Going Under (37 page)

“Don’t call my brother that!” Kaylen
cried.

I ignored her. “Answer me!” I screamed in
Ryan’s face.

He understood my question and reluctantly
shook his head.

“Then you’re as bad as the others,” I spat.
I turned on my heel and walked out the door. It would be the last
time I ever stepped foot in that house.

I returned home and went straight for the
wooden knife block beside the kitchen stove. I yanked out the
cleaver and headed upstairs to my bedroom.

“What the fuck is happening? What the fuck
is happening?” I whispered over and over.

I dropped the knife on my bed and grabbed
the winter picture hanging on the wall opposite my headboard: the
winter picture I painted with Ryan back in November. It was my turn
to keep the painting, and I hung it where I could wake up to it
every morning.

I tossed the picture on the floor and picked
up the cleaver, considering the colors of our scene and deciding
how best to mutilate them. I cried hysterically, tearing and
slashing through the canvas until my mother came home, dashed
upstairs, and wrestled the knife out of my hands.

***

More girls. They were coming out of the
woodwork. I stayed glued to the television, and my parents became
worried. I was watching too much news. I was consumed with it, and
it wasn’t healthy, they said. I ignored them. I ignored everything.
My school work. Gretchen, who visited me on a near daily basis and
controlled the TV whenever she could. Eating, sleeping, painting.
All of it. I ignored my life in favor of sitting, day after day,
watching the stories unfold of victim after victim.

Ryan wasn’t charged in any other case but
Lucy’s. I learned about his involvement a few weeks after I
graduated. Somehow, I managed to graduate with decent marks,
despite studying very little for my final exams. I took them during
after-school hours so I didn’t have to see the other students.

Ryan tried multiple times to reach me. He
called me incessantly, leaving messages I never returned. He came
to my house twice only to be turned away by my dad at my request. I
couldn’t face him. The pain was too much to bear. I thought it was
even worse than the hurt and humiliation I felt over my
assault.

Lucy visited me one Saturday afternoon
during the summer because I refused to speak to her over the phone.
I wasn’t mad at her; I was just mad in general. I didn’t want any
of the situation with Ryan to be true, so if I didn’t speak to her,
I didn’t have to know about it.

“It feels weird and amazing, doesn’t it?
Those boys being in jail,” Lucy said, sitting across from me in my
dad’s armchair.

I nodded.

Cal, Tim, and Parker pled guilty to a slew
of rapes. They took a plea deal for every one to avoid a trial by
jury and risk the possibility of receiving the maximum sentences
for each. I never had to testify in court. I didn’t even attend the
preliminary hearing. I was not subpoenaed, the judge requesting I
submit a written statement of my attack. At first I thought I
wanted to face my attackers at the hearing—that I was supposed to
want to go to relish in their misery and fear—but I learned that
wasn’t strength. Strength for me was giving them no more of my
time. I didn’t need to see them cry. I didn’t even need to hear
about it from my attorney, though she told me anyway, thinking the
news would give me some satisfaction.

The boys accepted the terms of the plea deal
my attorneys and the defense counsel drew up. Their sentence for my
attack was the stiffest since they were charged as adults, but it
could have been much worse had they opted for a trial by jury. They
knew the evidence was stacked against them, so they took the deal:
guilty of kidnapping and rape in the first degree, each would serve
out a sentence of fifteen years without the possibility of parole.
That sentence didn’t include the years they racked up for their
other offenses. They would be in prison for decades.

“Ryan told me what happened,” Lucy began.
She watched me carefully. “He was there that night. Fourteen years
old, and he was on the swim team with the others.”

I immediately feared the worst, and Lucy
seemed to know what I was thinking.

“He wasn’t part of that league, Brooke. He
didn’t even know about it until the news story broke.”

“How could he not know about it?” I
asked.

“Brooke, did anyone at school know about the
league? The other swim team members didn’t even know.”

I was so confused. “Why wasn’t his picture
in the yearbook? I never saw him in the ninth grade swim team
photo.”

“I don’t know,” Lucy replied. “Maybe he was
absent that day or they took the picture after he quit. Who
cares?”

“Why was he at the motel room that night if
he didn’t know about the league?” I asked.

“Well, he thinks now that the boys were
going to ask him to join, and that’s why they brought him to the
motel room. He thought he was going to some stupid underage
drinking party.”

I scowled.

“Anyway, no one got the chance to tell him
their intentions because he freaked out as soon as he saw me lying
there on the bed.”

“He should have fought for you,” I said
bitterly.

“He did,” Lucy replied. “He argued with
them: Cal, Parker, and Tim. He tried to stop what they were doing
to me, and Parker and Tim beat the shit out of him. They threatened
him if he talked. He wouldn’t tell his parents what happened when
he got home. They took him to urgent care, but he wouldn’t give up
the names of his attackers. It drove a wedge between him and his
parents for a long time. He just . . . withdrew.”

I was furious, unable to contain myself any
longer.

“Oh, poor Ryan! He got beat up! So what?
Where were his balls, Lucy?! He should have gone to the police! He
should have told someone what happened to you!”

“Did you tell anyone about Tim almost
drowning you in the school pool?!” Lucy shouted.

I stared at her, stunned.

“No, Brooke. You didn’t. Because you were
scared. And what about after your rape? Were you ready to testify
against those boys? I remember you telling me you wanted to run
away and forget it all happened. Why? Because you were scared.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Lucy cut me
off.

“I’m not saying it’s right that Ryan never
talked, but they threatened his
life
, Brooke. Maybe they
would have followed through with that threat; maybe not. But when
you’re fourteen and you’re scared shitless, you believe it.”

I turned my face away, ashamed and disgusted
with myself, with Ryan, with the victims. Everyone.

“He came to my house one afternoon and
confessed everything. I’ve never seen a guy cry, and it really
freaked me out.”

“Too little too late,” I mumbled.

Lucy ignored my statement. “He went to the
police. He told them everything. I came forward afterwards. If not
for Ryan’s testimony, those boys would have never pled guilty for
what they did to me.”

“A pillar of honor,” I said
sarcastically.

Lucy was patient. “I’ve forgiven him,
Brooke.”

My head shot up. “Why?”

“Because he apologized.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. Just like
that? Because he apologized?

“All those other rapes,” I said.

“Yeah,” Lucy replied. “All those other rapes
that he didn’t know about.”

“But he knew Cal was a bad guy. He warned me
about him.”

“He warned you about the Cal he knew in
ninth grade, Brooke. He warned you because of what happened to me.
Stop trying to hold him responsible for every subsequent rape!”

I said nothing. I was seething with anger
that Lucy was defending Ryan.

“Maybe you don’t care, but he got slapped
with a misdemeanor. Community service. Probation. I didn’t want him
to get anything, but I wasn’t allowed to dictate the terms.”

“A
misdemeanor
? He watched you get
raped!”

“Actually, no he didn’t. They beat him
unconscious. He only saw what happened in the beginning and at the
end. The boys could have very well succeeded in challenging his
story, but they were already in hot water with you and those other
girls. They knew to concede and tell the truth.”

I shook my head.

“Why are you shaking your head, Brooke? You
don’t believe me?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know.”

“He shouldn’t have been charged with
anything,” Lucy went on.

I was quick to jump on that. “He didn’t
report it. So yes, he should have been charged with something.”

Lucy bristled. “He made a mistake, Brooke.
He was young and scared.”

“Yes, Lucy. You’ve already said that.” I
felt impatient and agitated. And then I had a thought. “If he was
so innocent, why did his picture appear on the news? Wouldn’t the
police have protected his identity or something?”

“He was still charged with failure to report
a crime. They couldn’t let him off altogether. And Brooke, you know
how the media is. Someone got word that he came forward, and that
was that. It didn’t matter what his story was. They just jumped on
the opportunity to reveal another rapist, even though he wasn’t
one,” Lucy replied. “Journalists get it wrong all the time. I could
run down a list of screw-ups for you if you’d like to hear
them.”

I shook my head thinking back to Ryan’s
picture on the news. It was the only one that wasn’t a mug shot.
Someone had gotten a picture of him from somewhere, but it wasn’t
from the police.

“Well, then I guess his life’ll be ruined
because of bad journalism,” I said. I didn’t know if I was pleased
with that or heartbroken.

“Don’t be flippant, Brooke,” Lucy said
quietly.

I looked at her oddly. “Why are you so
forgiving?”

Lucy smiled. “Because I am. And I wish you’d
forgive him, too. He loves you, Brooke.”

“Do
not
go there,” I warned.

Lucy nodded.

That evening I watched a large moving truck
pass my house but thought nothing of it.

***

“I was a terrible friend, Ms. Janie.” I
hugged Beth’s pillow close to my chest. Beth’s mother and I were
sitting in Beth’s old bedroom looking through boxes of pictures and
other keepsakes.

Ms. Janie sighed. “Baby, you made a mistake.
You think there’s any one person in this world who hasn’t made a
big mistake in their lives?”

“I just wish my mistake would have only hurt
me and not someone I loved,” I said.

“Well, it seldom happens that way for
anyone, Brooke.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

“Beth would have been very proud of how
brave you were,” Ms. Janie said.

I snorted. “The police arrested those boys
right after my hospital visit. I was so angry because I wasn’t sure
I wanted to go through with testifying. That’s not brave. That’s
weak.”

“That’s not weak. That’s human,” Ms. Janie
said. “And you did, anyway. You did it, Brooke. And look at what
you did for those other girls. You made them brave, too.”

I shook my head. “I should have told you.
The minute Beth told me about her rape, I should have made her tell
you.” A tear plopped on a vacation family picture I was holding,
and I apologized.

“Brooke, I don’t blame you in any way. I
hope you know that.” She wrapped her arm around me and held me
close.

“I miss her,” I whispered.

“I know. I do too. So much”

A thought occurred to me. “Ms. Janie?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you bury Beth with that half-heart
necklace? You knew all about Finn and me. Weren’t you angry with
me?”

Ms. Janie kissed the top of my head.
“Brooke, you were my daughter’s best friend.”

I swallowed hard. “But she hated me.”

“You think there’s no forgiveness in death?”
Ms. Janie said. “I choose to believe that Beth would be very upset
had she not gone to heaven with that necklace.”

I smiled wearily. “I gave my half to a
friend. Another victim. She wished she could have known Beth.”

Ms. Janie squeezed me. “I think you did a
good thing.”

I spent the afternoon helping Ms. Janie sort
through Beth’s belongings. The room had remained untouched until
now because it was too hard for Beth’s parents to enter it. Now Ms.
Janie was ready to let go of the past, and we started by making
piles of clothes and accessories we planned to donate to Goodwill.
I made a pile for myself of a few clothing pieces. I never planned
to wear them though Beth and I were the same size. I just wanted to
keep them in my closet to remember her by.

“This feels good,” Ms. Janie said a few
hours into our work. “This feels right.”

And I thought I was beginning to feel what
Ms. Janie felt, not because I was saying goodbye to Beth, but
because I felt the guilt start melting away. A promise of
healing.

***

I sat on the front porch Saturday morning
drinking coffee. Mom had since gone back to California and asked if
I wanted to join her. It was a tempting thought, running away from
everything here, but my partial scholarship to NC State and a very
pushy Gretchen who would join me as my roommate there, kept me from
getting on the plane.

The rape stories eventually faded from the
spotlight, and I discovered that I was starting to heal. My
body—that resilient, God-breathed creation—felt healthy and strong
again. My nightmares about the attack became less frequent. I
actually woke up happy this morning. I felt a tiny glowing inside
my chest. I thought it was hope sitting like a little ball of
energy or a fully charged battery pushing me forward. I even
thought I was ready to forgive the past, to start over entirely,
but one bit of lingering pain kept me from forgiving everyone.

I took another sip of my coffee and watched
two moving trucks rumble down the street towards the neighborhood
entrance. I glimpsed a familiar car being towed behind one truck.
It was Ryan’s, and my heartbeat sped up. I jumped from my seat,
dropping the paper cup, and sprinted to the mailbox, straining hard
to see anyone in the vehicles. I couldn’t, and I panicked.