I went through the same thing Gia did, explaining the exact same thing that she’d already said the day before until it was time to turn the tables.
“He followed us. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“How do you know it was Mr. Nichols who was following you?”
“It was his truck. I’ve seen it a million times. It was his truck.”
“But you didn’t actually see his face, correct?”
“I saw enough. It was him. It was the same ball cap he always wore. It was his truck.”
“And where did Mr. Nichols rape you?”
“Objection,” Myra called. I heard her yell that phrase so many times, I heard it in my sleep. It went unnoticed by the defense. He continued with his questions.
“Weren’t you supposedly knocked out? How do you know he touched you?”
“Gia told me. I know he ran us off the road. I remember grabbing the dash when Gia swerved,”
“And then what happened?”
I disgustingly spit it out. I was so tired of repeating myself over and over and over. I felt the anxiety forming in my chest, erecting a nice little panic attack. I wanted off that stand. I will never forget the look in those eyes. It haunts me on a daily basis.
“Gia asked me if I was okay, and we stepped out of the car.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I remember.”
“You were hit in the back of the head?”
“Yes. With a ball bat.”
“How do you know it was a bat if you were out cold?”
“Really? Because Gia told me, and I can show you the scar. Want to see?” I smartly asked.
“You see, McKenzie. The problem I have with this story is, why. Why would Mr. Nichols knock you out cold and not Gia? Why would he rape you as a dead corpse, but wanted Gia alive and kicking?”
I couldn’t breathe. I’d done an excellent job keeping it together so far. I was going to flip. I was about to go into a side of McKenzie the court wouldn’t understand. Thank god Gia ran from the court room before he attacked me about all the medication I was on. My physiatrist’s statement proved me to be perfectly sane. That part was over. Thank the good lord above.
“I don’t know why. I don’t know why any of this is happening. I don’t want to do it anymore,” I cried. My mom was right there when I left my little box and fell to my knees. I just wanted it over with. I needed it to be over with.
Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Sad stories of two innocent girls. Guilty. Judge with a broad white mustache. Guilty. Dark graying hair, dignified in black. Guilty. Child victims, physical injury, mental injury, sexual intercourse, masturbation, sex crime, teacher. Guilty! Proof, preliminary findings, presumption, compelling reasons, black judicial robe, jury, Guilty!
“Ma’am! Ma’am. Are you okay?”
I jumped, realizing I was on a bus. A dark bus headed to who knows where. Alone.
“Yes, must have been the hotdogs from the last bus station,” I said, smiling at the young man.
“Want me to keep you company?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I nodded, dismissing the boy. I didn’t need company. Jesus. That was so real. I could still feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. I took a few breaths, trying to come down from what wasn’t really happening. Staring out the window, I thought about nothing. I was blank, motionless, and empty. I was running away. Running from something that would follow me no matter how far or where I ran to. It was inevitable.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I counted the reflecting markers, mile by mile. Charlotte North Carolina. 87 miles. Exit 11. Eleven. Eleven, Eleven. Exit Eleven. Nine Eleven. 911. Ten plus one. Chanting every fact I could remember about the number, I closed my eyes, praying for sleep that wouldn’t come. I needed to crash. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
Well, my new landlord was a liar. Did everyone on the planet feel the need to lie? The neighborhood didn’t look like a safe little community to me. A block wall was saturated in graffiti, four rundown mobile homes with trash and junk all around were just up the road from my new dwelling, and the guy right next door was smoking weed. I was sure of it. He nodded, chugging his can of beer. I didn’t nod back. I unlocked the door with the key the man had given me at the diner I had met him at.
Yuck. It smelled horrible. He was right. The paneling was seventies, the carpet was at least twenty years old, and an old, musty, stale cigarette smell lingered in the closed up house. What the hell did I get myself into? The first thing I did was drag all the left over furniture to the front yard. My new neighbors scarfed it up in no time.
It took some elbow grease along with a ton of cleaning supplies, but with the windows opened and the smell of pine, it was livable. The carpet didn’t clean well, but I didn’t care. My cheap department store furniture covered most of it.
My hollow life became even shallower, if that were even possible. I acquired a routine, following it like a well thought out plan, just like Kyle had preached to Gia and me as teenagers. Follow a plan. I went to the grocery store on Wednesday mornings. That was the only day it was practically empty. I could get in and out before most people were rolling over, still in bed. I watched more television than I had since Gia and I were kids, viewing new episodes of shows I never knew existed.
Avoiding anything that might make me smile or laugh, I chose shows that would make me feel even worse. The hospital traumas, devastating documentaries, the news, disasters, and the wanted shows, the ones where girls were taken and never found. I was the queen of self-pity. I could have written a book on it, probably a bestseller. It sounds depressing, and crazy, but killing misery with misery helped in some sort of sick, twisted way.
I held up to my end of the deal and talked to Lila, week after week after week. It was so much easier to lie and withhold the truth without the scrutiny of her eyes piercing through me. She kept her end of the bargain and kept me in my prescriptions, including some new anxiety drug that did nothing for my needed sleep. Lila was really the only person I talked to, and that was only because I needed her.
She called my house phone every Friday morning. Lila was the only one who even had the number. I only got it because it was package deal with the television. Not about to let it go, Lila, called it the first day I didn’t answer my cell.
“Hello,” I cautiously answered the call from the phone that never rang.
“Did you forget we had an appointment?”
“Lila,” I stated the obvious fact.
“How are you?”
“I’m great. How are you?” I sarcastically replied, turning the tables. Biting into my crisp apple, I waited to see what we would be discussing today. What thing of the past she would want to pull from my closet of secrets.
“I want you to get out, McKenzie. You’ve been there for months now. You need to find a job, get back to life.”
“Yeah. No. I don’t need to do that. I’m fine right here.” I was fine. I didn’t need a job, not yet, anyway. The way I figured it, I had another two and a half years before I’d be out of money. I would worry about it then.”
“Have you spoken to your mother?”
“No. Have you?”
“You’re a little sour today? What’s going on?”
Crisping the apple in her ear, I snorted. “Sour? Define that for me, would you?” I knew she wasn’t speaking of the Granny Smith apple I was chomping in her ear.
“I feel like you’re a little bitter today. What’s going on? Are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. Whatever. I was used to it.
“We were discussing why you were so drawn to Kyle last week.”
I sighed and audible breath, exasperated. “I wasn’t drawn to Kyle last week. That was ages ago,” I smartly said, I didn’t want to discuss him again. There was nothing to discuss.
“McKenzie.”
“Can we do this next week? I was just getting ready to shower,” I asked. I didn’t need to discuss Kyle again. He
plagued my mind enough without her help.
“You can’t keep running and hiding,” Lila countered.
“Yeah, good observation. The thing is, I don’t think about Kyle. I never think about Kyle, AJ, Colton, Cara, Gianna, or Mr. Nichols. That’s it. We’ve discussed every one of them. I don’t need to talk about Kyle. He’s nothing to me. He never was. I’ve told you this before. What is it that you want to know? I don’t get it,”
“It’s not the person, McKenzie. It’s the feelings associated with the person.”
“There are no feelings. That was a long time ago. You preach moving on, but you don’t want to let it go. Didn’t you ever do anything stupid?”
“Many times. When you were seeing Kyle, did you feel attracted to him, physically?”
Shaking my head, I tossed my core to the paper can. “Score!”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, Lila. I was very attracted to Kyle. I still have orgasms thinking of Kyle. You know this. What the hell? Why are we doing this again?”
“What was it that attracted you to him?”
“Oh my god. I can’t do this today. We’ll pick up next Friday.”
“What’s going on McKenzie? Why are you so irritable today?”
“I’m sorry. It’s like three days before my period. I’m sure it’s just PMS. Can we please do this next week?”
“Sure, okay. I remember those days. I couldn’t stand myself sometimes.”
“Oh, I can stand me. I can’t stand you.”
Lila laughed. “Okay, McKenzie. We’ll talk next week. You know how to reach me.”
“Thank you, Lila.”
I settled in quite nicely. The house wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d been told. Yes, it did need a new roof, but luckily it was small. It only cost me three thousand, not that I knew whether or not that was a good price. I lived in a high-rise, and I have no idea what my dad paid for maintenance back home. I spent countless hours cleaning every little nook and cranny. I had nothing but time, solitude, and thoughts. Thoughts that just wouldn’t quit. I wasn’t worried about him coming after me. It wasn’t anything like that. It was a little strange, I guess.
Although my parents believed I was here alone, hiding from a monster, it’s simply not true. I even daydreamed about it on occasion, him coming to get me. It was always the same outcome. I’d open the front door, he’d be standing there with a straight arm and a big, black pistol. I’d smile at him, and he would put me out of my misery. Right between the eyes.
Laying on the couch, staring at the television, I blankly paid no attention, not until John Walsh announced the disappearance of a three-year-old little girl. I studied her face, wondering if she could be Cara. I thought about her often, I observed little girls that would be around her age, and I thought about her grave. A tiny white casket with pink roses lined in silk. Maybe she’d been put up for adoption, maybe this was her and she was taken. I shook it off as soon as they showed her little picture. This little girl was adopted—from China. She couldn’t be Cara. And Cara was dead.
I flipped the television off, wondering what the day was. I was almost out of milk, it had to be Monday. I could have checked my phone like I once had. Snorting, I got up. Gia and I used to be glued to our phones. It was attached to my ear or my texting thumbs when I was busy with my career in New York. Now, well, I didn’t even know where it was, probably dead in a drawer some place.
The only person who ever called was my mother, and that was hardly ever anymore. It was July and I was sure it had been at least three months since I had talked to her. She’d call, leave me a voicemail, and I would send her a text. “Sorry, mom, busy. We’ll talk soon.” I didn’t even rewrite it. I would hit resend every time she called. Other than that, it was just me. Me and my miserable life.
Determining that it was Tuesday, I started a grocery list. The new TV Guide was first on my list. I needed to make sure I could keep up my miserable TV run. I went as far as circling the shows that I’d watch for the entire week. I had a lot of time on my hands, and it had become one of the customs in my routine. Milk, bread, lunch meat, chips, frozen pizza, soup, and, hmm. There was something else, something important. Tapping the tip of my nose with the pen, I thought about what it was.
“Tampons!” I yelled to my empty house. Oh, and I better get toilet paper too. I always used more this week, wrapping my feminine products. That wasn’t bad. One bag and one jug of milk. I could handle that with my homeless cart. I bought one of those wire basket thingies from a garage sale. I wasn’t planning on stopping at it at all. They called me to come over.
They were nice enough neighbors, I guess. They lived on the corner and had three boys. I stared after them in their fenced in yard, watching them play when I walked. Jaydon, Mason, and Carter. I didn’t know the parents’ names, but heard the boys fighting enough to learn theirs. I knew the oldest was ten.
“Hey, I have something for you. Come over here,” the wife called. It was hot. I had milk, I needed to get home. I didn’t want to befriend my neighbors. I was doing just fine by myself.
“Oh, maybe some other time. I have milk,” I replied, holding the milk up unnecessarily for her to see.
“This will benefit you. Come on. I’m not going to bite you.”
She wanted to show me this wire basket thing with wheels she was selling. I gladly paid her three dollars for it. It made my job much easier. It still reminded me of something a homeless person used. I’d seen them around when I lived in New York. I bought a couple books, a hand held hangman game, two one-thousand piece puzzles, and an iced tea pitcher. I never did learn her name. I think they thought I was weird or something. I didn’t talk to anyone and I walked—a lot. I would think I was weird, too. It was only three mile down the country road. I didn’t mind at all. I liked walking. Wednesday morning walks to the grocery store was my only day out of my dark, dreary house.
Thinking about it now, I realize how uncaringly careless I really was. I guess when you put yourself wide open for danger, it’ll seek you out. I walked through a shady neighborhood, took a shortcut through a patch of woods, and lived alone in a town, barely even a town. Maybe I wanted it. Maybe I was asking for it, or closer to the truth, I was begging for it. I was making it easy for anyone who wanted to bring it.
It never happened. Although I knew I was living in a shady neighborhood, flirted with disaster by walking into dark places alone, and chose to continue doing it week after week, proved one thing. This was my life. I was meant to live a lonely, miserable life alone. Danger even brushed off my invitation. Doomed was what I was destined to be.
I found solitude that night with a rain forest puzzle. I was determined to get the outside edges done before I went to bed. After I showered, I sat on my feet and began trying to fit the correct slot for the tiny cardboard cutout. I liked the puzzle because it forced my mind to figure out where this little circle with a hook on it went, or where this color green matched up with that color. It occupied my mind. I had spent my entire life trying to find new ways to do just that. Who knew a fifty cent puzzle would do the job.
Finally, around one in the morning, I was done. My eyes couldn’t even see the colors anymore. I stood and yawned, stopping my walking for a needed stretch. Feeling the air on my stomach from my lifted shirt, I watched the dark shadow walk across my living room window, and then the kitchen. I froze. I guess I didn’t really mean it when I said I was trying to attract anything bad that could happen to me.
I made sure the door was locked, went around and locked all the windows, and closed all the blinds. I was scared shitless. I’d been around there long enough for anyone in the neighborhood to know I was alone. I was always alone. I searched for my cell phone, finding it in a junk drawer in the bathroom, dead. I plugged it in and sighed. I wasn’t sure when I’d last powered it on, and I had nothing. In one short year I managed to push everyone I loved away from me. Not one voicemail, no text messages, and no notifications from emails or Facebook.
Who kn
ew how long it would be before someone found me. I could lay dead here for weeks, maybe even months, rotting away before I’d ever be missed. That was the first time I’d been scared since I moved there, and for the first time in a very long time, I wished I wasn’t alone.
I lay quietly, covered to my neck in my bed, listening for a sound, a hint that someone was there. My head snapped at every noise, near and far until wee hours of the morning when I finally gave into the exhaustion and let sleep win.
I felt silly the following morning, waking to the sun peeking through the crack of the shades, creating even lines across my bed. I rolled to my side, closed my eyes, and thought about how terrified I’d been the night before. I know what I saw. I was sure it was a shadow too close to my house. They were probably scoping the place out, and when they saw that someone was home and the lights were on, they moved on.
I was going to leave my cell phone powered beside my bed. I added wasp spray to my grocery list as well, remembering Kyle telling me once to use it in place of mace because of the long stream. I never did it, not caring. I’m not sure I cared now either, but I did want to feel somewhat safe. I’d probably never use it, anyway.
Using my very last tampon, I got dressed. There would be no procrastinating today. Dressing in shorts and tank, I slipped on flip flops and pulled the handle on my homeless cart. Phew. It was eight in the morning and already ridiculously hot. My hair was never curly until I moved to Florida. The humidity was off the charts. Deciding to get it over with, I set out on my Wednesday walk to Pritchett’s Grocers.
I kept my head down for the most part to keep from having to speak to people. Turning right on the county road, I retrieved the grocery list from my hip pocket. Chap Stick. The sun made my lips dry. Knowing I’d forget if it wasn’t in front of my eyes, I jotted it down. That’s when I saw the older car ahead.
I’m sure it was because of the night before, but while my pen was still in hand, I wrote down the license plate number. Just in case. I moved to the opposite side of the road. There was a stream just through the thickets, probably down there fishing, I decided, shaking off my fear. It was silly. I’d been there for almost a year. Nobody ever bothered me. I was just freaked out about the shadows. Somebody walked in front of my windows. I was sure of that.