Chapter 34
Dark Dawning
Alex
Alex stopped at the oak tree down by the river. She wasn’t so much resting there as simply being in the quiet of it. She looked up at the gently rustling leaves, looked down at the tall yellow grass blowing in the same wind. Feeling that wind blow through her, yet her caster form didn’t so much as waver, nor did the breeze’s chill register. It all still fascinated her, this casting thing. Still scared her, too, even as she rejoiced at becoming so completely one with the night. There was so much more to learn... A dog barked from some distance away. Well, more of a bay than a bark, like a hound dog would make. The mournful sound only added to the depth of the night around her. Slowly, Alex moved up the oak tree, through to the branches where Connie’s bracelets hung. She wouldn’t be donning the copper again tonight. She only wanted to touch the metal because Connie Harvell had made the small bands. Tonight Alex caressed the copper not for the physical strength it could lend her cast, but for the emotional fortification.
But Alex was tough, and she knew it. Strong. Yes, it had taken her a while to get some of that back after the assault. But she had. She wasn’t spoiling to get into the fights anymore. Not looking for the most dangerous crowd to run with. She didn’t need to do that anymore. Leah and Kassidy thought she’d gone soft, weak. But it wasn’t weakness.
She was tough enough to change. Strong enough to face what she had to face.
And tonight she was ready to face the last of the memories of the night she was raped. To grab hold of them. Remember everything that had happened to her. Remember who had done it.
Alex would see that face.
And then she would go to the police. She’d tell them what had happened.
Alex had thought it over long and hard. There would be little, if any, physical evidence, as she’d scrubbed herself practically raw that morning she’d woken up on the attic floor. She’d also thrown away the coat she’d used to cover herself with. But she still had her torn jeans—the ones she’d found in the dresser. Maybe, just maybe they’d help the police. And soon she’d have her memories.
Still, it would be an uphill battle in more ways than one. The police might not believe her. But maybe she wasn’t the only one this evil piece of shit had attacked. Maybe another girl would come forward after Alex did. And if it got to trial, Alex would take her chances with a jury. Or a judge.
She was quite aware that her past—the partying, the booze, the dope—would reflect badly on her. But it would be worth it if just a few of them would turn their judgmental eyes on her assailant. That in itself might be enough to stop another rape. Be a victory of some kind for her. She’d be brave enough. Whoever had done this to her had to pay. And if a court of law wouldn’t convict him, maybe the court of public opinion would.
But pay for it, he would.
In more ways than one.
Alex pulled one of the copper bracelets free from a branch after all. She held it tightly.
She’d have her caster revenge. Alex had decided this too. It was different from Brooke seeking revenge for love unrequited. Different from Maryanne swooping McKenzie’s car and running him off the road. This man had raped her. And all the pain she held inside, she’d shriek out toward him. Let him feel her fury. Let him feel that pain that welled within her. She’d shriek like no Heller before her. Drive him insane. Deafen him if she could. The bastard could have his pain back.
The distant dog bayed again—the sound of it swelling in the night and dragging Alex back from her thoughts. Back to the present and what she had to do.
It was time to grab that memory. She set the copper circle back up on the tree. She’d never be the same, and she knew it. But she knew—somehow—she’d be all right. So damned much like Connie, she was—Alex froze.
Back in the attic, her original held perfectly still, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps on the floorboards. Not the soft, sock-footed steps of Brooke or Maryanne venturing upstairs. No one whispered to her through the blackness. But someone laughed low and deep in his throat as he moved towards her helpless body on the floor.
Her heart hammering in terror, Alex tried to move her body, but all she could manage was a helpless flop of her hand, a feeble twitch of her foot. Her helplessness—she couldn’t even turn her head to see him—and her moan of fear only made him laugh all the more. Confidently, he stalked toward her.
In a blur of speed, Alex’s cast raced from the river toward Harvell House.
In the attic, Alex heard him kneel behind her head. She rolled her eyes back but couldn’t tip her head far enough back to see him. She sobbed again and he laughed a laugh of pure delight.
“You can’t move, can you? Oh, what a treat! What a rare, delicious treat!”
He leaned over her to grasp her pajama top by the hem and hauled it up and over her head, dragging her arms from the sleeves and letting them flop back to her sides. Alex’s heart pounded in horror and humiliation as she felt his eyes on her bared torso. And oh God, she couldn’t catch her breath! The pajama top’s material was thin, but the feeling of suffocation was overwhelming. Alex heard him moving around to stand in front of her, then heard the sickening sound of his zipper sliding down. All she could do was lock her muscles and then he was on top of her.
“Damn, that’s good!” he whispered, his breath hot, sour and close, even through the material that covered her face. “I usually have to drug my girls to make them like this, but that can cause unconsciousness. I don’t like that part. I like it like this. You’re alive in there, aren’t you, girl? A living, trembling rag doll.” He bit hard into the flesh of her shoulder.
Fuck, no! Not again! Never again!
She could shriek her caster shriek. Even from outside, it would probably make him pause. But it might make him flee.
This one wouldn’t get away.
Alex reached the window.
“I want in!” It only took one rap and she was back inside, slamming into her adrenaline-fueled body with righteous, ferocious rage.
Knowing what was coming when cast and body reunited, Alex shot her hands out and grabbed onto her assailant. With the force of her cast shooting back in, they both plowed across the floor. Rolling, she managed to partially turn them. When they banged into the pedestal table, it was his shoulder that took the brunt, and he let out a surprised umph. The table rocked with such force, everything on it—the girls’ candles, Connie’s candleholder—toppled off, raining to the floor beside them.
Oh, God, she’d lit one of those candles before she cast out!
Alex pulled the pajama top away from her face in time to see her candle’s flame gutter out, leaving them with nothing but the moonlight from the window.
“My shoulder... ” he gasped.
He still lay partially on her, and Alex shoved him hard. He thumped down beside her on the floor. Instantly, she leapt up. Blood dripped from the wound on her shoulder, but she barely felt the sting. There was no room for anything but the adrenaline-charged fury roiling inside, screaming for release.
She drew back her foot to kick him, but not in the head. And not in his soft, unprotected stomach. Her bare foot caught him squarely in the groin. He retched—hard—and curled into a ball.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Oh don’t.”
She was struggling to shove her trembling arm back into her top when it struck her—that voice... that familiar voice!
Clutching her arms around her now clothed self, Alex bent to peer at him in the shadows beneath the table. Even with her caster-wide pupils, it took her a moment to make out the face of her attacker. She reared back again.
“You!” Alex’s heart contracted in horror. “Oh God, it’s you... again! You raped me!” Alex half hissed, half cried. “I remember everything!”
It was him. The one who’d brutalized her in September had come back to hurt her again tonight! He was one and the same. This time she didn’t fight the memories, and as she grabbed at them, they smashed th
e walls all around her.
She’d run into him in the schoolyard. They’d exchanged a few words. She’d been surprised to see the small flask, more surprised when he’d offered her a drink. But she took a drink all the same. Several drinks.
He hadn’t taken a drink, she recalled, and now she knew why! He’d roofied her. Somehow brought her here to Harvell House and raped her in this attic. Violated her. Left her half-naked just so the humiliation would be complete.
She fell to her knees, fisting his collar in her hands and squeezing.
“Wait!” His voice was a scratch. He coughed, begged. “Don’t... don’t hurt me!”
“Don’t hurt you?” She could, she realized. She held him tightly, twisting his shirt closer and closer around his neck. She lowered herself, practically hissing in his face. “What? You don’t like being the one who’s helpless, huh? Don’t like being too damn weak to move, just like your—”
Her last word was lost as pain shot through her head. She heard a sickening crack and knew it was her skull. Alex slid to the floor.
Panting, the man rose, holding Connie’s candleholder in his right hand, his left grasping his pants. But the silver candleholder was dark, she saw. Why was it dark in some places?
Blood, she realized dimly. Her blood.
Her blood all over again... “Look what you made me do!” he hissed down at her. “This is all your fault! You reap what you sow. Reap what you deserve! Whores always do. Every single one of you will. I’ll make damn sure of that!”
The edges of her world were turning to blackness. And the last sight Alex saw was his head turning suddenly as if he’d heard something. Someone coming, maybe? The man pocketed the candleholder and dashed from her fading vision.
Way to go, Robbins. Get yourself killed. Who’ll look after Connie now?
Who’ll look after her baby?
That was her final thought before darkness came down completely.