Desperate Choices (7 page)

Max could barely contain the rage roiling through him.
Damn them to hell!
Theresa stood in front of him shaking her head.

“No. You don’t need their names. I never gave them to Remy, either. Nobody knows who they are but me. You can’t make them pay for what they did.”

“Like hell I can’t! Just watch me,” Max insisted.

Theresa walked over to the sink, resting both hands against the rim, her head down. She turned slowly around. “They’ve already paid.”

“How?” Max’s deep rumble filled the room.

“Less than six months after it happened to me, they raped another girl from our school. She was braver than me. She reported it to the police. They were arrested, convicted and sent to prison. They’re still there.”

“Good. I hope they rot in prison.”

A broken laugh escaped Theresa before she bit back the sound. “In that we’re in total agreement.”

Max stood directly in front of Theresa, placing one finger under her chin, tilting her face upward. The light from the overhead kitchen fixture revealed the trail of tears across her pale cheeks. Cupping her face in both hands, he gently wiped away the tears with his thumbs, whisking away the moisture. He placed a tender kiss against her forehead.

“Baby, words can’t express how sorry I am for what you’ve been through. I wish you had been able to confide in me sooner.”

“Max, I—”

“No,” Max interrupted. “I understand why you couldn’t. At least, I’m trying to.” He reached forward and grasped her hand, giving it a tug. Stepping behind her he gave her shoulders a soft nudge, pointing her toward the stairs leading to her apartment. Twisting around, Theresa looked back at him before starting up. Max followed right behind her.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped when Theresa paused in the doorway. He’d been in her apartment before, many times. It was a homey, comfortable place. The décor suited her to a T. But he wasn’t really seeing it now, he was solely focused on Theresa. Empathetic he wasn’t but he knew she was hurting. He just wasn’t sure what he could do to help.

Nudging her forward again, he directed her to the sofa. Hands on her shoulders, he guided her back onto the cushions. He could read the stunned, somewhat distant look in her eyes, on her face. Walking to the bathroom, he grabbed a washcloth and dampened it with warm water. Back in the living room, Theresa sat where he’d left her, motionless.

He sat down beside her, using the edge of the damp cloth to gently wash away the tear stains. Her big green eyes, the look in them, tore at his heart.
I can’t stand to see her like this.

Leaning back, his arms wrapped around Theresa, drawing her into his embrace. He rested his chin on the top of her head, smiling when she snuggled in closer.

“So, the bastards are in prison?” Theresa stiffened slightly at Max’s quiet question before relaxing back against his chest. He felt her slight nod against his chin where it rested atop her curls. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent that was uniquely Theresa’s.

“Yes. They were convicted of first-degree rape. They’re still serving their sentences.”

“So are you, though, aren’t you?” Max realized the truth in his words even as he said them. Theresa was locked in a prison within herself as surely as those men who had raped her were locked in 8x10 cells.

“What?”

“You’re punishing yourself for something that isn’t your fault. You couldn’t stop them. You fought with everything a young girl could. Don’t let them have that much power over you now.”

***

Theresa drew back to stare at him.
How did he know?

Max pulled her close again, and she rested her head against his chest. She could hear the rapid beat of his heart, feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. In his arms she felt…safe. More than that. She felt at home.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been letting it define who I am,” she replied.

“Tell me what happened afterwards,” Max’s compassionate voice murmured. She couldn’t hear any accusation or demand in his tone, just a willingness to listen.

“About a week after everything happened, I went back to school trying to act as though everything was fine. After all, nobody knew. Except them. And Remy. But I felt everybody watching me, whispering. I convinced myself they all knew what happened and maybe felt I deserved it.”

Max started to speak again but Theresa patted his chest, silencing him, gently rubbing her index finger over the smooth cotton of his T-shirt. He closed his mouth, but gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I know. Nobody deserves to be treated like that. But I was so young and naïve. I thought maybe I’d done something to make them think I wasn’t a good girl. I know differently now. Those bastards didn’t think anything about me. All they thought about was themselves and the power they had over one foolish girl.

“Anyway, I hadn’t walked down Marshall Road again since that day. But something made me go there. It was like I was drawn there, compelled in a way I had never felt before. I ended up back at the spot where they’d attacked me. I hadn’t even realized where I was walking until I got there. I stood there, looking around and thinking about the two of them. Hating them but mostly hating myself.”

God, it’s so hard to tell him this. I never wanted him to know.
She brushed the thoughts aside, focusing. Drawing in a deep breath, slowly exhaling, she counted to three before continuing.

“All I could think was that I didn’t want to go on. I wanted everything to just stop. The thoughts, the memories, but mostly the dreams. They were the worst part. I kept having these horrible, vividly frightening dreams. Not about the rape but about things that happened to other people I knew.

“That was the really scary part. I didn’t know anything about psychics or extrasensory perception back then. I just knew something was different.
I was different.
I would touch something belonging to somebody else and get these pictures in my head. Nobody else had those kinds of dreams. Dreams about other people being hurt, being killed.
I wanted the nightmares to stop.
”

“Baby, I’m so sorry. More than I can tell you. But I’ll say it again. It was not your fault.”

With Max tenderly cradling her in his arms, holding her and running a hand slowly up and down her back, Theresa felt safe in a way she hadn’t for ten long years.

“Everything was too much for me to handle. The rape, the nightmares, the images. I truly didn’t think I could handle it anymore.” Theresa’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I wanted to kill myself.”

Max cursed, erupting in a string of expletives. Theresa knew they weren’t directed at her but couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch. Max’s arms tightened about her, pulling her close again.

“Obviously, I didn’t do it, but I thought about it. Seriously considered ending everything.” Staring up into Max’s eyes, Theresa sighed and relaxed against his chest again.

“It was Remy, you know? He became my anchor. Every day, rain or shine, he was there, spending time with me so I wasn’t alone.” Theresa pictured it in her mind, remembering the young boy on the verge of becoming a man taking on the responsibility of caring for her, somebody he didn’t really know.

“I’m not sure if he sensed in some way what I was thinking about doing, but for whatever reason, he was always there.” Theresa chuckled. “My dad used to call him The Fly. Said he was always hanging around me like a fly drawn to honey. Papa would grab him around the shoulders and point him toward the door and say, ‘Shoo, fly, shoo.’” Theresa smiled at the fond memory.

“Remy never said a word about any of this. Not to me and I know not to
Maman.
If he had she’d have grabbed her shotgun and hunted the bastards down like dogs.” Theresa snuggled closer to Max, and his fingers absently threaded through her curls, wrapping one around his finger.

“I’m sure she would have.”

“Probably would do it today if I tell her. Want me to sic her on them?” Max chuckled, the rumbling in his chest strangely soothing to Theresa. A distant echo of thunder followed his words, the deep sound mirroring Theresa’s emotions, the ache in her heart.

“I’m glad you trusted me with this.”

Placing a finger under her chin, Max tilted her head back slightly, his eyes filled with so much tenderness Theresa’s breath caught in her throat. She searched his face, hoping to see some sign of what he felt. Leaning forward, his eyes still wide open, Max’s lips lightly brushed hers, sending a charge of electricity racing through her entire body. It was always the same whenever Max kissed her. Her body responded immediately, one half of a whole, subconsciously searching for its mate.

Theresa pulled back, reluctantly breaking their kiss. She pushed a fall of hair over her shoulder.

“Sounds like a storm’s coming. Are you going to be okay here alone? I can stay or I can have Remy come back if you’d rather be with him?” The concern in Max’s voice tugged at her soul, reawakening feelings she thought long buried.

Theresa ran her fingers lightly across Max’s lips, a brief yet poignant motion. She then lowered them, clasping her hands in her lap.
I can’t do this. I can’t let him get too close. I can’t let him break my heart—again.

Inching back and away from the warmth and security of Max’s embrace, Theresa put precious space between them. The span was more than mere inches. A wide gulf stretched before her, as though she stood at the edge of a precipice. One wrong move, one misstep, and she’d never recover. Giving a mental shake, she distanced herself from him, physically and psychologically. With the revelations she shared with him tonight, it was all too much, too soon.

She noted the puzzled expression on his face, but he remained silent. He reached for her hand and she drew back before he touched her.

“Theresa—” Max whispered.

She interrupted him before he could continue. “I’m okay. It’s been a long night. How about I give you a call in the morning and we’ll talk about the case? We’ll both be able to think more clearly then.”

Looking at Theresa once more, Max slowly turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Theresa made sure he was gone before covering her face and letting the tears flow, knowing the revelations of this night would irrevocably change the relationship between them. She only wished she knew if it would be for the better or for the worse.

Steven looked at the row of pill bottles lined up like little soldiers, marching from tallest to shortest on the coffee table in front of him. So many prescriptions. Pills he had to take throughout the day, every day, in a vain attempt to control the pain, make the blinding headaches tolerable. The agony grew worse with each passing day.

Shifting forward on the sofa, he reached for each bottle, emptying out the correct dosage. He gathered the multicolored tablets and capsules together. Chugging the glass of water, he washed them down. The urge to gag rose but he fought it.

Staring at the empty glass in his hand, fingers clenched around it, he hurled it across the room, watching it crash against the wall, shattering into a million glittering shards. The light reflected off the broken pieces, twinkling and mocking him with their brilliance.

Head in his hands, his body bowed in pain.
Please, please make it stop. I can’t take it anymore.

The blackouts were getting worse. He lost longer periods of time with each episode. He’d come out of one of the spells not knowing where he was or how he got there. Worse, he had no idea what he’d done during those missing hours.

Each day he prayed he wouldn’t do something like he’d done with Tommy. The boy haunted his nightmares. He knew the anguish and despair he was putting Tommy’s parents through. After all they had done for him, keeping him employed year-round, both with his lawn service as well as his handyman business—this was how he repaid them. He’d stolen their only child.

I had no choice.
Something had to be done, actions taken. In one of his delusional moments, it had seemed so right. Had made complete sense. He needed somebody to take care of Becca. His sweet, helpless Becca. Life had been so unfair to her, causing her to lose everything: her parents, the use of her legs and, very nearly, her life.

Now she was going to lose him, too. That’s what all the pills were for. They bought him a little more time, maybe a few short weeks.

Brain cancer.
That’s what the doctors had told him. Inoperable. They could try radiation, they said, maybe chemotherapy, but when all was said and done, it was a death sentence. His death sentence.

Walking to the kitchen, he grabbed the broom and dustpan. He needed to clean up the broken glass, while he was still thinking clearly. Through the window above the sink, his gaze caught on the detached garage behind his house.

It isn’t fair. I should be here to take care of Becca.
Instead, she was going to go through another loss, another tragedy in her life.

Steven had always been pretty much a loner. His only family had been his sister and Becca. His life centered around his job and building up his business. While he had a few friends, none were close enough to burden with the responsibility of a disabled teenage girl.

This was his reason, his justification for taking Tommy. Tommy was a good kid—almost an adult. His parents had raised him right. He’d grown into a responsible young man. Steven was counting on that.

He’d put them together, close confinement. His twisted logic assured him that they would develop a strong bond.

He knew his reasoning skills were skewed now, his thinking not always sane, but he carried the hope that once he was gone, Tommy would take care of Becca.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he carried the broom into the living room. They just needed more time together. He’d seen the way Tommy’s eyes stared at the wheelchair, the gleaming metal, its padded seat and chrome spokes. Steven watched him closely, knowing immediately when the realization had sunk in that the chair was Becca’s.

Sweeping up the broken glass, careful to ensure he got all the shards, he disposed of the fragments in the kitchen trashcan then gathered the prescription bottles, stacking them back into the cupboard and out of sight. When they were put away, they weren’t a constant reminder of the miniscule amount of time he had left. He could pretend everything was normal, that life was a good, happy place.

First things first, though. He knew what he had to do next. Walking back to the living room, Steven sat at the old oak desk, the one he’d received from a client in payment for a job. Pulling open the middle drawer, he lifted out blank paper and a pen. When this was over, when the end finally came, he knew there would be unanswered questions.

Laying the sheets on the desktop, he began to write.

***

Max pulled into the driveway of his mother’s home. The headlights illuminated the lone silhouette of a man seated on the front porch swing, effortlessly rocking the wooden seat back and forth. Through the open car window, he heard the whooshing sounds the chains made as the old swing slowly swung to and fro, each movement propelling it an equal measured distance. A flash of lightning lit the porch followed by a rousing clap of thunder.

He knew Remy waited for him, anticipating his reaction to the truth Theresa revealed such a short time earlier. It explained so much, yet Max wished with all his heart he didn’t know. If he could, he’d make it all go away as though it never happened.

Turning off the engine, he stepped out of the car and walked the familiar rutted pathway to the porch. He inhaled deeply, catching the scent of the wild honeysuckle that grew around the front and side railings, climbing wildly in uncontrolled abandon. His mother was forever fighting to keep it contained. She threatened each year to hack it all out or pull it up by the roots, but everybody knew she’d never do it. She loved the scent of honeysuckle in the evenings; part and parcel of the memories of quieter times spent gathered together on this porch.

Max strode over to where Remy sat and reached out his hand. Remy slapped a cold bottle of beer into it.
Too bad it’s not a whiskey.
“I could use something a hell of a lot stronger than a beer.” Max twisted the cap off.

He took a strong pull on the longneck, the icy cold beer sliding down his throat. Max tilted back his head and closed his eyes, sighing audibly.

“I don’t know how you’ve lived with this for so long, Remy. Right now, I’m not sure if I should hug you or beat the crap out of you.” Max looked directly at his brother, trying to gauge him. Usually, Remy was as easy to read as an open book, but not tonight. In the softened glow reflected from the front porch fixture, Remy’s face was closed and drawn.

“Dammit, Max. Do you have any idea what it’s been like for her? She’s had a hard life, but she’s become a strong, determined woman because of it. Now you’ve dredged it all up again to satisfy some morbid curiosity. That’s intolerable.”

Max felt the pulsating anger radiating off his brother. He knew that anger wasn’t really directed at him. It was directed at the two bastards who committed such a heinous act ten years earlier.

“Did it help, Max?” Remy hissed. “Did having Theresa bare her soul in all its excruciating detail get you one step closer to finding Tommy? Hell, no. All it’s done is muddy up the waters even more.” Running a hand across his face, Remy met Max’s gaze directly. “Do I need to go back there, Max? Is she okay? Really okay?” Setting his bottle on the porch railing, he started down the steps. “Forget it, I’m going anyway.”

“No, don’t.” Max’s words caused Remy to pause. “She needs to be alone right now. Give her tonight, and call her in the morning.”

Leaning back on to the railing, Max hitched his hip on to the wooden fencing and rubbed a hand over his neck, massaging at the tense, stiff muscles there.

“Jesus, Remy, how could you keep this to yourself all these years?” Max slammed his fist into the post beside him, wincing as the skin scraped along his knuckles, blood oozing.

“It was her decision, her choice. I honored her wishes. They’ve gotten away with it for ten years, and I haven’t been able to do a damn thing about it.”

Max laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing. He knew Remy didn’t know who raped Theresa; she’d told him that. Even though Remy was her best friend, her confidant, she had shared the whole truth only with him.

By trusting him, she opened his heart to feelings much deeper than friendship. Max cared about Theresa because of who she was; her strength and honesty, and the integrity she had shown through all the time he’d known her.

He’d seen the real Theresa tonight, and he planned to get closer to her than ever before.