Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3)

by Su Williams

  “Thank you, and no, it wasn’t. But if my going on-the-air will get the other girls to come forward and get help, I want to do it.”

  “There may even be girls from other—attackers—that would be encouraged to seek help.”

  “They’re rapists, Sunny. I figure, call ‘em what they are, right?”

  “Yes. Of course. Um—for legal reasons, I have to refer to them as ‘alleged’ rapists.”

  “Hmph. Yeah, I understand. Wouldn’t want to step on the rights of a criminal like he stepped on mine.” I could hear the wry smile in her voice as Sunny set an appointment with me at the studio downtown for the next day. I hung up the phone and curled up on the couch with Eddy and stared out the window at the swaying Ponderosas. Someone’s gotta make this guy pay. Maybe I’ll just make him confess.

  Chapter 11 What the Hell?

  Sunny Sykes was a long trim bombshell blonde that did human interest pieces for the local news. Her parents aptly named her, since her ‘sunny’ personality drew in her fans, made them feel safe, comfortable, respected. And the utmost deference was given to the subjects of her interviews. That was the reason I chose her. She was like everyone’s best friend, reporting on the news every night at five, six and eleven.

  “Good morning, Emari.” She extended her elegant hand toward me and I gently squeezed her fingers.

  “Good morning,” I stammered, a little star struck. Don’t be a fangirl!

  Sunny guided me to the set that was bathed in a warm pink glow. All the glaring lights of show time, now dimmed.

  “I need to know you’re totally comfortable doing this, Emari. I don’t want you to feel coerced.”

  “It’s all good,” I said as we sat down. “Office Elliot and I made a deal. This is my end of the bargain. We’re all sure there are other girls out there this creep has raped. I want them to know they’re not alone. If any of them had the kind of problems I did, they’re going to need some support and counseling.”

  “I agree. But—because of those ‘problems’—are you sure you want to do this? We can put you in silhouette if you want so no one will know it’s you.”

  Valleys cleaved my brow. “Let me ask you this: Do you believe I did something wrong?”

  Sunny’s mouth gaped opened. “No. No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply….”

  I raised my hand to stop her. “Then why would I want to hide my face as if I’m ashamed? Those other girls are hiding in anonymity. Maybe if they see my face, it’ll give them the courage to come forward.”

  “Of course. I just…People will recognize you. Notoriety can have both good and bad repercussions.” Her glittering blue eyes were wide with sincerity. Her voice, soft and soothing like calming a wounded animal. But, I hadn’t considered myself ‘wounded’ for a long time now. I reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “Sunny, I understand what I’m getting myself into. I know people will recognize me, but it’s worth the risk. I went through hell afterwards. If it hadn’t been for my—friend keeping me sane, I’d probably be dead. I have to consider what these other survivors are dealing with.”

  “I noticed you said ‘survivor’ not victim.”

  “I’ve learned it’s a choice. I chose not to be a victim. I chose to be a survivor,” I explained. “It gives me back some of the power he took away from me.”

  “I’d like to touch on that especially.”

  A chubby intern, who seemed to be midway between his teen years weight and developing into a lean grown man, addressed her. “Make-up’s ready for you, Sunny.” His eyes sparkled with affection when he gazed at her. I couldn’t blame him. She was lovely, even borderline sugary sweet. But her sincerity was beguilingly honest.

  “Thank you, Bobby. By the way, this is Miss Sweet. Emari,” she corrected at my scowl. “She’s doing the human interest piece we’re working on today.”

  He shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  “Will you show Emari to make-up? I have some last minute details to work out before taping.”

  “Sure thing.” And with a gallant sweep of his arm, he beckoned me off set.

  *

  The studio lights were warm and glaring, and beads of nervous sweat glistened on my top lip and brow.

  Sunny patted my knee. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop anytime.”

  “No. It’s all good.” Suck it up, Sweet. This ain’t just about you anymore. How often had I said that to myself lately?

  “Are you okay with the camera man? I can have him set the camera and leave it, just splice it together later.”

  “No, that’s fine. The whole Inland Empire is about to hear my story, so one camera guy isn’t going to make a difference one way or another.” I was playing tough, but the anxiety of reliving my nightmare in front of the populace was churning in my gut. I will not throw up. I will not throw up.

  Sunny reviewed the questions with me and put DeLaRosa’s picture up on a monitor so it wouldn’t come as too much of a shock seeing him during the interview. Finally, the make-up people came and touched us both up, the studio lights dimmed and the room grew quiet.

  “In 5,” a phantom voice intoned from the dark. “4-3-2….” The camera tech made a fist on 1, then pointed at Sunny.

  “Hello Spokane. I’m Sunny Sykes with K5 news and this is ‘Sunny Says…’ Today we’re going to be discussing a subject that may be considered inappropriate for young audiences.” She paused as though to give parents the opportunity to remove their children from the room. “Every two minutes, another American is sexually assaulted,” Sunny quoted from the RAINN statistics we’d looked up on the web. “237,686 people each year become victims of sexual assault. Sixty percent of sexual assaults are not reported to the police and ninety-seven percent of rapists will never spend a single day in jail for their crime. These are alarming statistics.

  “My guest today is Emari Sweet, a local girl hoping to make a difference, even if it’s only for one other person.” Sunny turned from the camera to me. “Emari, tell us about yourself.”

  “I’m just a local girl, like you said….”

  The car takes flight, crashes and rolls. Like scattering diamonds, glass tumbles across the tarmac. My mother screams. Blood trickles down her face. Her knuckles split against the window and smear her blood in crimson webs. Her screams rake the inside of me like claws down your back. The night turns day and the inferno consumes her.

  My lungs screamed for air.

  “Emari? Do you need to stop?” Sunny’s face was dark with concern. Her hand gripped my knee, drawing me back to reality.

  “No, I… Can we start over?”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I just—got a picture of the crash my parents were in. I wasn’t going to mention it. It doesn’t define me.”

  “But it influences who you are.”

  “Yes. I suppose.” I filled my lungs and my thoughts congealed.

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  I laughed. “Sounds cliché, but best parents in the world. They were killed in an accident a little over a year ago when I was seventeen.”

  “Seventeen? And you’ve been on your own since?”

  “Yes. My aunt and uncle had custody of me but I filed for emancipation of a minor. My parents left me a house up north in Mead and I’ve lived there ever since.”

  Sunny pursed her lips. “We can edit out the location of your house later.”

  “Oh! Of course. What was I thinking? Maybe I’m still a little more naïve and trusting than I should be.”

  Sunny patted my knee. “I suppose that’s better than assuming everyone is evil.” I nodded. ““Ready to continue?”

  I hauled in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  Sunny dived right back in as though we hadn’t missed a beat. “You suffered from nightmares after the accident, didn’t you?”

  The urge to scream, ‘no, it wasn’t an accident at all—they were murdered’ convulsed in my throat. �
�I did. But with a lot love and coaxing from my girl, Ivy, I survived.”

  “She sounds very special.”

  “Absolutely. I’d probably be dead without her. Ivy kept me grounded and fed. Neither of which I was capable of at the time.”

  “That wasn’t the only trauma that happened to you in a few short months,” Sunny coaxed.

  “No. I started receiving phone calls at work. The guy made all kinds of lewd suggestions and threatened me. Eventually, he stopped calling. But I knew he wasn’t done with me. It just didn’t feel right.”

  “Intuition?”

  “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Isn’t that what people always tell you about judging a dangerous situation? Trust your instinct?”

  “I think that’s wisdom in any case. What happened after the phone calls stopped?”

  “I was in a stock room at work and he attacked me. He dragged me into a back room….”

  Fists battered my face. My heart exploded with fear. Pain echoed through my body. Brutality personified in this one man.

  My chest shuddered for air as my stomach lurched.

  “Emari?” Sunny’s eyes were bright with concern.

  I blinked away the transitory images. “Uh, yeah. That happens sometimes. If I’m in a stressful situation.” I laughed, “Like taping an interview everybody in the city is going to see.”

  “We can stop.”

  No. I knew the cause of this. And it wasn’t PTSD. “No. I’m fine. I have to do this.”

  Sunny scowled at me, then arranged her features back into the consummate pro that she was. She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, so I plunged ahead.

  “He beat me up pretty badly. When I was unconscious, he raped me.”

  Grief, horror, sympathy, all twisted the reporters brow in quick succession. “What happened after that?”

  “The nightmares came back—of the rape and the crash. I never knew which was going to hit me. Not that it mattered. Both of them tore me up. I tried not sleeping at all, but that didn’t work out so well. I cut myself off from all my friends. Something I regret to this day.”

  “But you did have someone who helped you?”

  Yeah. He’s a Dream Weaver. He manipulated the nightmares and made them go away. And then he lied to me about everything else from that moment on. “Yeah. I met someone who supported and encouraged me. He’d been through a trauma of his own and helped me a lot. My uncle Adrian is also a psychiatrist and he’s been helping me, too.”

  “You said earlier, ‘I have to do this.’ What did you mean?”

  “The officer who interviewed me after the rape has become a friend. During her investigation, she’s discovered that I wasn’t Mr. DeLaRosa’s first victim. And as you said at the beginning of this interview, sixty percent of sexual assaults are not reported. I know there are other girls out there that this man has hurt. I want to make an appeal to those women to come forward. If not to bolster the case against him, then to get help for themselves. I know how bad it can be in the aftermath.”

  “What would you say to them?” Sunny gestured toward the camera, so I turned to face the red blinking light. The mug shot of my attacker took over the corner of the viewing screen.

  “This man’s name is Rico DeLaRosa. In December of last year, he attacked me at work. I was beaten severely and raped by him. Since that time, I’ve learned that there may be other survivors out there. Young women that are suffering in silence. Women that, for one reason or another, haven’t reported the attack to the police.” Did I dare give the names of the girls from Rico’s memories? How would I explain that—to the police and Sunny? “I know the fear that follows you. I know the nightmares, the feelings of shame,” I rubbed the tendons in my wrist. “The desire to cut yourself off from others—the desire, maybe, to cut yourself—just to block the internal pain, even for a moment. But I also want you to know, you are not alone. There are great people available to support you and help you heal. Coming on the local news is the last thing I really wanted to do. I didn’t want the whole city to know my business. But even if there’s just one girl out there who will be brave enough to reach out and take the hand that’s been extended, it will all be worth it. I promise. If you’re hearing this—please ask for help.” My throat clamped shut as I thought of these girls, alone and afraid.

  Sunny’s face shone with admiration and she blotted a tear from her eye. “Thank you for talking with me today, Emari.” She turned to the camera. “And if you are a victim—a survivor of sexual assault, whether the perpetrator was DeLaRosa or not, I hope you’ll take this opportunity and contact someone who can support and encourage you. The numbers to the Spokane Rape Crisis Hotline and Crime Check are at the bottom of your TV screens. From the K5 studios, this is Sunny Sykes reporting.”

  *

  I slammed the car door and stomped into the house.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I ranted as I slammed my bags onto the counter.

  Nick lunged to his feet. “What? What happened?” I started at his voice, despite being sure he would be there waiting for me.

  “Thomas was there. I felt his skanky self sliming his way into my head during the interview.”

  Nick grabbed my arms, as if to pull me into a protective hug, but his elbows locked at arm’s length. I wasn’t sure if I scowled at him or not. Part of me wanted his protection. But part still wanted to claw his eyes out.

  Eddy cowered in his crate. I huffed a growl of self-contempt. My angry tirades had damaged my relationship with the pup. I’d never wanted him to cower from me. I was supposed to be the protector. Kneeling on the floor, I patted my thigh. “Come come. No one’s gonna hurt you.” His tail thumped the walls of the crate. I smirked at him. “Yeah. You’ll do it on your own time so it’s your idea.” A playful spark danced in his eyes and, toe nails clicking on the hard wood, he trotted to my side. I sat down on the floor with him, giving him a thorough scratching from head to tail, and completely forgot about Nick smiling down at us. Eddy perched his front paws on my thigh and licked my face. I laughed when he stopped mid-lick, his tongue still lolling out. His nose twitched and a small rumble vibrated from his throat. “What’s the matter, Eddy?” Then, as though suddenly remembering his presence, I shot a glance at Nick. Eddyson’s eyebrows lifted in confusion and he nudged me with his nose. Could he smell Thomas on me? We’d discovered just weeks ago that the pup could sense the Wraith when they were near. And he remembered Thomas trying kill us all. With a gentle hand, I stroked his pelt. His steely muscles softened under my touch. “Whoa,” I whispered. “That was weird.”

  Nick sat on the floor beside me and ran a hand down Eddyson’s back. “He remembers.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “So, tell me what happened at the studio,” Nick coaxed.

  “I was talking with Sunny and—these images just slammed me. Of the crash. And the rape. Very vivid.”

  “But not like PTSD?”

  “No. It’s different when Thomas is involved. I don’t know how to explain it. It just—feels different.”

  Nick gazed at me as I spoke, but I could tell he was sending the information in a distance-weave to Sabre, wherever he was. While Nick conveyed the information to Sabre, in a feeble attempt at self-distraction, I tried to think of a cooler name for distance weaving. Something like ‘broadcasting’, ‘out-sourcing’, or ‘farming’. Nick’s quiet chuckle brought me out of myself.

  “What?” I bristled.

  “Nothing. Sabre will like that your trying to give ‘distance weave’ a better name, that’s all.” He reached up and tucked a stray copper lock behind my ear. I tensed, and immediately felt bad. A little. Deep down inside, my heart still ached for his touch.

  I spooned around Eddy’s warm body right there in the middle of the floor. A heavy mantle of exhaustion cloaked my mind and compressed my body. Nick’s hand hovered indecisively over me, then he raked his fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and let his magic lull me into peace. Soon, the cold floor slipped aw
ay as Nick carried me to my bed.

  God, I miss touching you. I miss your laughter. I miss your smile. The way your fingers traced the lines of my arms. I miss the sweetness of your mouth pressed to mine. I just…I miss…you.

  Nick’s thoughts spilled into my sleep. His heart, his whole being ached to hold me there in his arms, to lay beside me and wrap his body around mine like a shield. I could feel the crush of his heart, his guilt, his grief. He loved playing my protector. But deep down, my recent guile and guts thrilled him.

  My body settled into the softness of my bed, and I moaned at the separation from his warmth. Nick breathed a reluctant sigh and stepped away, but I caught the back of his shirt.

  “Stay?” I whispered, still only half-awake.

  Without a word, he slid onto the bed beside me and I snuggled against his chest. Warm. And safe.

  Chapter 12 Awaken

  I huddled over the sink, washing the few dishes that had piled up for a week. Food was no longer a necessity for me, but consuming it still gave me a level of comfort.

  I growled. “If I held these dishes and phased, would they come back clean?”

  Nick leaned on a counter across the kitchen. He chuckled. “No. It doesn’t quite work that way.”

  “Figures,” I grumbled. “Stupid super powers. What good are they if they don’t help us with mundane stuff?”

  Nick just huffed an amused laugh. So I scowled at him and returned to the dishes. I gazed out the window at Eddy bouncing and bounding after a butterfly. The leaves on the bushes and the quaking aspens were fluttering gently in the breeze. The motion drew me out of myself, out of the kitchen, out of the house.

  My calloused bare feet beat against the Delta dust. Each foot fall sends plumes of grey dust that twist in a flurry around my calves.

  “Zecharias! I’m gonna whoop you when I catch you, you little snitch!”

  Daddy?

  “Gotta catch me first, lard butt.” My dad’s heart pounds faster than his feet. His brother will surely ‘whoop’ him…if he catches him. Rows of ripe cotton whizz past, their boles popping at the seams. He launches himself over the roots of an oak tree and keeps running, down the muddy bank of a trickling stream. A tangle of roots snags his foot and casts him face-first into the stream. The rippling twin of a twelve year old Zecharias Sweet gazes back up at me. His eyes are as blue as the sky and sparkle with mischief. His hair so fair it’s nearly white.