Print Page
Send to Friend"It just won't start," Sally said nervously. "I think the engine's frozen or something."
"Guess that's what we get for buying a five-hundred-dollar piece of shit," I sighed dismally and looked outside through the glass entrance doors of the post office. I watched as the blizzard continued to rage. The cold winds howled while snow blanketed everything in sight. The headlights of the cars outside rolling along ever carefully were barely filtered through the dense fog. I could have walked home from work in a half hour on normal days and usually didn't mind walking much, but surely not in this kind of weather. "Shame we don't have Triple A."
"Shame we didn't buy a better car instead," she commented with a humorless laugh. "So what, are you gonna have to walk home now?"
"In this weather? No way!"
"So how are you getting home?"
I paused, then said: "Guess I'll have to hitch hike."
"Are you serious? Do you know how dangerous that is?"
I giggled with a smile. "Just kidding," I said and laughed some more. It's always amusing the way people can never tell when I am kidding around; I guess I just have that serious tone, even while joking. I've always been generally reserved--perhaps brooding even--anyway. "Look, don't worry, I'll figure out a way home, okay?"
"Okay," she said doubtfully, sounding a little worried. "Just be careful, okay?"
"Of course," I agreed and hung up.
Once more I looked outside, watching as what started off as a mild flurry that afternoon now evolve into a horrendous blizzard that would leave the ground covered in a foot of snow by midnight, wondering how I was ever going to manage to get home.
I thought briefly of calling my boyfriend, but then dismissed the thought, for he had come down with a horrible case of the flu the day before and staggered drunkenly throughout his apartment, dizzy with sickness. Every move he made wracked his entire body with aches and pains while his temples throbbed and nausea gripped tightly against his stomach, making him vomit at even the thought of eating anything. I couldn't drag him outside like that, especially not in this weather. Besides, in the state he was in, going behind the wheel would put his life on the line as well as my own once I got into his car, and neither risk was acceptable. I was stuck once more, unable to find a way home. I couldn't even ask my coworkers for a lift because they had left already. All of my friends were either in school or busy at work, thus in no position to help me out. Looks like I'm on my own, I thought with a dismal sigh.
Although it had been a joke, the idea of hitch hiking was almost starting to sound...not appealing, of course, but the only viable option. Alternatively, I could also walk home and risk freezing to death or catching pneumonia. Both options had their share of hazards.
I guess I'll just have to call a taxi and see if they can give me a ride, I decided, pulling out my cell phone once again.
The taxi arrived within a half hour after I had called it here (and given the storm, it was to be expected), and I hurried outside, quickly locking the post office doors behind me as I raced to the cab. Already the snow on the sidewalk had accumulated to about three inches and it seeped into my shoes, leaving my socks and feet sodden with melting snow, as the brutally cold winds whipped against my face and made my eyes water. These cold winds were a sudden rush; one minute I was nice and warm inside the post office, and then the taxi blared its horn and I was thrust outside, overpowered by the bitter cold air, these winds lacing around my body like icy fingers, squeezing and chilling my flesh. The passages to my lungs seemed to narrow somehow, as my sinuses suddenly felt raw. Steam plumed from my nose and mouth as I breathed. Although I had only stepped outside for a minute or two at the most--the time it took both to lock the post office doors and to get into the taxi--somehow it seemed much longer.
As I stepped inside the cab and quickly pulled the door shut, it was the sudden sensation of heat that overtook me, leaving me feeling hot and cold at the same time as the blood in my veins began to thaw out and the flakes of snow on my head and shoulders began to moisten. I sneezed three times in quick succession and shivered fiercely as I hugged myself tightly, struggling to get warm. While I could feel the hot air that permeated inside (and welcomed it), my body remained chilled for a little while at least, and had still broken out in gooseflesh.
"Pretty bad out there," the cab driver commented. His voice was soft, almost eerily soothing and all too familiar.
I could see his mellow green eyes gazing at me through the rearview mirror. I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat, and blinked as I studied his picture that was on the back of his seat. His expression remained bland, gazing up at the camera, his eyes in the photo bleary, as though he might have been on something when the snapshot had been taken. His dark mane of hair hadn't been combed in the picture, and strands coiled and fell every which way, tangled into knots, yet his beard had been neatly trimmed and revealed only the slightest hint of gray around the mustache. Looking at his picture gave me a strange sense of déjà vu, and I shuddered with deep revulsion as my stomach coiled tightly. There was something truly unsettling about the photograph, and in the back of my mind I began to wonder if calling a taxi might not have been such a good idea after all.
"So where are you off to?" he asked.
"I live at 66 Lincoln Street, just a few blocks from here. You know where that is?" I bit my lips almost instantly upon saying that, almost regretting that I had given him the information.
"Yeah, don't worry. I know the area pretty well."
As the last of the chills that wracked my body dissipated, making way for the forgiving, nurturing warmth of the car, I rested my head against the back seat as my eyes drifted to the window. The snow continued to fall thickly from the black sky as the winds pummeled the ground before and had even shaken the car a few times as the cab driver slowly pulled it out of the parking lot. At the side of the road, near the Dunkin Donuts next to the post office, I saw a middle aged man plodding through the snow, bundled up but still shivering from the cold as he made his way to the car and was thankful that I no longer had to be out there, walking home in this kind of horrendous weather. I blinked and gazed up into the sky and saw that the full moon was barely a dim specter of baleful light through the thickening fog before a dark cloud drifted in front of it, blocking it all together.
As the cab driver took a slow left turn at the intersection, I began to notice that the back of the cab reeked of perspiration. The sweaty stench worsened into that of used gym shorts and severe body and foot odor, first mild, and then filling the air until the stench of horrible foot odor completely filled my nose. The putrid stink was not just unpleasant, but disturbing as well, making me feel dirty as well.
Through the howling winds outside, I could almost hear the voice of my uncle whispering into my ear: You filthy little whore. I was sickened. My sense of violation and shame had returned, just as strong as it had been all those years ago.
I continued to gaze outside, watching as the snowflakes melted against the car window into tiny beads of water rolling steadily down the windowpane. For a second I closed my eyes, and when they fluttered open again, I was startled to find that the drops of water had reddened and were now like droplets of blood splattering against the windows, as though I were watching someone or something being slaughtered outside. Christ, I could almost hear its phantom death throes! I gasped, barely able to bite back the horrified shrieks that rose in my throat. Breathing heavily, my heart thumping inside my breast, I blinked, and the blood was gone; once more there were nothing more than thousands of flakes of snow sprinkling and melting against the fogging car window. I pressed my right hand tightly against my heart, still slightly perturbed, though less so now, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Everything okay back there?" the cab driver asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure? Sounds like you're freaking out back there."
"I'm fine! Don't worry about it! Just get me home already!" I barked back at him and thought uneasily: Just get me out of this thing.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
Flashbacks of childhood sexual abuse plagued my mind. My anger and hatred for my Uncle Chester was renewed and intensified all over again as I became sickened upon remembering what he had done to me, the way he always used to fondle me when I was seven.
I was seven years old all over again, unable to sleep in my dark room, afraid of monsters, but not the ones that lurked under the bed. No, this monster was a part of my family. It was midnight and everyone else in the house was fast asleep, and that's when this monster struck, slowly creaking the door open. His elongated shadows stretching over the darkness of the room as he towered over my bed, read to strike.
I was sickened by the sudden stench of sweat and body odor that emanated from this monstrosity, who in the darkness appeared not to be human, but an abomination sent from hell to punish me for crimes I knew nothing about. Panicking, I hid beneath my blanket, hoping he would not notice, but Uncle Frank simply climbed onto my small bed, crawling into my blanket until he lay next to me. I gagged as his sweaty body odor assailed my nose and shuddered in deep revulsion and shame as his hands began to explore my body. He pulled me closer, whispering for me to relax, that this would be over soon, and that in the end, we would both enjoy it and I would thank him for his "gift." My body froze, petrified and vulnerable as pliant fingers sank into my pajama bottoms and began stroking and massaging my clit, going harder and faster each time. The sounds of his sexual moans were like a serpent's hiss, singing in the symphony to celebrate my damnation as my uncle robbed me of my innocence. The torture seemed endless, until finally his body stiffened against mine and I was left covered in his sticky semen, which remained for the rest of the night, trying upon my flesh, a cold and lingering reminder of the horrors I had endured and the shame that gnawed away at my soul.
I endured this torture three times, and each time was worse than the last, leaving me a shell of the sweet, cheerful girl I had once been. I was left scared and ashamed of what I had gone through, unable to tell anybody else even to this day. As a child I was convinced that what had happened was my fault, that I was to blame for everything. As an adult, I have long since come to realize that it wasn't my fault at all, and that I was the victim while he had been the perpetrator. Most of the time I know this to be true, yet occasionally the guilt creeps back into my life; that same sense of guilt that had made my teenage years an endless sea of crippling depression and self-mutilation, actions of which no one could understand the root cause.
After he had finished his third attack against my body, he whispered these words into my ear. Trembling, terrified, and ashamed as I was over what had happened, I understood perfectly what he had said as he grinned and winked at me. "Don't worry, you beautiful little slut, I'm nowhere near finished with you. Things haven't even begun to heat up. I'll be back before you know it."
The night after that Uncle Chester had been walking to the convenience store for smokes. There had been a blizzard that night--just as bad as the one tonight--and a minivan had skidded out of control and struck Uncle Chester down. The entire family had been to his funeral to mourn his passing. Sure, he had the worst hygiene, but was still a "good" man as far as everyone else was concerned.
While the others grieved and cried as the priest spoke his eulogy and everyone else said a few words and paid their respect, I found that I felt nothing at all for my uncle's passing but the most blissful sense of relief. At last, he was gone. He was out of my life and could never hurt me again. I looked around the church and wondered if any of the other mourners felt what I had felt, and had known the truth, able to see behind the veil of deceit Uncle Chester had placed before our eyes to see the despicable human garbage he truly was. My attention focused on my sister's reaction, yet she felt none of the relief I had experienced. She experienced only genuine sorrow for her uncle's passing. This was a good sign, for it meant that the sick son of a bitch hadn't gotten to her yet.
Once more I looked at the cab driver's photo; Jesus, he really did look like Uncle Chester, almost a spitting image!
No, it can't be, I told myself frantically. Uncle Chester's dead. He can't hurt me anymore. The son of a bitch is gone, out of my life forever!
The cab driver's eyes for the most part remained glued to the icy road in front of him. Occasionally, he glimpsed behind to check up on me, but for the most part seemed to ignore me. His eyes were bland and expressionless within the rearview mirror.
The last words my uncle spoke to me now echoed through my mind: I'll be back before you know it.
Somehow, I could feel my uncle's evil presence.
The cab driver's eyes seemed to take on a cold, predatory gaze. Through the rearview mirror, I saw a feral yellow glow flicker within the whites of his eyes, and then was gone and his eyes were back to normal. Bland, indifferent, bored, perhaps, and wanting to go home to his family.
It's just my imagination, I told myself.
Shit, I gotta to get out of here! I thought frantically.
Dismally, I wondered what sick plans my uncle had in store for me.
Things haven't even begun to heat up.
I pressed my body against the car door and the windowpane felt icy against my cheek. My fingers fumbled and fidgeted with the handle, tightened their grip, then loosened as I considered whether or not I wanted to thrust the door open and jump out to safety.
I saw my house coming up ahead. I was almost home, almost free. My fears lingered, yet as we got closer to where I lived, my sense of hope grew: hope that my fears were both unfounded and unwarranted, and that I truly would be able to leave unmolested. So what if the cab driver's features eerily resembled those of my uncle? Stranger coincidences have happened.
Never in my life would I have been so excited to get out of the warmth of a car and thrust back outside, nearly freezing to death as the snow and sleet pummeled against me. It wasn't that the cold was so welcoming so much as the very atmosphere within the cab was punishing, the very warmth that I had welcomed before was now an unbearable weight pressed upon my shoulders. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible once he had pulled the taxi to the side of the road by my home.
As I went to pay the cab driver, for a few seconds as he put his hand out through the window to collect the money, it looked not at all like that of a human hand, but was a metallic maroon color, with three fingers instead of four, whose tips were razor sharp talons. The entire arm was almost insect-like, wrapped in a copper exoskeleton. I flinched, gasping, and then blinked my watering eyes and saw that it was a human hand after all.
As my heart continued to race, I wondered why I had had such a hallucination a second before. If indeed these flashbacks were triggered by the traumas I had endured as a child, it would make no sense to see actual monsters, for my uncle had been biologically human. Not that I ever thought of him as human, so perhaps that had something to do with it, I reasoned.
I slowly handed him a crisp fifty-dollar bill, careful that my hand didn't touch his even for a second, and bolted away from the taxi, for I couldn't bear the thought of him touching me.
My uncle's dreadful presence was all too pervasive.
While I no longer noticed how cold it was, and wasn't bothered as much by the icy winds whipping against my face as the snow covered my head, I hurried into my house as fast as my feet would take me, nevertheless.
"I'm glad you're finally home," Sally said, feeling relieved, as I entered the house and took off my hat, jacket, and gloves. "Was getting kinda worried."
"I'm fine," I told her as I pulled off my sodden shoes and tossed them into the closet. "I called a cab." I smiled, feigning good humor. "See, no hitchhiking involved."
She smiled warmly and laughed. "Well, good."
I smiled back as I hugged her, feeling a sense of welcoming warmth, rather than the atmosphere of foreboding heat that had permeated the taxi. No longer had I felt the demonic presence of my uncle, but was instead in the presence of love, feeling a sense of security within my home, in the presence of my sister, with whom I shared a bond of love and trust; someone I knew would never hurt me.
Although she was two years younger than I (she was twenty-two and I was twenty-four) the two of us have many times been mistaken as twins, and there have been times when one of us had been mistaken for the other. Both of us have light brown hair, hazel eyes, high cheek bones, and we are approximately the same height as well. There were a few subtle differences to our appearance--such as I had a very light sprinkling of freckles around my nose whereas she did not--but often times these differences were not even noticeable unless you looked at us together in the proper lighting. Our personalities differed slightly, for she was nowhere near as reserved or serious in her general demeanor as I had been, nor had she been as squeamish about sexuality as me (though by no means was she a slut either). We shared many common interests as well and got along great now, even if we did fight a great deal of the time as children.
"I guess we can try to get the car fixed tomorrow," I suggested, "before I go to work. Probably it's just the gas that's frozen. There was only an eighth of a tank last time I checked."
Sally nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're probably right. Good thing I don't have work tonight."
"I'd talk you into calling in sick if you did. You'd have to be crazy to be out in this weather."
"Are you sure you're okay," Sally asked during a commercial break as we sat in the dark living room in front of the TV and watched this week's episode of 24. "You look a little spooked, and have been almost since you got home."
"I'm fine," I said softly, biting my lip.
My stomach had started bothering me shortly after I had gotten home. I had barely touched the Tombstone pizza that we had had for dinner. Dimly, I thought that perhaps I might have caught the flu from my boyfriend. But of course, deep within my sour gut I knew that the nausea wasn't due to sickness. It was from dread, from the shameful, bitter, forbidden memories I had thought (and wanted) buried from long ago.
Embracing the warmth and safety of my home from the dangers and hazardous climates of the outside world had offered me a brief reprieve from my terror, which had now returned in full force, with all the old fear and shame gnawing away at my heart as it had all those years ago. I raked my fingers through my hair, squeezing my teary eyes shut as my heart continued to thump madly within my chest and groaned as the nausea gripped even tighter within my gut.
"I'm just fine," I repeated, barely stifling a sob.
"Danielle, what's wrong?" my sister asked again as she lay her hand tenderly over my shoulder, insisting that I confide in her and that she console me.
I almost wanted to tell her. The secret yearned to be free, and perhaps if I had confessed to someone, the burden of shame would finally be lifted after all these years. I hadn't even told my boyfriend, and instead left him in the dark as to why I was so uncomfortable with any sexual activity even after six months of dating. He thought it was because I was waiting to make sure that he was the right person, but essentially it stemmed back to my childhood traumas. My boyfriend had always been patient with me, thankfully, a lot more so than other guys might be, and I am grateful that he respected my wishes instead of pressing the issue. Still, I had always felt that he had a right to know the true reason, to know all of the baggage I carried with me all this time, and I wanted to tell him. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
My lips parted and just as I was about to explain to my sister everything that had happened, my breath was suddenly robbed from me as my chest tightened and I could say nothing. We had always shared all of our secrets with one another and there was never any judgment, so I had no reason to fear her reaction. But this secret was too grave, the shame too great and much too overwhelming even after seventeen years. I blushed furiously as hot tears welled in my eyes, and said nothing.
"Danielle, what is it?" she asked, growing really worried now.
"Nothing...I just feel...really dirty," I stammered, talking in doublespeak and refusing to elaborate. I could suddenly feel a set of large fingers sinking deep within my pants, exploring my nether regions. I leapt to my feet with a shudder and a sharp moan of protest, standing there, trembling as I heard the words slut and whore whispered in the howling winds outside. "I need...I need a shower." I said and bolted out of the room.
"Danielle, please tell me what's wrong?" Sally shouted from behind the bathroom door, her voice growing frantic as I began to take off my clothes.
"Nothing's wrong, I just feel...dirty, that's all."
"You're obviously upset about something. Could you please tell me what it is? Maybe I can help?"
But what could I tell her? That our uncle, who had been dead for seventeen years, might not be dead after all, despite his corpse being mangled so badly that it had to be a closed-coffin funeral? Could I really tell her that our very same uncle--whom everyone thought was a kindly uncle and a good man overall despite his poor hygiene--had molested me three times when I was seven and had vowed on the third time to "finish things off"? Would she believe me if I told her that I had felt Uncle Chester's evil presence within the taxi during the ride home? Perhaps she would, but I couldn't bring myself to reveal any of those facts.
"Danielle, please...talk to me," she pleaded.
"I just need a shower, that's all. Why don't you go back to the living room? I'm sure the commercial's almost over."
"I'm not worried about that right now; I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine. Now please just...go away!"
I showered until I had used up all of the hot water, and still, it wasn't enough to wash away the dirt that tarnished my soul. A part of me still felt like a whore even if I had come to realize long since it had happened that none of it had been my fault after all and I was the victim of such cruel debauchery. Such knowledge did nothing to quell the guilt or shame that cut like a dagger into my heart.
From a short distance, within the next few rooms over, I could feel that same familiar, evil presence invading my home, my one safe haven, and I felt that same sense of dreadful déjà vu I experienced within the taxi. It had felt diluted for now, for the evil was not yet in the same room, yet it was growing stronger nevertheless.
From the living room, I heard Sally shriek in terror.
He's here! I thought frantically as I rushed to put my clothes back on. Oh shit...he's here...right inside this house!
I burst into the living room and felt a sudden cold draft as chilling winds caressed my still wet body, making me shiver as my body broke in gooseflesh. The front door had been left wide open and some of the snow had been blown into the house, covering the foyer tiles in a moistening white blanket. I saw muddy footprints. My eyes followed these footprints until I saw a piece of copper metal with four maroon lances jutting upward, rising from behind the couch.
Slowly, for my legs would not allow me to move any faster even if I wanted to, I circled toward behind the couch. My chest tightened as my heart raced, thumping madly behind my ribs and my stomach coiled tightly around itself. I gasped, squeezing my teary eyes shut as my body froze and I had to force myself to take another step forward as I heard a series of savage grunts and moans, followed by my sister's cries for help.
I forced my eyes open, and saw Sally lying naked, her clothes torn off and tossed about in tatters of confetti throughout the living room. On top of her was a sexually aroused insect-like creature, who might have stood at six feet (same height as my uncle, if I remember correctly) had he been standing, but was now on top of my sister, riding her. He, too, was naked, yet his body was covered in a copper exoskeleton. His hands were like claws--the same ones that I could have sworn I had seen when I had paid the cabdriver, and his claw-like fingers squeezed into Sally's breasts like sharp pincers, cutting deep into the flesh. He had the same dark disheveled hair as my uncle, yet his maroon face was skeletal; he had no lips, leaving exposed a mouthful of teeth that were like four-inch knives, perpetually locked in a demonic grin while his yellow eyes glared brightly in exhilaration and sexual lust.
"I told you, I'd come back to finish things off, I promised!" he shouted in between moans and fits of passion. He slapped his metallic hand against her hip hard enough to leave a bruise.
"Please, stop!" Sally sobbed and pleaded.
"Oh come on now, no tears, Danielle, you sweet, beautiful little slut, I know you enjoy this just as much as I."
Danielle. He had called her by my name. Like many others, he had somehow mistaken my sister for me, and while he had come back from the dead to finish me off--mutated into the horrible monster I had always imagined him to be as a child--he had mistakenly raped my sister in my place. Having been raped had been the most horrible thing that had ever happened to me; it was a shameful experience I wished never again to endure. Yet seeing my sister now subjected to an even worse fate of sexual torture, and knowing that the blame had fallen squarely upon my shoulders, and knowing that I should have been the one in Uncle Chester's grasp and not her, I would have given anything to trade places with her now to spare her such horrors that were clearly meant for me. Yet all I could do was stand by helpless, crying, and petrified, watching in horror as the beast had his way with her.
"Quit whining, you fucking whore, I know you love this! Tell me you love me, you filthy cunt! Tell me you love your Uncle Chester!" he cried out passionately as he rode her, holding her down to prevent her from squirming and shaking free of his wretched grasp. His foot-long penis was a steel lance and he jammed it into her vagina again and again, like a knife stabbing into her, splashing ribbons of blood into the air as he pulled himself out and thrust himself back in once more.
The creature arched back and stiffened as his erect penis began to pulsate. He uttered a final moan of satisfaction and hissed while his turgid penis throbbed, and finally ejaculated, spraying a thick load of dark brown semen that splashed against Sally's face. Sally screamed, cried, and gagged as the rancid fluids seeped into her mouth, nose, and eyes, coming at her in an a seemingly endless current of poison.
When finally he had finished his orgasm, the creature rose slowly to his feet and his entire body began to ripple as his glowing eyes began twin beacons of nuclear energy. Glowing fissures of white light radiated throughout his body as the phosphorescence completely engulfed the creature and for a second I could see nothing beyond the blinding light until finally his features became less insect-like, more human, and he morphed into the man I had come to dread since childhood. Indeed it had been my uncle, standing naked and triumphant upon his victim. His penis, now half the size it had been before, quickly went limp and dangled between his legs as he closed his lips and grinned in triumph. "See, Danielle, now wasn't that nice?" he cooed softly, before hurrying outside.
As my fearful paralysis wore off, I slowly approached my sister and hunkered by her side, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood and almost unable to bare the sight of her in such a wretched state, curled in a fetal ball and unable to stop crying. Not only had she reverted to a much more vulnerable state after having been violated, but her physical appearance had degenerated as well from the attack. As she slowly rose from her fetal position, now propped on both knees, my heart broke as I saw all that blood oozing from both her vagina, dripping in thick runnels between her legs, as well as from her breasts from where the creature's claws had pierced her. Her flesh had now whitened into an almost pallid greenish gray tone. She appeared sickened by what had happened, nauseous and queasy and her eyes appeared sunken deep into their sockets upon her gaunt face.
As I came closer to her, Sally recoiled, throwing her hand out in a warding off gesture as she screamed shrilly once more: "No, please, stay away! Don't touch me...please, don't look at me!"
"Sally, it's okay. He's gone now. It's just me...it's Danielle."
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed softly.
"We should call an ambulance," I suggested. "You might need medical attention."
"Sally vehemently protested: "No...no fucking way!" She paused with a sigh and blushed furiously. "I'm fine, really, no need to get the medics involved."
"You're bleeding."
"I know that!" she snapped back at me, with both anger and shame laced in her voice. She sighed, shaking her head as she bowed her head in shame and closed her eyes. "It's no big deal. I just need a shower to get this off...that's all...no need for anything else."
I wanted to put my hand on her shoulder just then, to hug her and offer what little comfort I could. I drew closer toward Sally, about to do just that, and then stopped myself, remembering my own pain, my own shame, and how being touched had been the last thing I had wanted after Uncle Chester had gotten me. The best way to console her--if consolation had even been possible--would be to do so platonically.
"Sally, I know exactly what you're going through."
She shook her head as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "No, please...please don't patronize me like that. No, you don't know. How could you possibly know what I'm going through?"
I hesitated a moment, reluctant to tell her, even if I had wanted to. Yet the shame I felt had been diminished now, overtaken by my growing sense of empathy. I could bring myself to tell her now, because she had been through the same ordeal. I could feel heat blooming over my face. I said hesitantly, my voice trailing off: "I never told anyone this...couldn't tell anyone...but I was raped as a child." This time it was my turn to bow my head shamefully. "I know exactly why you don't want anyone knowing what happened to you...I couldn't stand the thought of telling anyone either. Believe me...that's why I kept it hidden for so long. But Sally, look at you, you're bleeding."
Sally bent her head as she rose to her feet, trying to cover up her nudity as best she could with both arms--one over her breasts while the other over her vagina. She examined her body, the blood that flowed freely between her legs, as well as the blood that trickled down her stomach, shaking her head. "I told you, I'm fine."
"You should see a doctor," I said meekly. "We don't need to go to the police if you don't want to"--I doubted very much that they'd believe our story anyway--"but we should at least get a doctor to look at you and make sure you're okay. Please, Sally," I sobbed, as tears filled my eyes, "I'm really worried."
"I just...I just need to get this crap cleaned off," she snapped at me, and her voice trailed off. Sally lurched forward, her arms dangling as her eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head. She let out a soft moan before she passed out and fell into my arms.
I watched with a haggard face as the medics quickly wheeled Sally on a gurney into the ambulance. As I stepped outside, once more I felt the punishing cold winds whip against my body as the icy snow numbed my face. Although she had been clothed by now, she still appeared vulnerable, violated by the demon that had once been our uncle. I felt a sharp pang of guilt as I thought of how vehemently she had protested against the idea of calling for medical attention. It felt as though I had violated her as well, but what else could I do? She had already lost consciousness and there was no telling what the damage might be.
"Will she be okay?" I asked one of the medics meekly as I pulled the front door closed and slowly walked toward the ambulance.
"She's still bleeding a little, but her pulse is still strong," one of the medics replied. "She still hasn't regained consciousness, but we're very hopeful. She'll be in good hands."
"I hope so," I said as my tears froze on my cheeks.
I climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat by the gurney where Sally lay, holding her hand tenderly. It felt limp and cold to the touch, and her face was pallid. "Oh God, what did he do to you?" I sobbed as I put the back of her hand to my face, squeezing gently as I squeezed my teary eyes tightly shut and sobbed.
In the back of my mind, I wondered how she would feel knowing that I had called an ambulance against her wishes when she finally awoke. Her shame would be compounded with the knowledge that most likely of the story (so some bastardized version of the story) would somehow spread to the rest of the neighborhood. Even though most likely no one would blame her for what had happened, it would be no less awkward, for unlike with me, her tribulation would be exposed. The community would no doubt show compassion for what she had been through, but nevertheless, because of her shame, their sympathy--the fact that they would know what had happened--would quickly prove unbearable. I would have reacted exactly the same way in her shoes, no matter how irrational it might seem looking at it from the outside.
Of course, it really should have been me lying on that gurney instead of her, for not only had the son of a bitch targeted me to begin with, but I had already been ruined by his perverse sexuality, whereas she had remained untouched. And untouched and innocent she would have surely remained, if not for me.
"I'm so, so sorry," I murmured, knowing that she could not hear me, but feeling obligated to at least apologize, however useless such a gesture felt. As the medics pulled the rear doors of the ambulance shut and hurried to the nearest hospital, I could say no more, for my voice broke apart a bout of uncontrollable sobs. I could no only sit beside her, my face buried in my hands, crying and hoping desperately that Sally could forgive me for what had transpired.
The end
January 10, 2005
January 28, 2005