I heard a buzz, indicating the door was unlocked so I opened the door and walked through.
“Just this way,” he said, pointing toward a section of cubicles. “Take a seat here,” he said, gesturing to a plastic chair inside one of the cubicles. “A detective will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking a seat. My knee bounced up and down quickly. The nerves, the anxiety, the sheer awfulness that had been my last few days taking residence in that obsessive bounce.
Five minutes later a man sat down across from me. “Detective Johnston,” he said, sliding in his chair. He reached for a pen and pad and faced me. “I understand you’d like to file a report?”
“Yes, sir,” I told him.
“What happened?” he asked, not yet making eye contact.
“I was at a party three days ago. While I was there, I was offered a blunt, but it was laced with ketamine. I didn’t know this and when I passed out, I believe the boys there did something to me.”
The detective finally looked at me, then through me. “You willingly smoked the blunt, though?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he offered, not finishing the thought.
“Well, what?”
“Well, I mean, how do you know it was even laced with ketamine? You could have just passed out on your own.”
“First, I know because I was tested and it was positive for ketamine. Second, I was under the impression it was only marijuana.”
“But you willingly took it.”
“It doesn’t matter if I did or not, Detective, they took advantage of me.”
He shook his head. “But wouldn’t you agree that since you admit to willingly taking the blunt, that you also ran the risk of someone taking advantage?”
My blood ran cold. “Sir, are you saying that because I took a hit of a blunt, which I was led to believe was only marijuana, that it’s my fault boys undressed me, possibly worse?”
“You admit to breaking the law. If I were you, I’d chalk this up as a life lesson and let it go.”
“Is this a joke?” I asked him.
He looked at me sternly, set his pen and pad down, and scooted his chair up really close, intimidatingly close.
“How do you know these boys even did anything?” he asked.
“I don’t know for sure. I just know that I have pictures of them after they’ve undressed me, without my consent, and them doing pretty gross things to me.”
“Let me see these photos,” he said.
I took my phone out and showed him the forwarded images. He scrolled through them quickly and handed the phone back.
“I’ll admit they shouldn’t have done that,” he said, “but this just looks like a bunch of boys being stupid. There’s no proof they did anything worse than this.”
I pointed to a picture of my naked breasts being held by a laughing Trace.
“Is this not enough to press charges?” I asked.
“Well,” he hedged, leaning back. “Listen,” he began, picking up his pen and tapping it on his pad, avoiding eye contact again. “I think it would be best if you just brush this off as youthful indiscretions and maybe next time, when a boy offers you a blunt, you control yourself and not take a hit from it.”
I stamped down the rage I felt. “Regardless,” I told him, “I want you to take my statement.”
“Now, now, listen,” he said, getting close again. “What’s your name?” he asked. He knew my name. All the men there knew my name. They’d all pulled Sterling off me at least once.
“Lily.” I played along.
“Lily, if you drag this out like this, you’ll be in trouble yourself. Do you really want that? A drug charge?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
“Well, you see, if we take the statement, that’s what it will come down to, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And you still want to do that, do you? You’d ruin these boys’ lives because of something you willingly took? I mean,” he explained, barking out a short laugh, “I can’t tell you how many times boys just do stuff because they think it’s funny, and I think that’s what’s going on here, okay? Let’s not make this worse than it already is.”
“Sir, are you going to take my statement or not?” I asked him.
His face was growing more and more red by the second. “Did you not hear what I said?”
“I heard it.”
“And you still want to proceed forward?”
“Yes,” I insisted.
“Boy, you are a handful, you know that? Never in my life,” he blustered.
He made a big show of grabbing a pen and the statement form. He handed it to me and I took it.
“You’re creating more problems for yourself,” he continued, but I didn’t hear him.
Seventy-two hours prior, I would have been tired enough to let him influence me, but I didn’t have time for that poor excuse of a man. It wasn’t even about me getting justice, though that was important; it was mostly about clearing my name so I could get my sisters back. It was the least I could do for my mom.
He took the statement and I asked for a copy. He nearly bit my head off when I asked, but I didn’t flinch. I was done being intimidated.
I was done with men like him.
What this detective didn’t realize was that I knew exactly what he was all about. I’d seen his kind, grew up with his kind, been beaten by his kind. I knew blustering and the bully coercer. I saw him for what he really was. He didn’t realize it, but I saw through him.
So he took my statement. He gave me my copy. I walked out of there with my head held high but my stomach sunk low, straight to the clinic to get myself checked out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE HEALTH CLINIC I VISITED right after filing my statement found no evidence of rape, much to my relief. It didn’t excuse the stupid, disgusting, violating things they’d done to me, that they’d documented in the photos, but it did help ease my mind a very little. I got tested for STDs regardless, though, as it was part of their procedure.
I found a legal aid in Smithfield and made an appointment the next day. The woman assigned to my case was gentle and kind, overwhelmingly helpful, but she didn’t sugarcoat things for me. I told her my predicament; she laid out a course of action and I promised to follow it faithfully.
By the time I’d left that afternoon, I had her promise that she would petition the courts on my behalf for visitation and custody, and I promised I would have a job soon and start improving the house so it was suitable for the girls to come back to. She also arranged for me to take voluntary drug tests once a week. I agreed immediately.
On my long drive back, I passed Granger’s. I pulled over and vomited on the side of the road, overwhelmed by it all.
“No, I don’t have time to mourn right now,” I told myself. “Later,” I promised, choking back tears.
I hadn’t heard from the county yet concerning my mother’s cremation and made a mental note to check with them as soon as I had an opportunity. Sterling’s local veteran’s chapter had already rang me up and left a message for me with the promise they’d take care of everything, but I didn’t call them back. I didn’t care.
I went home, straight for the shower, and readied myself.
Bottle Co. Market was busy for a Thursday night. I slowly perused the lot for a free space. I found one in the back and hopped out, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. I started walking but startled short when I caught a glimpse of Salinger’s Jeep. I shook my head and kept walking.
Inside, the entire front of the store stopped still and stared at me. They know. Their stares were mixed with pity and sadness. One of Mom’s friends saw me and burst out crying. She came up to me and hugged me hard.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
I nodded, fighting back tears, and thanked her. I left her where she stood. I couldn’t do that right then. I was in a hurry. I needed to get my sisters back.
I knocked on the door of a closed room labeled “Manager” at the front left corner of the store.
It opened and the manager, Casey Goodwin, who was just a couple years older than I was, came out.
“Hey, Lily,” he greeted with a small smile.
“Hey, Casey,” I began, but he cut me off.