She tells me of life with a bipolar, alcoholic mother. How, as a seven-year-old, she found herself caring for the needs of a baby sister because her mother couldn’t be bothered with it. Soup kitchens. Charities. Stealing. She kept them alive by any means necessary, the disability checks her mother received mostly being commissioned to support her addictions. There were good days, she said. Days when her mother would smile, and laugh, and one could almost pretend they were a normal, happy family. But for every good, there were twice as many bad. Yelling, crying, beatings. They were the foundation she was raised on.
Eviction notices were not uncommon, nor were the stints in shelters while they were between places. But wherever they settled, their home would turn into a railway station of bad company—dealers, addicts, friends, lovers—sometimes it was impossible to distinguish between them. Public parks and libraries became her refuge: a place she could take Grace to escape the madness at home. Life had never been fair to her, but she made the best of it. It wasn’t until her mother brought home a man named Steve, that things turned from bad, to worse.
She was fifteen years old when he moved in. It took less than a month for him to “accidentally” stumble into her room one drunken night. It took only another week for him to find his way to her bed. Her mother refused to hear of the accusations, choosing to turn a blind eye to what was occurring right in front of her face. Or perhaps she couldn’t see past the haze of alcohol and drugs Steve kept a steady flow of. She didn’t know what to do. She had no family. No friends. There was the police, but even the thought of it terrified her. The scrapes healed. Bruises faded. But the threats Steve had planted in her head; the violent, heinous promises he made to her should she ever think to turn him in, were the scars that would not heal. And even if the police could protect her from him, she and Grace would surely be placed in the system. There, they could be separated, a notion that scared her as much as any threat Steve made against her.
“Maybe it was selfish of me, keeping her in that environment. But she was my whole world...I couldn’t lose her.”
She grows silent, tears leaking from her eyes. I want to say something, do something, comfort her in some small way. But I know the best thing I can do for her is to listen. To give her as much time as she needs to tell her story.
“So I didn’t do anything,” she says. “I let it continue. At night, when that door creaked open, and I felt his weight on the mattress, I forced my mind to go blank and black everything out until it was over. That was without a doubt the worst year of my life. If it weren’t for Grace, I wouldn’t have survived it. I’d have killed myself—would have swallowed a bottle of my mother’s pills and let the darkness have me. But for Grace, I endured it. I kept fighting for the both of us.”
She grows silent once more, though it’s different from before. Her eyes harden, grow cold. An unforgiving anger building inside her. “It wasn’t until he started looking at Grace that I knew I had to get us out of there. I knew if we stayed, there would be a day when looking wouldn’t be enough for him. But before I could do anything, I needed leverage. So I created it. Videotaped him in the act one night. Played it for him. Threatened to turn it over to the police if he tried to stop me and Grace from leaving. I also warned him that a friend had a copy of it and that if anything happened to either of us, they would ensure the tape was delivered. It was pure bullshit, I didn’t have any friends. There was nothing to stop him from beating me, killing me, and I know he so wanted to. But he didn’t. I guess the fear of being labeled a child molester and being sent to prison was enough that he didn’t dare call my bluff.
“The next day Grace and I left. My mother didn’t even put up a fight when I told her. ‘Two less mouths to feed,’ she said. By then she was so far gone into drugs I doubt she’d have even noticed that we left in the first place. That was over three years ago...I haven’t seen her since.”
An image of a sixteen-year-old Lauren enters my mind. A girl half my size but with a strength worlds beyond my own. I see her standing firm against her tormentor, risking everything to protect the one person she loved. The courage it must have taken to do that is incredible. I often wondered how she adapted so well after the pulse hit, how the chaos that ensued didn’t seem to faze her as it did the rest of us. Now I know. She had already seen the darkest side of humanity. Faced it. Endured it. Chaos was nothing new to her, only to us.
“And Steve?” I ask after a minute or so of quiet, voice hoarse from misuse. “What became of him?”
She starts, and it’s a moment before my question seems to register. “My threat held him in check for the most part,” she says, finally. “Still, he couldn’t resist the impulse to let me know he was around. He would show up to my work sometimes. He’d sit either at the bar or another section and just sort of leer and smirk at me—like we were the only two in on a really funny joke. He never spoke to me though. Never tried to hurt me...at least not until the day of the terrorist attack.”
“When your tape no longer mattered,” I say, disgusted. She nods in confirmation. The dirty bastard. As the world fell apart, and most people could only think of how to keep themselves and their loved ones alive, there were others who relished the opportunities now before them. To rob, rape, kill without fear of recourse. To a man like Steve, it meant the opportunity to finally break the girl who dared threaten him all those years ago. But I’m still missing something.
“But...you say you saw him that day...” I ask, my question trailing off at the end. But even through the confusion, a foggy picture begins to take shape in the back of my mind.
To my surprise, a small smile graces her lips, the sight of which so at odds with the ominous dread I’ve felt throughout her story. She lifts her eyes to mine, those green depths I adore suddenly aglow as she squeezes my hand with both of hers.
“I did,” she says. “So did you.” I continue staring into her eyes, searching for the answer behind the words. Slowly, the picture comes into focus as I realize the truth.
“Those men we killed; the ones who attacked you and Grace that first night...that was him?”
More tears shed as she nods, though there is something noticeably different about them. These are not tears of pain, but of gratitude. Of joy. The only kind I’ve ever wanted to see from her.
“I knew I was going to die that night,” she says. “Either that or I would wish I were dead. Even now it’s all a haze to me: just a blur of crying and pleading and being manhandled. I don’t even remember starting, but at one point I realized I was praying. It surprised me as much as anything. I hadn’t believed in God since I was a little girl, praying her heart away for a better life only to watch them go unanswered. But that night, I found myself turning to the sky. Not for myself: they could do with me as they wanted as far as I was concerned. I only prayed Grace might somehow be spared...and she was.”
She’s moved to the edge of the bed, her hands cradling my face as I look into her eyes. “I don’t know if God heard me, or if He’s even real or not. All I know is that in my darkest hour, when I had abandoned hope and all seemed lost, you came bursting into my life. Things like that don’t just happen. Whatever force that led you to me, it happened for a reason. I’m sure of that now.”
I feel a chill sweep across my body, hardly believing what I’ve just heard. I always felt that meeting Lauren was more than mere coincidence. I mean, for the terrorists to strike on the day that they did, and for us to go through all we went through in our scramble for supplies, only to end up in that dingy accounting firm, so close to where Lauren and Grace were taken? It always seemed like there was something more at play, something bigger than myself. I’ve never been one to hold much stock in God or fate, but when I consider how Lauren entered my life and the role she now holds in it, I find myself wondering if it were not all indeed part of a grander plan.
“On the trail, when you asked me if I believed in fate...all this was going through your mind?” I ask, remembering that emotionally charged night be
fore I set off for Salida.
“There were a thousand things going through my mind,” she says. “But yes. It all stemmed back to this: to you finding me.”
I stop fighting the tears that have built behind my eyes, letting them fall without restraint, without embarrassment, letting them bead down my cheeks and roll across Lauren’s fingertips.
“We found each other,” I say, sweeping the hair from her face. “You understand? I don’t know how. I don’t know why. To be honest, I don’t care one way or the other. Whether this was all part of some intricate, cosmic plan, or if we just lucked into it: it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we did find each other. I am yours, and you are mine. That’s all I need to know.”
I pause for a moment, gently brushing away the fallen tears from beneath her eyes. “You have me on this pedestal because of what happened that night in Denver, for saving you and Grace. But you’ve saved me more times than I can count. Whenever I was drowning in self-doubt and felt suffocated by my own dark thoughts, it was your voice that pulled me to the surface—that breathed the air back into my lungs. You told me once, that we couldn’t have made it here without me...but don’t you see? I would never have made it this far without you!
“I want to thank you for trusting me with the truth. That you’ve endured so much evil in your life, yet haven’t let it poison you against the world is amazing to me. I wish more than anything those things had never happened to you. But you know better than I do that there’s no erasing the past. We all have demons, some of us worse than others. All any of us can do is move on from them, refuse to let them dictate the rest of our lives. I know that’s hard at times. We just have to put our faith in each other: in the belief that better days lie ahead. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow...but one day we’ll look back on all of this and smile. Those days are coming, my love. I swear they are.”
This time, it’s she who wipes the tears from my eyes, filled as they are from so much emotion swelling inside me. I see that same emotion staring back at me as she shakes her head, a small smile playing about her lips.
“I never doubted it,” she says. She draws my head forward until we meet in a soft embrace, the sweetness of her lips mingling with the saltiness of my tears. She pulls back, and levels me with those eyes I could get lost in. “But it’s nice to have you back.”
Hours later I sit at the kitchen table, heart heavy with what I know I must do. To my left sit my mother and father, to the right, Uncle Will and Aunt Virginia. Directly across from me is Richard, who, for once, does not look at me in challenge or mockery. That alone speaks volumes to the situation. Others fill out the room, sitting on stools or else propped up on countertops. But all eyes are drawn towards the table. Here a decision will be made.
“How is she doing?” My father asks in deep concern.
“As well as can be expected,” I say. Indeed, the courage and dignity she’s shown today is incredible. Had she not told me the truth, I might once again wonder how she came to be so strong. As it is, I know too well.
“I still can’t believe what happened,” Aunt Virginia says, her voice pained. “I mean...he’s our brother.” She looks first to my Aunt Claire, whose face remains cold and unyielding. But it’s her eyes that give her away—the way they swell at the mention of her brother. My mother, by contrast, cannot hide how troubled she is by the whole ordeal.
“He’s always been a fuck up,” my Uncle Will says bluntly. Even now, there’s no sympathy in his voice. No forgiveness. Only a bitterness he’s always harbored in regards to Mitch. “Always something with him: ‘I need bail; I got fired; can I borrow a few dollars’ Claire and I paid his way through two different rehabs, and never saw even a penny’s repayment. And that itself wouldn’t bother me if the man could just stay clean. But no. Without fail, he’d start doing that shit again. Hell, he’s still a damn junkie! Even with all we’re dealing with, he still finds a way to get his fix.” He makes a noise of disgust. “Huffing paint thinners and lighter fluid, I ask you!”
That was the defense that was used. Mitch claimed to be so high after inhaling those toxic fumes that he wasn’t in his right mind. That it was all a big mistake. It’s for the best that I wasn’t present while they questioned him. I doubt I could have heard his desperate pleas without launching myself at him and finishing the job I started in the barn.
“He’s had his issues,” my father agrees. “But what he tried to do with that girl...that’s something else entirely.” The room ripples with nodding heads and echoed sentiments. Even Uncle Will inclines his head in agreement. None of us saw this coming.
“It’s a shame, alright,” Richard says. “As if what he did wasn’t bad enough. Now we have to decide what to do about it.”
Silence follows his words. Not that what he’s said comes as a surprise. We all know why we’re here. But to know what needs to be done and actually doing it are very different things. Nobody seems eager to start things off, myself included. For Lauren though, I do so.
“Family or not, high or not, nothing excuses his actions last night,” I say. “He followed Lauren into that barn for a reason. He knew exactly what he was doing. I just thank God that she was able to put up a fight. If we hadn’t heard those gunshots go off...well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation for starters. I’d have killed him with my bare hands. You wouldn’t have been able to stop me.” I pause, taking a moment to look about the room, allowing everyone to see the seriousness in my eyes before I speak again. “I can’t live under the same roof as the likes of that.”
I wait as the family absorbs what I’ve said, their faces grim as the air we breathe. It’s as Lauren said: nobody wants to believe their loved ones capable of such things. And despite what I told her, despite all that he’s done, he’s still loved. Cause though I can’t get the images of last night out of my mind, or stop the fits of rage which accompany them, he’s still my uncle. He’s the man who snuck me into the R-rated movies my parents didn’t want me to see; who would make me banana splits for breakfast after exhaustive nights of video games and pay-per-view. We’d build bonfires and roast marshmallows in the summer, go sledding and sip hot chocolate in the winter. He was always up for an adventure, and I loved him for it. I wish it didn’t have to come to this. But the truth is he’s no longer the man from my memories. The drugs and harshness of this world have stripped him from all that made him the man I once admired. Now, he’s a man I don’t know—a man that can’t be trusted. And in a world where trust means everything, I can’t allow such a man in my life.
“I agree,” Richard says, an ugly look on his face. “I don’t give a damn what he says about not being in his right mind. I have two daughters to think of.”
Uncle Will casts a meaningful look at Julia who sits on the middle island beside Emily, his eyes hardening. “Yes,” he says. “The man must go.”
Around the room rises a chorus of agreement. Although, there are some who remain troubled with the idea, namely my mother, Aunt Virginia, and Aunt Claire. His sisters. It comes as no surprise that those who knew him best would have the most difficulty with this decision. To them, he’s still their little brother. The boy they grew up with still lives inside their memories. I cast a furtive glance toward Emily, trying to imagine what it would be like to cut her out of my life forever. I can’t. For the life of me, I can’t imagine a scenario where I would be forced to. Yet, that is the burden my mother and aunts have been tasked with.
My Aunt Claire is the first to accept it. “Agreed,” she says quietly, clutching my uncle’s hand and hastily wiping the tears that have formed. “If he’s capable of what he did...well...who knows what else he might be capable of.”
“But is there no other way?” My Aunt Virginia asks. She looks around the room as if someone might offer an alternative. My aunt has always had the biggest heart of anyone I knew. I hate seeing the pain this causes her, knowing this decision weighs on her in ways it does not the rest of us. Where Mitch is the youngest of my mother’s
siblings, Virginia is the eldest. As such, much of the responsibility of raising Mitch fell to her after my grandmother’s untimely passing. In many ways, Mitch is as much a son to her as he is a brother. I feel another flare of anger at Mitch for what he did. It should never have come to this.
I turn my attention now to my mother, the one person at the table who has yet to speak. It’s impossible for me to get a read on her, her face an impassive mask, eyes focused on her interlocked fingers. My father sits beside her, hand squeezing her shoulder, but offering no more input. I’m not the only one who studies her now. One by one the gaze of the room hones in on her, waiting for her to break her silence. If she can feel the eyes on her, she doesn’t show it. Doesn’t allow it to distract her. But finally, it seems, she reaches a decision.
“He has to leave, Vee,” she says. Her eyes are for Aunt Virginia alone. “He’s our brother, and I’ll always love him. But he’s never going to change. He was always an addict, always a liability. We all knew it. Accepted it. After all, he’s still family...But this time he’s crossed a line he can’t come back from. It may seem harsh, cruel even, but we can’t afford to let him stay. If he does, he’ll be the cancer that eats away at us—that will destroy us in the end. There’s too much at stake to let that happen. We’ve built too much to let him set it all on fire.”
Silent tears trace Aunt Virginia’s crumpled face. With my mom on board, the decision becomes resolute. There’s nothing that will change the outcome. Still, she tries. “If we do this, we may as well just put a bullet through his head. That’s what forcing him from this place will amount to: a death sentence. A man can’t live alone in the world anymore.”
A Cruel and Violent Storm Page 18
