CHAPTER 24
LOLA
Life had taught me many lessons, but the one I had mastered with perfection was the ability to compartmentalize. Taking memories, moments, and thoughts, and tucking them away behind closed doors. David was helping me open those doors to explore and accept the feelings that came with those memories, but I was still very adept at avoidance. Nevertheless, I couldn’t force away the anxiety currently filling my veins no matter what I did.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten . . . Usually rubbing little circles over the surface of my nails helped distract me. Groups of ten, each nail. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. That tactile sensation accompanied with the grouped numbers helped me relax. But today…it wasn’t helping. I felt ill, and the apprehension sent my stomach into a raging torrent of messy unease. We’d been on the road for three agonizingly long hours and were moments away from pulling into the drive of Rachel Dorson’s family home. Rachel and her family were expecting us, Dillon having organized the meeting. My stomach rolled, and I gently rubbed it, trying to settle the nervous tension.
“Mouse?”
Pulling my gaze away from the large, pristine houses that lined the street, I looked into Drew’s concerned eyes. They narrowed on me ever so slightly, and he dipped his head in a silent nod. He was telling me everything would be okay, and even if I began to fall apart, he would be there holding me together, just like he promised.
Drawing in a deep breath of air, I blew out some of the anxiety, repeating the breathing exercises until the butterflies in my stomach calmed a little. Drew turned back around to face the front of the Hummer after giving me another satisfied nod .
Both Gabbie and Drew were extra vigilant, watching the world around them, especially behind us. The reminder of the danger that still followed me should have made me more nervous, but I knew Drew and Gabbie would never let anything happen to me.
When we pulled into a long driveway that looped around a perfectly landscaped pine tree in the front yard, Gabbie finally brought Hank to a stop. The house reminded me of a dollhouse. It was two stories of seamless perfection, with elaborate trim in a soft cream and bright blue shutters on the windows. Three steps led up to a small porch and a bright blue door. The trimmed hedges that surrounded the house added a cottage feel to the unusual home that looked like it belonged in an English countryside rather than stuck in the middle of suburbia.
Gabbie pulled open my door and offered me an encouraging smile. I jumped down, because there really was no other way to exit Hank. Drew stepped around from the front end of the SUV, pulling a jacket over his tight t-shirt. I took comfort from the gun I noticed holstered at his side as he zipped up his jacket.
Giving me a nod, he held out his hand, and I took it without reservation. The strength and warmth from the simple action helped me find the courage to move forward. As we stepped up onto the porch, the front door swung open and a tall, lean man with grey hair filled the space.
“Mr. King?” he asked.
Drew nodded, holding out his hand to shake the tired looking stranger’s.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Dorson.”
“Joseph, please, call me Joseph.”
His eyes swung to Gabbie, and he shook her hand, too.
“Gabriella,” she politely introduced herself.
Then, his eyes swung to me, and the pain etched into them took my breath away. Clenching his eyes shut for a moment, he seemed to grapple with his composure before opening them again.
“Lola Crane,” he whispered. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”
I simply nodded, knowing that stringing a coherent sentence together would be futile.
“Please, come in.”
We followed Joseph into the large home, soft carpet under our feet muffling our entrance. The ceilings were high and gave the entrance an impressively opulent feel. A winding staircase with a high polished banister was directly in front of us, and a long hallway led to somewhere at the back of the home. Joseph stepped into a room on our left, and we followed him. Light spilled in through the windows, making the already bright room feel welcoming and summery. Plush cream carpet and light blue walls gave it a homey feel, and a large, blue three-piece leather sectional was spread before an enormous open fireplace.
Before I could take another step, my eyes found a small blonde girl, who couldn’t be more than nineteen, sitting in front of us, and who was quite obviously her mother close to her side, holding her hand much the same as Drew was holding mine. I could see the familiarity in the girl from the picture Sam had shown me, but instead of a smiling face and eyes filled with dreams and possibilities, the girl who sat before me now was broken, those dreams shattered, her smile gone. Dark pools rested beneath her eyes, evidence of sleepless nights, and her golden blonde hair hung tired and limp around her face. I knew that look. I saw it every time I looked in the mirror.
With a slight tug from Drew, I stepped forward.
“Mrs. Dorson, Miss. Dorson, this is Lola Crane.” Drew’s murmured greeting seemed so far away, like at the bottom of a deep, dark canyon.
I couldn’t drag my gaze away from Rachel, and my body acted on auto pilot. My weak knees found reprieve in the form of the chair behind me. Drew lowered himself to my side, his hand still holding mine so tight I felt it was the only thing keeping me anchored rather than slipping away so I could pretend this nightmare had never happened.
While Mr. Dorson offered refreshments, I found myself unable to tear my gaze away from Rachel’s lost one. From the neckline of her baggy shirt, I caught the edge of a faint, pale scar. She was just like me. Ben had hurt her like me; he’d carved her up and tried to destroy her soul. Her attack had come mere months after mine. I’d let that monster go free, and he had hurt someone else. Just. Like. Me. Tugging my hand free from Drew’s, I fell to my knees, moving closer to the startled girl.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears of pain and understanding pooling in my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I said again. Grabbing the neck of my own baggy shirt, I pulled it down and exposed my own scars. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded for her understanding, tears spilling down my face. “I should have stopped him.”
The guilt was so immense I thought it might drag me under and smother me. Her pain was mine, because I had done nothing to stop it.
Rachel’s own tears fell as she leaned forward and wrapped her frail arms around my neck. She cried tears of anguish that I understood only too well. When I’d been attacked in Claymont, my first and foremost need was to run. I’d run. I’d turned my back on my problems and buried my head deep in the sand. Because of my selfish need to flee, because of my fear, Ben had hurt this girl.
Rachel’s mother hugged her daughter from the side, her own tears falling as she tried to calm her. Behind me, Drew’s palm rested between my shoulder blades, trying valiantly to warm my ice-cold skin as his touch did the impossible and calmed my own deep well of pain. Finally, Rachel’s arms went slack, and I pulled away enough to place my hands on her wet cheeks.
“You need to get him out of here,” I tapped the side of her head gently. “He’s taken enough from you; don’t let him take your mind as well. You’re stronger than that, stronger than him.” The words weren’t thrown out with thoughtless haste; they came from somewhere deep inside me, perhaps buried under depression and denial. The shock of seeing Rachel and being able to look at my own horrors from the outside in gave me new perspective. These words were as much for me as they were for Rachel.
Rachel shook her head from side to side. “He broke me, and there are so many broken pieces, I’ll never be whole again,” she whispered so low I doubted anyone else could hear her.
My smile was brittle as more tears fell. “Even broken crayons still color. You’re still you. Your heart, your mind, your future, it all belongs to you.”
Rachel smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m going to stop him. Me, and that man and woman you see behind me, we’re going to stop him. He will never hurt another woman like this again.”
The mood following my and Rachel’s breakdown was somber and tense. Rachel and I talked privately about our ongoing battles with nightmares, panic attacks, anxiety, and depression. Rachel had been under the care of a psychologist but stopped going a month ago, her own feelings of inadequacy making her retreat within herself. She was struggling to cope and felt her inability to do so was her own fault. Sometimes counselors and their clients didn’t mesh; it was something I had experienced many years ago when I was trying to get my OCD under control. Rachel’s psychologist had even suggested referring her to someone else, and Rachel rejected the idea, unwilling and unable to go through months of failed therapy again. Talking about my own sessions and some of the methods David had taught me to cope lit a small spark in her eyes. Promising I would talk to David about finding her another psychologist she might be able to try in her area, Rachel seemed somewhat pacified, even the slump in her shoulders seemed to straighten a little. If I had learned anything during my therapy, it was that bottling it up inside was a recipe for disaster. All that fear and pain needed an outlet, even if it was someone to talk to from time to time.
Our visit lasted a little over two hours before Drew announced it was time to leave. It was agreed that, with the help of Montgomery’s lawyer, we would begin to build a case against Ben. Hopefully our combined stories, matching scars, and links to Ben would be enough to build a case. While Rachel and Ben had only been foster siblings for a few months before he’d been adopted by the Cranes, it had been enough time for Rachel to find Ben ‘odd,’ his outwardly affectionate nature overwhelming and suffocating. Rachel had only been eleven at the time, too young to understand the unwanted attention Ben gave her. Soon after Ben left, Rachel had gone into the care of another family, her currently parents, the Dorsons. She’d forgotten all about Ben and had left those few months of discomfort well behind her, not even recognizing him the day he had knocked on her apartment door. Although wary of his sudden reappearance in her life, Rachel had opened that door to him, and the following hours after that one mistake would haunt her for eternity.
As we said our goodbyes, I gave Rachel one last fierce hug, trying to pass some of my strength to her. It wasn’t until this moment that I truly felt strong, defiant even. Seeing proof of Ben’s destruction ignited something in me . . . a need for revenge, for me, for Rachel, and for all the others.
Drew helped me into the Hummer, and my gaze remained on Rachel until we had pulled back onto the street and I could no longer see her. I felt different, like the heavy cloak of darkness was lifting, but in its place was not peace. Oh no, not even close. I was awash with anger. Glancing down, I noticed my shaking hands, and I imagined them coated in blood, Ben’s blood. The thought left me reeling but not because of fear, but because the idea of Ben’s blood on my hands filled me with something akin to happiness. Perhaps such cold blooded thoughts made me a new kind of crazy, but I relished this feeling over the numbing fear and depression that had held me hostage for over a year now. Feeling my own pain was not the same as seeing some else’s. Even though our nightmares were the same, knowing Rachel was suffering meant more to me then my own pain. It brought to the surface a burning need for vengeance, and I knew that seeing Ben rot in a prison cell wouldn’t be enough. I couldn’t risk him getting off the charges. I needed to see him writhing on the ground in pain, coated in blood, his body carved much like he had done mine and Rachel’s. I need to see him humiliated and broken, and if that made me a monster, then so be it.