WARNING: THIS STORY DEALS WITH CHILD ABUSE. IT'S NOT GRAPHINC BUT IT IS MENTIONNED AND DISCUSSED. PLEASE DON'T READ IF IT UPSETS YOU.
If you read, review on the fic, not the subject matter. It's MY fic, MY view, MY story. Nothing else. I don't judge, so don't do it to me.
A/N: this was inspired by the song and video of La Blessure by a defunct Quebecois band called La Chicane. The title means The wound. It's in French but it's very beautiful and haunting, a story of child abuse. Next is a link to the video of the song on YouTube. Listen to the song if you wish. I've translated the lyrics to English at the end of the story, as best I could to try and keep the rhythm of the song, but it's not literal. I do think you'll get the idea, though...
http. // www. you tube .com/watch?v=Xz6A42ezcno (link to the video, with spaces added... You know what to do...)
Summary: A mother should protect her child, not feed her to the wolves...
Don sat in his favourite chair, sports magazine lying forgotten on the coffee table. The beer next to it was getting warm, a wet ring of condensation staining the polished wood. He sighed deeply and put his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands and rubbing his face hard, wishing away the images, trying to forget the throbbing of his wrist, the bruises on his throat.
He recalled every word of the mother's frantic call. Her daughter had disappeared along with her father, the girl's grandfather, shortly after a family picnic. He'd listened to the tape of that call enough times to hear it play back in his head, over and over again. The case had been handed to him an hour after the initial call. Time was of the essence and his team was the best out there.
And he'd stepped right into hell.
Amy Hyman was petite, frailly thin, spiky black hair in disarray from being clutched at too many times. She'd regarded him with angry tears in her eyes, her husband standing in the corner of the kitchen, arms crossed, his posture furious.
Everything had felt wrong from the start.
Amy had told him that she was certain her father had taken Josie, her twelve-year old daughter.
He'd asked why.
Her answer had been devastatingly simple.
"Because he did it to me."
Don hadn't needed to ask what she was talking about. The look in her eyes, the fear, the revulsion, the shame, was one he'd seen countless times. He closed his eyes and bit down on his own anger. Now he understood the father's attitude but he didn't have the luxury to indulge in it. She'd been abused by her father, and now, he had her daughter.
He'd inhaled a long breath and bit his lip. He'd had to ask. His compassion at her suffering was warring with the rage of her carelessness. How could she let this happen to her own child? How could she let him near her?
"I need to know what he did to you, Amy. To help Josie," he'd said softly, looking into her eyes. It was the best he could do.
Amy had bitten her lip, tears rolling down her face.
"For Josie," Don had prodded.
The story had come spilling out.
Amy had been abused by her father at the age of twelve. He'd taken her from her bedroom, took her to some secluded lake cabin, ripped her precious stuffed bear out of her hands and told her he had a better way to make her feel good.
She'd managed to escape while he was lost in his post-coital haze, somehow making her way home to her mom. Her mother had given her another bear just like the one she'd lost, never asking where her daughter had disappeared, or about the bruises on her arms and her legs, or the blood on her sheets come morning.
The woman had drunk herself to death over ten years ago, Amy had said.
The pain in her voice had been so real and deep it had made Don regret his anger and the bluntness of his words, until he'd came back to the present, until he'd recalled Josie.
Josie, in all likelihood, was now with that same monster. And Amy had done inothing/i to protect her. She'd let her molester near her own child, knowing full well what he was capable of. She'd invited the predator into her home, presented him with a fresh prey.
All he'd wanted to do was to ask her why.
He couldn't afford to.
He had to find Josie before it was too late. Deep in his heart, he knew it already was.
He'd been right.
They'd found the cabin by the lake, near Amy's childhood home, the old Plymouth still parked under the trees.
He'd stood in full gear, just behind the door to the eerily quiet cabin. He'd been so terribly afraid, standing outside that door, of what he would find in there, of how many lives had been shattered irreparably, of how many more would soon be.
He lifted his head from his hands and grabbed the warm beer, draining it in a long swallow, wishing it was something stronger. He knew the scene in that cabin would haunt him until the end of his days.
The old ratty teddy bear lay on the floor, soaked through with blood, an arm all but torn off. The knife had buried deep into the heart, causing massive, unstoppable bleeding and a quick death. Don closed his eyes, pressing his fingers into his forehead.
"Get some search teams together. She couldn't have gone far. We don't have much daylight left."
Roger Minnow would never hurt anyone again.
And Josie was nowhere to be found.
The forensic team was an hour out, the helicopters ten minutes and search teams twenty minutes. He'd sent the dozen agents with him out on a primary perimeter search. He'd stayed behind, to coordinate the soon to be arriving teams.
He snapped his cell phone shut and slowly climbed down the front steps of the cabin. He sat on them and pinched the bridge of his nose, lost between anger, horror, relief and fear. Josie was most likely alive and physically unharmed. That's what he was fervently hoping for. He didn't dare try to think how a twelve-year old could have stabbed a seventy-year-old monster through the heart.
His thoughts turned to Amy, until a small sound caught his ear. He froze, tilting his head. He rose to his feet and knelt by the side of the stair, looking underneath.
He closed his eyes in a silent prayer.
"It's okay, sweetie. You can come out now. You're safe."
He wasn't prepared for the look of utter hatred and fear in Josie's eyes. She launched herself at him, her small hands going straight for his throat. He found himself falling back, grabbing the slender wrists firmly. Her hold was surprisingly strong, fuelled by adrenaline and utter terror. He struggled to take a breath, tightening his grip on her wrists.
God, he didn't want to hurt her but...
He squeezed harder, enough to leave serious bruises but she still held on. He couldn't quite believe the strength in her small body. Dark spots began to edge his vision and he winced inwardly. He tightened his grip again. He closed his eyes at the sharp crack under his fingers.
She let go. He drew in a gasping, shuddering breath and reversed his grip. He grabbed the terrified child in a bear hug, putting her back to his chest and held on as she kicked, screamed and tried to head-butt him.
He growled in pain when she bit his wrist but held on tight, closing his eyes.
"Josie, it's over! I'm Don, I'm a policeman. It's okay. Shhh, it's okay sweetie. Shh, shhh. It's over. It's okay. You're safe," he repeated, over and over again, until her struggles started to ebb, until finally, she relaxed against him.
Still, he didn't let her go, just relaxed his grip a bit, letting her breathe, her small ribcage heaving hard with each inhale and exhale.
She began to shake in his arms.
"You're okay, Josie. I'm here. You're safe," he said.
"I want my mom," she mewled.
His eyes closed tightly and he flipped her in his arms, her small ones going around his neck, her face into his shoulder, her small frame wracked with sobs.
He stood there, rubbing her back, unable to speak, her plea tearing at his heart.
This is your mother's fault, he wanted to say. She didn't protect you. She let him near you. Those were the things he wanted to say, couldn't say. How could he rob a child so traumatized of her last refuge of safety?
She'd find out soon enough.
As soon as Josie was safely in a hospital, he'd have Amy Hyman arrested and charged with wilful endangerment of a minor. He'd make damn sure no one would ever hurt Josie again.
The EMT had been finishing the bandage on his wrist when Robin had found him.
"Amy Hyman tried to kill herself, slit her wrists. She's at Mercy on suicide watch."
He'd simply nodded, too exhausted to do anything else.
Now, endless hours later, sleep still eluded him. He still jumped when someone knocked on his door. He checked his watch and frowned. Who the hell-
"Don?"
"Charlie?" Charlie. Of course. He stood and padded to the door, wrenching it open. "Everything all right?" he asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.
Charlie simply lifted the six-pack in his hand. "Just thought I'd drop by for a drink. We haven't seen you in ages."
"At three in the morning?"
Charlie checked his watch, frowning. "Is it already?"
The ploy didn't fool Don for one second. He rather suspected collusion on the part of his brother and a certain AUSA.
"Yeah. Still. C'mon in."
"What happened to you?" Charlie asked him when he stepped into the light.
"Robin didn't tell you?"
Charlie smiled and shook his head. "I should have known better than to try and fool an FBI agent. All she said is that you probably could use someone to share a drink with."
"And you show up at three AM? Where'd you get the beer at that hour?"
"Home. So what happened?"
He paused, a harsh, humourless chuckle escaping him. "It would be funny if it wasn't so completely horrible."
"Rough case?" Charlie asked, putting the six-pack in the fridge and taking out two bottles.
"Always is when there's a kid involved," he said, looking at some far point on the wall.
"The kid..."
He motioned for Charlie to sit on the couch as he twisted the cap off his beer, letting himself drop back into his armchair. He didn't exactly know how to answer that one.
"She's... alive." It was the best he could do, the closest thing to the truth. The poor child had taken the fight side of fight or flight, had somehow gotten hold of a knife and killed a man twice her size. The investigator part of his brain wanted to know how it was even possible but deep in his gut, he knew it was. He'd seen the terror-fuelled fury in her eyes, felt the strength of her grip on his neck. The bite on his wrist would take a long time to heal. The doctor had told him they couldn't stitch it closed, the risk of infection from a human bite too great. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, trying to take his mind off the small square of gauze in the crook of his elbow. HIV tests were standard in these kinds of situations.
"Don? You okay?"
His brother's voice broke through his dark musings, pulling him back to the present.
"Been a while since you showed up at my door in the middle of the night," he said.
"Four, five years. And somehow, I knew I'd still find you up."
"Hm."
The silence stretched, both of them sipping their beer, looking at their own piece of floor.
"It was bad," he said eventually. "This woman... She all but served her daughter to her abuser, to her pedophile father on a platter!"
Charlie stayed silent, shaking his head, eyes now full of the same question he'd been asking himself for a lot of hours. Why.
The quiet grew again, their beers diminishing with it.
"Parents are supposed to protect their children. Keep them from harm, teach them how to stay safe. Not throw them to the wolves."
"Yes, they are. But they're also fallible human beings, ultimately trying to be loved. Maybe she thought... trusting him with her daughter could-"
"Could what, Charlie? Make her daddy happy?" he snapped angrily.
Charlie sighed deeply and lifted sad eyes to his. "I'm just trying to make sense."
"Well don't. You should know better, by now."
"You catch him? That how you got hurt?"
"He's dead."
"You-"
"No," Don interrupted brusquely. He drained the last of his beer and stood.
"You staying the night?"
Charlie thought for a moment and Don could see the wheels turning in his head. "Yeah."
"Got somewhere to be, before noon?"
"Nah."
"Okay." He went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out two shot glasses and a bottle of good tequila. Not as good as his father's Patrón Anejó, but it would do. He showed Charlie the bottle.
"You want some lime and salt with this?"
Charlie just raised his eyebrows at him.
"Right."
He sat on the carpet by the coffee table, using the chair behind him as a backrest and poured two shots. Charlie slunk down from the couch and sat opposite to him
The faintest traces of dawn had begun to color the sky when the words tumbled out of his mouth, slurred by way too many shots of tequila.
"She kill'd 'im."
"Who?"
"Minnow. The girl. Sh' killed m. Knife through th' heart. Dunno how she did but... she did."
"Oh."
"I never... saw a kid with... that much fury in her eyes. Went at me when I found her. Tried to choke me."
"She did?"
Don nodded slowly, resting his head on the armchair behind him, one leg stretching under the coffee table.
"Bit me too," he said, waving his bandaged wrist.
"Hm."
Long minutes passed, the sun breaching the horizon.
"I hurt her."
"What?"
"Broke one of her wrists. She wouldn't let go... So small... and she... killed a man twice her size... Never seen a child... so... savage..."
"The strength of desperation," Charlie said softly.
There was nothing he could say to that, so he stayed quiet, letting his eyes close. He was just on the edge of falling asleep when Charlie spoke again.
"Tequila sunrise."
Don cracked an eye open.
"What?"
"We have tequila."
"We're out of tequila."
"Okay. We had tequila. Now, it's sunrise. Tequila sunrise."
He couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled out of his throat and once it started, he couldn't stop. Charlie joined in too and before long, both were sprawled on their backs, trying to catch their breaths.
Don turned his head to look at his brother and smiled.
"Hey buddy?"
"Wha?"
"Thanks."
Charlie just smiled and closed his eyes.
"Hey Don?"
"Hm?"
"I think..."
Don's eyes flared open in a panic. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed Charlie's shoulders, hoisting him up, willing the room to stop tilting.
"No. No way. You are not puking on my carpet!"
"Tequila sunrise..."
He dragged his ass into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder, a small smile on his face.
They were brothers. They fought. They worked together. They helped each other.
They were there for each other. Today, it would be enough to keep the horrors at bay.
Fin
Lyrics translation to the song La blessure by La Chicane (The wound, by La Chicane)
I didn't dare to call my dad
It was on New year's eve
I thought about it long and hard
But there is still too much anger
It happened when I was nine
He hurt me, wounded me
I was still only a child
Tell me why he touched me
Nothing can explain this
Something done without a thought
That shatters the lives
of those it happened to
of those it happened to
In those days, I had trust
In the man by whom I was born
One who's supposed to protect me
From what could happen
He badly played his part
Wounding me, choking me
Robbing me of what I was
Of what I could have become
Now I'm trying to get past it
But it's hard to forget
In the end you can't forget
The scar is always there
I'm stuck between love and hate
Of a father I now miss
Can I one day forgive him
And live my life without the thought
Without the thought
Nothing can explain this
Something done without a thought
That shatters the lives
Of those it happened to
...........