She nods again. “I can earn my keep.”
I just chuckle. “Girl, all you have to do to earn your keep here is to pay me in smiles.”
And I get my first payment right that second.
“No. I can’t.” Trish hands her three tops and Olivia shakes her head. “Just one.”
“No. All three. Go.” Trish points to the dressing room, and Olivia stares at the door. “Go on. You need to try them on. You don’t want to buy them if they don’t fit.”
“But I can’t, you can’t . . .”
“I can do whatever I want, and I want to buy these for you. Now GO!” Trish practically shouts. When Olivia gives a little jump, Trish shrugs. “Sorry. But stop being difficult and do it. Please?”
A sheepish Olivia heads off into the dressing room. Clint is across the aisle in the men’s department, but when I look up again, he’s even farther down the aisle in lingerie, and I see him grin and hold up a very sexy bra when Trish looks around for him. I have to chuckle. “Who knew this shopping trip was going to turn into foreplay for the two of you?”
“It’s not!” Trish laughs. Then she says, “Well, not yet anyway. I don’t know why he’s showing me those. I have a drawer full.” About that time, Olivia comes tiptoeing out of the dressing room.
“Well, would you look at that!” At my words, Trish turns to see. “Don’t you look cute as can be?”
Olivia stands staring at the floor, and the top she’s wearing is so adorable I can’t even think. I hear Trish say, “Oh, Olivia, that color is beautiful on you!”
In a voice so timid that we can barely hear it, Olivia mumbles, “Thank you.” She looks up to smile at me but, just as she does, I see her glance over my shoulder and then turn and bolt back into the dressing room. Of course, I wheel to get a look at what she saw.
Two police officers. They appear to just be walking through the store, not really doing anything, maybe shopping on their lunch break or headed to the food court. I hear Trish say, “I need to go see about her.” She disappears into the dressing room.
Just as Trish is out of sight, Clint wanders up. “Where’d Trish go?”
I turn and point discreetly in the direction of the officers, who’ve stopped and are looking at some shoes just a couple of dozen feet away. “In the dressing room doing damage control.”
“Shit.” He turns with his back to them. “You do realize one or all of us are going to have to discuss this with her, don’t you? We’ve got to talk to her, try to find out if she can give us names or at least who to avoid. I think that’s imperative.”
“I doubt we’ll get very far. I think she’s locked up tight on that one.”
“We have to try. She can’t hide in dressing rooms and car trunks forever. Besides, not all police officers are bad. Matter of fact, most aren’t. There are just a few bad ones mixed in there, like there are bad ministers, and bad car salesmen, and just about anything.”
“Bad dominants?” I chuckle.
“Big, bad dominants. There’s a difference,” he guffaws back. When we look again, the police officers have strolled back out into the actual mall, and Clint marches to the dressing room doorway. “Trish? The coast is clear.”
She appears in the doorway leading to the hallway of dressing rooms. “She won’t come out.”
“What do you mean, she won’t come out?” Clint snaps.
“I mean she won’t come out. She’s sitting on the floor, curled up into a ball in the corner, and I can’t get her to even talk to me.” She finds my eyes and gazes into them. “You try.”
“Well, okay. I’ll give it a go.” I wander down the hallway until Trish nods, and then open the door. And it’s exactly as Trish said. She’s in her jeans and a tee, and she’s knotted up on herself in the floor of the dressing room, scared and shaking. “Olivia? Hey, little one. They’re gone.”
“They’ll come back,” she whimpers.
“No. They’re gone. Besides, you were safe. Clint and I are right here with you. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Yes they will. The police will hurt me, and you and Clint can’t do anything about it.” She’s trembling.
I ask gently, “Will you let me touch you?” She doesn’t respond, so I ask her again, “Olivia? Please, may I touch you?” After what seems an eternity, she nods. Thinking about it, I sit down in the floor cross-legged and, once I’m settled, I tell her, “Okay. I’m going to draw you over into my lap. I just want to hold you, that’s all. I’m not going to hurt you.” Even though she shakes her head, I pull her to me anyway.
She’s rigid as a board in my embrace. Poor thing. Clint’s right: We’ve got to talk to her about what happened, and the sooner the better. I finally feel her sigh and relax a little against me, and I whisper, “Baby, we need to leave. Let’s go.”
“No! I’m scared!”
“No need. I’m right here. Clint’s got his gun with him; he always does. You’re perfectly safe with us.” I press her body away from mine and look into her face, but she won’t meet my gaze. “Come on, Olivia. We’ve got to go.” Once she’s standing, I tell her, “You have to change out of that top. We’ll get it for you, but we have to take it to the cash register.” She just pulls it off over her head and hands it to me, then picks up her own top and puts it back on. “Ready?”
“No.” I take her hand and lead her out of the dressing room area and back to Clint and Trish. I can tell she doesn’t want to go – she’s pulling back with every step – but we can’t stay there forever. Her eyes won’t leave the floor long enough to look at either of them.
“I think we’ve had enough shopping for today,” I announce. “I’m paying for this stuff. Trish, can you take Olivia to the car please?”
“Sure! Come on, sweetie. It’s okay.” Clint and I watch them walk away hand in hand and I head for the nearest checkout.
“By the way, you’re right.” The cashier has taken everything out of my hands, and I’m getting my card from my wallet when Trish makes that pronouncement.
“In what way?”
“We’ve got to talk to her. Should we try it when we get back to the house?”
“No time like the present.”
She still needs bras and underwear, and a few more pairs of shoes, but that can wait. Right now we’ve got to get down to what happened in that circle of officers. It’s her only chance to heal and our only chance to get through to her.
“Okay, Miss Olivia, come right over here and sit down.” We’ve gotten everything carried in from the car and drinks poured all around so we can talk without being disturbed. The kids won’t get out of school for another hour and a half, so we’ve got enough time. I try to get comfortable but, frankly, there’s no way to get comfortable when you’re about to ask someone about being ruthlessly violated by the very people who should’ve been protecting you. “Sweetie, we need to talk about the policemen.” She shakes her head violently. “Yes, we do. We have to. We need to know for sure what happened.”
“No.”
Trish tries. “Olivia, we can’t help you unless we know what happened to you.”
“No.”
Right at that moment, Clint’s phone rings. He steps outside the front door to talk on it, and Olivia looks me dead in the eyes. “Who’s he talking to?”
“I have no idea. Probably business.” She’s eyeing the front door suspiciously. “I can tell you who it’s not. It’s not the cops. I’m sure of that.” Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to help.
Once he’s returned and taken a seat, Clint smiles over at Olivia. “Honey, our friend Steffen found your money. Looks like you had some that was deposited into your bank account, and when it didn’t have any activity for awhile, it went to the unclaimed property roster at the state capitol. Steffen’s trying to figure out where it came from and exactly what it is, but it’s definitely yours.” Her eyes are round and wild. “It really is yours, Olivia. I swear. We’re going to try to find a way to get it all back to you.”
“How
much?”
“It’s not much. Maybe four hundred dollars?”
“Oh my god, that’s a lot of money!” she gasps out. I suppose it is to someone who hasn’t had a penny to their name for years. I can’t help but think, Yeah, you probably paid that much for a purse in the past.
“We’ll get it back to you, I promise. But for right now, we need to talk about the police.”
She shrinks again. “I really don’t want to.”
When I take her hand, I figure she’ll snatch it back but, instead, she grips mine. “We really don’t want you to have to, but it’s the only way we know of to help you. We want you to be safe.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll never be safe.”
“You’re safe here, aren’t you?” I point out.
“Only because I’m inside. If I go outside, I’m not safe. And I can’t stay inside forever; I’ll have to find a place to sleep.”
“Maybe I haven’t been clear about this, but I think it’s time I set you straight.” I put a hand on either of her cheeks and turn her face to mine. “You’re not going back out to sleep outside. Ever again. Get that idea out of your head. Your life has changed. I know it’s hard to believe, but Clint, Trish, and I are dedicated to seeing you get back on your feet, both personally and financially. We won’t stop until we’ve done that, do you understand?”
Bewilderment fills her eyes. “Why? Why would you do that? Why would you care?”
Clint takes her other hand and, to my surprise, she doesn’t lurch away from him either. “Because we do. Dave’s my dad, as far as we’re all concerned, and he raised me to care about others. You fell into our lives for a reason, little one. I’m not sure why, but you’re here to stay. Got it?”
“I still don’t understand.”
I smile at her. “You don’t have to understand everything, just accept it. We want to help you. We care about you and want you to be safe and happy.”
“But why?”
How do you explain this to someone who’s been so beaten down and abused? Abandoned and alone? Afraid and penniless? I search my brain, and then I finally say, “Because. Because at some point in all our lives, we’ve needed help, and someone’s been there for us. And we want to do the same for you. Does that make sense?”
She nods and in a tiny voice says, “Do unto others.”
“Exactly!” I drop her hand to put my arm around her shoulders. “Now we need to talk about the police.”
Eyes on her hands in her lap, she picks around her cuticles and tries to avoid our eyes. “So what do you want to know?”
“I want to know: Is that where you got the marks on your body?” She doesn’t answer, so I try again. “Looks like they hit you with a nightstick and burned you with cigarettes.” She starts to shake all over. “Olivia, did they beat you with a nightstick and burn you with cigarettes?” Still getting no answer, I try again. “Baby, if they hurt you with . . .”
“They raped me with a baton.”
Trish tears up immediately and Clint’s face goes pale, but not mine. This was pretty much exactly what I was expecting her to say. “How many of them, baby?”
“About ten.” It takes everything I have not to gasp.
“Okay. They raped you with a baton. Did they beat you with it too?” She nods. “And the burns?”
“Yes. Cigarettes. They burned one girl’s, um, privates, with cigarettes because they said she was diseased and they needed to disinfect her with fire.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “They tied you up, didn’t they?” She nods. “Rope?” Another nod. “Handcuffs?”
She shakes her head. “Zip ties.”
Bastards. But we’re getting closer. “So, did they beat you while they had you tied up?”
“Yes. Over and over.” She stops for a second and, in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it, she says, “They killed a girl.”
I knew it. Clint heard right. My god. They’re using the homeless female population as their personal sex toys. I have to ask it, don’t want to know the answer, but have to ask. “Olivia?” When she doesn’t answer, I take her chin in my hand and pull her face up, then scrunch down until I can look up under those lashes. “Baby, did they rape you?” No answer. “Olivia, answer me. Did they have sex with you?”
A huge, shuddering sob escapes her lips, followed by a wail the likes of which I’ve never heard before in my life. There’s no way to fight it off – I grab her and hug her to me as tightly as I can. This poor child. Who does this to someone this lovely and fragile, someone who’s already been dealt the worst hand luck has? Before I can say anything else, she sobs out, “Yes. They said we were their bitches. They said they were going to breed us like bitches in heat until we couldn’t walk. My friend Elizabeth was older. They kept at her with that baton until there was blood coming from, well, you know, down there,” she says, pointing to her lap, “and then they left her. And the next morning, she was dead. They beat Mrs. Sullenger in the head with the baton until she couldn’t move, and then they raped her and raped her until they finally just threw her on the ground. And she never woke up. I guess she starved because she was unconscious.” The horror I feel only grows when she says, “Sometimes they’d tie up fifteen of us at one time. And they’d make the homeless guys have sex with us too, and watch them and give them money for doing it. They’d say, ‘You take this money and if anybody asks, you don’t know anything about any of this.’ So the other guys would do it for the money. And the sex.” Now it’s pouring out of her like oil, and it’s fast becoming the hardest thing I’ve ever had to sit through. “One night, they tied me to a post down by the interstate and eight of them . . .” She stops and just freezes. It’s like she’s suddenly catatonic, like she can’t move.
“Olivia?” I get no response. “Olivia, honey, hey.” Then I reach up, catch a wisp of her hair, and push it behind her ear.
The minute my hand touches her skin, she lets out a shriek that makes the rest of us jump a foot, drops to the floor, and skitters off across the room and under the dining table. It takes me a minute or two to get my wits about me, but I hear Clint whisper, “PTSD.” Sliding across the room, the hardwood slick under the knees of my jeans, I reach for her.
“NO!” she screams.
“Olivia, it’s Dave. It’s okay. You’re fine. Come on out, honey.”
“NO! Don’t touch me!”
A voice behind me says, “Dad, let her calm down.”
So I sit and wait. Eventually, Trish gets up and starts a pot of coffee. Clint starts taking tags off the things we bought, but I just sit there. She’s been rocking to and fro, and she finally stops and looks at me. “Dave?”
I smile. “Yes, sweetie.”
“Don’t let them hurt me.”
“I won’t, baby. I’ll never let them hurt you again.” I’ve never said words that I meant more than those.
“You promise? You swear?”
“Absolutely. Clint, I keep my promises, right?”
“He does, Olivia. Always.”
She eyes me suspiciously and doesn’t say anything. Finally, I hear Clint say, “Olivia, we’re going to have to go. Our girls are getting out of school, and we have to pick them up. You’ll be fine here with Dave. Right, honey?”
Trish’s voice calls back, “Oh, absolutely! Dave will take good care of you.” She wanders into the room, then bends down to talk to Olivia under the table, her hair dropping and swishing on the floor. “You’re perfectly safe here with Dave. And if you need us, he’s got our phone numbers. All you have to do is call.”
The timid little, “Okay,” that slips from her lips sounds like it came from a five year old.
“Good girl. Can you come out and give me a hug before I leave? I’d love that.” Trish straightens and steps back about two paces. Sure enough, Olivia slides out from under the table, stands on shaky legs, and throws her arms around Trish, who hugs her back and strokes her hair. “Now see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Olivia shakes her head in reply a
nd Trish grins at her. “You take care of Dave for us, please? He’s always alone. He needs someone to watch out for him.”
“Okay,” she whispers back. As they start to the door, she calls out, “Thank you, Clint. Thank you, Trish. Thanks for being nice to me. Thanks so much.”
A warm, genuine smile crosses my son’s face. “You’re quite welcome, missy. You take care of Dave and take care of yourself too, okay?”
“Okay.” She gives them both a tiny little wave just before they close the door behind them, then turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Dave. I’m really, really sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
This beautiful woman breaks my heart. Her whole world is so fragile and tenuous, and I know she thinks anything and everything will come crashing down around her at any moment. I have to find a way to let her know that everything’s going to be fine, but I don’t know how. And before I can make her believe it, I’ve got to believe it myself. Trouble is, I don’t know how to do that.
Then I realize: Shit. I’ve got to be at the club at six thirty. What am I going to do? I can’t take her there; she’d be horrified. But I can’t leave her here alone. She’ll just have to come with me. I’m going to have to explain things to her, but right now, we’ve got to have something to eat. I go and root around in the refrigerator until I come up with some sliced ham and sliced cheese, and there’s a loaf of bread on the counter. I’m standing there, looking at my meager offering, when she walks up behind me. “Ham sandwiches. I love ham sandwiches. May I fix them? Please?”
I just shake my head in disbelief and tell her, “Sure! Knock yourself out. I don’t have any chips, but I have popcorn.”
“That sounds like fun.” She finds the mayo and mustard and sets about putting together two sandwiches, then watches as I pop the popcorn in the microwave. Her voice is tiny and sad when I hear her say, “I remember doing that.”
“Doing what, honey?”
“Popping popcorn. I had a microwave. And a refrigerator, and a sink, and a living room. I had all of that.” Her face drops toward the floor, her shoulders quaking with stifled sobs, and I do what I always do – I just wrap my arms around her and she melts back into me.
Incredible Us Page 6
