by A. M. Wilson
I stared upon my mother’s still body that night. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the image of her lying there motionless, blood trickling down the side of her face. Her uniform was torn across the blouse, the knees of her stockings were ripped and bloody. Her skin was marred with blossoming purple splotches. What I couldn’t see was the wound in her stomach from the knife that had been thrust there when the bastard beat the shit out of her before raping her viciously.
The police came. They drove me to the hospital to meet Sara while my mom went by ambulance. We didn’t have any other family. Mom always said I didn’t have a dad, and I believed her. We spent the night waiting for her to be examined before she was released. Sara drove us home in the morning.
Mom was never the same after that. That night started the downward spiral that determined the rest of her life and subsequently mine. No matter how hard I tried to get her to play with me, or cuddle, or stroke my hair like she used to, she wouldn’t. She turned cold, despondent. I didn’t know the truth of what had happened until I was much older, but at the time, my five-year-old mind thought I had failed her. I didn’t protect her.
My mind breaks free of the past, and I flip over the wooden chair I was sitting on, smashing it into several pieces. I pick up a splintered leg and chuck it into the wall beside the entryway. Fuck!
Walking back over to the small desk, I begin perusing the article headlines laid before me.
EX CON ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO AUGUST RAPE
ROOKIE LAWYER PRESTON BROOKS TO DEFEND DYLAN MACKINZIE IN RAPE CASE
TRIAL SET TO BEGIN IN RAPE CASE
DYLAN MACKINZIE WALKS ON RAPE CHARGE
The rage boils faster, harder through my veins. That bastard walked. Insufficient evidence. He was convicted on the assault charge and served two years before being released. Fucker ruined my mother’s life. But he got what was coming to him. Karma kicked his ass, and he died when he got plowed and drove his car into a fucking tree in 2003.
He isn’t the problem any longer.
Preston Brooks is.
Defense attorney slammed my mom in court, painting her as a single, poor, worthless mother who was prostituting for money. What jury would sympathize with a prostitute? But she wasn’t a hooker. She was a saint, and he slandered the shit out of her.
It was another day I’ll never forget.
The date was October 9, 2000.
Once again, I was at home with Sara while mom was at the courthouse. Sara had been practically living with us during the trial, pretending to take care of me while sleeping in my mom’s bed, feeding me pieces of dry white bread when I complained I was hungry. I had overheard mom telling Sara about deliberations, whatever that meant, but by her tone, I knew she’d be back home with me again soon.
I waited and waited all day for her, playing with my Star Wars figurines and my GI Joes mom bought me for my last birthday. When she finally came home, she went straight to her bedroom without saying a word.
“Mommy?” I had called, peeking my head around the corner to stare at her. She was crying; great big monster tears like I’d never seen her cry before. Her whole body shook as she lied there on her bed, and a horrible sound ripped from her throat like the sound of a wounded animal out in the wilderness. I crawled over her trembling form, curled myself into the hollow space between her knees and her breasts, tucked my body as small as I could, and burrowed in. Her arms came around me, squeezing me tightly to her as she cried.
“I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I tried. I’m so sorry baby.”
“Don’t cry mommy. Please don’t cry,” I pleaded, trying to make her feel better the way she always helped me.
It wasn’t working.
That night, we both drifted off to sleep together, still wound as tightly as two people could possibly get.
But when I woke, she was gone.
I searched through the living room and the kitchen, but she wasn’t there. When I peeked outside through the window, her car was still parked in the driveway. She had to be here somewhere; she never left without her car, so I checked the bathroom.
The room was silent, no sounds of the shower or squeaky floors or the toilet flushing. The door slowly creaked open, and my eyes snapped open in terror. I found mom lying on the cold bathroom floor, an empty pill bottle in her hand. She was pale, cold, still.
“SARA!” I screamed so hard my throat was raw.
That time when the ambulance came, the police didn’t bring me to the hospital.
No. They took me away.
Mom didn’t die that day. She would have if I hadn’t found her as soon as I did. Instead, she was locked up in a psych ward, unfit to be a mother, and I wound up in foster care.
I think it would have been better for us both if she had died.
I failed her.
I couldn’t save her. Not from the attack, and not from the misery that followed.
Her tragedy became my tragedy; her revenge became my revenge.
An eye for a motherfucking eye.
CHAPTER NINE
We find ourselves driving to the police station an hour later per Elias’s insistence. At first, I bumbled around the apartment in a daze, blindly tugging on the clothes Elias handed me. As I started brushing my hair, the thoughts began creeping in and the cold paralyzing panic holding me back released me long enough for me to question what we were doing.
I didn’t want to go to the police. Even though he doesn’t have the grasp he used to, I’m done giving Travis the power to control my life. Going to make a statement is just one more thing Travis has forced me to do that I don’t want to.
Also, the more I think about it, the less sure I am that Travis is out to get me. Sure, he’s acting like a crazy ex, but this isn’t the guy I knew. As much as it pains me to remember, the Travis I first met saved me. He saved me from my mom and my house, but most importantly, he saved me from myself.
I don’t understand why he’s shown up after months apart when he abused me, cheated on me, and left me to fend for myself, but it’s not like he’s a maniac. Maybe he finally realized how stupid he was to let me go.
Right. I have to roll my eyes at myself for that one.
I would have rather gone into work. Divulging the details of Travis and mine’s relationship to another person is thoroughly mortifying. I tried to protest, but each time Elias promptly shut me down. His face radiated the barely controlled fury rolling throughout his tense body.
“Why do we need to do this?” I whine, for probably the third time this morning.
“Again? Really? He’s fucking crazy. He threatened your life. And the look on your face when you realized it was him behind the wheel was more than enough to make this worth it. You’re terrified of that bastard.”
“I am not. It just surprised me. I was more angry than terrified,” I lie. I strive to be an honest person, but I’m so embarrassed. I can’t help but worry that Elias won’t want anything to do with me now that my crazy ex is stalking me, or whatever it is he’s doing.
“I don’t understand why you’re trying to hide it from me, but I saw the fear. You were shaking and pale. Goddamnit! He’s hurt you before, and I’m not going to let him do it again.”
“That’s enough!” I snap, my emotions running rampant and unchecked. I hate that he saw me so vulnerable.
“Marlee—”
“Just don’t talk. I have a headache.” I turn my head to look out the window the rest of the ride to the police station. My emotions are all over the place. Part of me is thrilled he cares enough about me to do this. Yet another part of me is pissed he’s making me do this. This morning has left me drained emotionally, and I’m about to spend the next who knows how long discussing the details with a stranger.
We enter the large brick building and Elias speaks with a receptionist at the front desk while I study a large missing persons’ bulletin board near the entryway. I overhear her instruct us to sit and someone will be with us shortly. Our ongoing silence stretches betw
een us, and I’m finding it difficult to come up with anything to say.
I glance over at Elias out of the corner of my eye, and he holds his hand out to me. I place my trembling hand in his, and his warm fingers softly encase my hand, providing the comfort I need but was too proud to ask for. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and my heart reflects the pressure.
A uniformed officer steps out from a long hallway and speaks quietly to the receptionist. He’s an older man with cropped brown hair and coffee colored eyes, but his face still carries the kind boyishness of someone twenty years younger. When he smiles at something she says, it’s gentle and carefree even though his job is anything but. The way he moves all his six-foot plus, lean muscular body holds an air of confidence and assuredness in his step as he turns to face us.
“Mr. Brooks?” he calls, even though we are the only two seated in the waiting area.
“Yes, I’m Elias, and this is Marlena,” he replies, while shaking the officer’s hand.
“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Donovan Andrews. Please follow me. My office is right this way.”
Elias gestures me ahead of him as we follow Officer Andrews down the hallway to our left. We stop only a short way down in front of a small conference room. He steps aside, gesturing us inside with a sweep of his hand. He follows behind, closing the door behind him. “Have a seat,” he announces. “What is it I can help you with?”
Seating myself at a long, metal table with hard plastic blue chairs, I remain silent. Hoping Elias will do all the talking. I want to go back home and rewind this morning.
“Marlena is being threatened by her ex-boyfriend. He has been stalking her by parking outside of her apartment on more than one occurrence and he tried to run her down with his car a couple weeks ago.”
“All right, Marlena. What can you tell me about him?”
“I don’t know.” I stare at my hands folded in my lap. My body must be visibly quaking with the force of my nervousness.
“Has he ever done anything like this before? What was the nature of your relationship?”
“He’s never stalked me before to my knowledge,” I reply sharply. “Our relationship wasn’t good. It ended on bad terms between us.” I start picking at the hangnail on my left pointer finger. The skin rips leaving a welcoming burn of pain. I focus all my attention on the small line of blood bubbling along my nail bed.
“Has he ever been physically violent towards you in the past?”
I can feel him staring at me.
“Uh—”
Elias cuts me off. “Yes, he has.” He glances my way, continuing, “She told me it only happened twice, the second time was more serious. He pulled her hair, threw her out the door, and kicked her in the stomach.” The venom in his voice is evident.
My face heats with embarrassment having it so bluntly laid out in front of this stranger. My heart is racing in my chest and my palms are damp. I risk a quick glance to see Officer Andrews taking notes in his notepad.
“Okay. Marlena, I know this is difficult but I need to hear these things from you. Can you corroborate with Mr. Brooks’ series of events?”
“Yes.”
“And did you report this incident at the time?”
“No.” I think I see frustration flash across his face, but he clears it away before I can be sure. He’s all business as he keeps the questions flowing.
“Let’s continue. Tell me about this incident with the car. You say he tried to run you over. Did you report this at the time?”
I take a deep breath.
“No.”
“Why not?” the officer frowns.
“We didn’t realize at the time it was his car. I only got a quick glance at it that night before it turned the corner. It came out of nowhere. Elias had to tackle me out of the way.”
I have to pause to take a deep breath. Regret and guilt swell within me like a balloon on the verge of bursting. My chest aches with the pressure of my own stupidity and embarrassment. How could I have allowed this to happen to me? Why is this my life?
I sigh, resigned, and hurry on quickly, “It wasn’t until this morning and I saw Travis in the driver’s seat of a dark blue Impala parked outside of my apartment that I put two and two together.”
“So you didn’t actually see this Travis driving the car that tried to hit you?” More notes in the note pad.
“No.” My chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. This is stupid. I don’t know why I let Elias talk me into coming here. They aren’t going to help me.
“And how many times have you noticed him parked outside your apartment?”
“Two.”
“Within how long of a timeframe?”
“I don’t know, a few weeks at most.” My fingertips are starting to tingle. I shake my hands gently to relieve the feeling.
“And how long ago did your relationship end?”
“About 4 months ago.” Scribble, scribble. I shake my hands out once more.
“Thank you. I know it can be difficult to talk about. Here’s what I can suggest for the two of you. After we finish here, I’ll write up a request for the restraining order. A judge will review your case and determine if there is enough evidence to grant the TRO. Personally, I do not feel this is a coincidence so I want to remind you to be extra cautious. Do not go anywhere alone and if you need to make sure to let a family member or a friend know where you will be. I will be writing up a report on these incidents and keeping a file on you. If in the future he contacts you again, either by parking outside your residence, or following you anywhere, you need to call 911 immediately.”
The edges of my vision are starting to go black. I take a few more shallow breaths.
“You need to protect yourself and have a cell phone on you at all times. If he continues to bother you, we will have it taken care of.”
I push my chair abruptly away from the table, standing up. The urge to flee, to faint, to throw up is overwhelming. I need to go.
“I need to leave.”
“Marlee, wait,” Elias jumps up after me. I reach out for the door handle to open the door, when the panic seizes me and the room goes black.
***
“Can you hear me? Open your eyes, baby.”
I can feel his hands on me, smoothing my hair from my face, cupping my cheeks. My eyes remain closed. I feel safer this way, encased in the protective walls of my own mind.
“I’m right here. I won’t let anybody hurt you. Open your eyes for me.”
Someone is placing a cool cloth on my forehead. I crack my eyes open slightly, a blurred face directly above me. It’s too bright, so I close my eyes again.
Someone starts wiping my face with the cloth. I feel his lips resting on my ear. “It’s okay to be afraid, but I will keep you safe. I promise nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
Surrendering to his gentle voice caressing me, I squeeze the hand that is holding mine. I open my eyes to peer up at him.
“Hey,” he says gently, stroking my cheek, “welcome back.”
“My head hurts,” I groan. I don’t want to talk about what just happened. I want to go home.
“Let’s sit you up,” he says, while reaching under my armpits to pull me forward. I feel a little woozy and cradle my head in my hands. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just got hit in the head by a baseball bat.”
Elias grimaces. “I caught you before you hit the floor, but you smacked your head on the doorframe.”
“It’s okay,” I reply weakly, trying to sooth the concern on his face. It’s not his fault I’m a nutcase who can’t even properly deal with her issues without passing out like a wimp. Leaning forward, I place my palms on the rough brown carpet, struggling to get my feet underneath me to stand.
Instead of helping me to my feet, Elias swoops down sliding one arm beneath my knees, the other beneath my back. He lifts me up and starts down the hallway.
“Hey, what the hell? I can walk!” I protest, feebly kicking my feet.
“Shush. Let me take care of you.”
“Elias, I—”
“No.”
“Elias!”
“Babe. No. You just fainted and hit your head. The only place you are going is to lie down. And I will gladly carry you there so you don’t faint again.” He pushes the door open with his back, walking us both smoothly out of the building. He doesn’t set me down until he loads me in the truck. “I’m taking you back to my apartment for the afternoon. In case he shows up at your place again.”
I give him that, too tired to argue.
My head rests against the window the entire ride back to his apartment. I don’t want to talk about what just happened. I haven’t had a panic attack that severe in years and have never fully passed out from one before. We haven’t spoken much since we left the police station, and I know he is going to have questions for me. However, I have no desire to answer them.
Elias pulls into the parking garage of his apartment, and I can feel my heart racing again.
“Wait here,” he commands as he steps out of the truck.
What is he doing? I watch him round the hood, coming to stop beside my door. He wrenches it open and scoops down to unbuckle me.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you inside,” he replies, and before I can step out of the truck, he scoops me into his strong arms despite my protests.
“Stop, seriously. I can walk!”
“You can, but you don’t need to.” Elias storms off towards the elevator, unrelenting to my pleas.
“Put me down. I’m not an invalid.”
“Will you stop?” He chastises. “Let me take care of you.”
His moody behavior confuses me. I haven’t done anything to upset him but maybe he’s sick of dealing with me. Not only have I shared with him a load of emotional baggage, but now, my ex-boyfriend is stalking me. Maybe he’s realized I’m more work than I’m worth.
How depressing.
Since the day I met him, Elias has been slowly working his way into all the cracks and crevasses of my broken, abused heart, and if he were to leave me now, I know I’d feel a pain I’m not ready to feel again so soon. I can only hope something other than me has caused his enigmatic mood shift.
