What We Saw (18 page)

“I SWEAR IT
was there last night.”

I have been typing hashtags and usernames into the sub-Reddit for the past fifteen minutes in Ms. Speck's office. My voice sounds frantic and somehow far away as I continue to search for
#doonestown #r&p #rapeandpillage.
The link I emailed myself from Lindsey's laptop no longer works.

“Kate?” I feel her hand on my arm. “I believe you.” She pulls her laptop away from me and closes the lid.

We are sitting at a small, round table jammed in the corner of her office. Ms. Speck sits back in her chair and crosses her legs. She's wearing a deep red lipstick and a black knit suit. Maybe she's fifty-something? She looks like a hip, young
grandma on a soap opera.

“Do you want to talk about what you saw in the video?”

I open my mouth to answer, but I am crying again instead and the only word I can find is “No.”

I bury my face in my hands. Ms. Speck picks up a Kleenex box and offers me a tissue. I take two and use them while she waits. She doesn't seem bored or annoyed or in a hurry. Her eyes are full of kindness.

“It seems that what you saw in this video was hard to look at.” It's not an accusation. She's holding the door open for me.

I nod. “It was . . . awful.”

“Did you mention it to anyone?” she asks.

“No.” No one else but Lindsey know's I've seen it, and I'm sure she didn't tell anyone.

“Maybe it was blocked by the site or taken down by the person who posted it.” She waits as I take another tissue and wipe my nose.

“Sorry,” I say.

She waves away my concern. “Kate, I know it's hard to talk about something like this. We don't have to continue if you don't want to.”

“Yes,” I say. “I have to.”

“Why do you have to?” she asks.

“Because I don't want it to happen again.”

She nods and asks if it is all right for her to take a few notes while we talk. I tell her that would be fine, then start crying again as I explain what Lindsey and I saw in the video, shot by
shot. I repeat every word I can remember. I list every name.

Who was there. What was said. What they did.

What we saw.

When I finish, Ms. Speck tells me that she is bound by state law to file a report. I knew that she would be. I want her to. That's why I came. She leans in to me and places a hand on the knee of my jeans. She tells me how very brave I am, and that I can come talk to her anytime.

As I stand to go, Ms. Speck asks one more question. “Kate, I wonder if you noticed how long this video was?”

I stop and picture the numbers flashing up on the screen of Lindsey's laptop as I hit the space bar to end the playback. “Four minutes,” I say.

“And you watched the whole thing?”

I shake my head. “About half of it. Had to stop after that.”

Ms. Speck nods. “I certainly understand,” she says, scribbling a note on her legal pad. “My door is always open, Kate. A burden shared is a burden lifted.”

I step into the hallway wondering why I don't feel any lighter.

Adele Cody is in the driveway with her own burden when I pull up to Ben's house that evening. She's hauling two brown paper grocery bags full of Tylenol PM from her Explorer into the garage. I grab a third that sits by her truck and follow her up the drive.

“Oh, thank you, Katie! What a lovely surprise. Ben said you had a good time at the musical.”

For a moment, I wonder what else he's told her. Has she noticed her condoms are missing? I plaster a smile across my face. “It was great. How was Chicago?”

“So much fun! Zumba'd my buns off.” She laughs and playfully slaps her own hip, clad in shiny black workout tights over neon running shoes. “Gotta get to the gym.” She jogs down to her Explorer. “Go on in. He got home from practice a little bit ago.”

I wave as she pulls out, then walk into the rec room as she punches the automatic door closed behind me.

Ben's playing a video game, kicked back on the couch in a pair of gray sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair is wet from his post-practice shower, and his tongue is sticking out of his mouth in concentration as he mashes buttons. He glances up at me, then back to the screen with a smile.

“There you are,” he says.

The character he's playing looks like Indiana Jones, hiding behind a low wall, shooting a gun at bad guys, aided by a buxom brunette, who throws explosives.

I don't wait another moment before I toss a grenade of my own.

“I saw the video.”

Ben turns to look at me, his eyes wide. “What?”

“The video. Of Stacey . . . at Dooney's. It was online.”

His character on screen dies in a hail of bullets, yelling in anguish.

Ben blinks at me. “How did—”

“Lindsey found it.” I cut him off. “It was buried on Reddit.” I feel like I'm floating above myself, detached from this room, these words. Ben sits, staring at me, silent, afraid to move.

“I couldn't even watch all of it,” I tell him. I thought I was done crying about this, but I can't stem the current. “I had to turn it off after the first couple minutes, but I saw enough.”

Ben sets down the controller and lets out a long sigh. He stands up and walks over to me, wrapping his arms around me. Every muscle in my body tenses. I'm a living fossil. Solid bone. All my soft parts eaten away.

“Did you know about it?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I did.”

I'm surprised by the roar of my own voice as I push him away. “Why didn't you tell me about it?” Every ounce of my frustration from the past two weeks is channeled into this moment.

“Are you glad you saw it?” he asks, short and clipped.

“No,” I say, sobbing. “I wish I could burn out my eyes.”

He hugs me again, his lips pressed against my hair. “That's why.”

I collapse into him and cry against his chest. His arms feel massive, like they could crush the life from my lungs or shield me from anything.

Of course he knew about the video.

Of course he didn't want you to see it.

“Coach told us it existed at practice last week—the day Dooney was arrested. He told us copies had been posted online. He told us anybody who had posted it was off the team.
Thought that took care of it.”

Ben leads me over to the sofa and we sit down as I wipe my nose and eyes with the heels of my hands. “So, you haven't seen it?” I ask.

“Didn't want to.”

I let out a long deep breath. “Well, it's gone now, so you can't.”

A look of relief softens his face, and he sinks back on the couch. “Good.”

“It's not good,” I tell him. “We could've helped Stacey. They asked us to come forward with any information about what happened that night.”

“I don't know what happened that night,” he says. “I didn't see the video. I didn't go looking for it. I'm sorry you put yourself through that.”

“Ben, we can't just do nothing. Do you understand what they did to her?”

“No.” He says this so firmly that the word almost pins me against the couch. “I don't want to know. Kate, I can't know.” He stands up and runs a hand through his wet hair. “If I know, then I have to come forward, and if I come forward, I'll get messed up in this whole . . . thing.”

He kneels on the floor in front of me, leaning across my lap, his arms sliding around my waist, pulling me into him. I bury my nose in his damp hair and breathe, inhaling his sporty boy-shampoo smell, one of those forcefully
FRESH
! fragrances they label with rock 'n' roll fonts in dark gray bottles:
FOR MEN.

“I went to talk to Ms. Speck today.” Ben sits up. Our eyes meet, but I can't tell what he's thinking. “I had to. I was going to show her the video.”

“That's when you saw it was gone?”

I nod. “I can't do nothing. I can't let Dooney just . . . get away with this.”

He takes both of my hands in his. “I get it, Kate.”

“Do you?” I ask. “Why does it feels like I'm the only who cares about this?”

“I care. But I haven't seen that video,” he says. “And I don't want to. I have to play on Friday and Saturday. I have to show the scouts what I can do.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I have to get out of here.”

THE HAWK IN
the trees at the edge of the back parking lot is standing guard on Thursday morning as I walk back to my truck after first period. I'm hoping my French workbook fell out of my bag behind the seat this morning and isn't still lying on my desk at home. My homework is folded up inside it.

The bird above me screeches in the direction of the news vans still clogging the drive. Sloane Keating has been reporting nightly, hounding the police and the prosecutor for details. Last night it was news about John Doone's text messages with Stacey the day after the party—no specifics, but apparently he was trying to get her to keep quiet.

The hawk takes off, and I wish I could follow her up into the
blue. Is it just my imagination, or is everyone giving me side-eye in the hallways? Is there a monster behind that bush, or do I just
think
there's a monster behind that bush?

Either way, the answer to this question seems to be yes. Whether it's real or all in my head, I feel like everyone is looking at me differently. Ben and Lindsey are the only people who know I talked to Ms. Speck about the video. I'm sure neither of them would tell anyone else.

Would they?

I find my book wedged against the floor behind the seat. I close the door and turn to see Ms. Speck walking across the parking lot with a cardboard box. I wave when she sees me, and hold up my French book. “See you inside,” I say.

“Not today, I'm afraid.” She stops as she says this and waits as I walk over to her. I can see more clearly that her box is full of binders and folders. A couple of picture frames and a purple quartz from her desk are nestled on top.

“Oh . . . are we having a substitute?” I ask.

She smiles grimly. “I'm not sure,” she replies. “I don't work here anymore.”

The ground is shifting again. My insides start to slide in different directions. “But . . . why?”

“I filed a report with Principal Hargrove after we chatted yesterday. This morning, he was waiting in my office, and when I refused to give him your name as my source, he dismissed me.”

“But . . . can he do that?”

She gives me a rueful smile and shifts the box onto her hip.
“Well, he did. Because I can't show him the video you saw, he's convinced the report is all hearsay.”

“It was there. I saw it. It exists.” I feel numb all over.
Is this really happening?

Ms. Speck looks over my shoulder, and sighs. “As if on cue . . .”

I glance the same direction and see Sloane Keating marching toward us. “Walk with me,” says Ms. Speck.

I follow her to a car as sleek and black as her high heels. She opens the trunk and deposits the box inside, then opens the driver-side door and turns to me. “Wendall Hargrove is an ass. What you did is important. You're the first student to come forward with actual names.”

She slides behind the wheel and rolls down the window, swinging the door closed. “Don't back down, Kate.”

“What about you?” I ask. “What will you do?”

She slides on dark sunglasses. “My mother is gone. It's high time I got back to New York. I'll be fine.” She smiles and reaches through the window, laying a hand on my arm. “And so will you, Kate. I know it may not feel like it now, but you'll come through this. I promise.”

“Leaving early today?” Sloane Keating's voice is right behind me. She steps up to the car just as Ms. Speck's hand comes back through the window, a thick white business card extended between two fingers.

“Not in the parking lot, Sloane. Happy to meet you for a drink later.” Sloane takes the card as the grating tone sounds
to start second period. Ms. Speck smiles at me. “Goddamn, I won't miss that stupid bell.”

I smile in spite of the situation. “Guess I'm late.”

“Guarantee no one will notice.” Ms. Speck turns on the car and addresses Sloane Keating over my shoulder. “Call me. And leave Kate alone.”

As the black sedan drives away, Sloane raises her hand to me in farewell and heads back across the parking lot. “See you around,” she says.

I hear another screech from the hawk above our heads, and turn in time to see her soar out of sight. I stare up at the place where the green reaches the sky.

If Principal Hargrove can silence anyone who disagrees with him, how will the truth ever be seen? How will anyone get to the bottom of this?

There are no longer two sides to what is happening. The thought sends a tremor of fear down to my toes, and I remember what Ben said all those years ago in his monkey swim trunks when I asked him if you could see the other side of the ocean:

There's only one side. The waves go on forever.

TEACHER FIRED IN WAKE OF REPORTING ALLEGED RAPE VIDEO

By Sloane Keating

Published: March 26

CORAL SANDS, Iowa—
A teacher at Coral Sands High School was fired this morning in what appears to be a reprisal for speaking out about the ongoing rape investigation that has rocked this small town. Charlotte Speck was released from her position as a guidance counselor and French teacher by Principal Wendall Hargrove. Speck said that the firing was the
result of a standard report she had filed in the role of guidance counselor after speaking with a student.

The unnamed student had reported to Speck the existence of a video of the alleged rape that took place at a party twelve days ago. “If evidence of a crime is made known, I am bound by state law to report that evidence to proper authorities,” Speck said. “I am under no compunction to reveal the identity of the student source,” she continued. “That information falls under client-privilege laws for the protection of those who come forward with information.” Speck maintains she was terminated when she refused to reveal the name of the student who had come to see her.

Reached for comment at his office, Hargrove would say only that Ms. Speck's report was filled with “inaccuracies and speculation. She acted impulsively and irresponsibly, filing a public report based on hearsay.”

The rumored video of the alleged rape was viewed on a sub-Reddit by the student who reported it, but subsequent searches for the video have yielded no result, leading authorities to believe that either the video or the account it was posted from has since been removed.

When asked whether she would pursue a wrongful termination suit, Speck said only that she was “keeping all options on the table.”

UPDATE

Since this story was first posted earlier today, members of UltraFEM, the anonymous hacker protest collective dedicated
to full prosecution of crimes against women, has reaffirmed its statement from last week. In a new post at their website, they confirm once more that they are in possession of the video in question, and demand those charged in the Coral Sands rape case change their pleas to guilty by Monday, or risk exposure online.

In part, the statement reads:

“Those of you who were present during this horrific act of violence against a defenseless female must become witnesses and give statements to investigating authorities. Otherwise, you will be identified and exposed as accessories to the crime.”

Coach Raymond Sanders and high school Principal Wendall Hargrove are also named in the statement from UltraFEM. Both are called upon to “stop hindering the investigation, misleading police, and deleting evidence.”

Sanders and Hargrove could not be reached for further comment.