The woman said nothing at first. Then she stood. She gathered a bowl, some vanilla ice cream, a spoon. She placed it all on the table.
The smell brought a surge of bile into Charlotte’s throat. She swallowed it back down. She picked up the spoon. She ate the ice cream, shoving it into her mouth as fast as she could.
“Slow down,” Miss Heller said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
Charlotte wanted to be sick. She wanted him out of her. She wanted to cleanse herself. She wanted to kill herself.
“Mama, what would happen if I ate two bowls of ice cream? Really big ones.”
“Your intestines would burst and you would die.”
Charlotte devoured a second bowl of ice cream. She used her hands because the spoon was not big enough. She reached for the container, but Miss Heller stopped her. She looked aghast.
She asked Charlotte, “What happened to you?”
Charlotte was winded from eating so fast. She could hear her breath whistling through her nose. Her shorts were wet with blood. The strawberry cushion on the chair was completely saturated. She felt the dripping between her legs but she knew that it was not just blood. It was him. It was Zach Culpepper. He had left his stuff inside of her.
The vomit roiled up again. This time, she couldn’t stop it. Charlotte slapped her hand to her mouth. Miss Heller picked her up by the waist. She ran down the hall, carrying Charlotte to the bathroom.
Charlotte threw up so hard that she thought her stomach would come out of her mouth. She gripped the cold sides of the toilet. Her eyes bulged. Her throat burned. Her intestines felt as if razors were inside. She yanked down her shorts. She sat on the toilet. She felt a torrent of fluid rush from her body. Blood. Feces. Him.
Charlotte cried out from the pain. She folded at the waist. She opened her mouth. She screamed out an anguished wail.
She wanted her mother. She needed her mother.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Miss Heller was on the other side of the door. She was kneeling down again. Charlotte could hear her voice coming through the keyhole. “‘He said unto them, ‘Let the little children come unto me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.’”
Charlotte squeezed shut her eyes. Tears flowed. She breathed through her open mouth. She heard the heavy drops of blood hitting water. It would not end. This was never going to end.
“Sweet baby,” Miss Heller said. “Let God carry this burden.”
Charlotte shook her head. Her blood-soaked hair slapped at her face. She kept her eyes closed. She saw Sam spinning, somersaulting through the air.
The mist as the bullet entered her brain.
The heavy spray of blood as Gamma’s chest exploded.
“My sister,” Charlotte whispered. “She’s dead.”
“What’s that, baby?” Miss Heller had cracked open the door. “What did you say?”
“My sister.” Charlotte’s teeth were chattering. “She’s dead. My mother’s dead.”
Miss Heller held onto the doorknob as she sunk to the floor.
She said nothing.
Charlotte looked down at the white tiles at her feet. She could see black spots in her vision. Blood dripped from her open mouth. She rolled off some toilet paper. She held it to her nose. The bone felt broken.
Miss Heller came into the room. She turned on the sink faucet.
Charlotte tried to wipe herself. She could feel strips of flesh hanging down between her legs. The blood would not stop. It was never going to stop. She pulled up her shorts, but a wave of dizziness kept her from standing.
She sat back down on the toilet. She stared at the framed picture of a strawberry patch on the wall.
“It’s all right.” Miss Heller wiped Charlotte’s face with a wet cloth. Her hands trembled along with her voice. “‘But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as—’”
A loud knock shook the back door. Banging. Screaming.
Miss Heller’s hand went to Charlotte’s chest, keeping her still.
“Judith!” the old man yelled. “Judith!”
The back door splintered open.
Miss Heller grabbed Charlotte again, picking her up by the middle. Charlie felt her feet leave the ground. She braced her hands against the woman’s shoulders. Her ribs felt crushed as Miss Heller ran down the hall.
“Charlotte!”
The word was pained, like the sound you would hear from a dying animal.
Miss Heller skidded to a stop.
She turned around.
Her grip around Charlotte’s waist slowly released.
Rusty was standing at the end of the hallway. He leaned heavily against the wall. His chest was heaving. He gripped a handkerchief in his hand.
Charlotte felt her feet touch the ground. Her knees folded, unable to support her weight.
Rusty staggered down the hallway. His shoulder bumped the wall, then the other wall, then he was on his knees and then he was holding Charlotte.
“My baby,” he cried, enveloping her body in his. “My treasure.”
Charlotte felt the slow release of her muscles. Her father was like a drug. She became a rag doll in his arms.
“My baby,” he said.
“Gamma—”
“I know!” Rusty wailed. She felt his chest shake as he struggled to control his sorrow. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Charlotte began to sob; not from the pain, but from fear because she had never seen her father cry.
“I’ve got you.” He rocked her. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got you.”
Charlotte was crying so hard that she couldn’t open her eyes. “Sam—”
“I know,” he said. “We’ll find her.”
“They buried her.”
Rusty let out a howl of despair.
“It was the Culpeppers,” Charlotte said. Knowing their names, telling them to Rusty, was the only thing that had kept her moving. “Zach and his brother.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We got an ambulance coming. They’re going to take care of you.”
“Daddy.” Charlotte lifted her head. She put her mouth close to his ear. She whispered, “Zach put his thing inside of me.”
Rusty’s arms slowly fell away. It was like the air had been let out of him. His mouth dropped open. He crumbled to the floor. His eyes scanned back and forth as he looked at Charlotte’s face. His throat worked again. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper.
“Daddy,” she whispered again.
Rusty put his fingers to her mouth. He bit his lip, like he didn’t want to speak, but he had to.
He asked, “He raped you?”
Charlotte nodded.
Rusty’s hand dropped like a stone. He looked away. He shook his head. His tears had turned into two rivers running down the sides of his face.
Charlotte felt the shame of his silence. Her father knew the things that men like Zachariah Culpepper did. He could not even look at her.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t run fast enough.”
Rusty’s eyes went to Miss Heller, then finally, slowly back to Charlotte. “It’s not your fault.” He cleared his throat. He said it again. “It’s not your fault, baby. Do you hear me?”
Charlotte heard him, but she did not believe him.