The Memory Witch (22 page)

Cam and Danny switched spots. Danny didn’t bother apologizing. He wouldn’t even look at me as he undressed. My tears and blood were not enough to convince them to stop this assault. They had set out to defile my body and I would find no relief until the act was completed.

By no surprise, Benji was the most vicious of the three. I thought by then I would be numb to the pain, but it wasn’t the case. He took his time to degrade my battered and broken body. Relishing in every whimper he heard muffled through the sock.

I made hundreds of wishes that day in the basement. I wished to disappear—my body dissolving into the mattress until I no longer existed. I wished for a bomb to drop on the house and obliterate us all. I wished most of all to go back in time and never ever go near the woods.

By the end, I couldn’t even gather the courage to be afraid of my death. They had broken my spirit so completely that I was zombie-like. My heart may have been beating, but for all intents and purposes I was dead inside. I had no fight in me as they put my panties and jeans back on. I didn’t react as Benji hauled me over his shoulder and up the stairs out of the basement. I had no response once he dropped me in the middle of the woods and hissed in my ear, “Tell anyone and we’ll kill you and your entire family.” Instead, I closed my eyes and let the world slip away.

My parents had found me that day about a hundred yards from our backyard. By then, the police had been notified of my disappearance. An eight-year-old missing for hours warranted a quick response by authorities. The alarm grew once my jacket was discovered on the forest floor. The police found me unresponsive in the same spot that the boys had deposited me. The relief of my parents and rescuers did nothing to draw me out of my stupor.

There was no need for Benji to make that threat. My bloodied jeans and underwear was a beacon of truth about what had happened to me. I was whisked away to the hospital while I stared blankly at the faces that shouted question after question at me.

It took me a long time to talk about the attack. I was afraid. I knew what the boys were capable of. Their threats of killing my parents and me closed up my throat and prevented the truth from slipping out. After weeks of meeting with therapists, I was finally able to whisper the names of the boys in the hushed atmosphere of her office.

My mother promised that the nightmares would go away. We were selling our house and leaving for good. The boys would be far away and could never hurt me again. I would be able to go outside once again and not be afraid.

Weeks past and my mother took me shopping in the city. She wanted me to buy anything and everything I would want for my new room. Gifts were her way of healing me and easing the pain of my ordeal. Yet, no matter how many gifts I received, nothing could erase the haunted look in my eyes.

My mother’s smothering was a direct contrast to my father’s retreat. I had always been a daddy’s girl. Where my mother was strict, my father was lenient. My father would always come home and embrace me in a way that made me feel like I was the most precious thing in the entire world. Being without those hugs and seeing the anguish in his eyes every time he glanced at me after the attack kept the emotional wounds fresh.

I still tried my hardest to worm my way back into my father’s heart. His distance made me guess that maybe I had done something wrong. I wondered if he was angry about me breaking the rule about going into the forest. I vowed to be the best little girl ever. His hugs and smiles would return and make me feel special once again.

I had my mother buy him a present from me when we went shopping. It was an oversized box of chocolate covered cherries, his favorite dessert. As soon as we returned home, I rushed through the door to give them to him. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face as he saw dug into them.

I ran blindly from room to room calling his name. I heard my mother set down her keys and purse on the table behind me. After a fruitless search downstairs, I dashed up the stairs taking two at a time. The bathroom door was cracked open and the overhead light from inside the room cast a soft glow in the hallway.

I shouldn’t have opened the door. I should’ve called to my mother or waited for the door to open. In my excitement, I thoughtlessly stormed into the bathroom and entered a waking nightmare.

Blood. It was the first thing I saw. It was everywhere. The walls and floors were coated like someone had carelessly dumped out a can of red paint. The air was clogged with the iron scent of spilled blood.

I took a step further into the room and my sneakers slid on the blood soaked tiles. As I gained my footing, my eyes finally found him. My father was no longer there. In his place was a crumpled mass of flesh that was sinking in a steadily growing pool of blood.

Any healing that had taken place in my heart and mind dissipated in that moment. I was falling once again. Heading back to that abyss where I had existed while the boys had brutalized my flesh. This couldn’t be real. My father couldn’t be dead.

I must have screamed. My mother rushed to my side. At the sight of my father’s body, her screams mimicked my own. She cradled me in her arms and we ran from the room. Her sobbing reassurances eased none of my pain. Once again, I wished for my own death. My childhood had been stolen away from me and there was no way back to it.

***

I lashed out violently as hands shook me. I was still in the past and fighting against those who had wounded me beyond repair. My fist connected with flesh before I landed a kick on the figure in front of me. My eyes flew open and I saw Mason hunched over with his hands clutching his stomach. His pallor was pale as he watched me with alarm.

“I’ve been trying to wake you up,” he gasped out. “You were screaming.”

He reached out for me. I skittered away from him to the other side of the bed. I toed on my sandals that were set next to the bed.

“Quinn, it’s me,” he said softly. His tone was the type used to coax mental patients into padded cells.

“I need your truck,” I croaked out. “I have to see my mother.”

“I’ll take you wherever you need to go,” he answered and took a hesitant step in my direction.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “No, I have to do this alone.”

“You don’t have to tell me what you remembered, but from the look on your face, it’s safe to say it was much worse than you expected. It’s not smart for you to be driving when you’re this upset,” he advised.

It was heartbreaking to look at him. He was utterly beautiful. The hardened look I had seen so often in those first months at the Chadwick House had been replaced by a gentleness that regarded me with a deep-seated affection. He was willing to do anything for me. He wanted to share my pain and make it better. Unfortunately, he couldn’t.

I snatched his keys off of the nightstand and made a beeline for the door. Mason called out to me, but I was already opening the backdoor when I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs.

When I threw his truck in gear, I was afraid Mason would try to jump in front of the car to stop me. Instead, I saw him standing on the back steps, watching me pull away with despair clear on his face. I was hurting him. He had opened up to me and accepted what comfort I offered. Instead of leaning on him and sharing my pain, I was running away.

My thoughts were nonsensical as I drove. Mason was most likely right by insisting I drive with someone. I felt half out of my mind. I couldn’t fully focus on the sickening revelations about my past. Instead, I was thinking about the other memories that I could now recall.

I remembered the grandparents that I hadn’t seen since I was a child and how they used to sneak me candy bars before dinner when they visited. I thought about my best friend Bev that I met in preschool and how we left town without so much of a goodbye to her.

Years and years worth of memories jumped around in my brain and begged to replace the painful ones. They fluttered in my mind and I tried to hold onto the happy feelings associated with each snapshot of my past. It helped block out the blood and the fear and the sorrow.

The drive to my mother’s house was torturous. Luckily, Mason had a full tank since I left without my purse or phone. I had to keep to the speed limit or else I would find myself possibly hauled off to jail for driving without any identification. That would be an interesting conversation to have with a patrol officer. “Sorry sir, but I’m a witch who just recovered from amnesia. It turns out I was raped and witnessed my father’s suicide. It was all pretty traumatic, so I forgot to bring along my license. Think you could cut me a break?”

I gripped the wheel harder until my knuckles turned white. I had so many questions for my mother. I was in no mood for her giving me the run around about the truth. I would resort to witchcraft if I needed. I was certain a spell could be done that would force her to spew out everything I had to know.

My mother’s car was thankfully in the driveway when I pulled up at my house. I would’ve hated to storm into the hospital and cause a scene that the other nurses would be gossiping about for months. I slammed Mason’s car door and marched up to the door that I hadn’t seen in almost a year. I pushed it open and charged into the house.

“Mom!” I yelled.

My mother came running from the kitchen with her hand clutch to her heart. “Quinn, my god, you scared me half to death!”

Her initial shock wore off and she moved towards me. I sidestepped her attempts at engulfing me in her comforting arms. After her questioning look, her features changed. A tired and resigned look regarded me as tears leapt to my eyes. I planned to come to my house and scream obscenities at her for the unfairness of my life. However, her familiar features called to me. It made me feel like I was eight years old again and wanted my mother to chase away all of the demons.

“You know,” she said tonelessly.

“Stella gave me a potion to return my memories,” I whispered.

“Do you understand now why I went to her? Baby, you deserve more than that. You shouldn’t have those memories to haunt you,” she said earnestly.

“Mom…” My resolve crumbled and I launched myself in her arms. A salty trail of tears leaked down my face. The faucet had been turned on and I feared it would never turn off.

She cooed, “I know, Quinn. It’s over now. The memories can’t hurt you.”

Her smell was comforting. It was a strange combination of her perfume and the antibacterial gel she used during her work shifts. I allowed myself the luxury of sobbing into her shirt for several minutes, breathing in her scent.

I broke away and looked at her with red and puffy eyes. “Mom, it was horrible…”

“Honey, we survived. We moved on. I know it was only a spell, but Stella did help us learn how to be happy again. Although I remembered, I convinced myself that if you didn’t remember, I wouldn’t dwell on it.”

“But not all of us survived,” I choked out, “Dad…”

My mother snapped, “Your father was weak. What he did to us was selfish and cowardly. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but the moment he put that gun to his head, he stopped being my husband and your father.”

“I was the one to find him,” I cried. “Oh god, the blood…”

“He was a monster for doing that to us. He knew we would come home and find him,” she seethed. Her voice was earnest. “Quinn, I only wanted to protect you. I’m sorry for lying, but I didn’t know how to tell you that your father took his own life. It would lead to so many more questions…” She swallowed visibly and then stated, “Questions I didn’t know how to answer.”

“I remember the boys and what happened in the basement…but I can’t remember going to court or testifying to the police about it. Are they in jail?”

“Quinn, why don’t we sit? I’ll make you dinner and then we can talk. It’s been months since I’ve seen your beautiful face,” she said soothingly. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen. I sank down into one of the chairs at the table as she busied herself at the sink. I had noticed the way she wasn’t meeting my eyes.

“Mom, I’m not hungry,” I insisted as she gathered ingredients from the refrigerator. “It’s too late for you to protect me, I already know what the boys did to me. I need to know that they at least paid for what they did.”

My mother’s heart was in her eyes when she turned back to me. “Honey, you have to understand. It took us weeks to coax the names out of you. When you finally gave them to us, your father and I decided to not make the situation any worse for you.”

My blood turned cold. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

Her green eyes turned distant as she relived the past. “Benjamin Lerner was the mayor’s son. I knew the family well because his grandmother lived in our development. Her house was the one that the boys took you to,” she said in a choked whisper. “Cameron and Daniel Bernard were sons of the town councilman. We talked about what a nightmare it would turn out to be if we accused them of attacking you.”

“Raping me,” I corrected her harshly. I demanded, “So what? Because of who their fathers were you let them get away with beating and raping a child.”

“Quinn, it’s hard to understand, but they were children themselves…”

I cut her off with a bitter laugh. “They were hardly children. How old were they?”

“Fourteen and fifteen,” she mumbled.