Chapter 4: Beatrice's Confession
Authors Note: I really appreciate your reviews. :-) Review's always make me more enthusiastic about writing the next chapter. I'm excited to get further into my story. Sometimes my updates are going to be really fast, sometimes a bit slower... depending on how often I'm working/whether I have insomnia! (Like tonight, and last night.)
Marsha. I didn't like that name. It made me think of a girl I once knew. She had dusty brown hair, freckles, glasses, and a forgettable face. But to top it off she was bossy as hell, and was the biggest tattle tale in the school. She would tell on people for sharpening their bloody pencils too much. Or having their shoe laces untied. Any chance to suck up, she would have taken it. But here I was, sitting across from another Marsha. A more motherly Marsha, with black hair rather than brown, Cassandra's foster mom. She seemed a bit brighter too, a bit more independent I figured seeing as she fostered.
"Hello Ms. Adams." Booth greeted her kindly, and held out his hand. "Seeley Booth, this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan." A flashback of my dream earlier made me freeze, my hands curl into fists. Forget it Brennan, forget it. I told myself. I managed to control my breathing, and stop my face from contorting in pain.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said. It seemed only Booth noticed something wrong with me. Marsha just gave me a sad smile.
"I have fostered many children over the years Dr. Brennan, I have lost more than just Cassandra." I knew she didn't just mean lost as in died. A lot of foster children ended up in prison, or on the streets. It was the way it was, it seemed. Almost impossible to prevent though. No matter how fantastic the child's foster-parents might be. It's the fact that their parents don't want them, can't have them.
"But in such a brutal fashion Ms. Adams, I'm sure that's not common?" Booth questioned. Marsha winced.
"Yes... and..." She trailed off. "Cassandra has already been through one horrible time in her life. It pains me to think that-" Marsha suddenly got choked up, as if she had control of her emotions to begin with but couldn't hold it in any longer. She swiped at the tears. Booth and I waited patiently for her to get herself under control again. Booth patted her arm, and handed her a tissue. I wished she would just hold herself together until after she'd given us information that might help with Cassandra's case. "Cassandra was raped at her first foster home." She admitted.
"Do you remember who her first foster-parents were?" I asked.
"No, the child & family services will have the records still I'm sure. I of course don't have access to it." She told us. Something told me she had managed to at least catch a glimpse at Cassandra's records at some time or another by the guilty look on her face. Marsha looked at me for a long moment, and then rummaged through her bag. Eventually she slapped a scratched and old photo onto the table in front of me.
Like I was watching myself from across the room, I leapt out of my chair. I backed away from Booth and Marsha, wishing everything would just go away. Could I not focus on Cassandra without my past coming into it?
"She took this photo from the home. I must say, these young ones don't look particularly happy. On the back is written Uncle Tommy." Booth pushed his chair back.
"Could we leave the interview at this for today Ms. Adams?" I saw the fear written on his face. "I need to speak to Dr. Brennan."
"Yes, I'm sure you do." She looked from the photo to me once more. So she wasn't like the Marsha I knew at all, she was observant, and sharp to have picked up the resemblance from a picture of the fifteen year old me, to me now. For one irrational minute, all I could focus on was the fact that I still didn't like the name Marsha. And that this Marsha appeared to be one of those over-bearing mother figures that forced all her foster children to call her 'mom.' Marsha touched my arm as she left. "I'm sorry."
Booth drove me back to my apartment in silence; he followed me up the stairs and made himself comfortable on one of my couches. I perched nervously on the edge of the one across from him, and looked down at my hands.
"He was my first foster-parent. We called him 'Uncle Tommy,'" I began, my voice strong. "I heard the screams from Beatrice the first night. I had an inkling of what was going on. I stayed at child & family services for a few weeks before finding a foster home. And I had been warned of men who came and specifically asked for girls. Back then, background checks on potential foster-parents were rarely done. They were just relieved to get us into a "home" and out of their hair." I admitted, shaking my head. "Things needed to change; it seems they have in recent years..." I was getting off track, but found it hard to continue, there was a rather large lump forming in my throat and making it hard to speak around.
Why was I telling Booth all this? It was sure to come back and bite me in the ass. Just like everything else I have ever confided in people. Even Ange couldn't keep things to herself; it soon ended up in Hodgin's hands too. How did I know Booth wasn't going to tell others what I had told him, even if he accidentally let something slip I would feel ashamed, more so than I felt now admitting it to him. A sob escaped my throat much to my embarrassment. How much could I cry in front of him? Was I not over the tears yet? I covered my face, and in seconds his warm body was next to mine. He rested his hand on my lower back.
"Whenever you're ready Bones," he whispered. "I know it must be hard."
"You have no idea how hard it is." I told him, my voice tiny and shaky. I hated this, showing weakness. It made me vulnerable; I had always tried my best to avoid that feeling. My heart was breaking all over again though. "But I need to tell you now, while I can. It might help... might give you an idea of how to help the people dealing with Mary Jane's case... once I saw that photo of Uncle... Thomas Benson holding Mary Jane, and Beatrice, Yvonne and I huddled together beside him... I realised... I have no idea what happened to Beatrice or Yvonne or Mary Jane after Beatrice finally broke free and told someone. What if he's coming back... back... back..." I couldn't finish it at first. I bit my hand and tried to stop the pain in my chest. "For us... coming back for us." I finally said.
I began rocking backwards and forwards, hands now twisting together in my lap. Oh God. I could handle the toughest of criminals, but this one man terrified me enough to make me want to pass at just at the thought of him coming back. Booth's arms wrapped around me, and I gratefully leant into his chest. I couldn't relax, and remained tense... but it felt good knowing Booth was here for me. I knew he would be as long as I needed him too.
Beatrice. So young, yet so old. She had finally confided in me. She wrote me a note in one of my school books when I was out for a walk only a week after I had been there. It wasn't every night that he asked for her or for Yvonne so far. The letter went into great detail, and I cringed as I read it. Terrified Uncle Tommy would find the letter; I ripped it into tiny pieces and threw it in the skip bin that sat between our unit and the unit next door. I hugged Beatrice close that night. I so rarely heard her voice, only Yvonne's. I supposed I barely spoke either, there was no need. She clung to me. I was the lucky one to them. Yvonne sat on Beatrice's other side and clutched her free arm.
That night he asked for me. I was ready to put up a fight. While I felt awful for thinking it, I would never let him get away with what he did the way Beatrice and Yvonne did. I would fight for them too, when the time was right. I held my head high, and squared my jaw as I followed him from the room. The words he'd just said bouncing around inside my head and making me feel ill. "Come say good night to Uncle Tommy, Temperance."
He closed his bedroom door behind him, and took my hand in his. I knew where he was about to put my hand before he even did it, I had read Beatrice's letter. I fought him. He didn't expect it, and I managed to yank my hand free. "No!" I cried, stumbling backwards and banging into his dresser. "You can't do this, it's not-" he covered my hand with his.
"I've had difficult ones before, you little bitch. You think I'm not prepared? You think my little Beatrice didn't fight at first too?" I kicked out and struggled until I was nearly suffocating. His hand was now covering my nose too. I clawed at him with my hands to no avail. He dragged me across the room. I kicked out more than ever as he pushed me towards the bed. I caught him in the back of the knee and he went down, his hand finally leaving my face. I took huge gasps of fresh air.
"You bastard!" I yelled, and made a run for the door, I hadn't managed to turn the handle when I felt a hand clutch a clump of my hair. He yanked me back, and punched me in the face. Something cracked. The pain was excruciating, and the tears sprung to my eyes without warning. I couldn't even open my mouth for the pain. I could taste blood, had I bitten my tongue?
"Jeremy, call an ambulance! Temperance fell and banged her head against the wall while playing with Beatrice and Yvonne." He had opened the door and shoved me into the hallway. He had a look of actual concern now. "I'm so sorry sweetie, this isn't how it's supposed to go... its okay... you'll understand eventually... like Beatrice. You'll come to enjoy your time with me. I'm a good foster-parent." He seemed to really believe it too.
I must have screamed during my dream, because Booth had a horrified look on his face when I opened my eyes. He held me closer, but I struggled and he let go. I could barely breathe; I felt like Uncle Tommy's hand was over my mouth and nose once more. Oh God. I buried my head into Booth's chest.
"Please don't put your arms around me," I pleaded. "Just for now... I can't..." I trailed off. With one hand he rubbed my back, giving me one side to turn my head and see that I wasn't trapped, that I could breathe.
These memories of my past that were all coming back were weakening me. They were changing me. How could I be Dr. Temperance Brennan, when I was a victim? I was Temperance the foster child. Temperance the poor girl with no parents. I needed to stop dwelling on the past, but at the same time I needed to remember to help Mary Jane, and Beatrice and others that he may have hurt. I was going to have to open up to someone, and Booth seemed like the best choice for now.
TBC.
