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Then
Landon!”
“Get off of me, Trigg. If the law won’t do anything, I’m going to. Don’t try to stop me.”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m not going to let you go over there by yourself, either. They know who you are. They’re going to lay you out before you reach the door.”
“I’m only looking for one person. I have my get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way key right here.” I pat the gun in my waist.
“I’m not going to try to stop you, but that ain’t the way to go.” He holds up a finger, backing into his room. He comes back out brandishing a special that would put Dirty Harry’s to shame.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
He smirks, rubbing it against his chest. “I know people.”
“Careful, before you blow a hole through your chest.”
“You don’t need to worry about me; I got this. I’m a dead-on shot. The most damage I ever did was a flesh wound. But I think today might be the day we rectify that.” He kisses the tip of the gun. “Two flesh wounds.”
“Trigg.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration mounting from stress and anger.
Nothing has been done since Lacey came out of the hospital. Nothing has changed. Everyone’s the same, except for us: the people who love her, who see her every day, suffering, flinching at the slightest movement. When I look in her face and she looks at me, I see fear. Fear like I have never seen before. She can’t even look at herself. Every single mirror in the house has been covered.
When I saw her the night of the attack, she was frail, shaking. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lip twice the size, burst open, half of her face swollen black, blue, and purple, the same shade as the ring around her neck, her wrist, and arms.
They gave her pain meds and tried to sedate her when she saw me. She clung to my hand like a lifeline, big fat tears running down her swollen face, highlighting the damage done to her. I could scarcely bear to look at her without collapsing in tears. I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t not look at her, not give her my full attention. I wanted her to know I was there with her, and I wasn’t going to leave her side.
She refused treatment for hours. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her but me, her mother, and Shay. The doctors needed to do the rape kit; she needed it if there was a chance to get the sick fuck who did this. To take this to court and win, they needed evidence, especially since she was too scared to give a name or description to the police.
Because she had a connection to me that seemed stronger than the others, they asked me to convince her to at least do the rape kit. I rocked her and held her in my arms, stroking her hair. With the counselor in the room, I asked her, with tears in my eyes, if she could please let them do this for her, to help her. It was imperative she did the test within seventy-two hours to save any DNA evidence. She finally agreed three days later, after speaking with the nurse who would do the kit, but only if I could stay by her side.
I did. I witnessed each and every tear squeezed from her eyes, eyes that were sealed shut while she lay on the table, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I heard every whimper of pain, letting her bury her face in my shoulder. I felt her body jerking at the poking and prodding. Saw the humiliation on her face, the shame of opening herself up in this way, not by choice, but by force and fear. As if this body wasn’t hers. In a way, she was being assaulted all over again.
The sheet slips back on her leg. Pure rage fills me. Her thighs are covered in nasty bruises. Holding her hand tighter, I almost choke on the fury bubbling up inside me. I’m going to kill the bastard is all I could think.
The results of the kit came back, but it wasn’t good. Inconclusive. There wasn’t enough evidence to do a search in the database. The feeling was that she knew her attacker but was too afraid to identify him. Until she started throwing up. That changed everything again.
She was pregnant, but she refused to tell her lawyer.
There was a chance it was mine. There was the chance it wasn’t. The rage that never left me was amplified. It was a coat of skin that, try as I might, I couldn’t shed, especially after finding out who it was. She finally broke down and told us, still refusing to report the pregnancy. It was the asshole from the bar. It was up to me to protect her, and I didn’t. The law didn’t, either.
He was brought in for questioning, and we thought finally justice was going to be served. We were wrong. He was questioned, but lawyered up. It was like he had an army of fucking lawyers. He admitted to seeing her at the party and touching her during a conversation before they left. Then he lied and said he had a few drinks with her, which she denied, but unfortunately in her report, she did admit to having a couple of shots.
According to him, he stayed at the party the rest of the night with his friends. He even admitted to having sex with another girl around the time of the attack, and they confirmed his story. In the end, it was determined charges weren’t going to be filed. Due to lack of evidence and witness corroboration, the DA was afraid there wasn’t enough evidence to win the case. He didn’t go on trial, but the fucked up thing is, she did.
The story was all over the school. Somehow her identity was, too, but we all know how that happened. The story was retold as the clean-cut kid from a well-to-do family, liked by everyone, 4.0 GPA, college junior, being falsely accused of rape. She was the college freshman with a crush on the popular guy, who wanted to be a part of that college life, but after being turned down and rejected by him got angry and vindictive.
Justice was only served if you had money and knew the right people. We were out of luck; he wasn’t. I was going to make some luck for us and give her the justice she needed before letting her go.
“Trigg, this is my fight. It all goes wrong, and you could go to jail. I don’t want that on my head, too.”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m going. You’re not the only one who cares about her. This should have never happened. Just because he has money, and his family and friends look right, he gets off scot-free. You do your thing. I got your back, always. I’ll hold those entitled frat-boy fucks off while you take care of business.”
It was easy enough to get into that frat house. Trigg had two girls he knew that let us in through the back. Good-looking girls are always welcomed through the door. All they had to do was show up. It was a non-stop party house, no matter that one of their own was accused of rape.
With the girls’ directions, the room he was in was no problem to find. I came to a stop at the door, Trigg on one side, me on the other. I knocked on the door, but no answer. I knock again and a voice yelled, “Go away! I’m busy!” Then I hear another voice laugh and giggling. That fucker! I knock again, this time louder, and hear a muffled curse. Trigg and I look at each other. He puts his hand behind him, ready.
I don’t give him a chance. As soon as he opens the door, my hand pulls back and smashes into his face, snapping his head back. A half-naked girl backs up on the bed, covering her breasts, frozen in fear as blood rushes out his nose. He curses, wiping it away, stunned. “What the fuck!” He looks at me and snarls. “You’re going to be sorry you did that.”
