Chapter 16

Sharon hoisted the large box from the floor and set it on the long table beside her. She opened the lid flaps and started pulling out handfuls of clothes, setting them beside the box to sort.

"Mrs. Garner?"

Sharon looked up and smiled at one of their young volunteers, who was holding a large trash bag stuffed with clothes.

"What do you have there, Nicholas?"

"Um, I think it's all baby stuff."

"They go over there," she said, pointing across the large auditorium. "Just ask Mrs. Donathon what you should do with it."

The small young man scuttled away, his hold on the huge bag precarious at best.

"Kids' books, Mom."

She turned to see Ben coming up to her, a hug box resting on his shoulder. The tight t-shirt he wore stretched over his large shoulders and thick arms. It was quite a contrast to the rail-thin Nicholas. She blushed that her first thought she had on seeing her son was about his physique.

"Oh, um, that looks heavy, Benjamin. Do you need help with it?"

"Nah, piece of cake, assuming I don't have to hold it for too long."

"Yes, of course. Um, on the stage." He moved past her. "Be careful, Son."

He gave her a small wave with his free hand, but didn't stop walking. She smiled and turned back to her task of sorting this box of clothes. She was at it for about 10 minutes, stopping only to direct volunteers on where to take this or that item for the church service project. Every spring, they collected clothes and other things for the less fortunate, then for two Saturdays, they opened up the church auditorium for folks to come in and get what they needed, free of charge. This was the fifth year, and the amount of donations and volunteers had grown each year, now drawing from surrounding counties.

"I see you are the floor general here," a pleasant voice sounded behind her.

She turned and looked at the man standing there, a large box in his arms. She furrowed her brow; he was familiar, but wasn't a parishioner at their church. He smiled warmly as he set his box on the ground and held out his hand.

"Phil Goodwyn, professor at the University, friend of Jack Williams," he said. "We met at his graduation."

She had been taken aback at hearing her son-in-law's name, given that it wasn't mentioned at all in her home, by directive of her husband. But she recovered quickly and took his offered hand.

"Yes, of course, Dr. Goodwyn. I remember you. What brings you out this evening?"

"Please, call me Phil." He patted the top of his box. "I collected old jackets and coats from my students and other faculty for your noble cause. I have another two boxes in the car."

She smiled. "Why, thank you, Phil. That was so generous of you and your students."

"I'm just grateful I could do something to help."

"Oh, Ben," Sharon called, as her son passed by. As he came over, Sharon turned back to Phil. "Phil, this is my youngest son, Benjamin. Ben, this is Dr. Goodwyn, a friend of ... uh, of Jack's."

"I remember you, Dr. Goodwyn. It's nice to see you again."

"Thank you, Son. It's nice to see you, as well."

"Ben, will you take this box over to Mrs. McMillan, then help Dr. Goodwyn with his other boxes?"

"Sure thing," Ben answered, as he hefted the box into his arms.

Phil patted Ben on the back. "Thanks for helping out an old man. The other boxes are in the back seat of that blue Camry parked right in front."

Sharon and Phil watched Ben's retreating back.

"Fine young man you have raised, Sharon," the gray-haired man said. "Jack has always spoken very highly of him."

Sharon felt a surge of gratitude for her wonderful son. "Yes, yes he is."

"Actually, I'm impressed with all of your children, at least the ones I've met. Abigail and Allison are remarkable young women. You must be really proud of them."

Sharon tensed, but tried to keep her smile on her face. "Well, um, they are..."

"I was particularly impressed with Allison's success on the soccer field. New home, new school, new teammates, and to have received those honors, all while keeping her grades near the top of her class."

Sharon was lost. She wanted to keep up the charade, play the game like her husband. Yes, of course, Phil, we are so very proud of her and all that's she's accomplished. But those were lies. She didn't have a clue what Allison had accomplished on the field, given the fact that she hadn't talked to either girl in nearly a year. Early on, Ben had given her updates, but she had made him stop, her despair and guilt at their absence and her fear of her husband's reaction too much for her to bear.

"And Abigail's success at getting her grant was a huge boon for her and the Hospital."

Sharon wanted to cry, but she bit back her tears. What had Allison accomplished? Abigail's grant? She didn't have a clue. A mixture of sorrow, embarrassment, and frustration welled inside her. She forced herself to look into Phil's face. He was watching her intently, and that made it worse.

"I'm sure you heard of Jack's classroom success, both as a student AND a teacher. If he does well, he's guaranteed a good job—"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Goodwyn," Sharon interrupted. "I, uh, truthfully haven't kept up much with how things are going for Jack and the girls."

Phil raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I ... I'm sorry, Sharon. I just assumed ... I mean being the wonderful woman and interested mother you are ... I assumed you were aware of everything going on in their lives."

"Yes, well, our separation was ... not as amiable as I would have liked."

Phil watched her for a few moments. "Did your husband set boundaries on your interactions with them?"

Sharon's defenses immediately came up. "I don't think—"

"I mean, I guess I can understand his logic. I'm sure he felt he was severely wronged by them."

Sharon fidgeted with the piece of clothing in her hands. She couldn't remember picking it up, but she must have in her nervousness. "I ... I really should be getting back—"

"Allison was named all-State and has been chosen as team captain next year. She's received scores of letters from interested colleges, including some big schools—Washington, USC, and Penn State, to name a few."

Sharon felt the tears come, burning hot in her eyes. She blinked them back and took a deep breath.

"She ... she always was a natural," she said quietly, as much to herself as to Phil. "Watching her on the field was like watching a ... a master work her craft."

Phil nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Abigail secured a grant to purchase and renovate a large home near the hospital to be used as a facility for families of patients who can't afford to stay in hotels, similar in concept to the Ronald McDonald Houses you see around. The positive press that venture has drummed up has earned her some recognition in the industry."

This time, the tears wouldn't be held back. "Her compassion has always been her greatest gift. And what of Jack?"

"He's a 4.0 student, and his evaluations from his students have been impeccable. I'm hearing he's a top candidate for a coveted internship."

Sharon smiled. She felt such a flood of love and longing, she didn't know what to say. Phil took her arm gently.

"Call them, Sharon. I'm sure they miss you as much as you miss them."

Sharon couldn't look him in the eyes, shame washing away her good feelings. "I can't," she whispered.

"Surely you don't believe your husband's actions are right."

"Dr. Goodwyn, I—"

"Makes me wonder what other actions of his are questionable," Phil muttered, under his breath.

Sharon bristled, her defenses again flying up. "I think you've gone too far, Dr. Goodwyn. I don't appreciate your implications, and if you hadn't just brought me such ... pleasant news of my children, I would be horribly offended."

"My apologies," Phil said, "I've spent so many years of my life trying to right wrongs and look out for the meek of the earth, that I sometimes see conspiracies where there are none. I didn't mean to imply that your husband was less than upstanding. His spotless track record speaks for itself."

Sharon looked at Phil with furrowed brow. "That's ... that's alright, Dr. Goodwyn."

"Phil, please," he said.

"Phil, yes," she glanced around the room, surprised that no one had interrupted their conversation.

A whirlwind of activities carried on around them. Ben was a short distance away, slowly pulling items from a box, but looking over at them with a frown. She gave him a small smile to try to reassure him. He shot a glare at Phil. She turned back to the man. This whole conversation had made her very uncomfortable, the storm of emotions that it invoked was exhausting. She got the feeling that Phil had an agenda for this conversation beyond bringing donations.

Phil must have seen something in her eyes, because his expression became serious. "Your husband has a spotless public track record, but I wonder if that really is a good measurement. Do you know what kind of man your husband really is, Sharon?"

Now Sharon was angry, but before she could speak he shoved a folded piece of paper into her hand.

"I often receive updates from Jack," he said, the seriousness still there, his earlier jocularity long gone. "If you are ever interested in hearing more, or just to talk, feel free to call me."

Sharon caught the hidden meaning in his words, but was still on the defensive. "Goodbye, Dr. Goodwyn."

Phil smiled. "Goodbye, Sharon." He turned to leave, but then stopped himself. "Oh, I almost forgot the news I just heard today. Exciting news about Josh, isn't it?"

Sharon's brow furrowed again. "Josh?"

Phil again looked surprised. "Um, yes, Josh. He took his first steps this past week."

Sharon wondered if her expression looked as dumbfounded as she felt. "I'm sorry?" she asked, in her confusion. "Who is Josh?"

"Why, Sharon, I really am surprised you don't know." Phil smiled and his eyes danced. "Josh is Analise's little boy. He's your grandson." He nodded at Sharon. "Good day, Mrs. Garner."

And then he was gone. Sharon was speechless. She was a grandmother? Without thinking about it, she stuffed the paper in her pocket.

"Mom?"

She jumped. "Oh, Ben! You startled me."

"Everything all right?"

"Um, yes, fine, fine." She tried to smile at her son. "We should get back to work, shouldn't we?"

She looked one last time at the departing Dr. Goodwyn, then went back to work, unable to shake the growing uneasiness.

Merrigan's butt cheek was numb from sitting in the same position for so long, but she barely noticed it. Her eyes were glued to the screen in front of her as she finished reading the three articles from the Post-Tribune about Isabel Ramirez. Finding that the local weekly paper had put their archives online excited Merrigan, and she got caught up in searching for anything of interest during the last ten years.

It took her a bit to find the first reference to the incident, a three line entry in the "Courthouse gossip" section of the paper that mentioned Isabel's attackers by name: Corey Stephens and Eric Reader. She knew the victim of that attack was Isabel, because three days later, the newspaper reported that the Ramirez family had publicly named the two young men as their daughter's attackers in conjunction with a lawsuit against the police department for refusing to look into the situation. The next article, a couple of weeks later, gave more details regarding the alleged crime. A follow-up article the following week was decidedly anti-Isabel, painting her as an out-of-control eighth-grader who was already in trouble with the law for drugs, alcohol, and some lascivious behavior. That was the last article to mention Isabel. Merrigan thought it curious that the issue would just die out that quickly. She didn't know the timing, but she would bet anyone that the Ramirez family moved away shortly after that last article.

Merrigan spent the next 20 minutes scanning the next year's worth of newspapers. She was grateful that the small town paper had its archives online, but cursed the fact that they had no search function. It was getting late and Merrigan knew Mrs. Fox, the school librarian, would likely want to close up shop soon. She had agreed to allow Merrigan some extra time to do her research because Mrs. Fox was in the middle of the inventory and would be there until around five anyway. Five o'clock was fast approaching.

Just when Merrigan was ready to give up, an article buried deep in the "Community" section of the paper caught her eye. It looked to be a wire service article on the increase in sexual promiscuity among today's teens. A sidebar article appeared to be written by the local writer. That article wondered if that increase also led to more aggressive behavior by sexual predators and listed a small rise in sexual assault reports and related arrests during the previous few months. Merrigan sat up straighter. She had quit scanning the courthouse news for entries, but maybe she hadn't looked hard enough to see if any articles were written. She glanced at the staff writer's name. Thad Updike. He must have been a new writer. His name was unique enough that Merrigan was sure she would have remembered had she seen it before in her research.

Instead of going back to see what she missed, she went forward, searching for articles by Updike. The quantity of his articles gradually increased over the next two months, but there was nothing related to what she was looking for until the annual "Back-to-School" issue of the paper. This issue contained a pull out section on dates, policy changes, and other things to prepare the masses for the new year. However, on page 2 of the paper, Thad Updike struck again.

This time the article mentioned rumors of teens engaging in "Sex for points". It cited examples of other cities where "Urban legends of a similar nature" existed, and presented quotes from sources in those locations that were adamant that the stories were true. Merrigan was shocked that an article based on rumor would be put forth as news and not as an opinion or an editorial.

Two weeks later, in the same location, another article reported that arrests related to sexual crime were up considerably over the previous year. Updike also claimed that a source at the regional medical center in town stated that the hospital had treated an increased number of teenage girls with injuries that appeared to be related to aggressive sexual activity. Updike drew attention to the huge disparity between the number of girls treated in these instances and the number of arrests that were made. Updike ended the article speculating as to how many girls were being assaulted but choosing not to report it, or worse, that the police were dismissing the allegations without filing the reports. Again, Merrigan was surprised that the writer got away with voicing such opinions in a news article.

Sure enough, Updike virtually disappeared from the pages of the paper.

Actually, the paper announced a new managing editor the next week, and for three weeks Updike was relegated to reporting on a local educator's retirement dinner and the city council passing a new ordinance related to mobile homes within the city limits. Four weeks after the speculative article on sexual crime, the paper announced its purchase by another entity, and Thad Updike's name was never seen in the bylines of the paper again.

To a casual observer, the changes at the newspaper could be chalked up to mismanagement. The editor was gone for allowing opinions to be masqueraded as news. Updike was gone for possibly violating codes of conduct. To Merrigan, Updike was fired because he got too close to the truth, and now she desperately wanted to talk to the man.

A loud sound startled Merrigan out of her focus. She looked up as Mrs. Fox stood at her desk gathering her things. The older woman smiled at Merrigan.

"I'm done for the night, Sweetie. I'll be here late every afternoon through the end next week if you need more time."

Merrigan really wanted to try to locate Updike, but she would have to wait until she got home. She shut down the computer and gathered her things, thanking Mrs. Fox for her accommodation, then headed to her locker to grab the books she needed for homework. She cringed as the loud clank and bang of her metal locker echoed throughout the empty hallway. It was weird seeing the school so empty. Sure, various athletic teams were on the grounds somewhere, practicing or lifting weights. Yet, for a moment, it seemed as though she was the only soul around. She closed her eyes and reveled in the tranquility.

With her books in hand and a clear objective in her mind, she headed down the back hallway to the student parking lot. She wondered if she could find Thad Updike online. She couldn't wait to get home to start her search, nor could she wait to see Brianna that evening to tell her what she found. Well, she couldn't wait to see Brianna for several reasons. Her cheeks warmed at the pleasant thought, and she started walking faster. As she made her way to her car, she rummaged through her bag for her car keys, and like usual, she couldn't find them just by touch. She pulled her bag up closer to her face and looked down inside as she shoved things this way and that. Just as her fingers brushed the key chain, she collided into something. Her bag dropped to the floor and with a yelp, she staggered back.

"Oh!" she cried, as she pushed her long red locks behind her ear. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't ... uh..."

Her heart sank when she saw Tyson Merrill grinning down at her, his arms folded in front of him.

"Why you in such a hurry, Merrigan?" he asked, his tone friendly. Merrigan knew otherwise, however, and she took a step back. A sound behind her caused her to turn her head. Leaning against the lockers a short distance down the hall was Adam Carter, all 300 plus pounds and six and half feet of him. His expression was anything BUT friendly. He slowly began to move towards Merrigan. Merrigan almost panicked. She turned back to Tyson and tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

"I ... I need to get outside. M-My parents are waiting for me. We have to g-go somewhere."

Tyson's expression didn't change. "I just came from outside. No one's waiting for you, except your own, empty car. I'm sure your car won't mind waiting a bit longer while we ... talk." He reached down, picked up her bag and offered it to her. "As a show of good faith..."

Merrigan looked at the offered bag. She almost recoiled from his reach, and when she felt Adam's presence behind her, her throat closed up, making breathing almost impossible. She fought to keep her panic at bay, and suddenly had a lucid thought. With shaking hands, she reached for the bag.

"You don't need to be so nervous," Tyson said. He held onto the bag as she tried to take it. "You're acting like a virgin on ... wait a minute. Damn, I almost forgot. You AREN'T a virgin anymore, courtesy of yours truly."

Merrigan whimpered. With a smirk, he let go of her bag. She stuffed her hand immediately into the small side pocket and quickly latched onto the desired object. She said a silent prayer of gratitude that she kept Brianna's little tape recorder in that pocket and not in the big pocket, where her keys--including the small can of pepper spray that was attached--were lost in the abyss.

Tyson saw her hand and his face went hard. "Get your hand out of the fucking bag, Merrigan."

She pressed what she hoped was the record button and pulled her hand out. He looked like he wanted to take the bag back, but instead he let his eyes slowly scan up and down her body. His expression remained hard, even as he mouth curled into a smile. This smile caused Merrigan to take another step back, but she bumped into Adam and half turned so she could see them both.

"What do you want?" she asked.

When Tyson's eyes finally made it back up to hers, she gasped. They were filled with such venom that she stepped to the side, backing into the lockers, wishing she could melt through the door. Tyson and Adam closed the distance and effectively had her trapped.

"Guess who came to visit me after school today, Merrigan?" he asked, but he didn't give Merrigan a chance to answer. Not that she could in her state of fear. "Bobby Jensen. Do you know what he wanted to talk about? He wanted to talk about his slut ex-girlfriend." He chuckled. "She's such a fuck up. Fucked up on the soccer field and never could take Allison's starting spot. Fucked up her relationship with Bobby. Fucked up her birth control. Heh, even fucked up her suicide."

Merrigan suddenly felt a burst of anger pierce her fear. She tightened her hand on her backpack strap and let it fall so it dangled down beside her.

"Anyway, Bobby seemed to have a lot to say, so me and him and Adam, we talked for a bit." Tyson leaned forward and put one hand on the locker beside her head. Merrigan's eyes opened wide when she noticed his roughed up knuckles. "I think Bobby's seeing things our way now."

Adam laughed, interjecting into the conversation for the first time. "I'm not so sure he's seeing much of anything right now."

Tyson leaned in close to Merrigan, his breath hot on her face. "You tell your little bitch friend, Brianna, I'm fucking tired of it. She better back off or she'll get worse than Bobby."

Merrigan could feel the tears on her face. She wasn't sure when she started crying, but it did little to erase the anger that was bubbling inside her.

"Worse than Bobby?" she croaked. "What, like me?"

"Whatever." He sneered in her face. "You wanted it, Bitch. You're a slut just like the rest of them. Melissa, too. Hell, even that little one--"

"Chrissy," Adam said.

"Chrissy. Damn, that hot little tramp was begging for it all night. After she pulled the trifecta, she wanted more. Nobody wanted to put it in any of her sloppy holes, though."

"You're sick," Merrigan hissed, fighting the nausea his words caused.

"You're just jealous you weren't smart enough to pull a train like Chrissy. You always were a dumb cunt."

"What'd you give her, Tyson? Roofies, GHB..."

"You know what? I don't think you heard me right when I said for you cunts to leave my shit alone. Why don't I give you one more reminder to take back to Brianna?"

Suddenly his lips mashed into hers, pushing her head hard back into the locker. A cry caught in her throat as he forced his tongue into her mouth. She pushed at him, to no avail, so she tried to knee him in the crotch. Unfortunately, he was enough off to the side that it bounced off his thigh instead.

He pulled back with a laugh. "You think I've gotten what I have without knowing how to protect myself?"

"So are you going to rape me again?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Been there, done that, wouldn't want to do it again. Adam on the other hand..." He looked around. "I think we can get more comfortable in a classroom, don't you?"

When Adam's massive hands grabbed her, she finally let out a shriek.

"HELP! HEL--mmph..."

Adam wrapped her up and quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. She fought and clawed and struggled, but her fear was almost disabling. Tears poured down her cheeks as Adam walked/carried her after Tyson. She could see Tyson lean into a darkened classroom a little way down the hall.

"This one has a nice, big desk for you, Carter. Should be able to hold you and the bitch up, even as rough as you are."

A flash of memories crossed Merrigan's mind. Struggling with Tyson the night he raped her, the blow to the stomach, the painful violation. Adrenaline surged through her, and she quit fighting Adam. He lowered her a bit, which allowed her to get her feet on the floor again, and then with all her might she stomped down with the chunky heel of her shoe, grinding it hard on his foot.

"Oh, FUCK!" Adam grunted. He grip loosened enough, and she pulled away and spun around, whipping her heavy backpack at the side of his head. It hit hard, sending him careening with a cry into the lockers. She didn't even hesitate, but tore off running down the hall, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"HELP! HELP ME! HELP!"

Her screams and the blood in her ears masked any sounds behind her, so she had no idea where her attackers were. She fled in a panic, hoping that someone else could hear her. Up one corridor, around a corner, down another.

"SOMEBODY, PLEASE! HELP ME!'

"Fucking bitch!"

Tyson's voice was right behind her, too close. She let out another cry and willed her legs to go faster. She rounded another corner just as she felt his hand grab her hair. Her head jerked back and she wailed in pain. Her momentum was slowed, but she didn't stop immediately.

"LET HER GO!"

She slammed into a man and began to fall. He grabbed her and held on, pulling her behind him. Suddenly, all that could be heard was the panting of breaths, her crying and the beat of her heart pounding in her ears.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" said a deep, lightly-accented voice.

She looked up and felt awash with relief. The school janitor, the Mexican, held her and stood between her and Tyson. Adam was nowhere to be seen. She cried harder as the relief filled her.

"Who are you?" he asked Tyson.

Tyson began to back away, shooting daggers at Merrigan. He looked up at the janitor with disgust.

"Fuck you, you God damned spic."

With that, he turned quickly and disappeared around the corner. Merrigan felt all her strength leave her and she started to collapse.

"Hey, hey, you're OK now," her savior soothed, as he helped her to a seat against the wall. "He's gone."

"He was going to do it again," Merrigan whimpered. "Oh, God ... oh, God ... oh, God..."

"What? What was he going to do?"

Merrigan's eyes opened wide. She started to get up. "I have tape. I need to get to Brianna's house."

"Wo, hold up, Merrigan," the man said.

Merrigan froze. "You know my name?"

He smiled. "Allison asked me to keep an eye on you and Brianna. I'm Gimel."

"Oh, you're the one who helped her before."

This information was surprisingly reassuring to Merrigan. Brianna had explained all the details that led up to Allison's move. She knew one of the janitors had been involved and had helped Allison get free of her father, but she hadn't known which one.

"Yep, though I have to admit it was just luck that you ran into me. It's not like I actively keep tabs on you two. I'm just roaming the halls, doing my job." He gave her an appraising look. "Are you OK?"

Merrigan took a deep breath. "Yeah, I am now. Thank you."

"I can get you into the office so you can call the police, if you want."

Merrigan shook her head. "I can't, not yet. I will, though. Soon." She reached into her bag, pulled out the tape recorder and breathed relief that the record light was on. She turned it off. "I got just what I needed."

Brianna was on the porch hugging Merrigan as soon as the redhead mounted the steps. She'd been beside herself with worry after she got the call from Merrigan's cell phone a few minutes before.

"Oh, Merrigan, I'm sooo sorry. Are you OK?"

Merrigan's eyes glistened as she nodded. Then she turned back and waved at the car that idled in front of Brianna's house. Brianna waved, too, and said another silent prayer of thanksgiving for Gimel being at the right place at the right time, and for Allison for being such a wonderful friend. She hugged Merrigan again and gave her a desperate kiss on the lips, caring little for who might see. Merrigan didn't seem to mind this particular display of public affection, either. She was trembling and her voice was unsteady. It was clear she was still fragile from the events with Tyson earlier.

Brianna ushered Merrigan into the house and to her bedroom. Once holed up, she sat next to Merrigan and held her. She waited for Merrigan to talk. After several minutes, the redhead pulled away and grabbed the tape recorder from her bag.

"I was leaving the school and I wasn't paying attention. I ran right into Tyson and then he and Adam Carter had me trapped."

She pushed play on the recorder, and Brianna listened in horror as her lover was threatened and nearly raped again. By the time Gimel's voice came on the recorder, Brianna was in tears, and Merrigan was trying to comfort HER.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Merrigan," she said through her tears. "But we finally got him."

Merrigan was quiet for a bit, so Brianna wiped her face and waited.

"Bri, you remember how you said this was bigger than just Tyson, than just us? I found some information that I think can prove that not only were Rachel and Isabel raped nearly 10 years ago, but that there was a major cover-up."

"What information?"

Merrigan moved over to Brianna's computer and opened up the web browser. "News articles that were implying it. I got the name of the writer, who quit writing for the paper pretty quickly after the last article. If we could find him and give him a call, we might be able to get the proof we need."