by K NILSSON
“And you’ve summarized the dreams in this report?” I asked.
“No.” She said firmly; her squared shoulders spoke volumes.
Max hid a small smile with his hand.
We showed her the glossy photos of Carrie which Declan received at his office.
“These make me very sad. The person who sent them, even if he wasn’t the abuser, is a sick sociopath.”
Margie’s shot me a warning glance.
But I was frustrated and impatiently blurted, "We know it’s obvious."
“See that scar on his head? It looks like the result of a serious head injury. Head injuries on that part of a person’s head can cause psychotic behavior.”
There was silence in the room as everyone digested the implications of what she’d said.
When I looked at Margie, she gave me silent permission to share the taunting video. I played the short clip of Carrie's beating. I had sent it to my phone for further examination. Dr. Jane put on her reading glasses and was ready to look at it with interest, but, was unprepared for the horror she was about to witness. The blood drained from her face.
The poor woman blotted tears from her eyes, as did Margie. She raised her hand as a sign that she needed a moment before she could speak.
“What’s the best way to stop him?” Margie asked in a choked voice.
“You are dealing with someone who can’t reason, has no conscience, and is a danger to society. I have no clue.” Her squinty-eyed expression seemed to say, read-between-the-lines, and don’t ask me any more stupid questions like that.
“Would you mind talking about her participation in group therapy?” Asked Max.
“If it’s relevant and doesn’t compromise the identity of the others, of course.”
“These meetings are all about sharing experiences, aren’t they?” He asked. “What did she share that was relevant?”
Dr. Jane’s eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth turned down as if angry. “There was a priest involved in an encounter. He molested her. One of the lesser things he forced her to do was French kiss. When she refused, he punished her.”
Margie stiffened. Max controlled his facial expression, but I couldn’t.
“Tell me about it, all of it,” I said with quiet rage.
We sat still while Dr. Jane recounted Carrie’s tale, occasionally dabbing at her eyes.
At the end of it all, Margie was inconsolable. Dr. Jane opened her arms in an offer of comfort, and she succumbed, weeping openly.
Max and I stepped out to give them a private moment.
“How do you stop someone who has a brain injury?“ Asked Max.
"How do you stop a freight train?"
As I looked at the women embracing, I longed for one of those hugs.
Chapter Fourteen
Donal
Since I can’t get into Declan’s office, I will send hard copies of these new photos another way. I wonder what that saint who-isn’t-a-saint will think when he sees his bitch's mouth spread wide with the spider gag, her eyes bulging with panic. I couldn’t send that photo, the before, without the after, my seed spilling out of her unconscious mouth. After Mass, I’ll take a long drive to the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains, and mail these pictures to his office. I can't wait to hear his outrage; he’ll choke on his words. Revenge is sweet when drawn out.
Carrie never had a chance to save herself. She never knew me before I trained her. She was wearing her Catholic School uniform, so proud of the new rosary she was given. I just “happened” to be a visiting priest at their church. She didn’t know her father was my brother.
It didn’t matter to me she was my niece. Carrie was the precious child of their Declan and Eileen’s union, a vessel to destroy. Her ruination, was a means to an end. It was personal toward Carrie, but it didn’t have to be unpleasant. But being her mother’s daughter, she made it so.
I loaded a memory card with a random slide show of photos guaranteed to blow Declan’s mind, and if he decides to share with Eileen, it will short-circuit hers. Most people display happy memories in their slideshow—family gatherings, vacations, momentous occasions.
But I’d filled the tiny memory card with pictures of her as a teen in a school uniform, attending Mass with her family, and exiting the hospital that treated her for self-inflicted wounds and included, non-safe-for-work photos. Tsk, Tsk. How did I get those photos? I was the one taking the NSFWs, of course. Some of them were ripped off the internet, Facebook, and Instagram, for instance.
I carefully organized them, so they rotated through many unguarded moments, her shameful and depraved episodes of random hookups, especially the ones conducted in public. I showed them to her with unbridled glee while she watched the awfulness.
Chapter Fifteen
Declan
This plan was my brainchild, and I didn’t want Margie involved with it in any way. My plan will include the Private Dicks in a limited capacity, just how limited, I don’t know yet.
I’m sick and tired of getting mail from that fuck. Donal's not worth a bug’s spit. I think the only reason he hasn’t yet released any photos of my girl to the media is that he believes it’s the most important string to jerk.
How we’ve managed to keep Carrie’s kidnapping under-wraps is a mystery, but when the family wants to keep a secret, they really keep a secret. The kids don’t realize I know about the “Drazen pledge.” It warms my heart that they use it stick together, thick, or thin. If Margie told them about Carrie, it was with the “open pledge.” I hope my children will never encounter that kind of relationship my brother and I had in any way, shape, or form.
They say, money talks and bullshit walks. I hired a crew that no person should ever consider hiring, a team that will stop at nothing to get the job done. There was no way I was going to call in favors to keep the lid on a “family matter” that would implode the Drazen family unit if word got out. Every member of my family would be at risk. If it became known one of my children was abducted, it would be assumed, that they are all fair game. Not going to happen. They’re going to live as normal a life as I can provide.
Eileen wouldn’t approve of my plan, and I didn’t want to go this route, but, we weren’t getting anywhere. My brother is a bully, the kind that pulls the tiger’s tail, then runs away. Well, he’s yanked mine, one too many times. I’m going to make him sorry for what he did to my daughter. Actually sorry isn’t the word. I don't think a word exists for what I want to do to him.
I’ll give Carrie a chance to decide how she wants to take her revenge, and, then I will exact my retribution.
Chapter Sixteen
Saint
Declan sent word he received more glossies today along with a memory card with a shameful slideshow. That’s his word. I saw them. The word shameful doesn’t even come close. Words like brutal, inhuman, vicious, sadistic, monstrous, and merciless are more fitting.
Carrie is a smart, strong-minded, strong-willed woman, the most important traits to surviving the depraved torture techniques of a mad man.
Since Donal has been checking Carrie’s phone for messages, I’m going to send a few that will keep him reading them long enough for us to determine his location again. If he’s not at the rectory, we’ll just swoop in and save Carrie. If he’s there, then Declan will send in his brigade and I’ll save my girl.
The only reason we haven’t stormed the bunker beneath the rectory is Carrie’s safety. We don’t know how insane he is. He’s been well enough to function as a priest, going as far as to sing with the choir during practice nights. He doesn’t employ a housekeeper, and he doesn’t leave the rectory much. But he is devious enough, to have the entrance to the bunker booby-trapped, or worse. What’s worse? Making it so she will never be free again, selling her to traffickers. I don’t know. I’m afraid for her.
I can’t wait to have her safe in my arms, I will wipe her every tear, kiss her bruises away, give her a reason to smile, every single day. I just want...to be together. forever.
Chapter Seventeen
Donal
I had a moment to check for messages on Carrie’s phone. I turned the phone one, swiped the screen and the texts propagated one after another. There were lots of them.
Saint: Have faith, Carrie. We will find you.
Ha! In a pig’s eye.
Saint: Things are going a little slow. We think he must be ex-CIA. He’s covered his tracks well.
CIA? Fuck, that’s a good one. I laughed a little too loud for sitting alone in the confessional.
Declan: Don’t worry, honey. We will find you.
Why is Declan texting her? What’s his game?
Margie: Hang tight, little sister.
Oh your sister’s all tied up all right. She’s not going anywhere.
Saint: We talked to your doctor. She said you are strong and stay the course.
Of course, her doctor would say that. She’s supposed to instill hope in her patient.
Saint: We think you were brainwashed. He’s not playing with a full deck. Don’t trust him.
Now that pissed me off.
As to Saint's text message about trust, I was tempted to respond. I powered down the phone. But I’d worked up one of those debilitating headaches, and Eileen, the woman who had tortured me with her fading footsteps, had just slipped into the booth.
Chapter Eighteen
Eileen
When the men strategized over a plan to trick Donal into leading us to Carrie, they couldn’t agree on anything. No matter how many times Margie tried to interject her opinion, they ignored her. Declan would ignore me too, so I didn't even try.
Earlier this year, Declan, had all of us tagged with sub-dermal trackers for our protection, except for Carrie. She had moved away at the time and hadn’t arranged to get it done. There was nothing complicated about having the tiny tracker implanted. The procedure was like getting a flu shot.
The techs came to our home, injected, and tested the trackers, then left. Declan had looked at me as if I would object, but I’d surprised him with my obedience. Usually, I would have vehemently opposed being tracked, preferring my children protected before me, but I didn't say anything—because I had a plan. Mine was the plan no one else would consider, and it was the plan that would save Carrie, one way or the other.
Today I’m going to confession, again, but I was on a mission. At four o’clock, I entered the church as usual, though filled with uncertainty, and saw the green light above the confessional door. No one was waiting their turn, so I steeled myself to go inside. In the shadows, I saw the priest's head tilt toward me. He tried to hide his smile by raising his hand to his lips. Now, the profile was familiar. Donal used to attempt to cover his smile like that. One time, I asked him why he hid that beautiful smile, it was his best feature, but his father saw it as a sign of weakness.
My mouth was suddenly dry.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." I left out the part that I was there just yesterday, though, he wouldn't have forgotten.
Father Nesbitt cleared his throat. I could almost hear his smile. “You’ve returned with more sins. What did you do this time?”
Was that a smirk in his tone? It annoyed me.
“I didn’t do anything, Father, but as I was meditating before confession, I remembered that in my youth, I wronged someone and didn’t think twice about it. Now, I’m sorry for what I did.”
He didn’t say anything for long moments.
“Father?”
He gave a hesitant nod. “Go on. Who was this person to you?”
I vacillated on the response. I decided on telling the truth, seasoned with a few white lies. “There was a boy, one summer long ago. He was a beautiful boy, and I nurtured the crush he had on me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with nurturing a crush. Was it reciprocated? Did you have a crush on him as well?”
“I did at first, but when his brother came home from college, I fell for him. I fell hard, hook, line, and sinker.”
“So, you lied to him.” He sounded accusatory; his tone brooked no mercy.
I refused to answer, letting the silence do the talking.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know why I fell so hard for his brother, but our betrothal happened quickly, blessed by our parents, then blessed by the church. By the time the bans were read, he had disappeared.”
“Did you ever think to apologize to him?”
“I did, but he left before I had a chance to explain.”
“Do you blame him?”
“No,” I admitted, not without shame in my voice. At that point, I didn’t know if this confession would lead to Carrie’s rescue.
“What if you had the chance to do it all over again?”
“I’d tell him I was sorry. I’d tell him I was young and foolish, that I should have picked him, and then I’d ask his forgiveness.”
The silence was deafening. I wanted to beg for forgiveness and insist on the return of my daughter, but then, he spoke as if he was handing down a sentence.
"In His abundant mercy, God's given you an opportunity to atone for your stupid behavior of long ago."
“H-h-how?”
Before I knew it, he’d stepped out of his booth and dragged me out of mine. “I’ll show you. Follow me.”
"Donal! You're hurting me." He was not the man who worshipped me, the man who begged me not to choose Declan, the man whose eyes cried silent tears when I turned him down, yet again.
Donal dragged me to the sacristy, his nostrils flaring.
“Donal, I… I—”
“You knew it was me all along. That’s why you came to see me every week. Why, Eileen? Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said feebly.
He turned toward me, his eyes protruding and teeth bared.
“How could you betray me?”
Lowering my voice to a whisper of shame, I said, “I’m sorry. I was weak. What happened to you, Donal?”
“Do you want to do this now?”
I responded with silence again, though I tried to convey remorse through my eyes.
We were standing in the vestibule, a part of the church I'd never seen before. I took note of where the doors were, some place where he could have stashed Carrie. This furtive examination didn't go unnoticed.
"We can't talk in here."
He opened a door that looked like a closet for vestments, moved them to the side, and pushed open a hidden door, then, he pulled me along like a child. I followed like a dutiful one. We negotiated a narrow stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs was an office. It was empty except for a judge’s desk and chair, a computer. He pushed me onto the chair; then his shoulders relaxed a little as he spoke.
“Shortly after being sent by our father to the seminary, I tried to kill myself. No one cared—not my parents, not Declan, and apparently, not you. In my darkness, I turned to God. There was no one else who could temper my thoughts. I was devastated Father chose Declan over me to be his heir, your husband, and the future head of the Drazen family. My confessor told me it was fruitless to hope for something that would never change.”
“I knew that Declan would never amend his behavior, but I was mistaken in thinking that you, Eileen, would choose me over him.”
If he expected me to deny this, I couldn’t. I’d felt no chemistry with Donal at the time, and least of all now.
Donal pointed at me.
“Over the years, you’ve blindly chased the degradations of yesterday, unearthing Declan’s affairs and dalliances.”
He was right. I nodded. His fists were tight, and his nails dug into the fleshy part of his hands.
“In his single-minded focus on power—power over you, his business, family, and public opinion—Declan has stolen every shred of your freedom and self-respect.”
He was wrong. Declan hadn’t stolen it. I gave him power over me with my silence.
“You disappoint me. You
’re not the woman I fell in love with any longer.” His voice was stilted as if he were passing sentence.
“For these reasons, your little doppelgänger, Carrie, became a fresh slate that I molded and trained into the Eileen worthy of me, my love, my attention.”
I felt my body stiffen.
"Oh God."
He smirked. "You had your chance, Eileen."
Seriously? Can I keep it together? Can I rip his eyes out before he says another word? My muscles felt weak.
“Where is she? What have you done with my baby?”
“Aren’t you going to apologize?” He asked indignantly.
“That's what you said you'd do in confession."
“Are you crazy? You kidnapped your blood for revenge, you sick bastard.”
"Don't call me crazy!"
Donal raised his fist to strike me, but instead, he grabbed my bicep and dragged me through another door.
“I will show you the error of your ways, and when Declan finds you, I’ll get my revenge.”
“How? What will you do?”
He tried to pull me along, but I dug in my heels.
"I'm going to fuck you."
He bent down and forced me over his shoulder; then he carried me to the rooms in the back. His words were chilling.
“I’ll fuck you and defile Carrie right before his eyes. Then I’ll kill you all. Mark me, Eileen!”
Chapter Nineteen
Carrie
The door opened, there was a brief scuffle, and when I looked up, Donal had my mother slung over his shoulder. He was trying to shut the door with his back foot, while she was trying to keep it open, hanging on to it with both hands. He turned completely around so that the door slipped out of mom’s reach, then, he kicked it shut with his front foot.
