Page 101 of The Last Straw

“I had dreams...hallucinations. My mother was always with me telling me to hang on. Sometimes I thought it was Millie. I knew I was sick. I was mad at God. I kept begging Him to either let me die or send someone to find me. And so He did.”

“And did you know your assailant?” Floyd asked.

Rachel nodded. “Yes, immediately. His name is Sonny Burch, a resident at Detter House.”

“Did you ever have a personal relationship with him?” Floyd asked.

“No. Never. He was just someone I’d speak to in passing. I haven’t had a personal relationship with anyone since moving to Dallas some years back. I was alone. And I guess, a sitting duck for someone like him. That’s all I have to say.”

“That’s more than enough,” Floyd said.

Mills stopped the video, packed up their things and they were gone.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Rachel stared down at her hands, took a deep breath and then looked up at Millie and Ray.

“Look. I know I’m broken. But he didn’t break me. My body is healing. Eventually, so will I. I will be going to counseling. But I really, really don’t ever want to talk about this with my family again. I’m not trying to bury it. But I also don’t intend to keep it alive. It has already changed me. But it didn’t kill me. And I have to work with what I’ve got. Okay?”

“Absolutely,” Ray said.

“Very okay,” Millie said, then patted Rachel’s hand. “Can I get you anything? Maybe something cold to drink?”

Rachel sighed. “I would love a sweet tea.”

“With lots of ice!” Ray said.

Rachel smiled. “You remember!”

“Of course I remember,” he said. “I’m heading down to the cafeteria right now and bringing back one for all of us.”

But as soon as he left the room, Millie laid her head down on Rachel’s leg and wept.

Rachel tunneled her fingers in her sister’s hair.

“I know, Millie. I know. It was...it was...a nightmare. But I’m alive. I fought back. I hurt him, too, and he’ll have nightmares about me for as long as he lives. And that’s what I’m going to hold on to. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.”

Eighteen

The storm had passed sometime during the night, but the old mansion was cold when Charlie woke up. He got up, turned up the thermostat in his room and then went to shave and shower.

It was Sunday, his take-it-slow day. But he didn’t know what was on Wyrick’s agenda, because if she had one, that meant he was along for the ride.

He turned up the thermostat in the hall as he headed down the stairs, and then turned up the one downstairs, as well, before heading to the kitchen.

The last thing he expected was to see Wyrick sitting at the kitchen table, wearing old sweats, red wool socks and watching something on her laptop.

“Morning,” he said. “What’s up?”

“You mean, besides me?”

Charlie grinned. So this was how the day was going to begin.

“Now I’m afraid to comment,” he said.

She looked up at him and frowned.

“I’m watching a YouTube video on how to make pancakes. I can build rockets and make medicines. I can build cloaking devices for anything. I can hack anything on the planet without leaving a sign. I can heal people by just touching them, and play the stock market like a boss. I can create video gaming that is making me rich as sin, but I cannot freaking cook. From itch.”

Charlie stifled a laugh. “From scratch. The term is from scratch.”

---