Page 45 of Free to Dream
I keep my distance as she seems to pull her thoughts together. “I must have been four, maybe five? I don’t know. I still technically don’t know my age. I know I wasn’t in school. There was no need to send the thing I was to school. To educate me to escape?” She laughs harshly.
I watch her from behind reach up and wipe her cheeks.
I want to be the one doing that for her. I stand where I am, my fists clenched at my sides, waiting for her to continue. Knowing what’s coming and unable to stop it.
“I remember through the haze hearing that if I bled, that he would get more crack or Ecstasy, whatever he needed. So he let them hurt me more. Hardly ever my face, but my body was fair game.” She takes a deep breath.
“Years later, we hired an investigative firm to make sure none of them could find us. The investigator asked me if I could describe any of them. I think by then, he wanted them as badly as we wanted to know if they were gone. There were so few I could describe because eventually, they would tether me, blindfolded, face down on the bed, spread eagle while they raped me.”
I feel the rage burning through me as if I’m learning this for the first time rather than just hearing her soft voice say it aloud.
I want to go back in time and kill every one of the motherfuckers who hurt the baby, the girl, this beautiful woman standing before me who is ramrod straight, full of tormented pride and misplaced shame.
“I assume you got free? Did someone find out or did you escape?” I ask. It was in her file. I know Phil rescued her, but now I want her to tell me everything so I don’t have to tell her I already know.
She makes a bitter sound of remembrance, her back still to me. “One night they didn't tether me down as much, or drug me as much, I guess. They were probably too whacked out on whatever they were on. I kicked the wall frantically and was screaming for my life.” She takes deep breaths. “I figured no one would come, or would care.”
Calming herself down, she takes eight breaths, the same technique I observed her using in her office. “Phil was in the apartment next door. His father had already used and forgotten about Phil after finding out about the new toy on the block. Phil told me later that until he’d heard me scream, he was practically catatonic in his own hellacious nightmare.” Her voice begins to crack. “I’ll never forget Phil coming in swinging his bat. He took out his father, two other men and my father, I guess? I don’t know. God, years later, I can’t fathom the adrenaline running through his veins. It was the only thing that stood between him and freedom and he used it to save me too. He could have just grabbed his shit and left, and instead he took on four grown men hopped up on drugs to get himself, a thirteen-year-old boy, and a nine-year-old girl out of hell.”
She turns to face me, and there are tears on her face. I no sooner can stay away from her than I could stop breathing.
Stepping closer, I slowly wrap my arms around her. Using one hand, I start to wipe under her eyes. “What happened then, Pixie? How did you survive?”
She shakes her head, not wanting to say. “Tell me, Cassidy.” I know, but she needs to get it out.
I watch her drowning in her memories. I grip her a bit tighter, trying to anchor her to me. “We ran. I was so hurt. I was bleeding so, so much. We couldn’t, wouldn’t, go to the police because we would have been taken into the foster care system. That’s how Phil ended up with his so-called father and he refused to go back. He had been stealing small amounts from his father for a while and had hidden it. So, for a few days, we laid low in a shit hole of a motel. It was so bad. I can still hear the rats and bugs in the walls, but it was better than where we were because no one was trying to hurt us. Phil pushed every piece of furniture against the one door, barricading us in. I remember sleeping and eating chips. Eventually, we figured someone would suspect two kids, even in that hell hole and call the cops. So we left. Phil…oh God, I can’t.” She tries to pull out of my arms, but I hold her tighter.
“I think you have to. It’s burning a hole inside of you,” I encourage her softly.
My heart aches as this little warrior struggles to keep her family’s secrets.
“Who the hell are you to know this? Who are you?” she screams at me. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. Her chest is heaving, her hands shaking as she tries to fight to get away from me. “You know too much already. Dammit, let me go!”
My arms open. “You’ve already let me in, Cassidy. You can trust me. Think about it. I deal with worse than this every day investigating the worst of people. Nothing you say is going to shock or repel me. I’ve seen what it takes to survive, and I know what people do in order to live. And if they do it for love…” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either.
The fear crumbles and I see her shattered heart reappear from underneath. She can barely get the words out, but I hear her.
“He prostituted himself to get us a ride out of Jacksonville. Before, his father had forced him to. It was the last time he ever did, and he did it for me. Oh God, he did it for me.”
She pushes back into my arms and I pull her head to my chest, my breathing rough. My hand skims her neck and I touch the amaryllis tattoo I know is there from the file.
Strong, self-confident, pride. This family symbol is incredibly beautiful and fitting.
After letting her cry out her pain and fears while digging her nails into my chest, she calms down. Just when I’m about to suggest we move back to the car, she surprises me again by continuing.
“Phil has always been much more practical about what he did than me. To him it was the means to an end. To me it was—is—the ultimate sacrifice. What was so special about me for him to do that for?” she whispers so quietly that if the wind was blowing, I never would have heard her.
“We ended up in a little town in South Carolina. We met Em in the park we were sleeping in. Her parents had just been killed over a drug deal in front of her and they had the gun to her head when the cops busted in. She was placed with her great aunt in a trailer. Her Aunt Dee was trying to get her to talk when they came across us sleeping in the park. Phil wanted to run, but I was so tired. Dee convinced him to stay for a few days. With Dee, that was all it took. She gave us the only home we knew.” Reaching up, Cassidy wipes her eyes.
“How long were you there?”
“Phil had graduated high school a few months earlier.” Incredibly, she manages to smile softly through her tears. “Dee was so proud of him, of all of us. Then she was gone. We were there for about four and a half years. About halfway through it, Em started talking again. When Dee died in her sleep, we all grieved hard. Our family was shattered. The authorities wanted to take Em and I away, and Phil fought them with everything in him. Remember, this was the South. It was completely unseemly for an eighteen-year-old to watch over two fifteen-year old girls. He wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t a man yet either. It didn’t matter that he was a gay man. If anything, that made it worse. He was a bad influence. Phil worked two jobs and went to court to petition to be our legal guardian. We had social services breathing down our necks every month for a year. Once we turned sixteen, Em and I both petitioned the state to be emancipated. We got our GEDs online so we could get full-time jobs. We legally had to be able to support ourselves. It took a while, but we did it. Finally, we felt settled again.” She goes quiet. “We met the rest of the girls later.”
I hug her hard, rocking her small body back and forth. Giving her strength, comfort; whatever she needs. I feel her relax into me. I know from the file the rest of the story isn’t easy to tell, but isn’t as physically traumatic to her personally.
“With the three of us working, Phil got to cut back to one job. We had the trailer, and trust me, the upkeep on that wasn’t a hell of a lot when you had three salaries coming in, even if you were paid piddly shit. But we all started to want something more. I started community college at night, got my Associates, and then went to the College of Charleston. It’s a state school with a good business management and hospitality program. Em did the same, only her major was studio art. Phil got his AA. He found his calling working at a florist.” She looks up at me, her eyes are wide and earnest. “It’s what we were meant to do.”
“I understand, Pixie,” I murmur.
