Chapter 19

 

Running

 

Melissa

 

 

“Tell us what happened, Miss Summers.”

I sat in an interview room of the Evanston police department. My mother, father, and Regina waited in another place as I answered questions about the night Bryce attacked me. The detective was serious when he said they would issue a subpoena for me to return to Evanston. I was served just days after his call and was required to be back the following week.

The article that was printed in the paper made the department and Detective March look incompetent, and they were none too happy. The release of my rape report made it appear that special favors were doled out and possible compensation paid to look the other way.

"Where did you meet Bryce?” Detective March had been badgering me for an hour.

The questions came fast but my answers were slow. It wasn’t that I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember, and I also didn’t want to involve Infidelity nor Peyton in this mess. They deserved to be, but what would it accomplish now? Nothing but more problems for me. I shook my head and repeated the same answer for the fifth time. “Bryce approached me and invited me upstairs at the club Final Stand.”

“Why are you claiming rape now when you said back in May that it wasn’t rape. I think your words were that it was a misunderstanding.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Rage poured through me. “I never said shit to you. I believe it was Peyton Harrison who informed you that my rape was a ‘misunderstanding.’” I used my fingers as quotation marks to prove my point. “No one asked me fucking shit! No one followed up with me! No one!” 

“Miss Summers, I came to your hospital room and tried to talk to you, if you remember.” His voice raised a notch, but it was the tone that gave away his mood—pissed. “You refused to talk.”

“I was in fucking shock.” Defeated. That’s how I felt. I played my words over on what I just said. Peyton Harrison… Fuck! Damn! I leaned back and took a deep breath. I just brought Peyton into this shit. Detective March tried to provoke me to make me slip up. I was just where he wanted me—in quicksand and sinking fast.

“Oh, yes. You mentioned Peyton Harrison.” He stopped and flipped papers over one at a time to delay until he found the one he wanted. “Let’s review what I know, shall we. In May, you were brought to the hospital beaten. Mr. Harrison claimed Bryce Spencer broke into his apartment and brutally raped you. Demanded we arrest him.” He leaned down and got right in my face. “Does that sound familiar?” He waited, and when I didn’t respond, he continued. “Based on those claims, my partner interviewed Mr. Spencer, and do you know what he said?”

“Stop, please stop,” I cried out. “He did rape me! I was too scared to come forward. I would have…” I realized what I was about to say and stopped.

“You would have… Would you like to finish that statement?” He paused and waited. “No? Then I’ll continue with my story. According to Mr. Spencer, you invited him up for dinner—in fact, he brought dinner for you, didn’t he?”

“I didn’t invite him. He just showed up!” Why did someone have to drag this shit up again? I just started to live again. I wanted to fucking kill my father and Regina for their help in getting justice for me.

“Miss Summers. He just happened to know you ordered takeout. Didn’t you call security and tell them you were expecting a visitor?”

“No! I told them I ordered takeout!”

“And Mr. Spencer just happened to show up with dinner after you informed security you would have a delivery? Convenient.” He fucking smirked. He wasn’t done and was about to go in for the kill.

“Stop! Stop!” Tears fell fast on my shirt.

“Mr. Spencer admits the two of you engaged in kinky but…” He extended the word but. “…consensual sex. He believes your invitation that night was a scam to extort money from him.”

The room was silent except for my crying. I tried to process all the things that the detective said, and it all came together. Bryce was right—they would never believe me.

“Would you like to know what my captain thinks?” he asked mockingly.

“No! It’s not true. You really think I wanted to be beaten and raped repeatedly?” It was now a screaming match for us.

March waited until the room fell quiet again and nodded his head toward the window. “My captain, he thinks you invited Mr. Spencer up and seduced him to play out your fantasy. When Mr. Spencer left, you had an accomplice help stage your rape claim in order to collect money.”

“I never asked for a fucking dime—I didn’t want anything from him. Not his fucking money and I sure as hell didn’t want him to shove his dick inside of me!” Anger took over, allowing me to find the voice I needed to project the injustice of his words. My words were loud and full of spite; I was positive the entire building heard me screaming at Detective March.

Bam.

The solid wood door slammed against the wall and chairs scattered as my mother rushed in to protect me.

“Leave her alone.” Warm arms wrapped around my back and pulled me into her embrace. My father and Regina stood a short distance from her. My mother’s protectiveness only fueled the detective's determination to pull me into the sinkhole he found himself in after the newspaper’s report.

Fuck. Why didn’t my father just let it go? Justice. The blank look on my face answered March’s question. His eyes sparkled, and he went in for the kill.

“Miss Summers, isn't it true that you actually have a financial agreement with Peyton Harrison?” He waited for my answer. “You were paid a large sum of money and in addition, he supplied you with a scholarship to Northwestern, a luxury apartment, and monthly deposits into your account…” He let his words drag. “… and in return you fulfilled his kinky sexual fantasies.” A loud gasp filled the room as he went on. He looked up and locked eyes with Regina. “Mrs. Harrison, are you married to Peyton Harrison?”

“What the fuck is he talking about, Melissa?” Regina’s high heels echoed off the floor.

I sank deeper into my mother's chest, hysterical. My mother released her arms and pulled my face to hers. “Peyton and you? Is what he is saying true?”

I tried to divert my eyes away. Unfortunately, they fell on my angry father. "You sold yourself like a common whore?"

March pushed on. “In others words, a prostitute for Mr. Harrison.”

Detective March knew what he was doing—divide and conquer.

All eyes locked on me and their look of pity when we arrived transformed into looks of disgust. I did what I had always done when upset: I ran. Pushing out of my mother’s arms, I scattered toward the only way out.

Regina’s hand came up and grabbed my upper arm before I could get out of the room. "You little whore. I treated you like my own. You slept with my husband!” She let go of my arm, brought hers up, and slapped me across the face.

My father and the detective stood by and watched. My mother pulled me away from her. She was still protecting me, but the hurt and sadness in her eyes destroyed me more than being called a whore.

The last thing I heard as I ran was Regina’s voice. “You are nothing more than a gold-digging whore!” Chairs slid across the concrete floor, and people pushed out of the way as I ran to the exit to escape the hell I had just endured. I refused to stop or look at anyone as I maneuvered through the police department. The doors were just yards away when I collided with a human brick wall, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

Peyton stood there in his expensive suit and glared at me. His eyes held me in place, too scared to move. There was nothing but hatred and anger pouring out of his eyes. “I warned you.”

‘I warned you’ is all he said before he stepped around me. I was no longer worthy of his time. That was all the encouragement I needed to run straight to the front doors and into obstacle number two. A man dressed in typical chauffeur attire stood next to a black limo parked right in front of the police station.

“Miss Summers, please get in the car. My employer would like to have a word with you in private.” His voice was direct, leaving no room for negotiations.

“No.” I wasn’t about to get into another fucking limo—that is what started this shit in the first place, delivering me to the Infidelity offices and sending me straight to my demise.

The driver approached. “Get in the car—this is not a choice. I suggest you don’t anger him any more than you already have.”

There was no way I planned on getting into that limo. It would be probably the last thing I did. I nodded and then took a step toward the limo. I needed him to believe I would get in; then I would run. Another step and the driver grabbed my upper arm and leaned down.

“Don’t,” he said and shoved me into the back of the limo, and the door slammed shut. My body landed partly on the seat and partly on the floorboard.

“Miss Summers, I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me. We have a lot to discuss.” The man who sat opposite of me leaned back, picked up a drink, and held his cigar to his mouth. “Drive, Peterson.”

“Sir, anyplace in particular?”

“Somewhere private.”

“Yes, sir.”

We surged forward, and the dark window behind my head rose before his belittling began. His speech was soft, but the voice was monotone and serious.

Cold, lifeless eyes watched me while I pulled myself up into the seat. He stared at me like I was the prey, and he was the hunter. My head would soon be mounted on his wall for all to see. A trophy for future opponents not to fuck with him. "Miss Summers, I’m Alton Fitzgerald.” He sipped the last of his drink and set it on the bar. “Listen closely.” He took a breath. “First, this…" He pointed to the two of us. "…meeting never transpired. Right now, I have five very influential businessmen and a senator in my office.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

He leaned forward, and I could smell whatever he had just drunk on his breath. “As I was saying, I am meeting with several high-power businessmen who will attest to the fact that I never left. Any attempt to report our time together and you will look like a bigger lying slut than you do now.” He stopped to take a puff from his cigar. “I’ll give you one guess who they will believe, and it’s not you.

“Now, let’s move on to the reason for this little conference.” Another drag as he leaned back and blew out the smoke in my direction. “I will try to dumb it down for you to understand.” He placed the cigar in a crystal ashtray. “My investigators discovered evidence that this isn’t the first instance of false allegation you’ve made in order to force wealthy men to give you a settlement.” He stopped to observe me. “Are you following, or do I need to dumb it down a little more?”  

"That's a—" The words stuck in my throat as large hands wrapped around my neck and kept my lungs from inflating with oxygen. His face turned red in anger, and in that moment, I realized he reminded me of Bryce.

"You are a dumb bitch. Now shut the fuck up and listen."

The tears I held at the police station leaked from my eyes. My life flashed before me, and the only thing I saw was all the wrong decisions I made over the last year. All the mistakes I made were because of my need to prove myself.

Alton continued his speech as if his hands weren’t wrapped around my neck, choking the life out of me. My hand frantically pulled at his as I gasped for air. Consciousness wavered, and he released me and shoved me back in the seat. Lightheaded and dizzy, I slouched against the leather seat as fresh air entered my body and refilled it with life.

“Miss Summers, you will recant your statement about Bryce, and in exchange, I will ensure that charges against you for filing a false police report won’t be pressed. Once Bryce has been formally cleared, the documents of all the other false rape charges will disappear.” He stopped to make sure he had my attention. “If you don’t recant your statement, all the documents, including your signed contract with Infidelity, will be released to the papers and prove that you are a gold-digging whore. He stopped and waited for me to agree. When I didn’t, he became more irritated and finished his threat. “Be assured, other men you’ve accused of rape have already confirmed that you liked it rough. I promise that no college, business, or man will ever look at you again.”

He picked up a crystal decanter and poured himself a drink and lowered the screen behind me. “Peterson, my meeting with Miss Summers is finished.”

The car stopped, and the back door opened. “Goodbye, Miss Summers, I really hope we don’t have to meet again.”