As Sick as Our Secrets

by A B Whelan

  I wrap her in my arms. “Shush. Calm down. We’ll fix this. I promise.”

  “I don’t want you to fix anything. I’m done.”

  “Don’t say that, Livi. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

  She presses her face against my chest. “To do what? Be an object for another sick man again?”

  “Please don’t talk like that. You have so much to live for.”

  “Hey, Ashley,” Peter calls out. “Why don’t you call your friend in Temecula, the cop guy. I’m sure he can give you some sound advice.”

  Olivia pushes away from me. “No! No! I don’t want Betty to know.”

  “I think Peter’s right. We need to nail this son of a bitch for what he’s done, and Brad could tell us how.”

  “I don’t want to do anything, Ashley. I can’t have people knowing what my husband’s been doing to me. I wouldn’t survive the humiliation.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. Go back home to Sweden.”

  “So, what about your theory that your husband is the Fifty Shades Killer? Would you let him hurt someone else?”

  “He might be the one who killed my cousin, Olivia,” Peter adds. “If there is a slightest chance that your husband is the Fifty Shades Killer, then I want him to suffer.”

  Olivia locks eyes with Peter, and an eerie silence settles around us.

  “All right. Call Betty, but please don’t tell her that you’re talking about me, okay?”

  I bob my head, fighting a ball inside my stomach, and then I reach for my cell phone and dial Betty’s number.

  My call goes to her voice mail, but she calls me back right away.

  “You won’t believe what happened to me last night,” she says without saying hello. In light of recent events, I completely forgot that she and her sister did a little detective job in Old Town Temecula last night. “Some dude roofied me in the bar,” she whispers. I hear people shouting in the background, a whistle blowing. “Can you believe that? Me, a mother of three. Brad was so freaking pissed at me. He is barely talking to me.”

  “That’s crazy! Are you okay?” I put the phone on speaker.

  “I feel like shit, but you know how it is, no rest for the wicked. Hannah’s playing a soccer game this morning…come on, ref!” she shouts. “This referee is in idiot. That girl elbowed Hannah in the face, and he didn’t call it.”

  “Should I call you back?”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m just a little short on patience this morning. My head is about to split open, and I already swallowed a bottle of aspirin.”

  “Don’t say anything,” Olivia mouths to me, waving with her hand to get my attention.

  “Who drugged you?”

  “I dunno. Some loser in the bar. It was freaking surreal.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  She laughs. “No. Cathy took me home. It was all crazy. You know, as stupid as it sounds, I feel a little flattered that someone tried to nail me, out of all those women at the bar.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear what happened to you. If there is anything you need, just ask, okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks, Ash. I appreciate it.”

  “Hey…um…is Brad there with you?”

  “Yeah, he’s here. Wanna talk to him?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Silly.” I hear her footsteps on spongy, wet grass. “Brad. Ashley wants to talk to you.”

  “What for?” A clearing of throat. “Ashley? What’s going on?”

  “Hey, Brad. I understand it’s your daughter’s soccer game, but could you spare a minute for me? I need your professional advice on something.”

  “Um, yeah, sure. What’s up?”

  “So, I have a friend, who has a friend, who recently found out that her husband’s been drugging her for some time, could be years, and he does all kinds of nasty, kinky stuff to her while she is unconscious, without her consent. She wants to know what can be done to bring her husband to justice. I mean, it’s a crime, right?”

  “Well, based on what you just told me, it sounds like domestic rape. Yes, it is a crime, but it’s hard to prove, if not impossible.”

  I look up at Olivia. The image of her leaning over my phone on the counter turns sepia.

  “She has videos of the abuse,” I say.

  “She recorded them?”

  “No, she did not. She found the DVDs among her husband’s stuff. Isn’t that proof enough?”

  “Hold on a sec!” His voice fades. “Come on, man, let the kids play. This isn’t premier league soccer.” I hear him shout away from the phone. “I’m here. Sorry about that. Some parents are so out of touch with reality. Sometimes sitting through a soccer game here is worse than a shift at work. Anyway, well, a recording could be good, but it won’t be enough to get her husband for domestic rape. You have no idea how many wives go to extreme measures to get a better settlement out of a divorce. Are we talking about a rich guy here?”

  I feel my toes curl in my shoes as I avoid Olivia’s eyes. “Yeah, I would say he’s well off.”

  “Look, I’ll be honest here. The best way to get a conviction is to have the husband admit to his crime. A video won’t be enough. He can argue that whatever they did in their bedroom was consensual. You wouldn’t believe the shit married people do to each other these days. I’m sorry, Ashley, but there’s not much more I can say.”

  Olivia shakes her head and moves her hand across her throat, suggesting that I cut off the conversation with Brad, but I’m too disappointed and angry to give up so easily.

  “Okay, let’s say for argument’s sake that it’s impossible to get a confession out of the guy. What else can be done?”

  “If it happens again, get a blood test and a medical examination. Maybe all those things combined could convince the DA to file charges. These kinds of abuse cases are very hard to take to trial, let alone convict. Look, Ashley, you want to talk to Betty or something? I gotta go. This guy won’t stop yelling at his daughter, and now she’s crying. I can’t stand watching lousy old farts who’ve never amounted to anything in their lives push their kids to death on the soccer field. Sports should be fun at this age, not work.”

  “No, no. I understand you guys are busy. Thanks for your help.”

  “Wait, Betty is waving for the phone. I guess she wants to talk to you. Hey, I know the assistant DA pretty well. I’ll ask him about your friend when I see him, okay?”

  “I’d appreciate that, Brad, thanks.”

  I hear Brad lecturing someone in the background when a familiar voice comes through the speaker.

  “So, what were you two talking about?”

  “I’ll tell you later. It’s not important. I’m more interested in hearing what you found out last night and what happened to you.”

  “Oh, I got some good intel, thanks to Cathy. By the way, we owe her a drink or two. Anyway, we met some guys who knew Skyler. Maddie was right. She was part of the Old Town underground scene. Nobody could identify her kidnapper, but there was a rich guy who would show up at times, looking for Skyler. She even got in the car with him a few times. I didn’t get his name or license plate number, but he drove a dark-colored Maserati. The guys I talked to said he wasn’t from around here. I know it’s not much to go on, but it’s something, right?”

  Olivia staggers and quickly grabs ahold of the table for support. Peter’s head swivels between me and her, mouthing, “What’s wrong?”

  “Betty, you are a gem. If you were here, I’d kiss you.”

  She laughs. “Why? Did I say something useful?”

  “More than you know. Call me back when you’re alone. We need to talk.”

  Olivia

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  MONDAY

  It’s been two weeks since I’ve condemned myself to live alone in the dark, waiting for the end to come. I can no longer bear the sight of dirty dishes in the sink or the boxes of half-eaten takeout food growing mold in the refrigerator as I spend mo
st of my days lying in bed.

  The smell of rotten food seeping into every bit of fabric and latching onto every wall no longer bothers me. Only the constant buzzing of flies reminds me how unsanitary my new home has become. Though I know what I’m supposed to do, what society expects me to do, I can’t seem to find the initiative to get my life back in order.

  What’s the point anyway? I don’t get rewarded for being an honest woman, nor do I get justice when I’m mistreated.

  The pain and humiliation I’ve suffered in my life has been relentlessly beating me down, and finally I’ve given up. I have no energy left to fend for myself.

  This new pain that has a hold on me is too strong to shake. The pointless cycle of repetitive events must be broken. We are born. We breathe. Eat. Shit. Fuck. Cheat. Love. Lie. Suffer. Die. After a certain point in life, there is no starting over with a clean slate.

  I can’t tolerate the sour smell of my pillow, and I roll onto my back, where I lie still, watching flies circle the twinkling lightbulb. Why are all living things drawn to light when all it offers is pain and death?

  A muffled shuffling by the front door reminds me about the food delivery I ordered online. I wait until the hallway falls silent; then I slip off the bed and drag myself to the door. My breasts hurt from lying on my stomach for hours, and I massage them to ease the pain as I walk.

  I open the door a crack to see if the hallway is empty, and then I reach out for the crate and pull the groceries into the apartment. Fresh bread, milk, apples, cheese, and carrots. Everything a healthy body needs. I chug down some milk and tear into the bread. I search for some meat, but all I find is a tube of liverwurst. I rip off the plastic with my teeth and spread some of the paste onto my bread.

  As if I’ve rung the dinner bell, insects show up and start swarming around the food. I wave my arms to shoo them away until a pain in my armpit stops me. There are rashes on my skin from my lack of bathing that need tending to before they get infected. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.

  A series of raps on my door startles me, and I scoot away from the door.

  “Olivia, I know you’re there,” says a woman’s voice. I know that voice. I’ve missed that voice, but I remain silent. I can’t have Ashley see me like this.

  “Brad’s friends at the station helped me find you. Please open the door,” Ashley pleads.

  I don’t make a sound.

  “I won’t go away until you let me in, and you know how persistent I can be.”

  I hold my breath, the last bite of bread tucked into my cheek.

  “I’ll knock until my knuckles bleed. Come on, Olivia, let me in!” she yells, banging on the door.

  The noise is unbearable. I lean forward, covering my ears, and press my face onto the fading linoleum.

  “Stop! Just stop, please! Go away!” I scream.

  “Open the door, Olivia, or I swear to God I’ll break it down.”

  As much as I don’t want to face her, I push myself to my feet and slowly open the door, only enough to peek out. She puts her hand through the gap and forces her way into my small, dingy apartment.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place,” she says, shaking her head and smiling. She wraps her arms around me without mentioning how badly I stink. In that moment, I know everything will be all right.

  Two weeks ago, Ashley drove me to the police station in Los Feliz. She convinced me that with the video of Richard sodomizing my drugged, limp body, the sketch she made based on Skyler’s description of her kidnapper, my story of Skyler’s purse in Richard’s trunk, the scarf underneath his car, the information I gathered at the foundation, and what Betty collected in Old Town Temecula, I would have enough to start an investigation against my husband.

  But she was wrong.

  The female sergeant assured me of her full support to investigate my allegations against my husband. Yet once Richard appeared at the police station, bringing his charm and trustful demeanor, I knew I wouldn’t win.

  Apparently, there was a case twenty-five years ago of a murdered girl in Escondido, and Richard was questioned by the police as a person of interest. He was cleared and released from custody, but the young detective, Bostick, who interrogated him never stopped sniffing around Richard. The girl’s name was Caroline Taylor, and her case is still unsolved, a cold case.

  Detective Bostick got wind of Richard’s upcoming interview in a domestic rape allegation and his possible connection to the Fifty Shades Killer’s victims. Needless to say, he was hell bent on being there. While we were waiting for him to drive up from Escondido, a local detective entered the room to begin the interview with my husband.

  The sergeant allowed me to watch the inteview live on a TV screen from a nearby room. She hoped I’d give viable comments on Richard’s answers to help catch him in a lie.

  “Okay, have a seat,” said Detective Harmon, pointing at a wooden chair. “I thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

  The seat had no cushioning, and its thin board tilted under Richard’s weight. He refrained from commenting on it, although I knew he wanted to.

  Harmon walked around the room in circles. At one point, he grabbed Richard’s shoulders from behind and gave them a good squeeze. “Are you comfortable, Mr. Campbell?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer?” asked Harmon.

  Richard remained calm and composed, putting me on edge, as he said, “I don’t believe I need one.”

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? A s’mores Frappuccino?”

  “I’m fine,” Richard snapped, leaning back in his chair. “How long will this take? I’m a busy man. I wasn’t even told why I’m here.”

  Harmon picked up a newspaper from the table and sat down opposite Richard. “We’ll start in a minute when the other detective gets here. So, relax while we wait.” He opened his paper casually and shook it until the pages stood up straight. “I don’t know about you, but I always check out the job offers first, especially when I get tired of dealing with the slum of the earth all day. I’ve been doing this for over fifteen years, if you can believe that!” He looked up at Richard. “What job do you think would suit me?”

  Richard jerked his head, irritated. “I don’t know. What do you like to do?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe something that doesn’t involve demanding work—like partying, mingling with people, traveling first class. I don’t know, maybe even running a nonprofit organization. I think I’d love that! How about you, Mr. Campbell, do you love your job?”

  Richard’s eyes rolled upward. “I do. Although it might not suit you because it involves more than traveling and partying.”

  “Right.” Harmon snapped his fingers. “If my information is correct, you used to live in Escondido, right? So, what brought you here to the City of Angels? The prospect of finding more good-hearted people with deep pockets? More open-minded woman?”

  “Very funny.” Richard’s expression was one of disdain. “I don’t feel like talking nonsense. How long until your partner gets here? I don’t have all day.”

  Before Harmon could answer, the door opened, and a female police officer entered the room with a stack of evidence boxes. Harmon popped up from his chair, took the load from her hands, and set the stack on the table.

  “How’s it going?” asked the police officer.

  “We had a great chat. Mr. Campbell is very pleasant company.” Harmon’s hands landed on Richard’s shoulders again and pressed down slightly to make him turn back and look at him. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything to drink?”

  “I said I was fine. Thank you.”

  It’s obvious that my husband felt uncomfortable and out of his element, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying every moment of it.

  Harmon clapped his hands once. “I told you he’s the easiest guest we ever had here in the station.”

  The officer left the room, and Harmon reclaimed his place at the table opposite Ric
hard. Between the two of them towered three boxes of evidence. Harmon didn’t say anything about it; he only stared at Richard with a blank expression.

  The minutes rolled on in deadly silence, and I tried to imagine what Richard might be thinking. Was he worried about the videos he made of me or something more sinister he’d done? He must have been dying to see what was inside those boxes.

  Richard broke the silence first. “Are we going to start now, or what?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t start until an old buddy of yours shows up here. Bostick? Remember him?”

  Richard touched his temple. “Bostick? From Escondido? Did he transfer here?”

  Harmon didn’t respond.

  “He’s still with the force? I’m quite surprised. The temper that man had…is he on medication, or was he ordered to regularly attend mandatory anger management classes?”

  Still no response.

  “That man is a rabid animal. Why is he joining us? I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “You can tell him yourself all the wonderful things you think of him when he gets here. I’m sure he’d love to hear it,” Harmon said, smiling.

  Richard pointed at the camera on a tripod in the corner. “Are you recording this?”

  “Yes, for your safety.”

  “I bet Bostick is here already, watching this in another room.” Richard stood up, calculating.

  “There is no one watching you.”

  Richard opened the door and poked his head out in the hallway. “He’s there, am I right? Behind that closed door.”

  “Go ahead and open the door and have a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  My heart stopped in my chest. What if he opened the door and saw me here? He’d know why he was here.

  I looked at the female detective in panic. She reassuringly nodded at me, pressing her finger to her lips.

  Richard walked back into the camera frame, and I sighed in relief. “This is harassment. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Your interrogation style is ridiculous.”