Chapter 30

I’m exhausted. I should have spent the night at a hotel in town and driven up in the morning. But instead, I left much too late last night, anxious to finally put the past behind me. I’m not so much starting over as escaping from a tragic past with which I find myself unable to cope.

The sky in the east was just starting to lighten up a little as I drove slowly up the long, winding driveway to my small log home on the lake up in the mountains. It won’t be much longer before the sun will be coming up. It’s normally only a three-to-four-hour drive to the cabin from Middlebury. But I was in no hurry and at night on those unlit winding mountain roads it takes longer. The drive took even longer because I stopped several times to get out and stare at the river which accompanies the road during almost the entire trip. It’s beautiful at any time but even more so with the light from the full moon reflecting off of it.

Now that I’m miles away from my old life I’m hoping I’ll finally be able to put the past behind me. The cabin was going to be our vacation home. Unfortunately, my wife never got to see it finished. She died eleven months ago. A drunk in a pickup truck turned in front of us when we were out enjoying a weekend ride on our Harleys. I managed to swerve around him, missing his rear bumper by a fraction of an inch. Many of my friends think I was lucky. They’re wrong. There have been so many times since that day I wished I hadn’t managed to avoid hitting that fucking drunk. It would have been so much better if I had run right into the back fender and it ended there.

My wife certainly wasn’t lucky. Before she even had time to react he was right in front of her. She plowed right into the passenger door of the pickup truck. There was nowhere for her to go. She died instantly.

I was a total mess for months. I stopped eating. I left the running of my company to an assistant who is, thankfully, quite good at it. So at least my company and my employees didn’t suffer.

I alternated between hardly sleeping at all for weeks at a time and sleeping constantly. I ignored calls from the contractor building our log home. Actually, for quite a while I unplugged the phone and didn’t talk to anyone.

I don’t know how long I would have gone on like that if my sister-in-law didn’t take it upon herself to fly up here, kick my ass and slap some sense into me. It didn’t happen overnight. But eventually I started to come out of my funk and get on with my life.

I found myself having to start making decisions again. It was surprisingly difficult. I think that was because I really didn’t care about anything at first. I started to come around, though. Thanks largely to my skinny little ass kicking sister-in-law.

Once she was satisfied I was pulling myself back together she flew home to her family. Before she left she made it clear to me that even though my wife is gone I’m still a member of the family.

After she left I started to minimize. I went into the plant after almost a year’s absence. I looked around at everything my assistant has accomplished in my absence. I was very impressed. I was so impressed I doubled her pay and left her in charge.

I have complete faith in her abilities to keep the company profitable and provide me with a generous income for staying the hell out of the way. I’m starting to become a more active participant in my life again but my business no longer interests me.

I began to coordinate with the contractor again and it wasn’t long before construction on the cabin was completed. Once it was furnished I began to live there more than I did in the house in town. Even before I was fully moved into the cabin I decided to sell my house in town. There are too many memories of my wife associated with the house.

Eventually I got rid of most of the junk my wife and I accumulated over the years. I kept my book collection and my music collection. Nearly everything else was disposed of. When the house was finally empty I hired someone to make a few repairs and replace the carpets. I hired a contractor to paint it inside and out. When everything was done it was like a new house.

I didn’t try to get rich selling it so even in the depressed real estate market we’re experiencing it sold quickly. I spent a week in town staying in a hotel to finalize the paperwork, close out the utilities and tie up a few loose ends.

It was very late by the time I got my business taken care of, packed up the last of my belongings and ate a good meal. If I had any sense I would have spent another night in town. Once you get through Bristol and turn onto Lincoln Road those narrow mountain roads really slow you down, especially at night. But I was anxious to get home to my cabin so I pressed on. It wasn’t that big a sacrifice. From the time I first got my driver’s license a couple of decades ago I’ve enjoyed driving through the mountains at night.

I pulled up in front of my cabin and went inside. The lake my cabin sits on is like a smaller version of Lake Tahoe. It sits in a crater-like depression near the top of a medium sized mountain. My closest neighbor is over a mile away. The setting is rustic and I was proud of the fact that I was able to have the cabin built and with a little bit of meandering I got the driveway installed, all without cutting down more than a couple dozen small saplings. If it weren’t for the mailbox and the driveway no one would know a house is here from the road.

I stood outside for a moment and enjoyed the cool mountain air and the total absence of human sounds. There was not a car to be heard. No dogs were barking. There was not an artificial light to be seen. If I stood with my back to the cabin there was absolutely no sign of human activity to be seen or heard.

I grabbed my suitcase and went inside. Unpacking the car can wait until I can get a few hours of much needed sleep. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and went out to sit on the deck overlooking the lake. I sat down and enjoyed the restful sight of the moon reflecting off the water while I sipped my beer.

I have only one plan for my future. In the morning I’m going to unload the last of my belongings I brought up from the city. Beyond that I’m a thirty-six-year-old widower with a lot of money in the bank, a good income, and not a single plan for the future. I’m all alone in the world except for my wife’s family living in a suburb on the west side of Cleveland, Ohio.

I finished my beer and by then I figured I’d unwound enough that I could go to bed. It’s just after five in the morning and I’m still not really all that tired. I really threw my sleep schedule off after my wife was killed and I’ve never quite gotten back to normal.

I rinsed out my beer bottle and put it in with the recycle. I grabbed my suitcase and went upstairs to my room. That was when I first realized I have company.

I opened my bedroom door. I had just enough time to think it strange that it was closed. I haven’t been living here for very long. But in all the nights I’ve spent here I’ve never closed the bedroom door. There’s no need. I’m always alone in the house.

That was when I saw someone in my bed! I came to a sudden stop and looked down at the lump in the middle of my bed. I couldn’t see much of the person. I saw enough to see it’s a she. She’s lying with her back to me. I can see her long blonde hair fanning out across the pillow.

I stared down at her for several long moments while my sluggish brain processed this strange turn of events. She appears to be sound asleep. It may be a sexist thing to say but looking down at her I certainly don’t feel threatened. I decided to let her sleep. I backed out of the room and quietly closed the door.

I started back downstairs but stopped. It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to check the other bedroom and see if I have any more guests of whom I’m unaware. I was relieved to find the other bedroom is unoccupied.

I went downstairs and took a poncho liner out of the closet. If you don’t own a poncho liner you should. No one should have to take a nap without a poncho liner to cover up with. I stretched out on the sofa and slept for almost three hours. That’s a pretty average amount of time for me. I usually sleep in three or four hour increments now.

I got up and went to the bathroom. My houseguest is apparently still sleeping so I remained as quiet as possible. Once the coffee was ready I sat by the window, staring out at the lake and wondering how it came to pass that a strange woman is sleeping in my bed and how she got here. My cabin is miles from anywhere and if she has a car parked around here I didn’t see it.

I don’t know if it was the smell of coffee that got her up. But I was still sipping on my first cup when I heard my guest coming down the stairs. I wondered if she was going to make a run for it. That would be difficult. There isn’t anywhere nearby to run to.

I suppose she must have been feeling anxious about getting caught in a strange man’s home. She’s nervous and she looked embarrassed when she stepped into the kitchen. Neither of us spoke for a minute.

We took a moment to form an impression of each other. She appears to be in her early twenties. I can’t help but notice she’s very attractive. I also made note of the fact that someone has given her a black eye. That was hard to miss.

I offered her a cup of coffee which she gratefully accepted. I think she probably expected me to start threatening her with arrest or lecturing her about the sanctity of private property. When I remained calm and civil she seemed to relax just a little.

I got up and poured her a cup of coffee. I put it on the table and placed the cream and sugar near her.

She sat down and in a soft, almost lyrical voice she said, “I’m sorry. I know you must be upset. I’m not a thief. I didn’t take anything. You have no reason to believe me, but I wasn’t going to. I didn’t even take your food. I came to your door early this morning. I rang the bell and knocked but you weren’t here. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared and when I saw that fake rock you hide the key in I ... well, it was late and I was in a lot of pain and totally exhausted. I didn’t know what else to do.”

I shrugged and said, “Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?”

She quickly answered, “No! No doctor. I’m fine.”

She obviously doesn’t want anyone to know where she is. I asked, “Would you like some breakfast? I make a kick-ass omelet.”

She didn’t have to answer. I saw the look on her face. She’s obviously hungry.

I stood up again and said, “My name is Dean, by the way. Do you like cheese?”

She grinned a bit timidly and replied, “I’m Andrea. I love cheese.”

I put some bacon in the microwave and made a couple of my world famous four cheese omelets. They’re so rich even I can’t eat the whole thing. But it’s the most delicious omelet you wish you could have. I toasted some English muffins and served breakfast out on the deck. That’s where I eat most of my meals when I’m here and the weather is pleasant.

We ate a quiet meal. When we finished eating I cleared the table off and brought the last of the coffee out. We were sitting back, relaxing, sipping our last cup of coffee. She looked me right in the eyes and said, “You may be the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

I smiled and replied, “I hope so.”

She chuckled and asked, “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing in your house?”

I shrugged and replied, “I saw what you were doing. You were sleeping. I went up to go to bed at five o’clock this morning and discovered Goldilocks sleeping in my bed.

“If you want to explain you can. If you don’t, that’s okay, too. It’s nice having a little company for breakfast.”

She got serious and said, “I feel like I owe you an explanation. I’m not in the habit of breaking into people’s homes. I think I should explain.”

“If you want. I’m more interested in how you got that shiner or how you got all the way out here in the boonies with no car.”

She sighed and said, “It’s all the same explanation.”

She looked around and said, “You’re very lucky. You have a beautiful place here.”

She sighed again and said, “I’m not sure where to start. I’ve never felt the need to explain to anyone before. I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life, or I’ve had them forced upon me.”

I was about to tell her again that she doesn’t have to explain anything if she doesn’t want to but I held my tongue. I get the impression she really wants to talk about it, even to a stranger. I guess I’m about to serve as my surprise guest’s therapist.

I don’t mind. And she’s such an attractive young woman. You know how men are when it comes to pretty women. I should probably qualify that statement. She’s pretty, but not in the usual way. She isn’t model pretty. But she has a face that’s compelling. She looks interesting and elfin. I think perhaps she’s more cute than pretty. If you’re confused I apologize. Suffice it to say I’m having a very hard time not staring at her.

She’s pretty and she has a way of talking to you that’s innocently engaging. She is somehow both mature and childlike at the same time.

The truth of the matter is that I would have happily sat around and listened to her recite the periodic tables just so I could continue to enjoy her company. But judging by the difficulty she’s having marshalling her thoughts she must have one hell of a story to tell.

After another long pause she said, “I’ve never told this story to anyone before, not the entire story. Not even to my closest friends. I don’t want to shock you too much so I’ll leave out most of the lurid details. They’re pretty disturbing. You probably don’t want to hear all the intimate and embarrassing minutiae. But feel free to stop me if you get tired of listening or to ask anytime you have a question. I don’t have a lot of pride left.”

She drank the last of her coffee and pushed the cup away. She stared out at the lake and said, “I’m from a small town in Florida. I never knew my father. He was killed in Iraq. It was two years after the first war. My father was on a humanitarian mission helping the Kurds when his vehicle was blown up by a roadside bomb and he was killed. I wasn’t even a year old yet when he died.

“My mother married again when I was four. I suppose she thought she was doing the right thing. I didn’t realize it at the time of course. But we were struggling to get by. She probably thought she would be providing a better life for me if she married again. But the man she married turned out to be an abusive drunk. She left him after he put her in the hospital for the second time.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t end there. He kept coming around. She got restraining order after restraining order and called the police at least a dozen times.

“None of that made any difference to him. He wouldn’t leave us alone. I can remember dozens of times I was forced to listen to him raping her at night after he forced his way in. There seemed to be nothing she could do about it. He was always drunk. But not so drunk he couldn’t take control.

“He always threatened that if she didn’t have sex with him he would pick me up after school and rape me instead so she would give in, do what he wanted and call the cops again after he left in the morning.

“I can’t remember the authorities ever doing anything about him. If they ever locked him up we weren’t aware of it. They even stopped coming around to take a report after the first couple of times she reported him. Even at my young age I got the impression they didn’t really believe she was being forced because she didn’t have any visible bruises or broken bones.

“The last few times he came to the house to rape her he brought a friend with him. They would rape my mother all night long and then leave in the morning as if it had all been just good fun. Sometimes I would hear them leaving. They would say goodbye and act friendly, as if she had been a willing participant.

“When I was nine, my mother couldn’t take it any longer. She killed herself after another night of rape by that son of a bitch and one of his friends.”

She had tears in her eyes as she told me this. I’m tempted to tell her she doesn’t have to do this. But looking at her I still have the impression she wants to tell her story. I thought talking about it might be cathartic and I know from my own recent experience how important that can be. So even though the things she’s saying make me very uncomfortable I decided to keep my mouth shut, listen and watch her expressive face as she tells her story.

“After my mother died I went into foster care. I don’t think I was all that messed up. Not at first. I seldom stayed anywhere longer than a few months. The state kept moving me around but it wasn’t because I was causing trouble. That was just the way things seemed to work out.

“I stayed with some nice people and some who weren’t so nice. When I was eleven I ended up in a more permanent home. I don’t know why and I don’t know why I didn’t stay in any of the previous homes.

“Everything was fine at first. The couple I lived with was strict. But they didn’t beat me or anything. For the first year I was more like a houseguest with chores than anything else. They made sure I did everything I was supposed to do. They dressed me and fed me and sent me to school. But there was never any kind of a relationship between us. They never showed me any affection. They never gave me any more than the state required them to give me.

“Things began to change when I started going through puberty. It was a miracle. As soon as I started sprouting breasts the man who ignored me for an entire year except to make sure I did my chores suddenly felt the need to hold me in his lap or to tuck me into my bed at night. He also had a habit of coming into the bathroom after I showered to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I knew what he was doing was wrong. I was probably more sensitive to it than most girls my age because of my unfortunate history. From the age of seven or eight I knew far too well what rape was all about. I knew what it sounded like and I knew what it did to women.

“When he started to let his hand slide over my chest or my butt, looking for all the world as if it was all so innocent, I started getting worried. I almost said something to his wife after several of his more blatant attempts to feel me up. But then one day he did it right in front of her. I looked over at her as I sat in his lap with his hand up under my skirt only an inch from my panties. I was shocked to see she was watching. The expression on her face made it clear to me that she was amused.

“After that it got worse. I think it was then that he realized he had permission, and we both knew it. He always seemed to have to use the toilet when I was in the shower. And since he was in the room he would open the shower curtain to check on me. He always told me he wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. If it wasn’t so tragic it would have been funny because to look at him you wouldn’t have guessed how important good hygiene is to him.

“I couldn’t walk within arm’s length of him or he would pull me into his lap or at the very least pat my ass as I went by.

“It may be that he would never have actually raped me. But it seemed to me everything he did was working up to that final act so one day I told my teacher what was happening to me at home.

“The teacher took me to the office. I spent a very uncomfortable hour in the principal’s office. He called his sister, who just happened to be the wife of the man who was molesting me. They came to pick me up and they weren’t happy.

“The principal was rewarded for his good deed by being invited to the house that evening to witness my punishment for spreading lies about them. He was allowed to watch while my molester removed my clothing and took me over his knee. He whipped me with his thick, leather belt for probably fifteen minutes. When the whipping was over I stood in the corner, naked, while they drank coffee, ate cake, and discussed how quickly my body was maturing.

“After that I was even afraid to call Social Services. I was afraid to talk to anyone. But in the next few days things got worse. He began to reach under my tops and play with my nipples. At the time I pretty much just had nipples, big, puffy, very sensitive nipples. My breasts were still wishful thinking more than anything else. He did it right in front of his wife while they joked about my changing body. Or he pulled me into his lap and ran his fingers up under my skirt to rub them over the crotch of my panties.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before he took it to the next step and I knew what the next step was going to be so one day I went out as if I was going to catch the school bus and hid until it went by. I waited until I knew the house was empty. I went back in and packed as many of my clothes as I could cram into my backpack and started walking. We lived in a small town just thirty miles south of Sarasota called Englewood.

“I don’t remember having a destination in mind when I left. I got on a bus and after a couple of bus changes I ended up in Sarasota. That seemed far enough away to me. I had eighteen dollars to my name, most of that in change. I had no friends and no relatives. I had nowhere to go and I was totally clueless. I only recently turned eleven so I didn’t have a lot of job prospects.

“But I wasn’t running to something. I was running away from something. The only thing on my mind was to get out of that house before I suffered the same fate my mother did.

“I slept in some bushes in a small, quiet park my first night in Sarasota. I was sitting on a bench the next morning, afraid, wondering what to do now that I was there. I probably sat there for an hour or two. I can’t really say, though. I didn’t seem to notice time passing.

“I know it was still morning when two girls walked by. They knew I was a runaway as soon as they saw me. They stopped and turned back. They sat down on the bench with me and introduced themselves. We talked for a few minutes and then the older girl asked me if I was hungry and if I needed a place to stay.

“I didn’t answer right away. Not until the older girl, Dawn, told me they were both runaways, too. Dawn, who was fifteen at the time, had a feral look about her I recognized even then. I somehow knew she was trouble.

“But I was hungry and I did need a place to stay. And the truth is I didn’t have much of a backbone. She managed without much trouble at all to get me on my feet and lead me out of that park to a large but very rundown old house several blocks away. That was where I was introduced to Mr. G. That was all I ever knew him as, just Mr. G.

“I was given a bowl of cereal and offered a cot in a small bedroom which I would share with the other girl I met in the park that morning if I decided to stay. She was a thirteen-year-old runaway named Ashley.

“Mr. G leaned against the wall and watched me eat. When I finished my cereal he told Dawn and Ashley to take me upstairs and fill me in. It turned out I had a job offer after all. Mr. G made his living by taking pictures of young girls and selling them. He also acted as a pimp for the girls he could talk into prostitution. But he never forced any of them and as far as I know he never raped any of the girls.

“I’m not saying he didn’t have sex with some of them. But as far as I know he never raped them ... well, except for statutory rape, of course. The girls there were all sixteen or under. Once they reach sixteen the girls were encouraged to make other arrangements.

“Dawn and Ashley sat me down in the room I would share with Ashley if I accepted their offer and explained the facts of life to me.

“They told me if I agreed to pose for pictures for Mr. G and a couple of photographer friends of his I could sleep on the empty cot in the room with Ashley and I’d be fed two meals a day. I would also be paid one hundred dollars a week. And they promised me I wouldn’t be forced to have sex if I didn’t want to.

“I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. It didn’t make any sense. They finally had to tell me what kind of pictures I’d have to pose for in exchange for my room and board. It was a revelation to me. I didn’t know there was even such a thing as that kind of picture or that there are people who would want them.

“They didn’t try to paint a rosy picture about their existence. They didn’t lie to me. What they were suggesting sounded awful. But I didn’t have a lot of options available to me. One night spent feeding the mosquitoes in the park had convinced me I needed to find some alternative to being homeless. As surprising as it might sound, thanks to their assurances I wouldn’t be harmed I actually felt safer there in that old house than I did in my last foster home. I suppose I believed them because I had so much in common with them so I agreed to give it a try.

“I won’t go into the gruesome details. But for the next four years I lived the strangest life you can imagine. I posed for nude pictures for a couple of hours a night three nights a week. The rest of the time I was free to do whatever I pleased. I went to several banks until I found one that didn’t require a parent or guardian to accompany me and I opened a savings account. I banked most of the money they paid me. The rest of my time I spent at the library or reading in my room. By the time I turned fourteen I’d read nearly every book in that little community library.

“I couldn’t go to school, of course. I was still a runaway. But I was getting an education of sorts. Later I would take the GED test and breeze through it. But I have a lot of gaps in my education and it still bothers me that I never went past the fifth grade. I keep thinking one of these days I’ll take some evening college courses if my life ever settles down.”

I was amazed to learn she only has a fifth-grade education! To listen to her speak you’d swear she attended a good college. She’s obviously very intelligent and extraordinarily articulate. I graduated from college with young adults, many of whom didn’t sound half as intelligent when they opened their mouths.

“After almost four years my pictures weren’t selling as well anymore. In part because the perverts who were paying for my pictures had by then seen every square inch of me over and over and watched me mature until I very nearly had the body of a grown woman. It turns out that’s a drawback in the little niche market in which I was working. Just before I turned fifteen I started getting a lot of pressure to start letting Mr. G pimp me out.

“I was forced to consider it for a while. As strange as it seems that house had become my home. I was uncomfortable with the idea that I might soon be homeless again. But I just couldn’t bring myself to take that last step. I couldn’t be a prostitute. And I noticed they were starting to encourage some of the girls to use drugs, too. That bothered me a lot.

“So just before my fifteenth birthday I took off. I had almost five thousand dollars in the bank. It sounded like a lot of money to me. I packed up what little I owned in my backpack, closed out my account one day and went to the bus station. At the ticket window I asked where the next bus was going.

“I could see in his eyes the old guy selling tickets knew I was a runaway. I also saw that he didn’t care. The next bus was going to a lot of places, all the way up the east coast to Burlington, Vermont. I almost chose New York City. But I liked the sound of Vermont. I thought it sounded like a good place to get a fresh start.

“I naively thought I’d be able to lie about my age, find a job at a fast-food restaurant or something and find a cheap apartment. I figured if I applied myself I could finally start living a normal life.

“I guess it must be obvious by now I’m a natural blonde. I might as well have stayed in Sarasota. I couldn’t get a job and I couldn’t get a place to live. I couldn’t even rent a room in a motel because I didn’t have any ID. Even if I did have some ID I now know that most places won’t let you have a room if you aren’t eighteen, driving a car and carrying a suitcase.

“It was too cool at night to be sleeping in a park so I asked around and got directions to a shelter for runaways. That was where I met Tanya. She was seventeen and hard as nails. She had been on her own for almost as long as I had. But she had it even worse than I did. She had been raped dozens of times when she was living on the streets in Philadelphia. She started working as a prostitute when she was fourteen. Not all the time. But often enough, as often as she needed to.”

Andrea turned and looked at me. She smiled and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like this. Am I boring you?”

I shook my head and said, “No. This is probably the saddest story I’ve ever heard. But I get the impression you need to tell it. If that’s the case, carry on.”

Before she slipped back into her narrative again I said, “I’m going to get a Coke. Would you like something to drink?”

“A Coke would be nice. Thanks.”

I brought us both out a Coke and sat down again. She poured hers into the glass I brought out for her and said, “Where was I? Oh yes, Tanya. Tanya was in the cot next to mine at the shelter. We started talking and we learned that we had a lot in common. We both were orphaned at an early age and our lives followed surprisingly similar paths since then. Except, of course, that I was never raped and my path hadn’t led to prostitution.