Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series (45 page)

   Julianna smiles at the gawking boy. Although she is trying to absorb the moment in her Oscar De La Renta mid-length dress, she is having trouble concentrating on anything other than not falling down the stairs. This realistic potential is every girl's worse nightmare. And the last thing she needs is to become the most expensive tumbleweed ever.

   The blue and black dresses' scoop neck and sleeveless design, regardless of her nerves, is very cute. It really showcases her family emblem and the Lilith diamond dangling upon her chest. And the two black diamond earrings shaped into triangles she found in the library, adore her ears wonderfully. Of course, her package wouldn't have been completed without her must have Pandora Rigid Palma Box Crossbody handbag from Givenchy. After all, every woman needs a way to carry her stuff. Her grams said no limit. So what's a girl to do?

    Matt grins awkwardly as Julianna nears the first floor landing. He feels like an idiot wearing his blue jeans, tennis shoes, and casual button up short-sleeved shirt. His date is dressed for the red carpet while he looks ready to have a shin-dig at a trailer park somewhere.

   “Don't just stand there like you have no sense to you, boy,” Frank speaks, “Say something to her.”

   “Uh - hi,” Matt stammers.

   “Hi yourself,” Julianna answers Matt's greeting.

   “Boy, that's not how you speak to a beautiful girl,” Frank criticizes Matt's attempt, “You young people need to put those electronics down once in a while.”

   “Come on you ole' grouch,” Martha pulls on Frank's right shoulder, “Leave the kids be.”

   Frank stands with paper in hand. As he and Martha passes by the senior boy, Frank issues his final warning.

   “It was good talking to you about that guy stuff.”

   “Y-yes sir,” Matt responds.

   Julianna waits for her grandparents to take their leave from the room. She walks closer to her nervous date.

   “I guess I'm overdressed,” Julianna comments.

   “No,” Matt defends, “You're beautiful.”

   “Thanks,” Julianna feels a little embarrassed by his compliment. She decides to alleviate any forthcoming moments of awkward silence.

   “Are you ready?”, she questions.

   “Yes,” Matt gives her his answer.

   Throughout the evening, Matt pulls out all the stops. He opens the door every time Julianna gets in and out of his SS Camaro. He buys her flowers, takes her to a movie, and then takes her to a restaurant which is highly above his pay grade. But to him, she's worth it. She is completely different from the fake acting girls he is familiar with at school. As he begins taking her home, Julianna objects.

   “You don't like me?”

   “What?”, Matt considers her question, “No - I do like you. A lot. It's your grandfather I worry about. I think he might actually try to kill me if we're late.”

   “Turn up here,” Julianna ignores Matt's worry. When her date gives her a concerning look, she pouts her lips.

   “Please?”, Julianna playfully begs, “It won't take long. I promise.”

   “That's not fair,” Matt refers to her prayer hands and plea tone.

   Julianna turns her hands downward and whimpers like a puppy. Matt laughs.

   “Fine,” Matt gives in to her begging.

   Julianna smiles approvingly as Matt turns left. They drive for about a mile, turn right, and head down a gravel road.

   “Over there,” Julianna points.

   Matt pulls over and parks his car. Julianna gets out, strips off her clothes, and looks at Matt. The boy's lips are partly open with shock.

   “Don't you dare make me swim by myself,” Julianna playfully threatens. She turns and jogs towards the single boat dock. Running its length, Julianna dives into the dark night water.

   Matt nervously gets out of the car and strips down. He decides to bury his nerves by running the dock's length before launching himself into a cannonball formation. Julianna laughs. When he surfaces, his date swims up and wraps her pale arms around his broad shoulders.

   “I've never done this before,” Julianna nervously speaks.

   “Me either,” Matt responds.

   “If I give myself to you, Matt Reins,” Julianna's tone is barely above a whisper, “I give myself completely.”

   Matt nods. His eyes are full of fire and passion. Julianna feels his quickened heart against her chest. She gazes lovingly into his gorgeous eyes.

   “I need to know you're doing the same,” Julianna continues, “Or if you just see me as an easy lay.”

   “I'd never do that to you, Julianna.”

   “I need to hear you say it, Matt,” Julianna's tone sounds final.

   “Julianna Atwood,” Matt complies with her wishes, “I give myself completely to you.”

   Julianna smiles with approval.

   “Kiss me,” she whispers breathlessly.

   Matt's lips part as Julianna's tongue separates them. He feels a sharp sting. His eyes widen.

   “Sorry,” Julianna whispers, “You're really nice. But I need the red key.”

   Julianna coldly pushes on Matt's chest. The boy floats backwards. His large hands are clinched around his throat. Julianna watches as the boy relaxes his thick arms into the dark water. Blood flows from the open wound in his neck.

   She reaches between her thighs and returns with a plastic zip lock bag. Julianna opens it and carefully places the blood-covered black earring inside.

  
Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

   “Hello?”, Martha answers, “Is everything alright?”

   “No, grams. It's horrible,” Julianna sobs, “He - he tried to rape me.”

   “Oh gawd,” Martha panics, “Where are you?!”

   Julianna sits on the back of the ambulance. She pulls the cover around her naked body. Her green eyes observe through their haze a police detective wearing latex gloves. The man expertly bags her torn and bloodied new dress. Julianna looks away with her latest tears running down both cheeks.

   Martha watches another officer snap photos of Julianna's Jimmy Choo shoes. They fell off as her granddaughter ran for her life – ran away to flee the rapist who would harm her.  

   “Ma'am,” Julianna vaguely hears an e.m.t. call for her attention, “I need you to follow this light.”

   Julianna watches the flashlight move left to right and then back again. But she stares blankly before her. The female e.m.t. has seen Julianna's zombie-like state before. It is all too common among trauma victims.

   “You say he pushed himself onto you inside of the car. And that's when you got out of the vehicle to attempt your escape,” a female county sheriff’s detective reconfirms the girl's recollection of events.

   Julianna nods one time. Her cloudy eyes, slowly, look down to her right hand where her middle finger's salon-style fingernail has been ripped off. The quick is spotted with dried blood. The female officer waves at someone who quickly walks over. She whispers something in their ear and they walk towards the Camaro. The person begins shining a flashlight around the open door's interior.

   The female detective shakes her head. The young woman in front of her is in bad shape. She may have escaped the actual physical part of the attack, but the emotional damage will remain with her for a lifetime. She may learn to cope. But beyond this, the victim never forgets. And in some cases, like this one, the victim must also deal with the taking of a human life.

   While it may be justifiable in everyone's eyes around her, this woman may never actually forgive herself for such an act. Many victims don't. They blame themselves for being in this kind of situation to begin with. It doesn't matter that it isn’t their fault. Most victims will argue that it is. But truth is, it's not. It's never their fault. No means no.

   “Next,” the female detective reads her notes, “The assailant ran up behind you and shoved you into a tree.”

   Julianna moves her head to the right. She stares at the tree where her face made hard contact – breaking her nose. She raises her shaky left hand and feels a cut in her left cheek. The water from her tears stings her left black eye. It is nearly shut completely closed from the swelling.

   “Take your time,” the detective tries to soothe, “I'm in no hurry. I know exactly how hard this is. I've been where you are right now.”

   Julianna forces her eyes away from the tree. She moves her stare towards the detective's blue eyes. The woman smiles back appreciative of her effort. Julianna nods to convey the woman's facts are indeed correct.

   “From there, he yanked your hair and threw you to the ground,” the detective continues, “You then kicked him in the stomach and he lost his breath.”

   “Yes,” Julianna speaks hoarsely.

   “We're almost finished,” the detective works to keep the victim calm. Julianna stares blankly.

   “You crawl away to where you lost your shoes,” the detective moves forward in the proposed time-line of events, “He recovers and grabs your ankle. When he pulled on you, you grabbed a rock and took a swing to get him off of you. You attempted to hit him in the head, but the rock went across his throat instead.”

   Julianna's lips tremble. She nods with muffled sounds of sobbing. She jerks when a set of hands touches her shoulders.

   “Does she really have to go through all of this?”, Martha chastises the officer, “You're only repeating what she's already told you.”

   “I'm sorry, Mrs. Dermott,” the detective explains, “But I have to do this. It's protocol; especially, when a death is involved. The prosecutor's office needs all of the information. If we don't do it now, she'll have to do it later.”

   “Are you okay?”, Martha gently tucks her granddaughter's bangs over her right ear. Julianna nods one time.

   “What do you mean by prosecutor?”, Martha's tone becomes defensive.

   “I know this is hard, Mrs. Dermott,” the detective explains, “But there
are
times when things aren't always as they appear. The DA's office may determine to bring up charges against her.”

   “What?!”, Martha exclaims. She quickly bridles her rage and calms herself.

   “Does she need a lawyer?”

   “That's your choice,” the officer answers, “But from my end, I can say I don't think there's going to be a problem. As long as her story matches what the crime scene investigators find, I'm going to rule this as justifiable homicide. But my report isn't the final word. It's an opinion. The prosecutor's office makes the final decision.”

   “This is ridiculous,” Martha says within her frustration, “It's as if that snake over there is the victim instead of my granddaughter.”

   “I am truly sorry about this,” the female detective responds, “But I have a job to do. And the quicker we can get through this, the faster it will be over.”

   Julianna turns her face and buries it into her grandmother's chest. She sobs loudly. The detective turns around.

   “No-no-no!”, the woman yells at two rookie officers pushing a gurney, “What are you two doing?!”

   The detective watches one of the men scramble to zip up the body bag. The detective turns back around and lets out a sigh of frustration. She hands Martha a business card.

   “If she says anything at all that you think is important,” the officer explains, “You can contact me directly. Please do.”

   Martha takes the card with an agreeing nod. She watches the detective turn and walk over to her scolded officers. The detective reconvenes her verbal beating against them, but she can't quite make out her words.

   “We need to take some x-rays and run some lab work,” the e.m.t. informs Martha.

   “Let's go, honey,” Martha whispers to her granddaughter. The two ladies climb into the back of the ambulance.

   “How is she?”, Frank quietly questions his wife as she exits their granddaughter's private examination room. Martha softly closes the door.

   “She's doing better,” Martha informs, “We just got back from getting her x-rays.”

   Frank closes the gap to his wife and places his large hands on Martha's hips.

   “And how is grandma doing?”

   Martha rests her head against Frank's chest. He pulls her closer and wraps his arms around her. His right hand palms the back right side of Martha's turned head. He softly kisses her red hair.

   “I'm better,” Martha's voice reflects her exhaustion, “Now that you're here.”

   “Everything's good on my end,” Frank speaks while caressing Martha's right cheek; “It's all been taken care of.”

   Martha leans back and looks into Frank's adoring eyes.

   “What would I ever do without you?”, Martha adores her husband through her words. Franks smiles and kisses her on the forehead.

   “I'm the lucky one in this marriage, Martha Dermott,” Frank sincerely gives his answer. The two stand in silence with their second embrace for a few moments before Frank decides to get the hard stuff out of the way. He gently pushes his wife back so he can look into her blue eyes.

   “She's the real deal, I guess,” Frank opens the floor for his undesirable discussion.

   “She is,” Martha answers.

   “I knew what I was getting into whenever I married you,” Frank reminds his wife before getting to the point of his conversation.

   “But she made quite a mess back there. You've got to teach her how to properly use the Network. Clean up works best when it's part of the plan. It can’t be used as a means to clean up some type of whim.”

   “Is there going to be any problem?”, Martha answers Frank with a concerning tone.

   “Not this time,” Frank gives the good news.

   Martha nods and pats her husband's chest with her left hand, “Okay. I'll talk to her. I didn't realize how fast things were moving. I wanted her to have some type of normalcy.”

   Frank takes his wife's hand from his chest. He brings it up to his lips with both of his hands. The man slowly kisses her hand.

   “She still can, grandma,” Frank reassures Martha, “But she must do it
with
the Network.”