Broken Lullabies

by Nicole Simone

  They hustled into the hallway as the door slammed shut behind them. Left alone with the gruff chief, I eyed the mirror with trepidation.

  “There is nothing to be scared of. He can’t see you,” the chief informed me.

  No shit, everybody knew how a one-way mirror worked, I wanted to yell, but held my tongue. My mother had engrained her manners in me. As if I was moving through wet concrete, I approached the other side of the room. The chief stood next to me and intertwined his hands across his pudgy belly.

  “It’s rather simple. When the light flicks on, there will be a lineup of five or so men. All you need to do is point to the one who attacked you.”

  “It’s been four years. What if his appearance has changed?

  He looked over at me as if I were an idiot, which didn’t relieve my anxiety. “Darling, in my twenty-plus years on the force, when a woman goes through what you have, she can pick out her attacker even if he is disguised as a hippo. It’s the ones that are lying that can’t.”

  Offended by what he was implying, I glared at him. “I didn’t make up the story. That bastard is a disgusting piece of shit and cost my parents an arm and a leg in therapy bills so that I could venture outside at night without having a panic attack.”

  The chief grinned. “Are you ready?”

  The fire pumping through my limbs scorched the butterflies that had flapped in my stomach moments ago. “Let’s do this.”

  He flicked a switch to the right of him and the empty room on other side of the glass illuminated. Five men filed in a single line and stood against a white backdrop with signs held up in front of them. Immediately, my eyes gravitated toward the one in the middle. Impeccably groomed blonde hair, beady eyes as flat as a rusted penny, and a round face without a chin to speak of. A smug smile decorated his lips as if he thought this whole ordeal was ridiculous and a waste of his time. Hatred bubbled as the need to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze consumed me.

  “That’s him,” I said with malice. “The one in the middle.”

  “Are you sure?”

  My eyes locked onto my attacker without a shred of doubt. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The chief pushed a button and his voice rang out. “Number 4356, will you please step forward?”

  My attacker did what he was asked with a superior air. His rumpled white polo shirt with a small penguin placed on his left pec was unbelievably the same one he’d worn that night. I remembered because that emblem was the first thing I’d seen when I’d opened my eyes in that dark alleyway.

  “I don’t know if this helps, but he is wearing the same shirt the night he attacked me,” I said to the chief.

  “We will take it into consideration.”

  “What will happen to him?” I wondered.

  “He will be charged with two counts of aggravated assault and depending if the woman wakes up or not, manslaughter.”

  I glanced back at my attacker and raised my middle finger at him. It wasn’t the most mature response, but if there ever were a time to chuck levelheadedness out the window, it would be now. The man deserved whatever sentence the judge doled out to him plus some.

  “I hope you acquire a prison boyfriend who treats you like the piece of shit you are,” I said, even though he couldn’t hear me.

  The chief cleared his throat, drawing my attention to him. “Thanks so much for your time, Ms. Barker. You will be hearing from us shortly. Have a safe trip home to Seattle.”

  “That’s it?”

  The chief’s mustache dipped at the corners. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Anger swiftly consumed me. The police department was sworn to protect but they had failed and in doing so, another young woman landed in the hospital at the hands of my aggressor.

  “I need an apology,” I bit out. “For allowing that scumbag to walk free four years ago. You had all the evidence then, but somehow it mysteriously ended up lost. Why?” The chief’s mouth gaped open then closed as he struggled to respond. I did it for him. “I came into the police station with a black eye, a split lip, and strangulation marks around my neck. You recorded my statement, gathered the DNA samples you needed and lulled me into a false sense of security. You should be fucking ashamed of yourselves. If that young woman dies, her death is on your hands.”

  The chief stared blankly at me. I gave him one last seething glare and marched out into the hallway. Looking left then right, I picked a random direction and ended up at an impasse. My steps doubled back as I searched for any kind of signs that would point me toward the reception area. After countless passageways that lead to nowhere, I spotted the glass partition, and through it, Matthew’s handsome face creased with worry. As I was about to raise my hand to grab his attention, a man spoke up behind me.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he growled. “Step aside.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, my muscles tensed. There in the flesh, my attacker stood, his wrists and ankles shackled. A police officer dragged him by the crook of his elbow while he stumbled, trying to keep up. As his eyes lifted, I bit the inside of my cheek. The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue.

  “Miss, you need to move,” the police officer said sternly.

  I forced my legs to work and flattened myself against the wall. My attacker’s insipid gaze skimmed over me and toward the reception area instead. The police officer growled his displeasure when he came to a halting stop. Shock slackened his jaw.

  “Matthew?”

  He said it so faintly, like a gentle whisper on the breeze, that I could have misheard, but in my hearts of hearts, I knew I hadn’t. My attacker recognized Matthew as if they were old friends. Or old accomplices. My head removed itself from the sand as the world around me became steeped in Technicolor.

  Who was Matthew really?

  I was afraid I already knew the answer to that question.

  I jumped up from my seat as Camille walked into the room, her features drawn, cheeks hollow. She looked as if she had gone through the pits of hell and hadn’t quite re-emerged. My heart ached for her, but I was also proud she had faced her fears and put that asshole behind bars where he would hopefully rot. As I took a step toward Camille with my arms outstretched, she held up her hand.

  “Don’t.”

  Her voice cracked as her chin fell forward against her chest. A curtain of her hair obscured her face and I waited, one beat, two beats, baffled at her behavior.

  “Camille?”

  At the sound of my voice, her shattered gaze met mine. “Who are you, Matthew? Or is that even your name?”

  The air left my lungs as if she had sucker-punched me in the gut. “What are…?”

  “While I was standing in the hallway, your best friend, aka my attacker, recognized you, so I’ll ask it again, who the fuck are you?”

  It was a risk coming to the police station with Camille, I’d known that but a foolish part me had believed fate would look upon us kindly and bury our sordid past in the ground. That way she would never have to figure out who I was and I could transform to be the man she viewed me as. Like I said, it was foolish, but when you’re in love, you dream impossible dreams.

  “We should go outside and talk,” I said.

  Steadying her stance, Camille crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Looking around, the police officer behind the partition blatantly stared at us. I could almost see her finger hovering above the emergency call button.

  “Camille, I know you’re upset but let’s go outside and I’ll give you all the answers you want, but not here.”

  Stubborn as a mule, she glared at me. Without waiting for a response, I exited the brick building and waited for her to follow me outside on the steps. Like I’d predicted, Camille marched through the front door and continued to the bottom where the sidewalk started. As I joined her, she arched an eyebrow, inciting me to speak.

  With great difficulty, I unthreaded the seams from my charade. “It’s me. I’m the man who you nicknamed the monste
r. I’m the man who said those horrible, nasty things to you in that alleyway.”

  Camille swayed on her feet as disbelief colored her porcelain skin. Tears brimmed in her eyes while her palm flew to her mouth, covering a choked sob. “No. I don’t believe you.”

  “More than anything, I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. I’m the monster.”

  “Stop talking!” she screamed, then in a hushed broken whisper, she begged, “Stop, please.”

  I wanted to reach out and cradle Camille against my chest, kiss her brow, her rosebud lips, and never stop kissing her until this nightmare ended. But that wasn’t my place anymore. I wasn’t her knight in shining armor. I was on equal ground with Jared, and while I hadn’t used physical violence, I’d used words sharper than any blade to carve the scars that marred her soul.

  “But I don’t understand, how?” She searched my face for answers I wish I could give. “How could you lie to me this whole time? How could you sleep with me? Make me trust you and listen quietly while I poured my fucking heart out to you about the worst moment of my life as if you didn’t know?” she hissed, her eyes bright with rage. “As if you weren’t there!”

  “I tried to tell you…”

  “When? When you were buried inside me? Or how about when…”

  Anger was as contagious as a virus and it swept me up in its vindictive claws. Camille’s expression shadowed with fear as I stepped forward, crowding her.

  “You wouldn’t leave! I tried to end things, Camille, not once, but twice, and you kept coming back. Even after I told you I was the devil, but you wouldn’t listen. You wanted to believe I was this angel that was sent here to save you, to bring you happiness and joy, to lead you to a path paved with gold and whatever else bullshit fairy tale you conjured up in your mind.”

  “You could have told me that morning in the basement!”

  A couple walking toward us crossed to the other side of the street and linked hands to create a force field against the crumbling relationship that played out before them. I wanted to yell at the couple to cherish the love they had because, like hate, it was a four-letter word.

  “I saw how you reacted when you heard my voice, practically crawling into the closet, frozen in fear. A part of you has always known that I’m him, the monster. ” I said.

  She shook her head, denial carved into her beautiful face. “No, that’s not true.”

  “It is true.”

  “You looked nothing like him, and you still don’t.”

  “Memory is tricky, especially when you’re suffering from a traumatic event,” I pointed out. Of all people, Camille should be aware of this. She was the one getting her PhD in psychology, but when you kept your head shoved up your ass, education and logic proved futile.

  “Don’t tell me what I remember or don’t remember,” she snapped. “I saw him, the man who vomited his hatred on me. It’s hard to forget when they call you a donkey fucking a cow.”

  I winced at the words I had cruelly spoken in a moment of sheer urgency to diffuse the escalating situation that night. Words I wished I could erase as if they were chalk on chalkboard.

  “Except for a lone streetlight, you couldn’t see shit, which was exactly why Jared chose that spot. Nobody could witness the act as he led you there like a sheep for slaughter.”

  Camille blanched and her upper torso pitched forward as she threw up that morning’s breakfast. I reached out to hold her hair back, but she swatted my hands away. Once there wasn’t anything left in her stomach, she righted herself. Tremors racked her body and she wrapped her arms around her middle, holding herself together.

  “It’s really you, isn’t it?” Camille asked in a defeated whisper.

  “Yes, it’s really me.”

  My savior was the monster in disguise. Shutting my eyes, the world tilted like a carnival ride, and at any moment, it would throw me off onto the hard ground. My heart thrummed rapidly in my chest, sweat beaded along my hairline, and my palms grew damp. Matthew was right. I had entertained the idea that he was in fact the monster, but denial had pulled the wool over my eyes. The taste of bile lingered in my mouth while I fought the urge to decorate the sidewalk again.

  “Camille? Are you okay?”

  Was I okay? What kind of question was that? Of course I wasn’t okay. I would never be okay. The man who I had given my trust, and subsequently my heart, to was also the man who’d lit the match and set my self-confidence on fire, burning the woman I’d been to cinders. Yes, he’d saved me from further harm from my attacker, but that didn’t change the fact that he could have acted like a hero instead of a coward by standing up to his despicable friend.

  Matthew breathed a tormented sigh. “If I could go back and change…”

  My eyes snapped open and narrowed in on him. “Did you flip a coin that night to see who would be the one to choose a random drunk girl to terrorize? And you were the winner?”

  “Fuck no. My friends and I were supposed to be enjoying a night out, drinking and being dumbass twenty–one-year-olds. Do you really think I am capable of laying my hands on a woman?” Horror flooded his expression. “God, you do.”

  “I don’t know who you are or what you’re capable of.”

  He lurched backwards and sank onto the police station steps. “I would never inflict violence on a woman. Never.”

  “Right, I forgot. You don’t use your hands. You use your words.”

  Matthew’s scrubbed at his face as a low growl of frustration leaked from his throat. “I didn’t know what else to do! He was going to kill you.”

  “You could have fought him!”

  “I was trying to deescalate the situation, not make it worse.”

  “It was already worse for me!”

  Images of my assailant using me like a punching bag flashed in my mind. My ribs ached and lungs burned as if they were freshly bruised.

  Matthew’s stormy grey eyes met mine. “Worse than ending up in a body bag or in a coma hooked up to a breathing machine?”

  I shivered and folded my arms across my chest. “There were other choices available to you besides tearing apart my psyche.”

  “It happened so fucking fast, Camille. I didn’t have time to debate the wrong or right choice.”

  How I’d ended up as a victim of violence was tucked into the dark corners of my mind. I had attempted different methods, like hypnotherapy, to coerce the details forth. None of it had worked.

  “What happened exactly?”

  Bewilderment creased his brows. “You don’t remember?

  “I had eight shots of tequila plus a pint of beer at the bar and somehow ended up wandering away from my group. When I came to, your buddy’s hands were wrapped around my neck.”

  Matthew squeezed his eyes closed. When he re-opened them, they were infused with misery. “Shit..”

  “Is that your answer?”

  After a long pause, Matthew spoke and completed the puzzle of my past. “Jared had to pee. We ducked into the closet alleyway and as he was about to tug his zipper down, you wandered past and saw us. You started to scream that we were defacing public property. Jared asked what you were going to do about it. Stumbling toward him, you threatened to call the cops. We were all laughing until Jared grabbed you by the arm and spun you around, cracking your head against the brick wall.”

  “I don’t need to hear anymore, ” I murmured.

  As I struggled to come to terms with the information he’d revealed, my feet rotated away from Matthew. It seemed unfathomable that an idiotic, drunken threat prompted my assault.

  “Does your friend…?”

  “He isn’t my friend,” Matthew roared. “He lost that title when he laid a finger on you and I threatened to cut off his dick and shove it down his windpipe.”

  Swiveling around, my spine stiffened. He had risen to his full height, a staggering six-foot-four, with his fists balled at his sides. Intimidation radiated off of him in waves. Pedestrians gave him a wide berth as they passed, darting anxious look
s in his direction.

  “I should have left him to bleed out in the alley.” Matthew’s steely voice caused the hair on my arms to stand. “It would be considered a good deed to erase another scumbag from this world.”

  “You would have gone to prison.”

  “I deserve to be behind bars for the role I played that night.”

  “Why didn’t you come forward then?”

  The guilt that held him captive all these years rolled in like a dense fog and drew his features taut. “Because I was on the brink of becoming the rock star I’d always dreamed about becoming.”

  “Are you kidding me?!” I exploded, outraged at Matthew’s selfishness. “You didn’t want to risk the chance of ruining your career. All the while, you ruined mine.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re training to be a psychologist.”

  “I am now. I wasn’t then. My major at Rolling Bay was Journalism and I worked my ass off to get an internship at the Florida Herald. Two days before my attack, the editor-in-chief called and told me I had been accepted into their program.” Tears sprang to my eyes at the dream I had held in my palm ever so briefly. “I went out that weekend to celebrate, but then after that night, I couldn’t leave my apartment without thinking my attacker would be lurking in the bushes, ready to finish what he’d started. My parents yanked me out Rolling Bay and threw money at the best therapist money could buy. I owe them my mental health, which is why I’m getting my PhD in psychology. Not because it was my calling, like writing is, but almost out of a sense of obligation.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Lying to my face this past month and pretending to be someone you’re not. Or are you sorry for snatching away my one desire to be a writer by not stepping forward and acting as a witness?” With each barb, Matthew’s posture deflated a little bit further. “Or are you sorry for not saving the young woman in the hospital with your self-serving attitude?”

  He slumped forward as if I had physically wounded him. The unconcealed grief in his eyes almost made want to take back what I’d said, and if I stayed a minute longer, I would.