Authors: S Jackson Rivera
“Did it involve a bathtub?”
Paul lifted his gaze. His mind only grew foggier. “No. Some creepazoi . . . creep. A man slipped her Rohypnol. He tried to get her out of the bar when I happened along. It upset her pretty bad, for weeks . . . but she’s fine now.”
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Weaver has been taken to the hospital. They’re going to do a psychological evaluation.”
“I need to be there. I need to go, now!”
They glanced at each other again. Sergeant Ortiz nodded to one of the men who set a recording device on the table. “I think you need to listen to something, first.”
Ortiz nodded again and the other man pushed a button. Paul listened to the police interview his bride.
“Mrs. Weaver, will you tell us what happened after the hijackers ordered everyone to sleep?”
“Creepy—the big man, picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.” Rhees sounded shaken but no worse than would be expected. “It took me a second, but I knew what was going to happen. Paul, my husband, he knew too—I lifted my head to see him, worried about what Paul would do. I
knew
—I’ve always known. He would never sit back and let that man do that to me. He’d kill to protect me. He’s like that—
safe
. He’d stop at nothing to keep me safe.
“But for once . . . I didn’t care about me—about
that
. I didn’t want Paul to get hurt. It was all a bad dream . . .” Something about her tone changed. She continued her account, but in a child-like voice.
“He carried me into his house, into the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the bathtub. He put me down and told me I was a very dirty girl and said to take my clothes off so he could give me a bath. I said I didn’t want to and he got mad at me. He pulled my shirt off and pushed my pants down. He stared at my panties.
“He picked me up and hugged me—he put his tongue in my mouth. I started to throw up, but no throw up came out. He took his tongue out and sat down on the toilet and put me over his legs and pulled my panties off. My hands touched the toilet and the floor. I could see all the old yellow pee. I didn’t want to touch it, but he rubbed my bum and I didn’t know where else to put my hands.” She sniffed. “He said I was a dirty girl and he spanked me, really hard.
“He told me to stop crying or he would spank me again. He picked me up and said that dirty girls need a bath—the bathtub was all black and ugly and I didn’t want to take a bath in there. He threw me in. I hit my elbow on the tub and it hurt, but I didn’t cry because I didn’t want him to spank me again. The bathtub was so ugly. He took off his clothes and got in the tub with me. He stared at me again and told me to lick his private part.”
Paul closed his eyes when he heard Rhees whimper on the recording. She grew more and more distressed as she recounted what obviously had been a traumatic part of her past.
“I didn’t want to. He got mad again and pushed my head down in the water and put it in my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t breathe. He pulled me on his lap and put his tongue in my mouth again. I tried not to throw up. I wanted to cry but I didn’t want him to hear, so I was crying, inside.
“I said I wanted to go home, but he said I couldn’t go home because I was a dirty girl and my family didn’t want me anymore. It was because I disobeyed my mommy. I was supposed to take a nap, but I snuck outside to play. He pushed me on my back and got on top of me but my head was under the water and I couldn’t breathe again. I got water in my nose and I choked.
“He lifted me out of the bathtub and threw me on the floor. It was hard and cold . . . and dirty. He got on top of me again and he was pushing his private part on my private part . . . it hurt. I didn’t want to cry because I didn’t want him to spank me again, but I wanted him to stop hurting me. He kept pushing, and yelling at me to let him in. I didn’t know how. He stopped moving and laid on me—he was smashing me on the floor. I couldn’t breathe. There was white stuff on my tummy, coming out of his private part when he got off of me. He hit me, over and over, and yelled at me, and told me I did it wrong. He said I did it wrong because I was stupid.
“I wanted to go home, I shouldn’t have disobeyed. My mom told me to take a nap, but I wanted to play on the monkey bars—” Rhees’ sobs broke Paul’s heart, hearing it, finally knowing—he regretted ever wanting to know.
“He made me put my clothes back on and took me in the kitchen. It was stinky in there and there were lots of dishes, garbage everywhere, and the walls had food all over them. He got a sucker out of the cupboard. He opened it and put it in his mouth and then gave it to me. I didn’t want it but he yelled at me to taste it. He said I was a stupid, dirty girl, and it was all my fault, and if I told anybody about making the white stuff come out of him, I would get in a lot of trouble, because it’s wrong to make white stuff come out of him—but I did. Only dirty girls do that—I was a dirty girl. I said I would never tell anybody. I promised. I
never
want anyone to know what a bad girl I am.”
“That’s when things got crazy,” the other officer said as he turned the machine off. “Mrs. Weaver started screaming something about how she shouldn’t have said anything. She begged me to promise not to tell anyone, and then I think—I think that’s when it hit her she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She flew into a hysterical fit, yelling at me to get away from her. I was across the table from her. I don’t know why she thought I was trying to touch her. I called to Cardona for help. You pretty much know the rest.”
Paul couldn’t open his eyes. He trembled, his mouth twitched as he struggled to hold back the emotion. It took him a minute, but he finally choked out, “When can I see her?”
oOo
The hospital held Rhees for observation. The first day, Paul had attacked an intern who tried to keep him from pushing his way into Rhees’ room. Security escorted him out of the hospital and told him he wouldn’t be allowed back until Sergeant Ortiz assured them he could behave himself. Ortiz threatened to arrest him, but Paul didn’t want to wind up in jail and chance not being free when Rhees needed him. He promised Ortiz he’d stay at the hotel, under a self-imposed house arrest and Ortiz accepted the offer.
Seventy-two hours later, the doctor finally gave Paul permission to see her, and he’d raced to the hospital. Doctor Quiñones confessed they normally allowed family visits after only twenty-four hours, but because of Paul’s volatile state, he’d extended the waiting time for her sake, but mostly for the sake of his staff.
Paul walked slowly, nervously, into Rhees’ room, not knowing what to expect. She lay so still on the hospital bed, her back turned to him and she made no effort to acknowledge his presence.
“Is she asleep?” he asked the doctor.
“No. She hasn’t slept much since she’s been here. I’ll leave you two alone . . . but I’m going to tell the nurse to keep an eye on you.”
Paul came close to launching a verbal assault on the doctor, but he caught himself. He didn’t want to be banned from her again. “What do you think I’m going to do to her?”
Quiñones shrugged and walked out of the room.
“Hey.” Paul inched his way to the side of her bed. He reached to put his hand on her, to caress her arm, but decided against it, remembering how she’d screamed to not be touched. “I’ve missed you, Dani Girl.”
She didn’t respond.
“I would have come sooner, but they have this stupid policy against worried husbands . . . you know me. I’m sorry, Baby. I handled that poorly.” He pulled a chair to the side of her bed and sat down.
He wasn’t about to leave her side again. The last three days, being kept away from her, had been hell. He’d hardly eaten, he hadn’t slept. A couple of hours went by and still he watched her, wishing she’d acknowledge him, wishing she’d just
move
. Still afraid to touch her, he reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of her blanket, the only thing he could think of, looking for a way to connect. Eventually he fell asleep in the chair.
oOo
“Señor Weaver?” The nurse didn’t speak English and spoke to him in her own tongue. “Visiting hours are over. You must leave.”
He woke from an uncomfortable position and a bad dream.
“I’m not leaving,” he responded back in Spanish. “I’m not bothering anyone. I won’t hurt anyone, just let me stay. If you try to make me leave, all hell is going to break loose.” He glared at the short, older woman. She walked out, deciding she wouldn’t test him.
The next morning, Doctor Quiñones came into the room. Surprised to see Paul there, asleep in the chair again, he shook his head but didn’t say anything as he examined Rhees’ chart.
“Mrs. Weaver? Do you know where you are?” the doctor asked, waking Paul.
She nodded, a good sign, the first time she’d responded since Paul showed up.
“Do you know where you are, Mrs. Weaver?”
“Rhees, her name is Rhees,” Paul said. Quiñones scowled at Paul.
“Rhees? Can you tell me where you are?”
“I’m right here,” she answered feebly.
Paul exhaled his relief. He hadn’t heard her voice since she’d screamed at him to leave her alone.
Thank you, God. Thank you.
“Well, that’s the first time I’ve heard that.” Quiñones chuckled at her response. “Rhees, I’m sending you home today—”
“You’re sending her home because of me.” Paul shot to his feet in a panic, interrupting him. “Look at her! There is no way she’s ready to go home.”
The doctor took a step back and put his hands up. Paul realized he looked threatening again and took a breath before trying on a softer, apologetic demeanor. He was torn. Getting her out of that hospital had been a great concern, but the thought of them turning their back on her because of him.
“I promise. I won’t be any more trouble. Please, just give her the help she needs.”
“Mr. Weaver!” Quiñones boomed when he recovered, giving Paul a stern look. Paul locked eyes on him, matching his expression, until the doctor finally gave up and turned his attention back to Rhees. “Rhees, there’s nothing more we can do for you here. This is going to take time—you’re going to need time. I’m sending you home, but first I need to ask you some questions, all right?”
Paul barely perceived her nod.
“Does your husband hit you?”
“Aw, Jesus.” Paul cried out, agitated again, he cussed, “What kind of fu—question is—”
“Do I need to call security? I can send her home with you, or I can commit her to an independent care center with around-the-clock supervision. If you opt for the second choice, you won’t be allowed to see her again for another seventy-two hours or more.” Quiñones stared Paul down. “I’m willing to let you take her home, but based on what I’ve observed from you, I need to know I’m not sending her home to—”
“Got it!” Paul held his hands up in concession, yielding to the man. The thought of being separated again—he couldn’t bear it.
“Mrs. Weaver?”
“No,” Rhees said quietly.
“What was that?” the doctor asked.
“No. Paul’s never—he would
never
hit me.” Her voice never registered above a whisper.
“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t allow him to take you home today?”
She started trembling and Paul’s knees grew weak, imagining why. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand. He sat back down to catch his breath. Paul’s eyes rolled back before he closed them. His mind flooded with memories, all the times she’d cringed when he’d tried to kiss her, all the times she pushed him away or flinched when he’d touched her, Taylor’s surprise hug—he finally understood.
“She’s afraid to come home with me.”
“No,” she murmured, but Paul figured she just felt the need to be cooperative. Her sweet nature compelled her to be cooperative, even if she didn’t want to. She cleared her throat. “I’m not afraid. He’d never hit me.”
But she is worried I’ll touch her.
“I’ll tell the nurse to check you out, but you’re going to need help to get through this. I recommend therapy.”
“Anything. I’ll do anything for her,” Paul drilled out. “I’ll get her the best doctor there is—whatever it takes.”
The doctor handed Paul a piece of paper with names of doctors who specialized in Rhees’ form of trauma.
“Are there any in the States?”
Rhees actually turned to look at him with concern etched on her face, but Paul didn’t flinch from his question. Quiñones took the paper back and scribbled down another name.
“He’s presented at a few conferences I’ve attended. If he can’t help, he’ll be able to recommend someone,” Quiñones said and walked out of the room.
Chapter 7
“W
hat do you want to do?” Paul aimed to sound confident and happy as they stepped out of the hospital, but didn’t quite manage. He hadn’t felt so uncertain about what he should do for a very long time. The need to be in control nagged at him, but this situation continued to spiral out of his realm. In the light of Rhees’ recollection, her detachment the last few days, the way she’d screamed at him not to touch her. He was at a loss.
She shrugged, wearing her green surgical scrubs. The nurses had taken pity on her, not wanting to send her away wearing her ruined wedding dress—the one splattered with blood and brains. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and dropped her head as if trying to turn herself inside out, become invisible. He reached for her, wanting nothing more than to comfort her and let her know it was going to be all right. Once again, he changed his mind and withdrew his hand.
“I’ve been staying at a hotel. Do you want to go there?” He’d downgraded from the honeymoon suite, unable to face the thought of being there alone, and realizing they’d possibly never be in need of a honeymoon suite . . . for the rest of their lives, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was getting her through this.
She glanced at him, and he didn’t miss the concern in her eyes. He gaped for a second, not understanding how she could really believe he would expect her to consummate their marriage anytime in the near future.
“To rest . . . until we can figure all this out,” he hurried to assure her. She relaxed and nodded.
oOo
Paul unlocked the door and held it open for her. It led into a small foyer with two more doors and a console table between them. A vase full of fresh flowers sat on top. He unlocked the door on the left, which opened to a small room, a kitchenette, or more like a sophisticated wet bar with nice cupboards, a counter, sink, and a mini fridge.
Paul gave her a quick tour of the place. Straight ahead lay another smaller room with a dresser and a door with a frosted glass window.
“The dressing room.” He opened the door and the light automatically came on in the large walk-in closet. A few clothes, a pair of new slacks, and a golf shirt hung inside along with two white, terry cloth robes. Two pairs of slippers sat on the floor beneath the robes. Rhees gave him a once over, just now realizing he had on another pair of dress slacks and a golf shirt she’d never seen before. He must have noticed her confusion.
“I bought a few clothes from the hotel shop and tossed the ones I wore at the wed—” He looked grimly at her and reached down to tug on the scrubs she had on. She understood immediately. Of course, his clothes would have had blood all over them too. “We’re not going to see our luggage again.”
She nodded in understanding. Normally, she would have been upset about losing all her best clothes, but she had no ability to feel anymore. Having it all come out, the realization she could never run from it or hide it again, she had no defense mechanism left except the dull stupor she’d trapped herself in. Knowing Paul, the man she loved, now knew her deepest, darkest secret—she was so ashamed she couldn’t function.
He closed the door and led her into a large bathroom. The ten-foot-long vanity had two sinks and above them hung two gigantic mirrors with dark wooden frames. The maids, as usual, had turned on the hidden televisions in the mirrors, tuned to the local news channel.
A clear, glass wall separated the bathroom from the shower. An opening in the wall led into a large room, at least as large as the other half of the bathroom where the sinks were. The shower
room
had been done in earth-toned tile from floor to ceiling. Showerheads adorned the walls and ceiling overhead at differing heights and angles with knobs everywhere. She didn’t say anything, but she’d never imagined anything like that existed.
“I know. Over the top, isn’t it?” He smiled, hoping she’d return one. She didn’t. He led her out of the shower to continue the tour of the suite. “The toilet’s in here.” He pointed to a little room, without a door, across from the vanity.
“They have a thing against doors in the bathroom, apparently.” He frowned at the lack of privacy in the whole bathroom, but he tried to stay upbeat for her. “But you can order room service while you’re taking care of business.” He picked up the phone next to the toilet and chuckled. “Though, even I think that’s a little gross. Are there really people who can’t go ten minutes without talking on a phone?”
She nodded a slight acknowledgment, but didn’t return his cheerfulness. He led her back through the dressing room, through the mini bar-entry room, and into a spacious room to the left of the door. A long, white chaise lounge sat in the first corner on the right. An expensive looking, oversized business desk and chair were pushed against the wall at the end of the chaise, and sliding glass doors lined the opposite wall in the right corner of the room. The doors opened onto a balcony with an outdoor dining table and four chairs, overlooking the city.
“Quite a view, huh?” Paul raced over to draw the curtains open a little further.
A large flat-screened TV hung on the wall left of the sliding glass doors and over another dresser. A king-sized bed with a fluffy white comforter and too many pillows lay against the opposite wall on her left with a night table on each side.
“Not the best suite I’ve ever had.” Paul seemed desperate to make a connection, get her talking—break the ice. “The décor’s nice, but they put all their effort into the en-suite. The shower and dressing room are nice, but there’s no separate living area from the bedroom. I’d rather not watch TV on the bed. What if one person wants to sleep while the other person is watching? I guess one could sit on the toilet and watch TV on the mirrors in the bathroom.” He forced himself to chuckle.
She didn’t understand the dilemma. He so rarely watched TV, usually sports. She watched even less.
Her lack of response made him frown. “It’s all they had available when I downgraded from the honeymo—” He cut himself off.
Rhees didn’t acknowledge he’d said anything. She shuffled to the far side of the bed and climbed on, facing the wall . . . away from him. She curled up into a ball and didn’t move for the next few hours.
Paul sat on the end of the chaise, watching her, trying not to disturb her. At dinnertime, he finally broke the silence to ask if she wanted to eat. He could barely see the shake of her head and it sapped his already drained morale.
“Baby . . .
please
. You haven’t eaten all day. If I order food, will you at least try to eat?” She didn’t bother to shake her head again. He ordered room service and hoped the aroma of food would stir her appetite. It didn’t. He ate alone but barely touched his own food.
He slipped in a few squat thrusts, as many as his arm could take, and a long set of sit-ups before his shower. He’d used the hotel’s gym while he’d waited for the hospital to give him permission to return, but now, he couldn’t leave Rhees. He’d have to get by with whatever release he could fit in, to keep his sanity.
He did nothing the rest of the night except lay on the chaise and listen for her to cry. She never did, and for the first time ever, he wished she would. The depth of her numbness scared him. She’d normally cry. He wanted her to cry. He felt completely helpless and scared.
oOo
Morning light filtered through the window when Paul woke. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but it wasn’t long. He hadn’t been able to sleep for days, waiting for Rhees to do something—anything. The chaise had become a torture device after spending so much time on it, but he didn’t dare try to get near the bed except to make sure she had water on her bedside table.
He’d put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door to keep the maids away, listening for them through the door—what else did he have to do besides a few hundred sit-ups a day to ward off the need to scream or start punching holes in the walls? When the maids showed up at the room across the foyer every day, he’d peek out and ask for clean towels and fresh supplies.
Other than that, he tiptoed around the suite going stir-crazy while Rhees didn’t move from the bed, except to use the bathroom. It took some coaxing the first night to get her under the blankets, but he didn’t push her to take her clothes off, even though he knew she’d be more comfortable. He managed to get her to drink a few sips of water and take a bite of food every now and then, but he had to work up the courage each time he decided it was time to force the issue.
He scooted to the edge of the chaise and stared at her back for a while. He finally got up and crept around the bed to her side. He stood over her, watching in anguish as she ignored him, staring at the wall behind him, or at least in that direction. Her eyes remained glazed over with the same indifference he’d met since he’d brought her to the hotel. He kneeled down on the floor, facing her.
“Hey,” he whispered. He wanted to touch her, caress her, kiss her—just a kiss to comfort her—himself, but she still wouldn’t look at him. His eyes began to fill with tears and he sighed with grief before choking out, “I miss my best friend—my
everything
.”
She closed her eyes, he thought so she wouldn’t have to look at him. It was his undoing. He put his hand to his face, his index finger covered his eyes and he used his other fingers to muffle the sounds of his despair. He didn’t cry audibly, but his breathing grew forced and harsh as the tears, for once, fell unrestrained.
She reached for him. He didn’t need another hint to move on her. He didn’t think about whether she meant for him to do it or not, but he crawled closer, as close to the bed as he could get without climbing on top of her. He buried his face in the sheets, wanting more, but he didn’t dare push any further. She put one hand on his head and stroked his hair. He took her other hand and held it against his heart. They held each other like that for half an hour.
She finally rolled onto her back and slapped the bed at her side, his invitation to climb over her, onto the bed, next to her, and he didn’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. He lay on his side and rested his head on his left arm, but winced, cursing to himself for forgetting about his wounded shoulder, again. He adjusted his pillow before she remembered the gunshot and made a big deal over him. He watched her stare at the ceiling.
“I’m so ashamed.” Her voice rasped after not speaking for so long. “I’m so sorry.”
“Aw, Rhees, no.” He spoke slowly, just now realizing how she’d been seeing the incident, the reason she’d avoided his questions the few times he’d dared to ask.
“I’m surprised you’re still here. I’ll understand if you want a divorce, I—I—”
“Don’t. Where’s this coming from?”
She turned to look him in the eye. “How can you not, now that you know what I did? Now that you know I’m not the good person you thought I was. I’ve been lying to you all this time. Letting you believe—I tried to tell you I wasn’t, but you wouldn’t hear it and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you why I wasn’t.”
He moved to hold her in his arms, to reassure her, but the way her eyes widened with fear when he moved toward her made him pull back. He cursed himself and let out a few frustrated breaths. Of course, she didn’t want to be touched. They were back to that.
“It wasn’t your fault. You were victimized. You did nothing wrong, and I’m not going anywhere, ever.” He ached to hold her and let her know everything was going to be all right. “Rhees, you didn’t have to tell me. I knew.”
“You knew?” Again, the horrified look on her face made him panic and he rushed to explain.
“I didn’t know the details or how bad it actually was, but I knew
something
had to have happened. At first I thought your brother, the fights with your parents, the fact that he ran away. But then I wondered if your dad—but you speak so highly of him.”
“He would never—my dad was—you remind me of him. Quiet, but no pushover, strong, protective, smart, grumpy, and even scary sometimes.” She glanced over at Paul again. “But he never scared me, well, mostly. My mom used to tell me she wished she could manage him as well as I did. He intimidated a lot of people, but he would
never
hurt me.
“If he’d known my secret—” She wiped her eyes with both hands and shook her head as if imagining what her dad would think right now. “I wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye. He never knew, no one knew
until now
.” She drew in a labored breath.
“But now you know. You had every right to know—
before
you married me. I deceived you. I misrepresented myself, so I won’t hold you to a promise you made based on a lie.”
“
Aww
,
Baby
. . .” This was just like her. “I’m
so
sorry you’ve had to live with this horrendous memory, but you did
nothing wrong
! It’s not now, nor was it ever your fault. And it does not, in any way, change how I feel about you. I love you. I will
always
love you, no matter what.”
She scoffed, not believing him and it made him sigh.
“I feel a lot better now.” He ran his tongue across the inside of his cheek and then licked his lips. “—About what I did. I worried. I couldn’t decide if it was the right thing, that it might be too soon. I wondered if I should talk to you about it first.”
“What did you do?” she asked cautiously.
“I found a very good doctor. He happens to make house calls.” Paul grew quiet, watching and waiting for her reaction. She looked at him as if she didn’t understand, or maybe like she understood completely. She’d kept the incident a secret for so long he knew it had to be hard to suddenly be expected to discuss it openly.
“Dr. Daniel Keene will be here tomorrow.” Paul spoke slowly, giving her time to absorb the idea. “I called him from the handy bathroom phone. Never thought I’d use one of those before I was eighty. I thought they were for old people who have heart attacks in the bathroom or something.”
“Sounds expensive. How much is that going to cost?”
He couldn’t help the urge to chuckle, but he did manage to reel it in reasonably fast. The smile fighting to break was a little harder to subdue. He decided not to mention the fact he’d arranged to fly the doctor in from Texas and put him up in the same hotel so he could spend as much time with Rhees as she needed.
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll do whatever it takes, pay whatever it costs to get you feeling better.” The seriousness of her problem hit him once again, making him forget any humor he’d just felt about her penny-pinching tendencies.
“Save your money. I’ve said enough—more than enough. I don’t want to talk about what happened.”
“Rhees—” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“Especially not to some
witch doctor
who makes house calls.”
“I said he was very good—
nawt
a witch doctor. I tried, but you’d be surprised how hard it is to find one of those.” She didn’t even smile and Paul frowned. “The doctor at the hospital said you’d need therapy.”
“He said I needed time.” She put the back of her hand over her eyes. “And you argued with everything he said, why suddenly comply with the one thing I would’ve argued about?”