Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  His words are like nails hammered into my flesh, the shame of what my stepfather did to me digging deep. I’d rather let the memory die. I’d rather not admit to this man what Frank did to me, just like every fucking time I’ve had to tell the cops the same fucking details.

  “You mean other than my dead brother?” I shake my head even though I do know someone. “I seriously doubt Ryan and I were his only victims. We moved away from home over three-and-a-half years ago. Frank didn’t become an outstanding member of society during that time. If he had, he wouldn’t have tried to rape me the night Ryan was shot.”

  Giving no indication of what he’s thinking, the officer glances at his notepad. “You’re twenty, right?”

  I nod. What the hell does that have to do with anything?

  “You were sixteen when you left home?”

  I nod again. “Once Ryan turned eighteen, he moved away and took me with him.”

  “Even though you were underage?”

  “He knew if he left me with Frank, I would be his next victim. I would’ve rather died than have Frank rape me like he did my brother.”

  “Why didn’t you and your brother contact the authorities?” His tone lacks any hint of compassion, but it’s not judgmental, either. He’s doing his job and beyond that he doesn’t care. Just like the cops in my old neighborhood.

  I push away the anger snaking its way in, and repeat what I’ve already told the cops. “Because what would they have done? Take us away, split us up, and put us in another hellhole? Ryan didn’t want that, so he made me promise not to say anything to anyone. And yes, I might have been underage, but I can guarantee no one filed a police report. It’s not like our mom and stepdad were worried and wanted us back.”

  The cop jots a brief note in his book.

  “So what now?” I ask.

  “Now you keep away from Mr. Wilson and we wait for the courts to decide how to proceed.”

  Fuck. “You’re not looking into the possibility of other victims?”

  “We’ve asked around, but until someone steps forward, there’s nothing we can do.”

  My fingers curl into a fist, ready to slam into something, most likely the wall. Nothing has changed. No one cares about victims. Not when they come from my old shitty neighborhood. It’s easier to ignore the problem than deal with it.

  Before I can say anything, the apartment door opens, almost slamming into the cop’s back. He steps away from the doorway, hand on gun.

  Eyebrows drawn together, Chase looks between me and the officer. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No,” I say. “We’re talking about Frank, and how everything Ryan and I went through means nothing. Like last time, when he killed Ryan.”

  Chase glares at the cop. “You mean that shithead gets to walk again?”

  The cop doesn’t so much as flinch at Chase’s thorn-filled tone. “Mr. Wilson wasn’t charged for the murder of Ryan Reid. It was ruled self-defense.” Some self-defense. I had gone home to talk to my mom last summer, and Frank had surprised me by being there. Unfortunately, dear old mom wasn’t there. Frank had pressed himself against my back and held his gun to my head—his way of convincing me to have sex with him. If Ryan hadn’t picked that moment to show up, thanks to Chase telling him where I’d gone, I would have been the one who died. No way would I have let Frank rape me. He would have had to kill me first. But instead of killing me, he killed Ryan when my brother tried to protect me.

  “For someone who goes around abusing and shooting his stepsons,” Chase says, “the shithead sure gets a lot of get-out-of-jail passes.”

  Wariness creeps into the cop’s eyes but his posture remains rigid, cool. “There are no records that Marcus and Ryan were abused. Now if they had complained to someone, we would have a record of it and things would be different.”

  “Marcus and Ryan aren’t the complaining type,” Chase says, tone verging on a new territory for him. Dangerous.

  “Other than a couple of hospital reports, none of which raised any alarms at the time, there’s nothing to substantiate Marcus’s claims.” The cop nods at me when he says the last part.

  “Broken bones and the need for stitches doesn’t raise any alarms?” Chase steps forward. The cop holds his ground.

  Worried Chase will do something we’ll both regret, I place my hand on his shoulder. “Not when Ryan and I told the hospital we got them skateboarding,” I say, mostly for Chase’s benefit. We didn’t have a choice. We knew the consequence if we didn’t lie.

  Chase huffs. I can’t tell if it’s because Ryan and I kept silent about what happened or because he had, too. He hadn’t wanted to keep quiet about the beatings, but I hadn’t given him much choice. He was young and we were best friends. He knew once we were removed from our house, he and I would never see each other again. And that was asking a lot for a pair of eight-year-olds.

  The cop gives me his card in case there’s anything else I can add; otherwise, the D.A. will contact me when Frank goes to trial. At least, for now, the asswipe isn’t getting away with shooting me. They haven’t patted him on the back and walked away. Yet.

  And not for the first, second, or hundredth time, I kick myself for letting Ryan’s and my pride and fear and shame keep me from telling the truth about what Frank did to us for all those years. Our silence came at a cost. A cost that Alejandro—and possibly other boys—has had to pay. The only reason I even know about Alejandro is because the night I was shot, I had gone looking for him, thinking he was getting tight with a gang. It would have explained why he had been acting weird lately. Not once had I realized the truth: my stepfather had slithered his way into my fourteen-year-old friend’s life and was doing to Alejandro what he had done to me—or maybe even worse. The night I was shot, I found them together, and in my attempts to protect Alejandro, I fought Frank. Being the coward that he is, Frank shot at me. But unlike my brother, I was able to duck out of the way. I was only wounded. And unlike my brother, I’m not willing to let Frank get away with what he’s been doing, and I’m not willing to let him get off on self-defense, again.

  At the thought of Frank’s trial, my mind shifts to Amber and her upcoming ordeal. The Frank situation pisses me off, but she’s my bigger priority. Although she hasn’t said anything yet, it’s easy to see she’s scared. And even though she’s seeing a therapist to help her deal with everything she’s gone through, I want to be there for her and help her move on.

  For us both to move on.

  Together.

  “What was that all about?” Chase asks once the cop is gone.

  “He came to tell me that, big surprise, Frank’s denying he raped Ryan or touched me. And since there’s no proof, he’s going to get away with it.”

  Chase frowns. “What kind of proof are they looking for? Videos? Fuck, this is ridiculous.”

  “I know, but without witnesses, their hands are tied.”

  Chase’s expression turns thoughtful then his frown deepens. “You and Ryan aren’t the shithead’s only victims, are you?”

  “No, there’s someone else. But he won’t tell the cops. I think he’s scared.” I don’t blame him. Alejandro’s fourteen, and only a year older than when Frank first sexually assaulted me. He doesn’t want anyone finding out what Frank did. Before Amber, I spent the past six years screwing any hot girl willing to spread her legs for me, to prove to myself I’m not Frank. To prove to myself I wasn’t messed up like Ryan—except, I was equally messed up. It took Amber for me to realize that.

  “You need to convince him to talk.” Chase releases a long, deep breath. From his stiff stance, it’s obviously not enough to ease the tension building in him. “Look, I never knew about what Frank was doing to you and your brother, not until you told me. But I knew something was up with you. I’ve known for years. You’ve been set on self-destruct for quite some time. At least you were until Amber came along. But if you don’t convince the other guy to step forward, he could wind up like you and Ryan, except a lot worse.”

/>   “I thought your major was engineering.”

  A puzzled expression crosses Chase’s face. “It is.”

  “Then why do you sound like a fucking psych major?”

  He laughs, erasing the last of the tension. “I guess that’s from hanging out with Jordan.”

  A smile quirks on one side of my mouth. “So, what’s going on with you two anyway?”

  He backs away. Then turns and walks toward his room. “Nothing,” he calls back. “We’re just friends.” Jordan might have started off as Amber’s closest friend when they began college last semester, but she and Chase have been spending a lot of time together lately, beyond when the four of us hang out as a group. Either those two are in denial about their feelings for each other, or they’re lying to me and Amber.

  “Whatever.” I check my watch. “I’ve gotta get outta here unless I want to be late for my exam.” I leave the apartment and head for the stairs. Before I get far, the eighty-year-old from next door emerges from the elevator.

  “What did the police officer want?” she asks, eyeing me as though I’m a dangerous criminal, except she’s the one who looks ready to attack me with her overstuffed purse and rolled up newspaper.

  I don’t bother with a reply. Why can’t she be one of those sweet grandma types you see on TV?

  “We don’t tolerate your kind in the building,” she calls after me, her voice paper thin from years of use yet loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.

  Sighing, I turn. “And what kind is that?”

  Her gaze sweeps over my body, taking in my scuffed military boots, jeans torn at the knees, and the ski jacket I bought at a thrift store three years ago. It’s not ratty or anything. When I got it, it looked as though the previous owner had worn it maybe a handful of times.

  She slits her eyes. “Trouble. That’s your kind. Trouble and heading nowhere in life.”

  I could tell her she’s wrong. She’s describing my parents, not me. I’m going to be an engineer one day, which would have made my brother proud. I plan to make the most of my life, something he never had the chance to do.

  I could say all that, but I don’t. Walking backward, I call out, “I guess there’s nothing else to say then.”

  Chapter Three

  Amber

  “Amber?” Emma’s voice breaks through the fog in my head.

  I blink, then snap out of my frozen state. Both the salesclerk and Emma are watching me, waiting for my answer.

  “Sorry, what did you say?” I ask, wrapping my arms around me to hide my slight trembling.

  Her pale eyebrows draw together. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good. I zoned out, that’s all.” Something I’ve been doing a lot since last spring. I shrug as if it’s no big deal, and inventory what happened so I can tell my therapist.

  I remove my wallet from my purse, hinting that I want to pay for the body lotion and leave. The sooner we get out of here the better. The only place I want to be right now, other than in Marcus’s arms, is at Grandma’s. More than anything, I want to see Smoky.

  “Are you sure?” Emma asks.

  “Yeah, I just need to get out of here.” I don’t want to explain beyond that. Emma has seen the scars on my back. She doesn’t know Paul whipped me until I finally stopped screaming. I told her the scars were from the broken glass when I tried to escape.

  Emma and I pay for our purchases, then weave our way down the crowded mall, stopping every now and then to visit Emma’s favorite stores.

  “There’s a book I want to look for,” she says, carrying several bags from various clothing stores she’d practically lived in when Crossfields was our home. “Everyone on the basketball team has been talking about it, so I figured I’d get it.”

  “Okay.” Marcus isn’t due here for two more days. Until then, I’ll need something to keep my mind off how much I miss him. I hustle to the romance section in the store we end up in and scan the tightly packed bookshelves. Anything to keep my mind preoccupied for a few minutes, to keep it from heading to Marcus again.

  My phone buzzes in my purse as I reach for a book. As if reading my thoughts from over two hundred miles away, Marcus has sent me a text: Love you. Will call after exams finished.

  Love you back. Good luck!

  “Here.” Emma hands me a book with a black-and-white picture of a couple on the cover. All you can see of them is the waistband of their jeans, their otherwise naked bodies pressed together.

  Instantly my thoughts go to Marcus and I inwardly groan. It’s going to be a very long two days.

  “This is the book,” Emma says. “The guy’s a hot guitarist and everyone’s in love with him.”

  I grin. “Didn’t realize you have a thing for musicians.”

  “I don’t, normally. They’re too moody.”

  I hand it back to her and remove a copy from the shelf for myself.

  “I thought you moved away,” a high-pitched voice says behind me, and what feels like a nest of spiders scurrying over my body puts me on alert. Melissa.

  Against all instinct, I twist around to find my former classmate glaring at me. Nice to know things haven’t changed. She hated me even before Paul stepped into my life. His actions only intensified her venom.

  “Back off, Mel.” Emma steps between us.

  “I can’t believe you’re defending her after she killed your brother.” If Melissa were a dog, I’d have her pegged as a snarling pit bull.

  “You know she didn’t kill Trent. She wasn’t the one responsible for the car accident. And she was as much a victim as he was.”

  “Yet he’s dead and she isn’t.”

  Yep, nothing has changed. Like when I was released from the hospital last spring and allowed to go back to school, and Melissa “accidentally” knocked me into my locker and I ended up with a concussion. She had planned to humiliate me. My concussion was an early birthday present.

  “I would do anything for Trent to be alive.” My voice cracks. No matter how many times I say that, it will never bring him back.

  She regards me through narrowed eyes. “If you hadn’t stolen him from me, he’d still be here.”

  “Get over yourself.” Emma squares her shoulders, aiming for the intimidation she’s best known for both on and off the courts when she’s pissed. “Trent never would have dated a bitch like you. Amber’s the only girl he ever loved. And it doesn’t matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, he was never interested in you.” She turns to me. “Let’s go.”

  Without sparing Melissa another glance, Emma stalks off with me trailing not far behind. From the way Emma’s holding her body rigid as she walks, it doesn’t take much to realize she’s more steamed at her former teammate’s words than she needs to be. Especially as they were directed at me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask as we approach the long line for the cashier. Cheerful Christmas music plays in the background. A contrast to the bored, not-so-cheery expressions on everyone’s faces. “You never acted this way when Trent was alive, when she went on and on and on about me stealing him from her.”

  Emma snorts. “Too bad she never said it to his face. He would have told her where she stood.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re angry.” I place my hand on her arm to stop her. “She can say all she wants—it won’t change anything.”

  “I don’t trust her. You don’t know her like I do. She can be malicious.” Emma sighs. “Remember when you first started getting those letters from Paul and then Trent accused you of cheating on him?”

  I nod. It was ridiculous and he felt bad afterward, after I reminded him in ways that left us both breathless that there was no other guy in my life.

  “Mel told him she’d seen you with another guy.”

  “And he believed her because of those letters,” I say, filling in the pieces. I don’t bother to point out, though, that none of it matters. There’s nothing she can do to hurt me again.

  Chapter Four

  Ma
rcus

  “Hey babe,” Amber says on the other end of the phone line, and I can’t stop grinning. “How was your exam?” When we first met last semester, I woke her up from a nightmare and she told me to go to hell. The last thing I expected is that she’d one day call me “babe.” The last thing I expected is that I’d love the way it sounds from her lips. Like I belong to Amber and only Amber.

  “It’s finished. That’s all I care about.” White puffs of air escape with each word, swept away by the brisk Chicago wind, as I walk from the engineering building to the parking lot. “I have to do a few things first, then hit Haysboro Mall on my way out. I should be at your place in four to five hours.” Or less, depending on how long it takes to track down Alejandro.

  “I can’t wait.” Her voice lowers. “My mom won’t be home for another five hours…” The implication behind her words is left hanging.

  “Then I’ll be there in four if I can,” I say, grinning again.

  Crap, it better not take me long to find Alejandro. This could be my only chance to make love to Amber over the next several days, while we’re staying with her mom. I suspect her mom isn’t going to let me sleep in the same bed with Amber, even if it’s only to keep Amber’s nightmares away.

  At Alejandro’s high school, I park on a side street and stride to the main entrance. The loud buzzer cuts through the air. Several minutes later, students flood from the building, pushing through the doors as if the place were on fire—or because it’s the last day of school until the new year.

  Alejandro steps through the open doorway, chatting with Juan and another boy who I’ve seen around the youth center. The new friend is shy. That’s all I know about him.

  “Hey, Alejandro,” I call out when it’s obvious he doesn’t see me. “What year did the Bulls acquire Artis Gilmore?”

  He looks up and a hesitant smile creeps on to his face. “Er, nineteen-seventy-six.” He says something to his friends, then makes his way toward me through the mess of students rushing to catch their buses.

  “Wanna ride?” I ask.