Release Me If You Can

by Christina C Jones

  “Um, excuse me!”

  They both looked up at the sound of a woman’s voice in the doorway. Marcus wasn’t surprised to see Quentin and Kendall lurking behind her, but the woman — a doctor, guessing from the white coat she wore over her scrubs didn’t seem pleased about their presence or his.

  “I’m glad to see my patient has some support, but if you don’t get off that bed, messing up her stitches, you’re gonna need some yourself.”

  Marcus scowled at her, and she scowled right back, propping her hands on her hips. Indignant, Marcus climbed down from the bed, pulling out his badge as he approached the doctor.

  “Special Agent Marcus Calloway, FBI. This woman is under our protection.”

  The doctor lifted an eyebrow. “Portia Morris, MD. PhD. OB-GYN. This patient is under my protection as well, and seeing as I have the authority here, you can put your little badge away.”

  Tipping his head to one side, Marcus glanced at Kendall and Quentin, but both looked away, scratching their heads. Dr. Morris side-stepped him, walking up to Naomi.

  “Let me look at your stitches, sweetie,” she said, and Naomi nodded, covering her mouth with her hand. Marcus sucked his teeth, shoving his hands in his pockets as Dr. Morris pulled the covers back, lifting Naomi’s gown just enough to peek underneath the bandage to check her wound. “Still looks good, but I need you taking it very easy. I’m gonna stop just short of assigning bed rest, but if you don’t have a doctor yet for your pregnancy, I want you to come to me. I understand that the situation is… delicate.”

  Marcus put his hand on his weapon. What the hell did she know about the “delicacy” of their situation? “You care to explain what you mean by that?”

  Turning to Marcus, Dr. Morris lifted an eyebrow. “Well… she’s pregnant, and was brought in here with a knife in her stomach and fuzzy circumstances. You just said she’s under FBI protection. So… the obvious conclusion would be that it’s a situation that requires some discretion.”

  “I think I’d like that, Dr. Morris,” Naomi said, before Marcus could interject. He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “But… talking about the pregnancy… that means the baby is okay?”

  Her voice was filled with so much hope that Marcus forgot his anger as he approached the other side of the bed to grab her hand.

  “Yes, the baby is perfectly fine.” Dr. Morris shook her head, smiling. “You’re actually incredibly lucky. Incredibly blessed. If that knife had gone an inch deeper, it would have pierced your amniotic sac. Now… with that said, Naomi you have to take it easy. This time, you were fine, but the stress that your body has been through, with the surgery and everything… I’ve seen miscarriages happen under much less trauma.” With a pat on the hand, she turned to leave. “I’m gonna go get you some information.”

  When she was gone, Marcus leaned forward, kissing Naomi on the head. “Really?” he asked. “This lady, as the doctor for our baby?”

  Naomi laughed. “Yes, her. She’s feisty. I like her.”

  “You like her because she was mean to me.”

  “I like her because she wasn’t taking any shit from you. Flashing your badge at her Marcus, really? What were you doing?”

  “I was….” He stopped, with a heavy sigh. He really didn’t know what he thought he was going to accomplish by flashing his badge in her face, but he knew he didn’t like her demanding he get away from his woman.

  His woman.

  Shit.

  When he thought about how close he’d been to losing his woman, it made heaviness settle over his chest. Dr. Morris said Naomi had been “brought in”, presumably by Harrison, who worked for Wolfe. So… what was Wolfe’s end game? If he wanted Naomi eliminated, he could have easily let her bleed out on the ground, or let Tomiko do whatever. Instead, he’d… brought her to the hospital.

  What the hell did that mean?

  Before he could come up with a response for what he’d been trying to prove to Dr. Morris, she was back, carrying a huge bouquet of pink and white roses.

  “Looks like someone is thinking of you,” she said, smiling as she placed the bouquet on the table beside the bed.

  Eyes narrowed, Naomi reached for the attached card, opened it, then read it aloud. “Tell the hacker to check his email…”

  Dr. Morris looked confused, but everybody else looked at Quentin, who immediately drew his phone from his pocket.

  “Dr. Morris, can you excuse us?” Marcus asked. “Official business.”

  This time, she glanced at Marcus’s hand on his weapon, the serious expression on Naomi’s face, and Kendall’s menacing posture as she leaned against the wall beside the door. She seemed to make a quick calculation that it wasn’t a problem she wanted, handed Naomi the paperwork she’d originally gone to get, then hurried out of the room.

  Marcus turned to Quentin, whose face held a somber glare as he stared at his phone. Apprehension prickled his skin as Quentin looked up, shaking his head.

  “It’s from Wolfe.”

  At the sound of that name, anger blossomed forth again. Quentin seemed in no particular hurry to get to them, so Marcus knew whatever was on that screen must be bad. Without a word, Quentin handed him the phone, and Marcus held it up in front of he and Naomi, pressing play on the video on the screen.

  Naomi gasped, and Marcus’s stomach clenched at the sight of Tomiko, in what appeared to be some type of dark basement room. Her pretty face, normally the color of brown sugar, was decorated in purple and black bruises. One eye was completely swollen shut, but a steady stream of tears flowed from the other as she screamed against the gag tied to her mouth, seemingly oblivious that a camera was there.

  She wore a tank top and pants, but they there were bloody and dirty as well, and what was visible of her body was just as bruised as her face. Marcus tried to find a little more sympathy for her, from somewhere, but… she’d caused too much trouble for that. The only reason he felt even the tiniest bit bad for her was because it was Wolfe who had her.

  A moment later, the man himself came onto the screen, dressed in nice slacks, suspenders, and what was probably an expensive button-up — complete with cufflinks — and blood splattered across the front. He looked right at the camera, cleared his throat, then opened his mouth to speak just as Tomiko launched into another round of muffled screams.

  “Shut her up,” he said, to someone, without taking his eyes off the camera. He held up a finger in a “wait a second” motion, while an armed guard pressed a knife to Tomiko’s face, then bent to whisper something in her ear. Her eye went wide, and she immediately stopped screaming, settling instead for quiet sobs.

  Wolfe smiled.

  “Now. Mimi, Baby Girl… if you’re watching this, I want to tell you something I’m not sure if you know or not — I love you. You’re family,” he shrugged, then smiled again. “Because of that, I want you to understand that I feel a certain… obligation to protect you. It’s what your mother has asked me to do, and… you know how I feel about Noelle. Whatever the lady wants.” Wolfe stopped to chuckle a little, running his thumb over the patch of hair under his lip. “But I digress. In any case, it pained me to find out that Lucas’s whore was causing trouble for you and your little friends, especially since I have an um… vested interest in making sure that you all stay alive — I need that job completed. So I’m taking care of this little problem for you, because that’s what family does. This little girl won’t be picking on you anymore, okay Princess?”

  Wolfe nodded at the screen, then turned, walking toward where Tomiko was still quietly sobbing. He removed the gag from her mouth, then bent low to speak into her ear, loudly enough that the camera caught it. “Now … remember we talked about this, right? I want you to apologize to Naomi.”

  “I-I..s-s-s-sorry,” Tomiko managed to choke out, her bottom lip trembling as she eyed Wolfe with trepidation.

  His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. “No, you can do better than that. Your mouth was so slick when Harrison brou
ght you to me. You had so much irresponsible confidence, you were so sure that because you were beautiful, and had a pussy, I was just gonna roll right over and let you do what you wanted, but you were wrong about that today. I should have had your ass taken care of when I got rid of Lucas, but no. I showed you mercy. And you repay my excessive kindness by laying hands on her? On Naomi. My family, my blood, you know this. You fucked up. You fucked with the wrong one, so I want you to apologize to my blood like you want me to spare your despicable little life, do you understand me?”

  Trembling with fear, Tomiko nodded, then shakily lifted her head toward the camera. “N-naomi. I’m s-sorry.”

  “Say it again.”

  “N-naomi, I’m s-sorry.”

  “Louder.”

  “Naomi, I’m s-sorry.”

  “Again!”

  “N-naomi, I’m sorry!”

  Naomi’s hand flew to her mouth as a loud crack sounded from the phone, and Tomiko’s lifeless body slumped to the side. Marcus swallowed, covering his mouth with his hand as well as Wolfe simply stood there, his face lined with contempt as he stared down at the hole he’d blown in Tomiko’s head. And then… he smiled.

  “Oh this motherfucker is crazy,” Marcus said aloud, glancing at Naomi, who looked horrified.

  On screen, someone had handed Wolfe a towel, and he wiped the blood from his face and hands before turning back to the camera.

  “Baby Girl, now… I know you probably think I’m a monster for that, but please understand that was something I had to do. I promised you she wouldn’t bother you again, and I’m a man of my word, if nothing else. I promised Noelle that I would protect her baby girl, and I intend to do that. I will not abide by any physical harm coming to you. This trash,” — he tipped his head to where Tomiko still sat — “crossed a line. Especially now that I know about your delicate state. Harrison tells me that congratulations, to you and Agent Calloway are in order, for the news of your pregnancy. So… congratulations. I hope to meet your child one day.”

  After that, the video cut to black, with a message that it was being removed from the server. Marcus tossed it to Quentin, then immediately turned to Naomi, whose eyes were already welling with anxious tears.

  “No,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “Never. That will never happen, do you understand?”

  “Marcus, I can’t—”

  “Mimi, Baby listen to me. Wolfe will never see, will never hear, will never touch our child. Trust me on that. We will figure it out. I need you as stress free as possible, baby. For our baby, okay?”

  Averting her eyes, Naomi broke into sobs again, and Marcus sat down on the edge of the bed, mindful of her stitches this time as he pulled her into his arms.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into her hair as he held her close.

  “I just… don’t understand.” Naomi looked up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “After what he did, why is he so protective of me? He sounded obsessed!”

  “Because he is insane. That’s all there is to it.

  Naomi nodded, then rested her head against Marcus’s chest. He looked up as Quentin nodded to Marcus in an unspoken communication to see if he could do anything to get the video back. On-camera murder had to be worth something.

  Kendall and Quentin slipped out, leaving Naomi and Marcus alone in the room. For a long time, neither said anything. Marcus hoped beyond hope that she wasn’t second-guessing the baby again, after she’d just made up her mind to keep it.

  “Marcus…,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder as she looked at him with tearful, red-rimmed eyes.

  He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what she might say. “Yeah?”

  “Why was he talking about my mother in present tense?”

  thirteen.

  “So… don’t you think it’s time you said it out loud?”

  Looking up from her hands, Renata turned her attention back to Layla, as she insisted on being called. None of that stuffy Dr. Alexander stuff please, she’d said.

  A smile tipped the corners of Renata’s mouth as she thought about their first session, almost three weeks before, and her great first impression of the therapist held true.

  Layla Alexander looked more like somebody’s fly auntie than what Renata pictured in her head for a therapist. She was a beautiful older woman, with skin the color of honey, and long, regal, chocolate brown locs tipped in blonde, occasionally flecked with grey. She exuded a quiet confidence that Renata envied, and that, paired with the fact that talking to her felt more like talking to a friend than a professional had kept Renata rooted in her chair for the last three weeks in a row, in Layla’s warm, homey office.

  “Say… what out loud?” Renata asked, tipping her head in confusion.

  “That you were raped. I mean… that is what happened, isn’t it? You keep referring to it as “what he did”, and “what happened to me”, and “that terrible night”. Why do you keep absolving this man of guilt by minimizing the way he violated you?”

  Renata lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

  Layla nodded. “Every time you use prettier words to soften it, you’re allowing him an out he doesn’t deserve. Call it what it was, Ren.”

  “I… I don’t really want to… can we skip this?”

  With a sympathetic smile, Layla shook her head. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. In previous sessions, you’ve told me that you want to move forward. You want to heal. But… how exactly do you heal if you won’t accept that you’ve been wounded?”

  Running her tongue over her lips, Renata shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that I don’t want to say that word out loud. I don’t want to be a victim.”

  “But you already are. You weren’t given a choice. You were absolutely a victim of a crime. So… let’s explore why you’re having a hard time with that fact.”

  Nostrils flared, Renata turned her gaze out the window, swallowing hard before she spoke. “Um… it’s just such an ugly thing, you know? Being violated, having something stolen from you like that, when you aren’t even old enough to vote, barely old enough to drive, it’s just… it’s hard. I would love to just forget that it happened to me. I’ve googled, and watched documentaries, and I see these strong, powerful women who retook control of their lives, and found love, and they’re stable… they’re thriving after what happened to them, and I’m… not. I’m not strong like that. I don’t know that I can handle, or accept the reality that I was… the reality of what happened to me.”

  “Not strong enough?” Layla raised an eyebrow, her expression incredulous as she shook her head. “My dear, you were date raped and impregnated at sixteen years old, put out of the house by your emotionally and verbally abusive mother, still graduated high school, graduated college, went to the FBI, and raised a smart, healthy child, all while her father popped up sporadically to harass you. And despite all that, you have one of the sweetest spirits I’ve ever had the pleasure of coming in contact with. I would venture to say… you’re a lot stronger than you think. So… just give it a shot for me. Please?”

  Shifting in her seat, Renata reached up to run her hand through her braids, sweeping them over her shoulder. After a long moment, she nodded, and Layla smiled.

  “Okay. Repeat after me: I was raped.”

  Renata let out a heavy sigh. “I… was raped.”

  “I was raped… and that’s not okay.”

  “I was raped… and that’s not okay.”

  Again, Layla smiled, with a little encouraging nod. “I was raped, and that’s not okay… but I will thrive anyway.”

  “I was raped, and that’s not okay,” Renata started, then paused to clear her suddenly tight throat. “But I will thrive anyway.”

  “I was raped, and that’s not okay. But I will thrive anyway, because I am strong.”

  Tears welled in Renata’s eyes as she repeated Layla’s words. “I was raped, and that’s not okay. But I will thrive anyway
, because I am strong.”

  “And powerful.”

  “And powerful.”

  “And I not only can, but will retake control of my life.”

  “I can, and will, take control of my life.”

  “And I will reach stability.”

  “I’ll reach stability.”

  “That’s right,” Layla said, clapping. “And find a big strong man who makes me feel beautiful, and is patient with me, and makes me wanna have his little big-headed babies.”

  At that, Renata broke into laughter through her tears, and Layla handed her a box of tissues to clean her face.

  “Tell me how those words make you feel, Renata.”

  Swiping her face with one of the tissues, Renata nodded. “They make me feel good. But… it can’t be that easy, can it?”

  “Unfortunately… no. But it’s your first real step in the right direction. The fact that you were raped takes nothing from you. It doesn’t minimize you. It doesn’t devalue your humanity, it devalues the person who violated you. It makes them less than. There is no magic pill, or exercise that I can take you through that will ever make your rape okay. But, there are things that we can do to help you move forward, help you feel strong, make sure that most days are good days, and make sure that the bad ones aren’t so bad.”

  “Thank you.” Renata gave her a grateful smile, then went silent. After a moment, she took a deep breath. “Um… something in particular that I wanted to ask was about… sex. What happened to — I mean… the rape… happened more than fifteen years ago. I feel like I should be past this part by now, and able to… let go, and be free, and… enjoy someone. I have the urges, that’s not a problem. And I know how to please myself, and I do, but… I’d like to be share the experience with someone else without freaking out.”

  Layla smiled. “Well, self-exploration, and self-pleasure are both really, really important for your healing process, so if you’ve already mastered that step, you should feel very proud of yourself. Healthy, consensual sex can really hold transformative power. You’re thirty years old, Renata — entering your sexual prime. Wanting sexual gratification is completely normal, regardless of your history. Tell me… is there a particular gentleman you have in mind?”