Charlotte was winded from eating so fast. She could hear her breath whistling through her nose. Her shorts were wet with blood. The strawberry cushion on the chair was completely saturated. She felt the dripping between her legs but she knew that it was not just blood. It was him. It was Zach Culpepper. He had left his stuff inside of her.
The vomit roiled up again. This time, she couldn’t stop it. Charlotte slapped her hand to her mouth. Miss Heller picked her up by the waist. She ran down the hall, carrying Charlotte to the bathroom.
Charlotte threw up so hard that she thought her stomach would come out of her mouth. She gripped the cold sides of the toilet. Her eyes bulged. Her throat burned. Her intestines felt as if razors were inside. She yanked down her shorts. She sat on the toilet. She felt a torrent of fluid rush from her body. Blood. Feces. Him.
Charlotte cried out from the pain. She folded at the waist. She opened her mouth. She screamed out an anguished wail.
She wanted her mother. She needed her mother.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Miss Heller was on the other side of the door. She was kneeling down again. Charlotte could hear her voice coming through the keyhole. “‘He said unto them, ‘Let the little children come unto me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.’”
Charlotte squeezed shut her eyes. Tears flowed. She breathed through her open mouth. She heard the heavy drops of blood hitting water. It would not end. This was never going to end.
“Sweet baby,” Miss Heller said. “Let God carry this burden.”
Charlotte shook her head. Her blood-soaked hair slapped at her face. She kept her eyes closed. She saw Sam spinning, somersaulting through the air.
The mist as the bullet entered her brain.
The heavy spray of blood as Gamma’s chest exploded.
“My sister,” Charlotte whispered. “She’s dead.”
“What’s that, baby?” Miss Heller had cracked open the door. “What did you say?”
“My sister.” Charlotte’s teeth were chattering. “She’s dead. My mother’s dead.”
Miss Heller held onto the doorknob as she sunk to the floor.
She said nothing.
Charlotte looked down at the white tiles at her feet. She could see black spots in her vision. Blood dripped from her open mouth. She rolled off some toilet paper. She held it to her nose. The bone felt broken.
Miss Heller came into the room. She turned on the sink faucet.
Charlotte tried to wipe herself. She could feel strips of flesh hanging down between her legs. The blood would not stop. It was never going to stop. She pulled up her shorts, but a wave of dizziness kept her from standing.
She sat back down on the toilet. She stared at the framed picture of a strawberry patch on the wall.
“It’s all right.” Miss Heller wiped Charlotte’s face with a wet cloth. Her hands trembled along with her voice. “‘But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as—’”
A loud knock shook the back door. Banging. Screaming.
Miss Heller’s hand went to Charlotte’s chest, keeping her still.
“Judith!” the old man yelled. “Judith!”
The back door splintered open.
Miss Heller grabbed Charlotte again, picking her up by the middle. Charlie felt her feet leave the ground. She braced her hands against the woman’s shoulders. Her ribs felt crushed as Miss Heller ran down the hall.
“Charlotte!”
The word was pained, like the sound you would hear from a dying animal.
Miss Heller skidded to a stop.
She turned around.
Her grip around Charlotte’s waist slowly released.
Rusty was standing at the end of the hallway. He leaned heavily against the wall. His chest was heaving. He gripped a handkerchief in his hand.
Charlotte felt her feet touch the ground. Her knees folded, unable to support her weight.
Rusty staggered down the hallway. His shoulder bumped the wall, then the other wall, then he was on his knees and then he was holding Charlotte.
“My baby,” he cried, enveloping her body in his. “My treasure.”
Charlotte felt the slow release of her muscles. Her father was like a drug. She became a rag doll in his arms.
“My baby,” he said.
“Gamma—”
“I know!” Rusty wailed. She felt his chest shake as he struggled to control his sorrow. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Charlotte began to sob; not from the pain, but from fear because she had never seen her father cry.
“I’ve got you.” He rocked her. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got you.”
Charlotte was crying so hard that she couldn’t open her eyes. “Sam—”
“I know,” he said. “We’ll find her.”
“They buried her.”
Rusty let out a howl of despair.
“It was the Culpeppers,” Charlotte said. Knowing their names, telling them to Rusty, was the only thing that had kept her moving. “Zach and his brother.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We got an ambulance coming. They’re going to take care of you.”
“Daddy.” Charlotte lifted her head. She put her mouth close to his ear. She whispered, “Zach put his thing inside of me.”
Rusty’s arms slowly fell away. It was like the air had been let out of him. His mouth dropped open. He crumbled to the floor. His eyes scanned back and forth as he looked at Charlotte’s face. His throat worked again. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper.
“Daddy,” she whispered again.
Rusty put his fingers to her mouth. He bit his lip, like he didn’t want to speak, but he had to.
He asked, “He raped you?”
Charlotte nodded.
Rusty’s hand dropped like a stone. He looked away. He shook his head. His tears had turned into two rivers running down the sides of his face.
Charlotte felt the shame of his silence. Her father knew the things that men like Zachariah Culpepper did. He could not even look at her.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t run fast enough.”
Rusty’s eyes went to Miss Heller, then finally, slowly back to Charlotte. “It’s not your fault.” He cleared his throat. He said it again. “It’s not your fault, baby. Do you hear me?”
Charlotte heard him, but she did not believe him.
“What happened to you,” Rusty said, sounding strident. “It’s not your fault, but we can’t tell anybody else, okay?”
Charlotte could only stare. You didn’t have to lie if something wasn’t your fault.
Rusty said, “It’s a private thing, and we’re not going to tell anybody, okay?” He looked up at Judith Heller again. “I know what lawyers do to girls who are raped. I’m not going to put my daughter through that hell. I won’t let people treat her like she’s damaged.” He w
iped his eyes with the back of his hand. His voice became stronger. “They’ll hang for this. Those two boys are murderers, and they’ll die for it, but please don’t let them take my daughter with them. Please. It’s too much. It’s just too much.”
He waited, his eyes on Miss Heller. Charlie turned around. Miss Heller looked down at her. She nodded.
“Thank you. Thank you.” Rusty rested his hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. He looked at her face again, saw the blood and bone and sticks and leaves that had become glued to her body. He touched the ripped seam of her shorts. His tears started to flow again. He was thinking about what had been done to her, what had been done to Sam, to Gamma. He dropped his face into his hands. His sobs turned into howls. He fell against the wall, racked by grief.
Charlotte tried to swallow. Her throat was too dry. She could not clear the taste of sour milk. She was torn up inside. She could still feel the steady flow of blood sliding down the inside of her leg.
“Daddy,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” He grabbed her, shook her. “Don’t ever apologize, Charlotte. Do you hear me?”
He seemed so angry that Charlotte dared not speak.
“I’m sorry,” Rusty stuttered out. He got up on his knees. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, pressed his face to her face, their noses touching. She could smell cigarette smoke and his musky cologne. “You listen to me, Charlie Bear. Are you listening?”
Charlotte stared into his eyes. Red lines spoked out from the blue irises.
He said, “It’s not your fault. I am your daddy, and I am telling you that none of this is your fault.” He waited. “Okay?”
Charlotte nodded. “Okay.”
Rusty whimpered out another breath. He swallowed hard. He was still openly weeping. “Now, do you remember all those boxes your mama brought home from the thrift store?”
Charlotte had forgotten about the boxes. No one would be around to unpack them now. It was just Charlotte and Rusty. There would never be anyone else.
“Listen to me, baby.” Rusty cupped his hands to her face. “I want you to take what that nasty man did to you, and I want you to put it in one of those boxes, okay?”
He waited, clearly desperate for her to agree.
Charlotte let herself nod.
“All right,” he said. “All right. Well, then your daddy’s gonna get some tape, and we’re gonna tape up that box together, sweetheart.” His voice warbled again. His eyes desperately searched hers. “Do you hear me? We’re gonna close up that box and tape it shut.”