Hide (Sequel to RUN)

Chapter 19

     They took pictures of me at the hospital. The air had been cold on my already-scarred arms while I had turned and tried to distance myself from the situation.
     “Who did this to you?” a detective had came and asked again. “Your initial statement was Aaron Lakuan.” I stopped picking at the edges of the cast they had plastered on and looked up at the detective.
     “Aaron strangled me, but it wasn’t really him,” I explained, looking at the clock on the wall adjacent to his head. “I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD, and sometimes I mix up reality with old memories.”
     “So Mr. Lakuan strangled you...just not today,” the detective caught on. I nodded, bringing my hand up to my throat.
     “So you have no idea which suspect strangled you?” I shook my head no.
     “Any idea who beat you?”
     “I was out of it,” I spun my finger around my ear. “The ringing took over.”
     “Do you remember anything? Anything at all?” I thought back, trying to remember what happened before my eyes had closed.
     “I...umm...I fell to my knees first. Before I collapsed, I saw Maki running at me. Dad took a swing at him, though.”
     “Okay,” he scribbled this in his notebook. “What about after you stopped seeing Mr. Lakuan?” I explained everything to him. The flashes between different people, how both had told me that the other was strangling me after they walked into the room.
     “Maki looked terrified,” I recalled from before I had shoved Dad away from Maki. “Dad looked furious.”
“You said you fell asleep with Mr. Moore?”
     “Yeah. I woke up to shouting, and when I reached over he was gone. Then the door slammed and I tried to get up. That’s when Aaron...no...whoever...grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into the wall.”
     “Any idea how long you were asleep?”
     “Ummm…” I switched my gaze to the window, thinking hard. “It was around 11:52 when I fell asleep...I didn’t catch the time when I woke up.” He nodded and scribbled something else in his notepad.
     “So?” I asked. He looked up in surprise.
     “So what?” he asked.
     “Who strangled and beat me?”
     “Don’t know yet,” he flipped his notebook closed. “Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Then he left.
     I looked around the room, not sure what to do exactly. They’d given me some pain meds for the broken arm, so everything was slow enough to make me frustrated. I started pulling at my hospital bracelet, on edge. Something was bugging me.
     I’d said Aaron had attacked me. That was my initial statement. But no one had looked at me funny. No one had said that Aaron was still in prison, so that was impossible. If someone had said that Aaron had strangled them, I would have corrected them right away. Maybe my interrogator had just written me off as crazy. After all, Maki and Dad were telling the same story. The other person had strangled me. Not Aaron.
     The fingers sticking out of my cast kept twisting away at my bracelet anyway, cutting off circulation.
     “Sweetheart?” I didn’t turn my head at first. I could picture him perfectly without my eyes. He would be leaning against the door with one arm, staring at me with some kind of fatherly expression.
     “Why are you here?” I asked coldly, still refusing to turn my head. My fingers were still working at my bracelet. Aaron couldn’t be out of prison. Could he?
     “They told me you’d been asking for me.” I heard him shift positions. He was waiting for the right moment to cross the threshold.
     “I wasn’t thinking straight,” I shot back. He sighed and risked entering the room. He walked around my bed and into my line of sight, sitting in the chair closest to the bed. I looked down, pretending to be completely engrossed in my bracelet.
     “How are you doing?”
     “Just dandy,” I answered tautly. The reality of my situation began to sink in. I focused on my original train of thought instead. I hadn’t seen the news in ages. Everyone had changed the channel immediately if it was on the news. At the time, I hadn’t thought anything of it. Now I was thinking about the stories that those news reports could have contained.
     “Come on, Sweetheart. You were just strangled. Tell me the truth.” I twisted the bracelet into a rigid stick, causing myself some sort of pain. It felt good in some sort of sick way.
     “Aaron’s not in prison, is he?” I muttered, twisting the bracelet impossibly tighter.
     “What are you talking about?” Lansing sounded agitated. “Would you please stop with the bracelet?” He got out of his seat and reached for my arm, trying to save my poor wrist. I pulled my wrist away, still keeping a tight hold on the bracelet, finally looking him full in the face.
     “He escaped, didn’t he?” I interrogated. When he didn’t answer right away, simply stared at me in shock, I twisted the bracelet harder and shouted, “Didn’t he?!”
     “Yeah. Yeah, he did, Sweetheart.” I let the bracelet loose, dropping my arms back to my lap. The blood rushed gratefully back through my arteries to supply oxygen to my fingers. Anger boiled in my stomach, but I kept a calm mask on. How could he not tell me?
     “How long?” I asked, keeping my calm exterior. My pointer finger spun around the inside of my bracelet, looking for something to do. Lansing sank back into his seat, guilt passing over his face.
     “About a month.”
     “That night Maki came to the house and I ran upstairs...” I connected the dots. Lansing nodded, running a hand down his face.
     “He came to give us the news. We were going to tell you right away, but you had fallen asleep and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. I talked to your therapist about it the next day. He said not to tell you. He didn’t know how your mental state was, and he didn’t want to risk you getting worse.”
     “The shrink isn’t always right,” I began at a mumble, but my voice grew into something cruel and sharp. “You should’ve told me.” I turned my attention back to my disheveled bracelet, wanting to twist it again.
     “Well, you know what?” Lansing suddenly exploded. I looked over in surprise.
     “You should’ve told me a lot of things, Lekia. But you didn’t. You hide everything inside yourself and won’t let anyone in. Then you lash out at all of us for trying to help.” I stared at him, paralyzed in shock. He was looking back at me, daring me to defy him for a change.
     The anger had drained from me with the realization of the truth. I couldn’t think of anything to say for several long moments.
     “I’m sorry,” I finally settled on. “But you can’t expect me to turn off almost seventeen years of instinct.” I was silent for another moment before saying, “And it’s not like anyone called me out for being a major jerk.”
     “We all have things to work on,” Lansing agreed. “This is a step in the right direction, though.” I glanced at him as he leaned forward on his knees, then back to my hands that were finally laying still at my sides.
     “Now, how are you doing? Really?”
I shrugged, still not wanting to speak my mind. That desire to keep the strong facade still burned strong inside of me.
     “Rattled,” I admitted after several seconds. “I couldn’t even fight back.”
     “Why? Who strangled you?”
     “Aaron.” The answer slipped out. It was who I had seen. “I mean, I saw Aaron.”
     “You told the cops you saw Aaron?” Lansing asked.
     “It wasn’t really Aaron. Just a memory. But yeah.” I paused for a second. “They didn’t question it.”
     “And that’s how you figured Aaron escaped. But who actually strangled you, Sweetheart?” I shrugged, “Maki or Dad. They’re pointing fingers at each other.”
     “Maki?” Lansing’s eyes immediately seemed more alert. “Sweetheart, you can’t honestly believe that Maki--”
     “I don’t know,” my voice was harsh. I glanced at him. “I don’t know,” I whispered this time. Every cell was screaming, crying out. They were pounding against that wall, and I could feel it fracturing.
     A tear leaked out, and I hid my face in my hands. What was I becoming?
     “I don’t know about anything anymore,” I gasped, letting even more tears escape. A scream built up inside me, begging me to let it out.
     I wanted to let it out.
     “Sweetheart,” Lansing began. I moved my head just enough to catch a glimpse of him. He was reaching out to me. Aaron was reaching out to me.
     I hid my eyes again and flinched away. When I realized that he wasn’t Aaron, it was too late. I’d already hurt him.
     I looked up at him again, this time full in the face.
     “I’m sorry,” I breathed, taking in the hurt in his eyes. “I...I thought…” I just buried my head in my hands again. Maybe that could stop my head from spinning.
     There was silence.
     “Are you ever gonna trust me again?” he finally whispered.
     “It hasn’t even been a day, Lansing,” I growled, clenching my fingers tighter around my skull.
     “Talk to me. What’s going on inside your head?” I shook my head, “I don’t think you wanna know.”
     “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” Lansing sounded frustrated, so I looked over at him. The hurt in his eyes made me look away again.
     “It’s not like a can flip a switch or something!” I shouted, frustrated at him being frustrated at me. “You do realize that I was trained for years to hide my feelings? I was not allowed to show emotion. If I did…” I trailed off, remembering my promise to Dad. They wouldn’t understand.
     “What was that?” Lansing asked. This time he sounded protective. I didn’t look at him this time.
     “He told me that no a would understand,” I whispered, wiping a tear from my cheek.
     “Who told you?”
     “...Dad.” There was a long pause in which I took the opportunity to compose myself and look back at Lansing.
     “Sweetheart,” Lansing began softly, “if someone tells you people wouldn’t understand, then it’s probably not something to be doing.” I directed my gaze to the window, thinking about this. My father loved me. You wouldn’t hurt someone if you loved them.
     Did he love me, though?
     “What is love?” I asked abruptly, focusing back on Lansing. Confusion swept over his face for several seconds. When those had ticked by, he became thoughtful.
     “You know what love is, Sweetheart,” he finally whispered. I buried my head back into my hands.
     “He’s tortured me,” I admitted. “But it was training! It was to make me better… He was making me into the perfect soldier.” Lansing didn’t say anything for a while. I didn’t really want to look at him. I knew what he was thinking, but it wasn’t like that.
     It wasn’t. He was training me. Dad loved me.
     “Anything...anything else?” Lansing choked. I breathed heavily into my hands, knowing what he would think if I divulged any more information.
     “...He...he wasn’t always happy with...my performance,” I began, starting to tremble. “There were punishments.”
     “What...what kind of punishments?” he asked, sounding disgusted. I finally raised my head, running a hand through my hair as I did so. With my hair still pulled away from my scalp, I indicated a long scar inside my hairline. It was impossible to see unless you moved the hair.
     “This was for losing a knife fight,” I told him. I threw off my blanket and pulled up my gown to reveal a nasty scar on my hip.
     “This one was was for losing a boxing match against Dad. He cut me in a hard place to reach and then made me stitch it up with a sewing needle and thread. I took the stitches out myself a couple weeks later.” I dropped the cloth and put my head back in my hands.
     “Love is patient; love is kind,” I murmured. I skipped ahead in the verse, “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
     “That doesn’t sound like Darl,” Lansing commented after another long pause.
     “It’s not.” My voice cracked as I forced it past a clogged throat. “I have to be strong.” I began to tear up. “No weakness.” At the word ‘weakness’, I lost it. My emotions broke through the wall Dad had worked so hard to build, and I was sobbing.
     “I’m so confused!” I screamed. Lansing was at my side in an instant. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest, where I continued to sob.
     My sobs eventually died down to simple tears and sniffles. By that time, it felt as if acid had been poured down my throat.
     “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay,” Lansing kept murmuring. I finally pushed off of him, not daring to look him in the eyes.
     There was silence for the longest time, where I somewhat regained my composure and Lansing kept his hand on my shoulder.
     “I don’t know what to do,” I finally admitted. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.” Lansing remained silent, prompting me with his silence to keep talking.
     “Everything was bottled up for years,” I explained, needing to talk. “After Aaron, it started leaking out. I couldn’t control my emotions as well. Now they’re just all over the place, and it’s so confusing.”
     “How so?”
     “...It’s like…,” I thought aloud, trying to think of a good simile so he could understand. “It’s kinda like being in a dodgeball game. At first, it’s kinda hard, but then you get used to it and you dodge everything easily. You do it without thinking. Then more people start throwing balls. And the balls just keep coming and coming, and you try to block them like you did before, but there’s too many of them coming at you at once.”
     “What happens next?”
     “You fall on the ground,” I shrugged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     The detective walked into the holding area, looking for the two suspects he’d brought in on the assault charge. They were in adjacent cells with their backs to each other.
The detective mentally flipped through pictures of the girl. Lekia Born. He remembered the buzz she’d caused a couple of months ago. She’d gone through all that and then gotten home to be beaten half to death.
     One of the suspects was the former captain, the girl’s father. The detective had seen the girl a couple of times while working. It was always just out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t really bothered to look up completely, never really bothered to notice.
He’d noticed her in the hospital. She hadn’t once looked him in the eye.
     The only thing he remembered about her from before was that everyone talked about her as if she was a hurricane. There didn’t seem to be any of that girl left.
     That simple fact made his stomach churn.
     The other suspect was a new recruit.
     Who was the girl’s boyfriend.
     “Moore,” the detective barked. The boy looked up from his hands sullenly, glaring daggers at the detective.
     “You’re up,” the detective went over to the cell. Moore rose from the bench tensely and walked over to the door, offering his hands through the slot to be handcuffed.
     The detective slapped the cuffs on, opened the door, and led Moore to the interrogation room.
     “Why did you do it, Recruit?” the detective asked, not even sitting in his seat. Moore glared angrily at the table, as if it was the cause of all his problems.
     “It’s in your best interest to talk.”
     “You’re wasting your time with me,” Moore growled, not looking up from the table.
     “And why is that?” The detective circled behind Moore, trying to intimidate an answer out of him.
     “I would never hurt her,” Moore kept his head down, refusing to look behind him. He wasn’t buying into the intimidation act.
     The detective tried a new approach. He went to his seat, sat in it, then mimicked Moore’s posture. Maybe trying to connect with him would do the trick.
     “Thing is, I’m not really buying into that,” the detective coaxed. “I’ve looked into your history. You’re quite the ladies man. Probably used to getting what you want from women. What happens when Lekia didn’t want to give you that?”
     “It wasn’t like that,” Moore clenched his fists.
     “Really? It was like that before.” Moore looked to the side, his jaw set.
     “That’s the past.” The detective opened the folder in front of him, taking out pictures of three different girls.
     All of them were in the hospital. All of them had been beaten.
    “The past has a way of catching up to you, Recruit.” Moore glanced at the pictures and went pale.
     “Every girl who gets close to you ends up beaten.”
     “I’m different,” Moore choked. “Lekia. She’s different.”
     “And I should just believe you? These girls were beaten by you. Old habits die hard, you know what I mean?”
     “I was drunk,” Moore whispered. “I got help. I’m two years sober.”
     The detective started to speak again, but Moore cut him off.
     “Look at Lekia’s medical files,” Moore spoke confidently, finally looking the detective in the eye. “Look at how many times she’s been brought in for broken bones. Look at all the reports that have been filed against her father for abuse. I did not lay a hand on Lekia. I kicked the door down, and I saved her. Darl Born is the one who did this.”
     “You’re trying to tell me that an honored and respected man did this to his own daughter?” The detective pulled another picture out of his file. Lekia.
     Moore visibly flinched. Her cheek and lip were split, and large portions of her face were purple.
     The pictures kept coming. Her arms. Her legs. Her torso.
     Every single part of her was covered in patches of purple and cuts. Moore brought his hand up to the picture of her face, gently running a finger down it.
     “I didn’t do this,” his voice cracked.
     “It’s your word against his.” Moore didn’t answer, just stared down at the pictures.

A/N: Hey guys. I'm super sorry about the huge delay. Here's the thing: I just started my senior year. I am taking 5 college level courses. I also work a part-time job. I am also part of my marching band. I am applying for college and also scholarships. In short, this leaves me almost no time to write. I will be doing my best to update, and I'm sorry again this is so late. Hope you love it!