As always, thanks for your reviews and your support and sorry about the delay. By the way, I always intended Bingley to just be misguided and too trusting of Caroline. In this chapter, I knew things were going to take a darker turn but I really struggled with exactly what that would be.
This morning, I woke up and pictured exactly what Bingley did and the last third of the chapter practically wrote itself with all the pieces just falling into place. Never underestimate the power of your sleeping mind solving a problem you've been struggling with and giving you the answer after you wake up (this has worked for me again and again). If you have any suggestions about where you want things to go from here, I am all ears.
WARNING: Jane and Bingley shippers and victims of domestic violence that haven't already been scared off by previous parts of this story, this may not be the story for you.
As for my own life, things are calm for the moment. E found a new boyfriend "C" who is a friend of a friend who lives in another city. They are "dating" but have yet to meet in RL, but have plans to see each other next week. He seems like a big step up from the last guy who is still sitting in jail waiting to be indicted. C has a job he has kept for three years, has gotten some post high school education and as E triumphantly told me "he hasn't asked me for nudes once." I explained that I should hope he wouldn't ask for them and then she told me every boyfriend she's had before has asked for them. Dang, what a lot of Wickhams she has dated! She also agreed to go with me to the gynecologist to discuss birth control options and went. She has not agreed to get any, but at least this is a step in the right direction as she learned about the ring and the patch (both of which appeal to her more than the pill or IUD).
By the way, there was a line that I wanted to use in this chapter, but it didn't quite fit with the tone. I'll share it with you anyway, though, and maybe I'll eventually use it: "But a week later, like a festering pimple, things came to a head . . ."
20.
Three days later, I had become firmly convinced that I would be unlikely to hear anything further from Chuck Bingley. If he had decided to look for and then found his sister's diary, and if it held anything incriminating, he was certainly not going to share it with me. I hoped, rather than believed, that he would be more cautious about Caroline's conduct in the future, but doubted that he would confront her or do anything at all to try to check her. It also seemed likely that Jane Bennet would go along with whatever approach he decided on, to keep the peace.
While I was somewhat perturbed as to how everything had ended up with Chuck, I was satisfied at least on an intellectual level that what Caroline had done to me wasn't my fault. Still, I found myself sometimes thinking through what I could and should have done differently. Getting intoxicated was at the top of the list, certainly. I still wasn't drinking at all, but could foresee a time when I might enjoy a drink or two.
As my mind surrendered its hold on thinking over and over about that night, it began to focus almost exclusively on the situation with G.G. (when I wasn't keeping my mind occupied with work). I thought over and over: Where is she? What is she doing right now? Is she for the moment safe? Is she in danger right now? What is happening to her?
My sleeping mind apparently had shifted gears, too, for my nightmares were now about looking for a missing G.G., during a rainstorm. In the dreams, she was a little girl, lost in the woods, wearing her purple unicorn nightgown. As I searched, I would hear fast footsteps, start searching more frantically. There was this fear that if I did not hurry, that other person was going to get to her before me.
Sometimes I caught a glimpse of that other person and in the different iterations of the dream he wore many horror film faces, Freddy Krueger, the evil doll Chucky, Jason, and Michael Myers among others (Rick had a penchant for older horror movies and I had seen all of the worst horror film villains). But in other versions he looked quite ordinary, probably wore the face of someone I had seen at the bank or grocery store. Twice the bad guy was my dead father, once looking as he had in life, once looking as he had in death, perhaps a sort of zombie.
Once the bad guy started out as Chucky, but then morphed into a bizarre combination of Chuck and Caroline which then split to become an adult-sized Chucky and Chucky's girlfriend, still with doll proportions. Another time, the villains were an ordinary Chuck and Caroline, holding hands and apparently in some sort of bizarre incestuous relationship. When it was the later two, I woke up shortly after seeing them, before I could learn whether I had saved my sister, or whether they had gotten to her first.
With the horror movie villains, sometimes I would get to G.G. only to have her snatched away after my rescue, and sometimes I would hear her scream or see her being dragged away while some obstacle always kept me from getting to her in time. I hardly wanted to sleep at all as more often than not I would awake at least once in the night with my heart pounding and in a sweat. The images might quickly fade, or I might see everything from my dreams in clear detail.
The dreams of course would have goaded me into action, but I hardly knew what more I could do than I had already been doing, save for walking the London streets myself. I repeatedly was in contact with Mrs. Annesley at the school, the headmaster, the police and the private investigators, but no one had any new information of substance. The P.I.s had reports of what they had done, what they had tried, the leads they had followed up on and the dead ends they always encountered. There was the book shop girl that looked a little like G.G. but had come from Ireland; the call to the police of squatters at a residence within five kilometers of the school who turned out to be old druggies; the report of a missing bicycle from a house in the neighborhood immediately adjoining the back wall of the school which later turned out to have just been misplaced.
There was no definitive sign of G.G. after she had left the grounds. It was as if she had just vanished. To my mind, it meant that George or someone else was waiting for her off the grounds and she was either holed up in England or long gone.
One of the first things I had done of course when I learned she was missing was to tell the local detectives who were working on the pornography/sex abuse case regarding Wickham and ask if they could check to see if there was any new activity on G.G.'s logged in apps on Mrs. Reynold's phone. Despite following up with them, I didn't hear anything for two weeks. At that time I got a call from a new detective, Detective Rolf, who said that he was handling the investigation now because he was who was assigned from their sex crimes division.
Detective Rolf told me "We checked through everything and found that just that a week before your sister disappeared that her Instagram account told GWHottie24 to watch for a message on his 'Gorgeous George' account. We pulled up every logged in account G.G. had, checked her email, but she had no saved contacts or past messages with any screen name that even halfway matched. We also conducted searches on multiple popular messaging sites and while there were of course plenty of accounts for Gorgeous Georges, there was nothing to link them to Mr. Wickham or your sister. We are in contact with the FBI about the case now, and they are in contact with the relevant offices in the UK, but at this point we have nothing new to offer you."
Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I started trolling the internet for anything "Gorgeous George." But nothing I found seemed the least bit helpful. The first thing that came up was about an old time wrestler by that name and then a woman wrestler who had purchased the name from him. Then there were the businesses by that name: a Mediterranean restaurant in Seattle, a hotel in Capetown and a probiotics website in Melbourne.
I concluded that in all likelihood G.G. was with George. While this lessened the likelihood of her shivering in the cold somewhere, I wondered if she was in a worse state to have such a companion. As she had repeatedly told me that being with George was all she wanted, I wondered if she might be happy. It would be a deluded sort of happy, like someone in a cult, before they understand that the cult leader has spiked the Kool-Aid and wants them all to die.
It was three and a half weeks after the meeting with Chuck when I received a letter in the mail from Jane Bennet. I was of course extremely curious as to what she might be writing me about. She began with some lengthy apologies about their tardiness and Chuck's behavior, in which she took on much too much responsibility for what he had done. But the heart of the letter, the part I read repeatedly, was as follows:
My sister Elizabeth has often said I see the world through rose-colored glasses, seeing only the best in other people. I was certainly guilty of that when it came to Caroline before everything came out. But I would not have said that I was also seeing only the best in Chuck.
Perhaps it is old fashioned of me, but since I was a little girl, I dreamed of being swept off my feet by my Prince-Charming, the one that God and the Universe had ordained for me as my perfect match, having a big wedding and the "happily ever after" in which I would hold more traditional roles as wife and mother. We would have four children, the dog and the pool. I would be the sort of wife and mother who was devoted to her husband and children, who never wore "mom jeans" or let herself go, the mom who made her husband and children their sack lunches with sweet notes, volunteered to help in the classroom and for the PTA. Of course I knew that no one was perfect, I am sure not, but I thought that anyone who would fall in love with me, and me with him, would be the perfect one for me. I no longer believe that.
The situation with Caroline, with what she did to you. I am firmly convinced that it happened as you have said. The pieces all fit.
I understand Chuck not wanting to believe it, to see the best in his sister, for he loves her, and a brother should love a sister. But I never dreamed that he would willfully turn his back on the evidence, pretend that none of it happened and insist I do the same.
On the car ride back from your house, Chuck turned the music up loud and it was clear he was in no mood to talk about any of it. However, when we got back to his place, it was evident he had a different idea of how to make himself feel better, and I could hardly keep up with his passion. Afterwards, I gave him a couple of days to lick his wounds before I mentioned our meeting, asked if he would look for the diary, whether he would talk to Caroline about what she had done. His answer was simply "It is over. I am sorry to have lost Bill's friendship, but I am moving on."
I asked how he could move on, when nothing was resolved. I even asked, "What if she does it again?"
Chuck grabbed me by the shoulders, hard. I could feel each of his fingertips pressing into me. He said, staring into my eyes, apparently unconcerned that I was scared and hurting, and these words I shall never forget, "Listen to me, Jane. It is nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. You should be planning our wedding, instead. It didn't happen; got it? Now I don't ever want to hear about this again. You are going to be a Bingley, and Bingleys rally around their own."
I was shocked by how Chuck was acting, didn't know what to say, was even frightened of what he might do if I did say anything then. I was not brave at all, and nodded my head.
Chuck loosened his hold on my shoulders then, started rubbing the spots he had just hurt. He praised "That's my good Angel" and then pulled me tight, uncomfortably so. He began touching and squeezing me in a way I didn't really like, but I let him. As he kissed my neck and ear, he paused his kisses for a moment to tell me, right in my ear, "I'm glad you've come to your senses."
I knew what he wanted then, but I was certainly not in the mood. He was being so aggressive, though, and I could tell how ready he was. I didn't think he would take kindly to a "no." There had been some occasions before this, that I hadn't been so inclined but had gone along with his desires (everyone knows that men and women hardly have the same level of drive) and on this occasion it could have been the same, but something in me rebelled against that. I felt not the slightest bit of excitement or want in me, none at all.
Fortunately, I had plans with Lizzy to go to a movie with her, which I had mentioned before. I reminded him that I had to go. Chuck wasn't happy about it, commented "You got me all worked up. Aren't you going to finish what you started?" I did not correct him even though I thought he had worked himself up all by himself, for what had I done but be there?
"No, I've really got to go," I told him. Then he asked about me coming back later, to finish what we'd started. I made up a lie, quick, told him "No, my sisters and I are going to have a sleepover after, and then I have work early tomorrow."
Chuck grimaced; it was rather an ugly expression which I'd seen both of his sisters make. Usually his face is so sunny and open, that before that I had hardly thought he looked like them at all, but it was clear to me at that moment that in some respects they were all too similar and I felt a sort of chill up my spine, the sort of recognition people in horror films must have when they first realize a loved one has turned into a zombie and they will either have to kill a loved one or be killed.
A moment later, Chuck looked just like himself again and I half thought I had imagined the whole thing. He then replied in a most reasonable tone, "I suppose that's okay, but you'll make it up to me, right?" The last comment was flirtatious but there was also a slightly hard edge to it. He tilted his head, gave a sweet smile and added, "Don't you think that sleepovers with your sisters are kind of childish? Now sleepovers with your fiance . . . have you given more thought to moving in with me?"
I had previously declined, thinking things were too complicated already, but he acted as if he hadn't heard my refusal. When I drove off shortly after that, my mind was on the man I had left behind. But time with my sisters was a good distraction, and the next day I was in good enough spirits to spend time with him again. Everything seemed to have gone, more or less, back to how it always was. I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing, even though the next day I found bruise marks on my arms from where he had grabbed me too tight.
I excused it all: it was a mistake, it was unintentional, he was just upset and trying to come to terms with what his sister had done. Still, a seed had been planted and I parsed his words and expressions more carefully than I had before. But I was determined to not be even half as cynical as Lizzy, to give him every benefit of the doubt. The next week was fine; neither of us mentioned your name and if Caroline came up it was not in reference to anything concerning her treatment of you.
I should mention that I had long ago determined that both of our sisters would be part of the wedding party, but it was to be Elizabeth as my maid of honor, Mary next to her, and then Caroline and Louisa. This was well known to Chuck. Originally Chuck had planned to have you be his best man, and then have Louisa's husband and then two other friends stand up for him, but was uncertain who to move up to best man and who to add to his groomsmen so our numbers would match.
Apparently Chuck decided that the best way to decide on a new best man was to have each of the candidates over to dinner with us, the Hursts and Caroline. The first man, Kyle, was seated right by Caroline. I don't think she knew him, but she did her best to find out about him and was soon enough flirting. Kyle seemed uncomfortable, but was doing his best to be polite. After Kyle left, Caroline asked Chuck about what Kyle did, what his background was and how much money he had. I couldn't believe she was being so crass, but it did not seem to bother Chuck in the least.
Two other guys had dinner with us all in the next few days, Jonathan and Dante. It was the same thing at dinner and afterwards, and it was clear to me that to Jonathan was the best of the bunch to Caroline. Predictably, Chuck then asked Jonathan to be his best man.
A couple of days later when we were watching a romantic comedy at his place and had just reached the humorous wedding scene where the bride barely avoids marrying the wrong groom, Chuck paused the movie and began to talk about our attendants. Chuck said, "I've been thinking, shouldn't Caroline be your maid of honor, instead of your sister? She wants to stand up opposite Jonathan. Also, this will be a good way for you to become closer, and I would really like that."
I didn't want to address the elephant in the room, how if it was to be my choice that Caroline would not be a member of my party, not even be in our lives at all, for she could not be trusted and I was worried what she might try with poor Jonathan. I paused from giving a quick "no" to try to consider the matter from Chuck's point of view. He had picked his sister to support over you and he must have been trying to reassure her that he was serious about that and wanted her happiness, but the idea of her beside me, of planning my bachelorette party, of being expected to become closer to her, perhaps with him hoping that she would replace my own sisters in the dearness of my heart . . . it was unthinkable.
Chuck's look was so trusting, so open and so hopeful, that I found myself saying "I'll think about it."
Think about it I did, through the whole rest of the movie. Chuck smiled and laughed at all the right times, while I was too distracted to follow the plot or be amused.
Normally, I talk over everything with Lizzy, but I didn't tell her about either of these things. I knew that she would be down on Chuck, ask if I thought he was really the man for me and I didn't want to hear it. I still had that dream of the perfect life before me, was on the road there and did not want to let a couple of hiccups upset the apple-cart.
It was an incident three days ago that finally opened my eyes. (Maybe I shouldn't writing about things like this in a letter, but I feel that you might understand and because you wrote before and I'm the one who currently has your letter, envelope and all, this was the only way I knew of getting a hold of you without asking Chuck or Caroline.)
At this point the writing worsened significantly, as if Jane was writing faster or with more emotion, and on a few words it took me some effort to interpret what they were. It wasn't Bingley bad, though. Still, this didn't prepare me for what would follow. Nothing could have.
The thing that happened occurred when Chuck and I were being intimate, in the middle, on a Saturday morning. It was early for a weekend yet, but getting light. I had slept over as he had wanted me to, and I would have been sleeping still if had been up to me. I was more doing it to make him happy than because I really desired it, but it was okay and I was looking forward to falling back asleep after. Apparently he could tell I was ready for it to just be over already, and rather than becoming harder, he was trying harder but softening.
I thought Chuck might climb off me and make some comment about trying later, or complain that I was not doing enough to encourage him (which was true), but instead, he gave me a look, that same ugly grimace from before that was just like the one Caroline makes, but rather than just a quick flash of it, it stayed on his face. I didn't like that look at all.
Chuck kept staring at me while he deliberately placed one of his hands over my neck. At first he was gentle, kind of stroking my neck, but I still found it disconcerting. Then it changed and Chuck pressed down with the edge of his hand, the "c" formed by his thumb and first finger, right above my collar bone, not lightly, hard.
Suddenly, I couldn't breathe and I panicked, tried to push him off me, but of course in that position he was in control. He moved faster and harder, and as my vision was blacking out, he came. A moment later, he rolled to the side and released me all at once and said "You were perfect."
Within a few minutes he was asleep while I was still trying to reassure myself that things were okay, and to come up with a rational explanation for why he had done what he had. The trouble was that I couldn't come up any explanation that I liked, not a one. All I could think of was that he liked me being at his mercy, got some thrill out of deliberately endangering me. I was quietly panicking inside and then found myself getting up and getting dressed.
Chuck roused as I was walking out of his bedroom as my high heels clacked. "Where are you going, my angel?" He said, looking as sweet as he could be, as if he hadn't just done what he had. I realized then that I should have carried my shoes out of the room, rather than putting them on.
I made up a ridiculous, vague excuse, careful not to name my sisters in it, "I forgot I was supposed to meet a friend this morning."
"Oh, okay," he told me, yawned and rolled over.
I removed my heels and quietly walked out. I drove away quickly, gripping the wheel much too hard. I suppose I should have gone to see one of my sisters or friends, or just driven home, but instead I drove an hour away on an interstate before pulling off at a rest stop and bursting into tears. I cried for a long time and then did my best to pull myself together and come up with some course of action. All I could think of was going to Charlotte's place, that she would know what to do.
I calmed enough finally to drive to Charlotte's, but once I arrived I didn't have the courage to knock on her duplex door. It seemed wrong to be there. I suppose that I should mention that Charlotte works for an organization that works with battered women, but I had never thought that I could be a victim. Things like that happened to other people.
A half hour later Charlotte came out to walk her dog. She must have noticed my car right away, as it was parked right next to hers. She walked right up to the driver's side and knocked on the window. I climbed out and when she asked "What's wrong, Jane?"
I didn't get a single word out, for when I tried my throat burned. I burst into tears again. I walked with her as she walked her dog and then went into her home with her. She let me be, getting me an ice-pack, fixing some tea and then just sitting beside me.
Haltingly, I croaked out the bare minimum of what had happened with Chuck that morning.
Charlotte told me what I already knew, "You can't go back to that man. I don't know if you know this, but you have deep bruises on your neck and I'm going to need to take you to a doctor to get checked out. This is very serious. What he did, it could have killed you. That's domestic violence and rape. You should report this to the police or at least file a restraining order against him."
I burst into tears again then and told her "I don't know what to do." I let her make the decisions, and she decided to drive me to the police station and then to the hospital to see a SANE nurse (the SA stands for sexual assault) and then a doctor. My throat hurt too much to talk, so I wrote out my answers to their questions on paper. The exam by the SANE nurse was incredibly embarrassing even though she was very kind.
On Monday I applied for a domestic violence order, with Charlotte filling out the paperwork based on what I told her, and me signing it. She put down that when he strangled me I feared for my life and tried to push him off me, was no longer consenting to sex, and that I feared he would hurt me again and kill me next time. I'm not sure I would have put it that way, but I went along with it. The emergency order was granted that same day and a hearing on the regular order is set for a week and a half later. I don't really want to have to face him in court, but I don't have a choice, either.
I've been staying with Charlotte since then, haven't been to work or been home. I've texted excuses to everyone who has tried to contact me, my sisters and Chuck included, and haven't answered my phone once or listened to any voice mails.
Once he was served, Chuck texted the most horrible things. The things he wrote, it is like I didn't know him at all.
Just below that, there were two crossed out sentences which were so fully obliterated that I could not even guess at what they might have once been, with the paragraph ending: Charlotte told me not to delete them as they are evidence.
Then there was just one last paragraph with only two further lines of writing before a phone number and a signature. I kept reading that last paragraph and considering. She wrote:
I can finally talk again without it hurting, but I haven't known what to say to anyone. Maybe it's selfish of me, but do you think we could talk? I feel like you would understand. Please text me first, telling me it is you.