“Thank you. Whatever you say stays here, okay? Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?” his voice is nothing but kind, reassuring, and soft.
Static breaks over the recorder before I speak, “I can’t remember that far back right now. It all happened so fast. I know it’s a cliché thing to say, but right now, I just…I see what he did. I feel what he did, and I …” I cry.
My mom starts sobbing and my dad closes his eyes tight as they listen to what happens next and this time, everything is described in detail.
“This is going to be hard, but I need you to tell me everything he did,” Howard asks, and in the distance behind the static and his voice, you can hear the scribble of a pen writing on paper.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”
“I don’t want to,” I argue.
“I know.” Howard says apologetically. “But the other women there, the ones buried in the grave, they can’t speak. I’m not trying to guilt you, but you’re the only one with a voice.”
“There’s that other girl. I think her name is Jolie.”
“Yes, you’re right. I apologize,” Howard states, taking full responsibility for his mistake.
“How will this help anyone? The man is dead.”
I wipe a tear from my face and glance toward the wall. I don’t want to meet anyone’s eyes as they are looking at me.
“Well, there are a lot of missing women in the state of California, it will bring awareness to the issue. More policies, more laws, better education, cops being more observant, the higher ups will be held accountable for not doing their jobs. Nothing can change right now, but in the future, you never know what can be stopped without testimonies like this one. It might give other women the strength to come forward about their own experiences. A lot of different things are at play here.”
“Everything?” I ask.
“Please,” Officer Howard says.
Plastic crinkles as I drink out of the water cup. “I only remember waking up in his trunk. When he pulled me out, I was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods. I begged him to…uh…” I begin to cry. “I begged him to let me go, but all he kept saying was how he needed me. He missed me. He would uh…” I twisted my hair around my finger in memory. “He’d smell my hair and tell me how much he loved my scent. He dragged my inside by my arm. I fought him off, but he slapped me.”
I lift my hand to my cheek, remember the first sting.
“His house was small, a cabin in the woods. Leaves were everywhere. I remember thinking I used to play in them with my dad.” I break down. “I just want to go home.”
“I know, just a little longer, Heather. You’re doing great.”
“I’d stay in a room with two beds. It was messy and it smelt like alcohol. He kept me strapped to the bed most of the time and he’d place my feet in these…um…stirrups to…” my voice gets high and emotional. “To spread my legs and he…he…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“He proceeded to rape you, Heather?”
Silence.
Because I nodded because I couldn’t speak since I was throwing up in a trashcan.
“That’s enough,” my dad says, wiping his eyes with his hands. “That’s enough!” he roars, taking the recorder in hand and smashing it against the wall. He runs his fingers stressfully through his hair, tugging the strands until they are sticking up all over the place. “Just stop,” he begs.
“Everything on the recorder was true and it was me speaking. Can we go now?” I ask, picking at my cuticles.
I want to disappear because I can’t stand how my parents are watching me. Like I’m broken, like I’m damaged, like I’m used.
Maybe I am because as of right now, I feel useless.
Ten
Heaven
One month later.