by Lisa Mancini
“Who the hell is Detective Ramirez and why does he want to speak with my son?”
Ramirez was ready. She stood up and faced the man. For once in her life, she was grateful for her height. At five feet-eleven inches, Dianna was tall for a woman. She inherited that from her mom who had Dutch heritage. Her dad was six inches shorter than her mom was. She extended her hand.
“Good morning. I’m Detective Ramirez, I’m him,” she said emphasizing the word. The man blushed. They all sat down and Ramirez looked at the young boy in the flesh. He seemed unfazed by all of this. Apparently, his father harbored the worry in this matter.
Ramirez explained why she was there and asked if they would rather come down to the station for an interview. The look on their faces gave her the answer.
“Okay, then let’s begin. Brandon did you know Sydney Sanders?”
The young man glared at her as if she were a bug on the ground. He said nothing.
“Brandon, if you don’t answer these questions, I can have you brought to the police station for a proper interview. Do you want that?”
His father spoke for him. “My son has nothing to say. He didn’t know this girl and had nothing to do with her death.”
“So, he never went to Sydney’s house?” asked Ramirez.
“No,” said Brandon’s father.
“So, Brandon, is that true? You didn’t go to Sydney’s house a couple weeks before she died?” Ramirez waited. She observed the boy and saw his left eye twitch. She continued.
“I have several witnesses that place you at a party over July 4th weekend. Sydney was at that party. Do you remember that?”
Brandon looked out the window. He became fascinated with the parking lot. His father looked worried.
“What party is that?” he turned to his son.
Ramirez answered for him.
“Mike Chancellor. His best friend had a party but you were out of town that weekend, weren’t you, Mr. Cambridge?”
Now looking worried, he nudged his son in the ribs. He whispered in Brandon’s ear. Brandon nodded furiously.
“Brandon, what about Molly Raju? Do you remember her? Because she remembers you that night.”
It was then that he turned to face the detective. She’d seen that expression before in her work. It was the same look of a sociopath -no guilt, no remorse, and no conscience. Now she knew it was true. This boy was a rapist and probably a murderer too. He spoke for the first time since he entered the room. His voice was deep like his father’s and he showed no fear.
“Detective, I do not know these girls, and I never attended any parties while my father was away. Anyone who told you that is lying and my lawyer will take appropriate action if this slander persists. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a chemistry class I’m missing. Good day.”
He stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him. Ramirez faced Brandon’s father. She took a chance.
“Mr. Cambridge, I have at least four witnesses who place Brandon at that party. These same witnesses claim that your son attempted to rape one of them and that he did rape Sydney. These same witnesses believe your son killed the girl. Another witness has identified your son as being at the home of Ms. Sanders two weeks before she was killed. Ms. Sanders was very upset at seeing him and refused to speak to him.”
“So, we are in a quandary. Would your son consent to a DNA test? What do you say?”
Cambridge stood and looked down at the detective.
“I say, that if you repeat any of these scurrilous charges I’ll have your job. And, an out of work mother wouldn’t be good for little Marisol, now would it? After all, you’re a single mother aren’t you?” asked the man contemptuously. He pushed back his chair, scraping the wood floor and walked out.
So, that’s how it’s going to be, is it. Well, game on! Ramirez walked across the campus to her vehicle and pulled out her cell phone.
“Hey, Freya, you can write your story now, but no names, right? Okay, great, thanks.”
Ramirez hung up, turned the radio up loud, and drove back to her office.
If they want a fight, they’ll get one.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Growing up Female in a Rape Culture
Freya Barrett
Every 98 seconds someone is sexually molested in the United States. That means over 575 people experienced sexual violence in the past year. Over ninety percent of adult rape victims are female.
Recently, it was alleged by a group of young local girls ranging in age from 11-13 that rape parties occur in Agatha Falls. Local boys, aged 16 and 17 years old, frequent these parties. Their victims are not willing to give their names due to the fear of retribution. As one young girl said, “If we don’t go to the parties, they lie about us on the internet. They brag that they had sex with us anyway. They make life hell for us if we don’t go along. They’re older, popular and have a lot of power.”
This is the world today. A world dominated by rape culture. Rape culture by definition is a sociological concept in which rape is seen as normal and as a way of life. This attitude is due to social norms about gender and sexuality. It is perpetuated by misogynistic language.
For example, when our president bragged that he could, “grab women by the pussy.” This same president also defended former Supreme Court nominee, Brett Kavanaugh who was accused of attempted rape while in high school. His high school behavior was excused as nothing more than locker room behavior or the old idea of, ‘boys will be boys’. And after Judge Kavanaugh was confirmed to the Supreme Court, the president apologized to the accused but not the accuser. What a message.
In rape culture, the victim is blamed. Women who have been raped are often asked, what were you wearing and why did you walk down that dark alley? This makes the victim second-guess their actions before the attack, instead of attacking the actions of the rapist.
The idea of what makes a man masculine also adds to rape culture. We need to re-examine and redefine what makes a man masculine. Rape is not a normal masculine urge. We often hear that rape is an act of violence and not a sexual act, but do we really believe that?
We need to combat rape culture. Stop using language that objectifies women. Speak out when women are referred to in an offensive manner. If a friend says that they’ve been raped, take them seriously and be supportive. And always communicate with your sexual partner and never assume consent.
If anyone reading this article has been the victim of rape, please contact the Rape Crisis Hotline. And if anyone would like to speak to me about the rape parties, please call me at the Beacon. Your information is confidential. As someone who was almost sexually assaulted last year, I know how much that event changed my life.
It’s time that we stood up to the violence directed towards women. Enough is enough.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Since the local bookstore in town had gone bankrupt, a new business filled the spot. The Magick Shop replaced Phoenix Book Stores on downtown Center Street and Anya couldn’t wait to check it out. Anya loved all things mystical. Her Aunt Ursula was also a fan of psychics, tarot cards, Ouija boards, and spell casting. Ursula was not a witch, but she had no problem hexing people she didn’t like. Anya learned everything about the craft from her.
Today was Saturday and Anya was meeting Molly, Megan, and Arielle at the Yellow Deli for lunch. Since she had some time to kill, she stopped by the shop to buy some Angelica root. The herb could aid in heartburn, nervousness, insomnia and even flatulence but Anya had another reason for it. She needed it for protection.
In Wicca and witchcraft, the herb is believed to bring good luck and ward off evil. It was also associated with courage. And these days, Anya needed protection and courage.
Anya believed she was being stalked. Since Halloween night a few weeks back, she’d found hand written notes left in her mailbox and taped to her front door. These messages scared the hell out of her. The stalker implied that he (it was a man she surmised) was watching her. He seemed to know her sch
edule and he obviously knew her address.
Initially she thought it was an obsessed fan. After all, she was a local TV show host. Teen Time aired every Saturday morning. Maybe it was just some person who liked her but was being weird about it. At least, that’s what she told herself in the beginning. But, with the murder of her friend, Sydney; now she wasn’t so sure. So, today she was turning to her friends for guidance.
Anya purchased her Anjelica root and a few white candles. She walked across the street to the deli and took a table by the large stone fireplace.
She ordered a green tea and some vegetable soup and waited. Within minutes, Molly appeared with Megan. They took their seats beside her and Molly pulled a copy of the Beacon out of her knapsack. She slammed it down on the table.
“Did you read the paper today?”
Anya shook her head. So, for the next few minutes, Molly read Freya’s article to Anya. When she finished, she asked Anya what she thought.
“Well, she didn’t use our names, did she?”
“But, people will know it’s us!” said Megan.
“So? Let them know. I don’t care anymore. Sydney is dead! Maybe she’d be alive if we all came clean sooner.”
The server stopped by to take their orders. Molly and Megan each ordered a sandwich and chips. Molly’s cell phone rang with an old-fashioned telephone ring and she answered it. She spoke quickly. “Okay, get here soon, we just ordered.”
“That was Arielle, she’s on her way,” explained Molly. Their food arrived and they ate in silence. As they were ordering dessert, Arielle walked in and went straight to their table. She looked upset. She sat down beside Anya and asked very forcefully, “Did you let Freya Barrett interview you for the paper?”
Anya said no and Molly and Megan shook their heads. Arielle still looked angry.
“So, she just wrote an article about the rape parties out of the blue? What if people figure out it’s all of us and Brandon and Mike?”
The server brought over their desserts and Arielle ordered a vegetable wrap and a raspberry iced tea. She calmed down enough to take off her coat and sit back in her chair. The girl looked exhausted and her friends noticed it.
“Are you okay?” asked Megan shyly.
Arielle pulled something from her pocket and laid it on the table. It was a small blue envelope.
“What’s that?” asked Molly.
Arielle opened the envelope and removed a piece of paper covered with typed words. She handed Anya the note and Anya read to herself. After finishing the note, she handed it back to Arielle. Anya reached into her bag, pulled out a little blue envelope, and laid it on the table. She looked at Arielle.
“You too?” Arielle asked.
“You too what?” asked Molly grabbing the envelope and reading the letter. Megan stood up and read over her shoulder.
I’m watching you.
I’m following you.
I know you.
And soon, you will know me.
“Oh my God! What do we do now?” asked Molly nervously.
“Isn’t it obvious? We show these to Freya,” said Anya. “We need to trust her. She can help us.”
At just that moment, all four girls turned to the doorway as they saw Freya enter with a tall, husky good-looking young man. They were seated at the far end of the restaurant and before anyone could stop her, Anya was out of her seat.
“What is she doing?” asked Megan. But Arielle rubbed her back supportively.
“No, let her go, she’s right. We need help. We can’t do this on our own. I never told you this, but Sydney was getting notes before she died. She blew them off. She showed them to me. All small typed notes in blue envelopes. All left in her mailbox or taped to her front door. Just like mine and probably like Anya’s too. She was being watched too and by the same person.”
Freya sat down across from Duke. Before either could look at their menu, a young girl approached the table. Freya recognized her instantly. It was Anya Armstrong from St. Bernadette’s School. But, she looked different. Then she realized she wasn’t wearing her customary thick dark eyeliner. The girl looked so much prettier without the gothic make-up.
“Freya, I hate to bother you and your boyfriend but can we borrow you for a few minutes?”
Freya knew instantly that something was wrong.
“Duke, can you give me a few minutes? And can you order me a Green Mountain Club?”
He nodded and Freya followed Anya back to her table. She sat down and looked at the four girls around her. They were scared. She saw the fear and anxiety in their faces. Why so much fear in such young girls? She chose to be positive.
“Hey guys! What’s up?” she asked brightly.
Again, Anya spoke for the group. She cleared her throat and began to talk. After a few minutes, Freya understood the seriousness of their situation. She read the notes in the blue envelopes. These girls were in danger. Was their stalker Sydney’s killer? Was it Brandon Cambridge, the high school rapist? Or, is there someone else?
Anya finished and Freya took her time answering. She knew they wanted her help. But Freya couldn’t help them alone.
“I want you to meet someone. He’s a friend of mine and he can help you better than I can. But, we both will help you. I promise you that.”
The girls looked at each other. Eventually all of them shrugged or shook their heads in acceptance.
“Great, I’ll be right back.”
Freya rushed back to her table and asked Duke to follow her, no questions asked. Seeing the look on her face, he stood up and followed her without saying a word. Freya and Duke sat down at the girl’s table and Freya introduced him.
“Ladies, this is Douglas Mott. He works for the Agatha Falls police department. You can trust him. I trust him.”
She looked at him then and he glanced back. Something passed between them that even the girls caught. Breaking the silence, Duke spoke.
“No one calls me Douglas except my mother. So, please call me Duke.”
He smiled. After a few minutes of joking around with each of the girls, it was evident to Freya, that they accepted him.
“Anya, can you fill Duke in on the things you’ve told me?” asked Freya.
For the next fifteen minutes, Anya explained about their stalker, Sydney’s death, the rape parties, and the cyber bullying. Duke listened without interrupting. Then, when she was finished speaking, Molly told him about her attempted rape. The girl cried and Freya hugged her while she spoke. Then, Megan and Arielle told their part. When everyone had finished, Duke spoke.
“First of all, I want you to know that you are all very brave women. It takes guts to do what you just did and I will do everything in my power to help you.”
“Firstly, we need to bring your parents in on this. I want all of us to get together and then I can speak to them. Because you are all minors, I’m not supposed to speak to you without their consent. Now, I know you think your parents will get upset by this news and the truth is, they will. They should be. But, if we are going to go forward in this and bring down that pervert, Brandon, then things need to be done correctly. Okay?”
He looked at each girl and waited for her response. Each girl nodded except for Molly. She shook her head.
“I can’t do it. I can’t tell my father about my attempted rape. My dad is very old-fashioned. He thinks we’re living in the 1800’s not the 21st century. I’m sorry,” she said as she looked down in embarrassment.
Freya rubbed the girls arm supportively.
“Molly, what if I speak with your dad? Or Detective Ramirez? What happened to you was not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
Molly looked up at Freya. The girl looked so upset. What a burden for such a young person, thought Freya.
“Molly, I can back you up!” said Megan. “I have copies of all the emails and texts Brandon sent you. Anyone who knows you knows you’re a good person and not a liar. And your dad should hear all of us together. Freya, maybe we all could get together, l
ike an intervention. You know. We could be there with our parents and you, Duke and the detective. What do you think? We need to stick together on this. Stronger together!” she said emphatically.
“My dad is out of town until Thanksgiving but I can call him,” said Arielle.
“My aunt and uncle will come. I’ll make them,” said Anya.
“My mom will be there. Since my dad died, she’s come to every PTA meeting. Besides, she’s a nurse. So, she’s very progressive in her thinking,” said Megan.
Molly shrugged. “Okay, if you’ll all be there then I’ll ask my mom and dad to come too. When and where are we meeting?” asked Molly.
“That’s a good question,” said Freya.
“My house,” said Anya. “Arielle and Molly live nearby and Megan is only fifteen minutes away. And besides, Aunt Ursula just renovated the family room and I want everyone to see it.”
Duke laughed. “Well, that settles it then. Is tomorrow at noon okay Anya?”
She said yes and everyone exchanged numbers and addresses and got up to leave. Anya took a hundred dollar bill from her Kate Spade purse and laid it on the table nonchalantly. “Lunch is in me,” she said and walked ahead and out the door. The girls followed. Freya grabbed Duke’s arm and whispered in his ear. He nodded.
Standing on the sidewalk outside the Yellow Deli, Freya explained what Detective Ramirez had told her about her visit to Wainsbridge Academy. Freya had an appointment there Monday afternoon.
“Yeah, fill me in on that will you?” asked Duke. “I’m on my way back to the station now. I’ll call you later.”
He walked up the street. She watched him until he turned the corner. Her cell phone pinged and she jumped at the sound. She’d changed the alert on her cell phone from a buzz to a ping and she still wasn’t used to it yet. Looking at the phone, she saw it was a text from Erik. Finally, he had contacted her after being gone over a week. She read the text.
