Only two chapters to go...
Thank you dark-girl-faith-sidle for reviewing, and thank -LarkinRoss... its always good to have a story whore, lol...glad you still love it.
Btw I didn't know what a traditional thankgiving meal was so I just found somethings on the net... so sorry if it is wrong.
You ran a mental list of the 8 men involved in the attack. Sean Mason, he was the one who had confessed to assault but not rape; Philip DeLucca, he was dead; Richard DeLucca the brother of the dead one; Gary Stevenson he was the one that had shouted in the court "She said she'd suck us of for 10 bucks each and since there was eight of us, we'd get a discount"; Dean Roberts; William Amos; Paul Greensmith, the cousin of Dean Roberts; James Harlow, he had been abusive and violent towards his wife and had met Sean Mason in jail, both of them in for assault against a woman. It was mid October and your Mother, who was slowly getting better and promising you the best Christmas ever, sat you down at the kitchen table. She told you gently that Gary Stevenson and Dean Roberts, the two prime defendants had vanished. You were told that their lawyer, Atkinson, was negotiating a remarkable plea bargain with prosecutors for his clients in which any charges of rape were to be dropped and "aggravated assault" would be lowered to "assault" and the next day, the two best friends had vanished.
The two best friends, you were told, had jumped bail, mostly likely to be never seen or heard from again but the joined the 'Most Wanted' list in Nevada, Clark County. You had heard that they had been talking about going to Canada, crossing the boarders, making their way northwest where it was said young and able-bodied men like them could find jobs in lumbering, fishery canning and salmon fishing. Good wages, too. Your mother stroked you hair. It had been cut recently and it hung just over your shoulders. Your mother smiled at you. She seemed to know that whether living (in Canada?) or dead (in the choppy waters of Niagara?) neither Gary Stevenson nor Dean Roberts would ever harm her again.
Christmas was approaching fast, likedoes to all children,and although Lorena didn't believe in Santa Clause anymore, she still believed that there was a magic to be found. Lorena had been repeatedly offered by adults the chance to change school but she thought it was more trouble than it was worth, and Lorena, using a logical that felt only logical to her, thought that if she could survive through the incident at the park and school, she could beat the world.
Lorena walked down the crowded corridors of the school, feeling the eyes move over her. Although she had desperately wanted to be in the Thanksgiving Concert, she was picked to be Native American no. 9 and she had basically told her to stuff it. There were classmates who were related to the rapists or who were friends or neighbours. There were classmates who were sympathetic with the rapists, the guys, because they had heard nasty things about Lorena and Sara.
Nobody likes a rat. Nobody likes a rat.
That was Lorena's newest nickname: rat…or the deviation from that: Loratta. What Lorena had done was rat to the cops, ratting to the DA and nobody likes a rat.
She entered fearfully in to a lavatory. The girls inside were the oldest and the meanest. You locked yourself him, double-checking the lock. You heard whispers and the door close. When you opened the door, on the mirror in pink lipstick scrawls
'HATE L.S' 'FUCK L.SIDLE'
Lorena had learned to quickly avert her eyes. Sometimes the words were even more ugly, particularly on her locker, words and drawings in spray paint. The school custodians could not remove these easily.
'L.S SUX CX' 'FUK L.S'
There were also clumsy cartoon drawings intending to symbolise, Lorena guessed, the female sex organs. Lorena had tried to lessen the dramatic impact of these by scratching at them with her fingernails until they became meaningless or even benign symbols, like lopsided suns or moons. The girls who had lockers on either side of you pretended not to see. Not the graffiti and not Lorena.
"Hey." The husky and sad female voice hit his eardrums. Gil was slightly surprised when he opened the door to find Sara and Lorena on his doorstep. He didn't say anything. He just absorbed the vision of Sara. Her brown amber waves flowed and she wore a plain and casual white dress with thin spaghetti straps. She also wore large sunglass that covered her eye sockets completely.
"I…erm…I changed my mind. If that's okay." Two weeks ago, Gil and Nick had asked her if she wanted to come for a Thanksgiving dinner at Grissom's house, but she had declined automatically, not properly considering it.
"It's fine. It's good to see you, Sara." Gil felt paralysed with happiness and Sara did too. It would be the first time that the circle of friends would be in the same room together.
"Hello Lorena."
The girl casually lifted her hand and dropped it down, not saying anything. There had actually been something inside her locker today. Gil told her she looked very pretty, she too was in a beautiful snow-white dress but she wore a denim jacket to keep her small arms warm. White socks and patent-leather shoes too. But Lorena shrugged his words off, just as easily as she shrugged off her sprit of innocence and grace. Lorena knew that her mother had wanted her to be so desperately happy, she wanted today be one bright day in her months of darkness. Sara had boughther aspecial dress,one that Lorena had seen in a shop window. It would have made other girls special but it felt like rags on Lorena, which in turn made her feel guilty and ungrateful.
Sara told Lorena to go outside. Look at the flowers or something. If that was okay with Grissom, though he didn't have any flowers, just green blades of grass and a deck area, where a table with candles and a plastic pumpkin decorating it stood. Sara stayed in the living room, staring lazily at her surroundings.
"Do you want something to drink?" Gil called from the kitchen.
"Water, please." Grissom unconsciously watched the splattering, burbling and dancing of the water as it flowed in to a glass.
Gil walked back in to his lounge area. The windows were ajar and the walls were gleaming white and a breeze blew through the house, blowing the curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up towards the ceiling like a white frosted wedding cake. The only stationary object in the room was the couch in which Sara buoyed up as though she was a on an anchored balloon. Her dress was rippling and fluttering as if she had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house.
Gil and Sara looked at each other, listening to the whip and snap of the curtains. One of the windows snapped shut with a loud boom and the wind died and Sara seem to balloon slowly to the ground. She was completely motionless and her chin was raised as if she was balancing something on the end of it. Sara's face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and bright lips.
"How is she handling everything?" He passed her the glass and she held between her palms.
"She's fine. She is handling everything beautifully. She handles difficult things so much easier than me..." Sara smirked a little and her eyes moved up to Gil's face and because of his expression, Sara knew that there was no point in lying to him.
"She hates it…she hates me. Her moods and grades are so bad at the moment."
Sara swallowed and her eyes drifted around the room.
"I caught her cutting up her dolls and dresses at the weekend."
It was fully dark now and the candles twinkled hilariously. There were no clouds in the sky, the wind had blown them away and had left a bright and sliver peppered starry night sky. A fragmented moon hung somewhere above the trees. Lorena was asleep in her chair, hair tickling her nose that kept making her rub it. She wasn't tossing as she had started doing; half sick by being torn between grotesque reality and savage frightening dreams.
"I could not eat another thing." Warrick stretched out his arms, as if invisible ropes were pulling them.
Greg, who was slightly slumping forward, his head propped up with his elbow, said leisurely, "I think I am going to puke."
"Thanks for that Greg," and Sara blew him a sarcastic smile.
Gil looked at Catherine and complimented her on her skills; the turkey had been rather splendid.
"Oh, it was yummy, alright." Catherine reached for her glass.
"Yeah, good work, Cath."
"Wasn't exactly a perfect Thanksgiving," Greg sighed, and when he realised everyone was looking at him, he indicated to his empty plate and said simply, "No Waldorf salad."
"I don't know. Seemed kinda right to me. A bit of fun, a big meal, and now we're all tired."
There was a long moment of silence and Nick decided to add a quick quirk.
"And we did all survive Warrick's cooking."
They all burst in to a soft murmuring laugh. Warrick's contribution to the meal had been less than edible. By definition, it would not have been classed as food.
"I guess that much is true. First thanksgiving on together…I've had worse days…"
Another soft and happy silence drifted over the table.
"Hey Nick," Warrick, smiled. Payback time.
"Where did you say you bought that pecan pie again?"
Catherine gasped half in disbelief and everyone looked at Nick.
"Nick!" Sara protested and gently pushed at his shoulder.
"You bought it?"
"Hey, a lot of effort went in to selecting that pie." He put his hands up in a playful defence.
"No doubt," Gil said with a beautiful coolness.
"Maybe we started a new tradition this year."
Everyone looked at Greg, eyebrows raised tightly.
"Maybe not. But at least we all worked together.It was like old times."
Thanks for reading xxxx
