?”

         “Yeah, hold up,” His voice gets quiet, like a hand clapped over the phone, “Would you wait a second, I’m on the phone.” A husky female laugh sounds in the background. His voice sounds back on the phone, “Sorry about that…”

         But she’s dropped the phone as though it were a snake, scrambling background on hands and feet till the bark of a tree hits her back. She stares at it upon the ground, a wrenching sob tearing from her mouth. Stupid, stupid again, always trusting men, reading too much into what they say. Memories flash, too much, too fast. In the throws of a panic attack the cheery ringtone sounds again and again but she doesn’t hear as thunder claps and rain starts pouring down.

         “Shit.” Alec’s hand smacks against the steering wheel as the phone jumps to voicemail, he redials again, “Come on Ri, pick up the phone.” He glances at the woman beside him, “Em, I gotta call it in, she’s not answering.”

         His sister studies his face as she sips her drink, “Is it really any of your business if she doesn’t answer?”

         He grimaces, “I don’t care if it is. She called me first, damn if I’ll let her…you didn’t see her face.” He radios in, gets cleared by dispatch. Burning rubber he peels from the restaurant parking lot as they read him off the last known location of her cell phone signal. It’s probably illegal but he throws on the lights and speeds down the highway.

         “You still care, don’t you?” Emma’s face is sad as she studies his strained features. He nods but never takes his eyes off the road. “We haven’t spoken since she got engaged. I was angry, angry that she’d given up on you, furious that she’d just let herself keep getting beat up. I told her not to call me anymore.”

         “She had every right to move on, I told her not to wait for me.” His tormented eyes glance at her, “You have no idea the kinds of things I said.”

         “Yeah, actually I do. You have no idea how pissed I’ve been at you. Especially after seeing all the shit she’s been going through.”

         “Spec Ops isn’t a joke. She was too young; she hadn’t even graduated yet, what if I’d died? Or been caught? I couldn’t do that to her, you’ve got to know that’s why I gave her up.”

         “You don’t think she watched the news every freaking night you were gone. Read the paper just to make sure there wasn’t an article about your being taken or getting shot?” His hands tighten on the wheel as the rain starts to pound out a rhythm on the windshield. “Jesus, Alec, you are such an idiot sometimes.”

         “I told her I never wanted to marry her. That last time I was home, when she was crying out on the patio, I said things to her that keep me up at night.”

         “I told you, I know exactly what you said. And being ridiculously in love with you she left. She went and found some complete dick who couldn’t take your place if he tried. And believe me, he tried.”

         “Is that why?”

         “Why he smacked her around? Maybe, at first. Why he raped her? No way, not unless he had no idea you were home.” She points to the curb as they hit the edge of campus, “Let me off here, I’ve got class in a bit.” He pulls over and waits as she gets her bag from the backseat. Before she slams the door she leans in, “You know, you don’t have to be an idiot forever, she still loves you, even if it will take a while to forgive you.”

         He nods as he pulls away, “I’m counting on it.”

         He drives slowly through the campus searching for a sign of her in the pouring rain, hearing his sister’s advice echo in his mind. Yeah, he’d been stupid, but he’d had no idea what kind of disastrous thing might happen. He’d been so convinced he was keeping her safe by turning away. He hadn’t wanted to propose marriage when he might have been killed before their first anniversary. It didn’t seem like such a noble reason now. The radio crackles as dispatch calls out, he’s closing in on the signal, he’d better keep his eyes out. Squinting through the windshield he sees her huddled on the ground, curled beneath a huge oak tree in the middle of the quad. Leaving the lights flashing he parks the car.

         Rionna sees the cruiser pull up beside the walk, lights throwing rainbows out across the grassy yard. Shrinking into herself she tries to disappear as he jumps from the car and comes rushing toward her from the street. Puddles splash against his uniform pants as he comes toward her through the driving rain.