Screaming in the Silence

by Lydia Kelly

  I nodded, tears falling from my eyes like rain against a window pane.

  “Did these men force you to have sexual intercourse with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “All three?” Sheriff Michaels looked disgusted at his own question.

  “No,” I managed to choke out.

  “Just one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it Ray?” The sheriff looked as if he had known all along.

  “No.” My crying only got worse.

  “His brother?”

  “It wasn’t Marshal.”

  “It was Kaden?” Now he was looking at me as if he didn’t believe me. Did he know Kaden personally? Did he know him like I knew him? Maybe they had met at town meetings? Maybe Kaden had been an upstanding citizen of this small town? Maybe everything Sheriff Michaels thought he knew had just come crashing down around him?

  “It was Kaden,” I confirmed.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t want it to be true.”

  Sheriff Michaels looked shocked by my reply. He clearly didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know why I had said it.

  “We didn’t quite know what to make of his call this morning,” the sheriff admitted. “I knew he was in some kind of trouble but this���I just can’t begin to understand.”

  “Sheriff? What’s going to happen to them?” He gave me what he believed to be a reassuring smile.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they won’t see the outside of the jail until they have their day in court.”

  I blinked through my tears and the first person I thought of behind bars was Marshal. He must be so scared, so confused. In my mind, he didn’t deserve anything that was about to happen to him. I didn’t know what they were going to accuse him of. But in my head I could picture him in his jail cell, curled against the wall, tears in his eyes. The image was nearly heartbreaking.

  Was it right to separate the three men? Were they not all guilty of the same thing? To some degree, I suppose they were. But Kaden had confessed. Marshal had very nearly saved my life by standing up to his brother. But their characters were not the reason they were all behind bars. It was their actions and, try as I might, I couldn’t justify what they had done. Not to myself, at least at the present moment, and certainly not the Onslow County Police Department.

  I took a deep breath and accepted my new fate. I would answer Sheriff Michael’s questions as honestly and plainly as I could. I would let my father collect me from the police station like he had done numerous times in the past. And I would count the days until I could see Kaden again.

  Chapter 21

  My father entered the police station like a man with a purpose. His grey hair looked white under the florescent lights and the lines on his face, which had once looked dignified, now looked determined. It took him a moment to recognize me, his eyes passing over the emaciated girl sitting in the waiting room. I stood up, half expecting him to slap me, half expecting him to hug me. It was the latter, of course, and as my father’s arms wound around my frail shoulders, I found myself remembering how much I had been comforted by his touch when I was a small girl - the way he would hold my hand when we were in crowded places; the way he would sit me on his knee and tell me stories; the way he would let me cry in his arms if I had fallen and scraped a knee. It all came rushing back to me and I accepted his embrace as any loving daughter would.

  We held each other for a long moment before he pulled away.

  What were you thinking?

  I had to smile. He was yelling at me but he didn’t want to cause a scene. I doubted anyone in the police station would know sign language so I responded without hesitation.

  I wanted to run away.

  My father inhaled sharply. You could have been killed.

  I know. I’m sorry.

  And then there wasn’t anything left to say. Most parents would be relieved to find their child alive after a two month absence. My father felt relief mixed with guilt and a delayed sense of panic. He hadn’t known I was in trouble. He hadn’t realized my absence wasn’t by choice.

  “Let’s go. We have a lot to talk about.”

  My father reached for my hand. I felt silly, a twenty six year old woman holding her father’s hand, but I supposed it was what he needed - to know that I was still his little girl.

  His security team led us through the station and out into the early evening air. I had spent hours answering all of Sheriff Michael’s questions. I knew they had been necessary though I couldn’t understand what good they were going to do him. Kaden had turned them in. He was clearly ready to confess. I wanted to ask about what the three men had told the police but I didn’t think it wise. What were they asking Kaden?

  My father’s car was parked across the street and he continued to hold my hand until we were safely behind the tinted windows. Our driver and my father’s aid sat in the front of the limo comparing notes and chatting about where we were going next.

  “Are we going home?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow morning.”

  I didn’t react to his answer. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if we had left for Delaware that very second. The fact that I was returning home in the near future seemed unreal.

  We rode in silence for a few minutes, my father’s hands nervously twisting his scarf. I don’t think I had ever seen him nervous. He was always calm and collected or heated and ready for a debate. Certainly never without confidence. I stared at his profile. I could see myself in this man: our shared stubborn nature, our lack of patience for mundane things, our derivative view of the world. But so much of me was my mother: my independent spirit, my ability to love. At the moment, I longed to be more like my father, to be able to pick my path and make my way from point A to point B with determination and without doubt. If I had been like him, I would have told myself to move on, forget Kaden, let my body and mind heal. But I couldn’t do that. I could still feel Kaden’s touch. I could still say, without doubt, that I loved him.

  My father remained perfectly still, apart from twisting his scarf, so when he moved, it startled me. It wasn’t a sudden or aggressive gesture. His hand dropped his scarf and reached for the console between us and the front seat. He cringed when I jumped, his eyes filling with tears. He quickly raised the window, shutting us off from the security team, turned slowly toward me, and reached for my hand.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I had heard those words earlier in the day.

  “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Dad, you didn’t know���”

  “But I should have,” he said quickly, glancing out the small town.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to hear his apology. It would be easier if I didn’t have to forgive him, if I could continue separating myself from him in the hopes of justifying what had happened to me. “I lied, I said I was in Europe���”

  But my father interrupted me again. “You didn’t email or text. I should have known.”

  “We’ve gone longer than this without correspondence,” I offered, though I knew it wouldn’t help.

  “I know. That’s what scares me. How long would it have taken me to realize you were missing? How long before I started to worry?”

  I didn’t know what to say. The answer scared me as well, saddened me.

  “You have every right to hate me right now, Raleigh. You have every right to be disappointed. I’ve been a terrible father.”

  I stared into his eyes and knew he believed every word. The guilt lined his face. I realized then, staring at my father with Kaden fresh in my mind, that I would forgive him. Forgive him for what he had done to my mother, forgive him for what he had tried to make me become. I wasn’t him and I certainly wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps no matter how much he had paid for my education. But he loved me, his little girl. If I could forgive Kaden, I could forgive my father.

  “I haven’t been the best daughter.”

  A slight smile creased my father’
s lips. “I’m still so proud of you.”

  “I guess we both have a lot to work on.”

  My father nodded in agreement, blinking back his tears and pulling me into his arms again. We rode without conversation until we reached the hotel where my father finally released me from his arms, where I made up my mind to forgive the past and improve the future.

  Chapter 22

  If I closed my eyes, I could still feel his hands on my skin. If I closed my eyes, I could still see his face. If I closed my eyes, I could still pretend he wanted me. But I lived with my eyes open and the reality of what had happened was now starting to fade.

  “What did you do yesterday?”

  I shifted in my chair and stared at my doctor, my shrink. “I watched a movie with my girlfriends.”

  “Did you go to the theatre?”

  “No. We stayed at home.”

  “Your home or theirs?”

  “Theirs.”

  My shrink smiled at me. “Good.”

  I felt like a puppy being praised for shitting outside the house.

  “What movie was it?”

  “A comedy.”

  “Was it any good?”

  “I enjoyed it.”

  “Good.”

  Did she expect me not to enjoy things? I didn’t feel obligated to be depressed or morose all the time. People always assumed that I didn’t want to talk about what had happened but the truth was I didn’t mind talking. I wanted to talk about it. Talking about it made it feel real.

  I understood that I had to modify certain parts of my story - specifically the part where I had fallen in love with one of the men who abducted me. I hadn’t discussed this with anyone, even my shrink. My dad hated it when I called her that. I hated that I had agreed to go see her. I hated that her stupid questions were actually helping me.

  “What else did you do?”

  “We started planning our New Year’s Eve party.”

  “So, you’ll be attending.” I couldn’t tell if that was a statement or a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  I would be attending. I was even looking forward to it. I was looking forward to it - shopping for the perfect dress, getting my hair and nails done, drinking Champagne and then closing my eyes at midnight so I could pretend Kaden was kissing me.

  “They asked about the kidnapping yesterday,” I offered, hoping our conversation would turn to my favorite topic.

  “What did they ask?”

  “They asked why I had left. I told them that I wanted to run away, to be independent for a while.”

  “Did they understand your answer?”

  “Of course. They’re my best friends.”

  “Good.”

  My friends had slowly started broaching the subject with me a few weeks after I returned home. They took turns staying with me so my father could go back to work. Samantha asked the first question. We were eating dinner at our favorite restaurant and she suddenly started crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she said she felt like a horrible friend, not knowing something terrible had happened. I hadn’t been suprised by my father’s guilt, but the pain my friend’s felt was a surprise.

  I told her to knock it off, smiling and reaching for her hand across the table. She knew what I was like. She knew that I would disappear for weeks at a time, sending the occasional email or text message, only to resurface as if nothing had happened. She laughed at this and dried her eyes. But then she looked straight at me, her gaze as intense as I had ever seen it.

  “Were you scared?”

  I had been terrified. I had been nauseous with anxiety. I had been in love, an emotion which now overshadowed all the others.

  “Very,” was the answer I gave.

  She squeezed my hand and smiled. “I’m so glad you’re back. And I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

  I had initially assumed that I wouldn’t want to talk about it. My time at the house would be preserved in my memory, not on display for the world to see. But I wanted to talk about it. I needed to talk about it. Not to this shrink but with people who knew me and might eventually understand how I felt.

  My thoughts snapped back to the present. “Did they ask you anything else?”

  “They asked what happened to me while I was there.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told them that I had been kept in the basement. I told them about how the men wanted to ransom me but became scared when they figured out who my father was.”

  “Anything else?”

  “They asked if they had hurt me. I said yes.”

  “Did you go into detail?”

  “Not very much.”

  “How did they react?”

  “Jamie cried. Samantha said she felt sick to her stomach. Kylie didn’t say anything.”

  “Do you think they regret asking?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “They want to know.”

  “Even though it’s hard for them to hear it.”

  “I think it’s hard for them to accept the fact that it happened.”

  “Is that hard for you to accept as well?”

  “No. I know it happened. It wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could do to stop it or change it.”

  “Good.”

  I suppose denial is common in cases like mine. But I didn’t really know. I didn’t research it; I didn’t go looking for people like me so I could learn from them, heal with them. I wasn’t in denial. I felt everything that had happened and was going through all the necessary steps of healing. The first order of business when my father and I had arrived back in Delaware was a trip to the hospital. The doctor announced that my ribs had healed out of place and then broke them again so that they could be reset. Do you think that hurt me? Nothing hurt worse than Kaden leaving me.

  Next came my friends and family who did everything they could to introduce me back into the real world. But I found it difficult to return to a normal life.

  And finally, here I was in therapy where my shrink had danced around the topic of my captivity until I practically forced her to ask me about it. By now I had shared with her almost the entire two months I had spent as a prisoner. But do you think that pained me? There was no pain worse than the pain of living without him.

  So there I was, living with hurt, living with pain, living with a memory, a phantom lover who had left me. I wasn’t supposed to be missing him. I wasn’t supposed to be looking forward to the trial where I might have the chance to see him again. That was supposed to be the final step in my healing process: the trial. They would be convicted and I would gain closure. In theory, and in the minds of my friends, family, and shrink, the conclusion of the trial would signify the end of my sorrow, the end of my struggle. In practice, I had little hope of that happening.

  “The trials starts early next year,” I said, wanting to see how she would react.

  “So soon?”

  I nodded.

  “Are they being tried together?”

  “No. Separately.”

  “Will you be attending?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I don’t go, then I won’t believe it really happened.”

  “Are we still speaking about the trial?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her eyebrow rose. She didn’t believe me.

  “Will you testify?”

  “If I’m called to do so.”

  “Good.”

  Chapter 23

  I looked around the room. I was surrounded by friends and had a genuine smile on my face. The music must have been blaring because I could feel the base pounding through my heels and the Champagne danced in my glass. Everyone was in the holiday spirit and happy to see me enjoying myself.

  I stood up from the bar and made my way to the bathroom. Perhaps I should have skipped that last glass. I locked the door and then turned to study myself in the mirror. My grey eyes were sparkling, no longer dull, and my skin had a
soft pink blush to it. My hair had its shine back and had grown with my improved diet. I wore it curly. I had gained about five pounds and my father said I needed to gain at least five more. I didn’t really feel the need.

  A gold dress clung to my body and I couldn’t help but wonder if Kaden would have enjoyed seeing me like this. This used to be my element and what I enjoyed. I still felt comfortable; I was still having a great time, but there was somewhere else I would rather be. The place wasn’t specific. I couldn’t point it out on a map or give directions on how to find it. The place was with Kaden, circumstances irrelevant, geography not important. I finished my Champagne.

  I washed my hands as I came out of the restroom and picked up my empty glass. Slowly and carefully, I made my way back to the dance floor to find my friends. A warm hand on my shoulder stopped me and I turned my head, hoping that a pair of emerald green eyes would be waiting to greet me.

  “Hey, you.”

  I smiled. “Hi, Jackson.”

  “Where are you running off to?”

  “I’m not running, believe me.”

  He smiled, thinking I was referring to a physical act of movement. “What about a dance, then?”

  “Of course.”

  I set my glass down and allowed him to take my hand. His touch, although familiar and warm, was not exciting or comforting. We had, for the better part of two years, been an item. But that was long ago. We had ended things amicably when I left for graduate school and had remained in touch as best we could. It wasn’t long before I heard he was engaged and he was married by the time I finished my Masters degree. I had been happy for him. Jackson had always been the nice one, the one who every girl dreamed of marrying once they finished torturing themselves by dating the wrong guys. He had been too good to me and I had walked all over him. Apparently so had his bride. Their divorce had just been finalized.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, looking up at him as he held me in his arms, not too close to feel uncomfortable.

  “This is the first New Year’s Eve I have spent alone in over six years. I’m doing all right.” He smiled down at me reassuringly. “How are you doing?”