When Anya looked up, Sasha noticed that the scars on Anya's face seemed to be fading already.
“Not yet.”
Sasha scooted closer to her cousin. “Okay, just know that I'm here when you're ready.”
“That means a lot to me.” Anya smiled, then returned to the Bible.
Sasha glared at Anya as minutes passed, then suddenly she said, “I have one question, Anya. How can you read the Bible after… what happened?”
Anya raised an eyebrow. “That's all I can do right now.”
“But—” Sasha stomped across the room. “But how could God let this happen to you?” she almost screamed, finally releasing the question that had been gnawing at her.
Anya nodded. Shed asked herself the same question.
“That's why I don't know if I believe in God,” Sasha continued. “With this kind of stuff going on,” she said, waving her hands in the air, “how can there be a God?”
“Sasha, no matter what happened to me, one thing you can be sure of is that God exists. All you have to do is look around and His creation bombards you from every angle.”
“Well, if he can make all of this, why did he let you get hurt?”
“Being a Christian doesn't mean bad things won't happen,” she said slowly, knowing these would be some of the most important words she would ever say to Sasha. “The only thing that God promised is that He would always be with us.”
“Well, where was He when you were being raped?” Angry tears bit at Sasha's eyes as she fired the words at Anya.
Anya waited a beat. “He was right there—that's why I'm not dead.”
Sasha stared at Anya, as if she couldn't understand what she was saying. “You really believe that?”
“I know it. Sasha, God was there the entire time. He tried to warn me, to get me out of there before—” When Sasha continued her stare, Anya motioned for Sasha to sit down. “When I walked into my office last night, I knew that man was there.”
Sasha's eyes opened wide.
“It was that voice inside of me, God tried to warn me.”
“Well, why didn't God tell you to run?”
“He did. I didn't listen. That's how I hold on now. Because even through that darkness, God was there.” Anya took Sasha's hand. “All I have is the Lord and I'm not going to let some… man take away what I know.” Anya's voice shook as she spoke.
Sasha shook her head. “You're unbelievable. You've been through the worst thing that could ever happen, and except for a few scratches, no one would ever know. You're acting normal, like nothing's happened.”
Anya's thoughts returned to the dreams that she knew weren't normal. But that wouldn't help Sasha. “How do you think I should act?” she asked.
Sasha shrugged her shoulders like she was frustrated. “I don't know. It's not like I want you to fall apart, but you should at least be mad!”
Anya held her head. How could she let her cousin know that the fury inside of her was so strong she thought shed explode? “I feel like I'm being held together by paper clips, Sasha. So give me time; I still might fall apart.”
“That's not what I mean. I just think it would be more natural if you were doing something instead of just picking up your Bible.” Her voice was filled with disdain when she uttered the last words.
A few moments passed. “Sasha, when I woke up this morning, I didn't know whether I should cry or jump with joy. So I did a bit of both. But what I need now is to move forward and I will only be able to do that if I have peace. And my peace always comes from the Lord.”
Sasha was thoughtful. “Do you really drink that God was with you?”
“If I were to tell you all that happened, you would know that God was there. And that's all I want to remember from last night.” Anya walked to the French doors leading to the patio. She opened them and took a deep breath. “All I'm thinking about right now is that I can see these flowers and that I can smell that grass.” She turned around and faced her cousin. “And that I can talk to you.”
Sasha hugged her. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It's not, but I can't let go now, Sasha,” Anya shuddered into her cousin's shoulder. “Because if I do, I might never come back”
Sasha tightened her arms around Anya. “Your faith is incredible.”
“Even my faith comes from God. I just have to practice it a little and there's no better time than now.”
Sasha shook her head. “Go back to your Bible. I want to take a shower before Madear gets back”
Anya smiled as Sasha trotted up the stairs. She couldn't explain it, but she knew that today, she'd reached her cousin. Maybe now it would just take time.
Words that Pastor Ford repeated over the years came to her mind now. “Sometimes, the only Jesus that people will see, is the Jesus that is in you.”
Anya nodded her head. Just another reason for her to hold on.
Chapter 31
He could hear Sean's words clearly. “Never leave scars— that's evidence.”
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his shaking hands. Hours had passed and nothing would stop his trembling. He took six steps to the window, then closed the miniblinds, bringing semi-darkness into the room. He returned to his bed, holding his head in his hands. His headache, like the quivering of his hands, would not go away.
The surrounding quiet disturbed him, but it was better than the screams that had taken over his mind. He couldn't get rid of the screams.
The sheets felt cool as he slid under the blanket. He pulled the cover over his body, and took deep breaths meant to calm. But his shivering quickened.
He never planned to hit her, but when she started talking to God… He had told her to be quiet. But she kept praying. She prayed until he'd beaten her into silence.
He had only done that once before—the time he'd nearly been caught in New York. It had been the first time he returned to the game. In his excitement, he'd beaten the woman. That had cost him and he'd had to leave the city. He had promised himself that he'd never do that again.
He took a deep breath. There was no need to worry. He'd been so careful, this was so perfectly planned. There was nothing to link him to what had happened.
The sparkle of the ring came into his view and he picked it up from the nightstand. That was never part of his plan. It wasn't like he needed it for money. But when he noticed it, he knew taking it would be the final degradation. He hadn't decided yet what to do with it. Maybe he'd give it back. Tell her he found it, then become the hero. He shook his head. He'd have to think about that.
At least he had taught her who was really in control. She wouldn't be bouncing around anymore like she was the only one in charge. He couldn't wait until the next time he saw her. That smirk of arrogance would be totally gone, and though he could tell no one, everyone would have him to thank for it.
Chapter 32
David held his fingers to his temples as he listened to the murmurs in the hallway. Even though the meeting had ended almost thirty minutes before, the associates were still hovering and sharing their disbelief.
It had been tougher than he thought to tell everyone about the attack on Anya. As he spoke, images of her swept through his mind—the same ones that had kept him up all night.
At least his prayers had been answered. Sasha told him this morning that Anya was going to be fine. He wished he could see her with his own eyes, but for now, all he could do was run the business for her. And it was time to get the team back to work
He stood, and just as he was about to move into the hall, a man knocked on his door. This one is smiling, David thought, as he remembered the officer from last night.
“I'm Detective Bush.” The man held out his hand. “I've been assigned to the Anya Mitchell case.”
David nodded, but stood silently.
“I understand that you're in charge.” Even though David was standing, the detective sat in a chair in front of the desk
David followed the detective's lead. “Yes, I'l
l be running the office.”
Detective Bush smiled. “I wanted to go over some things with you. We're finished with Ms. Mitchell's office, but I need to arrange a way to talk to the people who work here.”
David frowned. “You don't think it was anyone here, do you?”
The detective waited a beat, and peered at David with hard eyes. “We don't rule anyone out.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air. “But,” he said, softening his tone, “I want to do some preliminary interviews. You never know what information people may be holding.”
David swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.
The detective stood. “I'll give you a call this afternoon after we put together a plan. Is that okay?”
David nodded again, and silently walked the detective to the door.
“By the way”— Detective Bush stopped suddenly — “I understand you found Ms. Mitchell.”
“Yes,” David breathed.
“When you came back to the office last night was the door locked?”
David blinked, trying to remember. “Yes, I think so.”
The detective stared at him for a moment, then walked away.
David returned to his office and closed the door. Sitting at his desk, his trembling fingers flipped through his Rolodex. He dialed the number, and was surprised when he was directly connected.
“This is David Montgomery.”
He exchanged pleasantries before he got to the reason for his call. “I need some help.” He paused, taking a breath. “ I’ may need you to tell the police that I was with you last night. Would you be able to do that for me?”
Braxton zipped the small weekend bag and darted for the door, when the telephone rang.
He had barely picked up the receiver when Carlos's voice boomed through.
“Man, I heard what happened—”
Braxton's jaw tightened. “How did you find out?”
“You know Cia, William's wife. She works at the police station and saw some paperwork. I couldn't believe it. How's Anya?”
“As well as you'd expect.”
“Does she know who … Have they arrested anyone?”
Braxton slumped onto his bed. “No.”
“Man, if there is anything we can do. We were over here talking and couldn't decide if we should get together and try to find this bum or just get on our knees.”
Braxton closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, this would all be over. “I was on my way back to Anya—”
“Okay, I won't hold you. One thing, do you want me to cancel your meeting with Benjamin this afternoon?”
Braxton opened his eyes. He'd forgotten. But he had to move forward with the custody suit. He paused for only a moment. “Cancel the meeting. I'll call you tomorrow.”
Braxton didn't even say good-bye. He dropped the phone into the cradle and while he sat with his head in his hands, the face appeared in his mind. The face without color or features or shape. The face that had taken his woman in the way that she had been preserving, saving, only for him. In his mind, he aimed for the face, and with one shot, the image would disappear forever.
Suddenly, he stood and ran into his bathroom. He spent five minutes over the toilet releasing his anguish. When he returned to his bedroom, he once again picked up the phone. His breathing was heavy as he waited to be connected.
“Hello, Detective Bush. My name is Braxton Vance and I understand you're working on the case for Anya Mitchell—she was… attacked last night.” He paused. “I need to see you right away.”
This was the first time Braxton had ever been inside a police station, and as he waited, he knew why. Uniformed officers with weapons casually strolled the brightly lit halls and, occasionally, he heard laughter from the enclosed offices. But he shared none of their cheer. He was only here to speak about Anya's case, yet Braxton shifted with nervousness. Strange, he thought. Must be a Black man's thing.
“Mr. Vance, I'm Detective Bush.” The red-faced detective reached out his hand and smiled.
The gesture didn't make Braxton feel any better. He nodded and followed the detective into a small office made tinier by the stacks of paper piled high on the desk
“Thank you for taking the time to see me.” Braxton sat in one of the metal chairs and crossed his legs.
The detective pulled a file from the top of one of the piles. “No problem,” he responded, as he made a note, then peered at Braxton over his glasses. “I'm glad you called. I wanted to speak with you anyway.”
Braxton folded his arms across his chest and waited for the detective to continue.
“I want to get a statement from Ms. Mitchell when she's up to it.”
Braxton exhaled. “Of course. The reason I'm here is I wanted to know how this is going to work. How are you going to find the man who did this?”
The detective leaned back. “It's a process,” Detective Bush explained patiently. “One thing we know is that in most rapes, the victim knows her attacker.” He paused.
Braxton twisted in his seat.
“So we're going to speak to a lot of people.”
Braxton coughed. “What about fingerprints?”
The detective frowned at the question, then looked down at the papers in front of him. “According to Ms. Mitchell, the man was gloved. But even if he wasn't, it wouldn't do much good. There are a lot of fingerprints in that office.” The detective looked up. “Even yours, I'm sure.”
Braxton stood. “Thank you for seeing me, Detective.” He moved quickly toward the door.
“Mr. Vance?”
Braxton turned around.
“Where can I reach you if I need any more information?”
Braxton stared at the detective for a long moment. “I'll be staying with Ms. Mitchell.”
The detective nodded and Braxton didn't breathe until he was in his car. It wasn't until then that he realized he hadn't told the detective about Anya's ring.
Too bad, he thought. I'm not going back in there. I'll call him.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, he sighed. Nothing about this was going to be easy.
Chapter 33
Darkness completely blanketed the room and Anya was sure that not even the moon shined tonight. She rolled over, and grimaced as a spark of pain shot through her. The red numerals on the clock screamed 3:17 and not one hour of sleep had relieved her.
She could hear Braxton's soft snore over her shoulder. He had insisted on staying and she hadn't tried to stop him. Dr. Young said that not only did she have to recover but everyone who loved her, especially Braxton, would have some healing to do too.
So at dinner, when Braxton had announced his plans to stay, Anya didn't protest. Especially not when all of them—Sasha, Madear, and Donovan—had insisted that it was a good idea. Madear and Donovan had left early, saying that she needed rest. But hours later, she still hadn't had one hour of sleep.
“Hold on, Anya,” she whispered. “God is good and He is faithful.” She repeated that thought over and over in her head.
But even through those words, she could see the silver glitter of the blade pressed against her throat. And then she felt him. All over her.
She eased from the bed and walked softly to her bathroom. The faucet squeaked when she turned on the water, and within moments, there was a light tap on the door.
“I'm okay, Braxton,” she said, through the closed door. “I just want to take a shower.”
“Another one?”
She opened the door. “I thought it might help me sleep.” She smiled to reassure him.
Creases of doubt wrinkled his face and she squeezed his hand. “I won't be long. Would you wait up for me?” she asked, already knowing that he would.
They hugged, then he left her alone. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, but instantly looked away. Swiftly, she tossed the XXL Hampton University T-shirt over her head, then stepped under the shower's tepid water. After a few minutes, she turned the hot knob, raising the t
emperature until her skin screamed. She stood under the spigot, keeping her face away from the rushing water, and closed her eyes. Her prayer was that somehow the water would cleanse her insides too.
“God is good and He is faithful.”
It wasn't until she heard the tap on the door that she knew she had been in there too long. The fogged mirror hid her image, but she still turned away, while she dabbed at her body with the towel. Her fingertips had crinkled like an elderly woman's, and the bandage on her face was wet. But she was clean.
“God is good and He is faithful.”
Braxton, dressed in a gray sweatsuit, was pacing the floor when she entered the bedroom.
“I'm fine,” she said, running her hand along his anxious face. The spiky hairs of a new beard tickled her palm. He hadn't even taken the time to shave. Everything had become secondary to taking care of her. She smiled. “Let's go to bed.”
He took her hand, but before she lay down, she picked up her Bible, then leaned back into his arms, sinking into his warmth.
Silently she said, “Speak to my heart, Lord.” Then she opened the book. It fell to the Book of Psalms, and with Braxton's arms still around her, she slowly skimmed the scriptures until she got to Psalm 4, eighth verse. She smiled. She read the verse again and again. I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only make me dwell in safety.
“Braxton,” she said finally. “Turn off the light, please. I'm ready to go to sleep.”
Anya's eyelids fluttered. The bedroom was dark, and through the stillness, she felt Braxton next to her. She lay still, trying to remember what visions had invaded her dreams. But there was nothing to remember. God had promised her peace.
As she turned over, the gauze on her cheek rubbed against the pillow. She brushed her hand against the rough fabric. Yesterday afternoon, Braxton had changed the dressing for her. She had searched his face for a reaction—a grimace or something that would give her some indication of what the scar looked like. But he had been unreadable. Since then, she'd been adept at avoiding anything that would give her a reflection of her image. But now, she needed to see.
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