Peaceful Revenge

Peaceful Revenge

Trigger Warning: This story discusses violence and sexual assault.

The room was dark. A safe space. Unicorn eyes watching what is about to happen. She watches her dream catcher sway from the breeze of her fan. She tries to scream. Push him off of her. His sweaty palm wraps around her mouth. She vomits from the smell, and has to swallow it back down. The taste is repulsive. She is sobbing, large tears dripping down her cheeks. He pushes her down on the bed, taking her innocence in seconds. He withdraws his hand, throws her on the floor, and leaves the room. She is crying in a fetal position. Alone. 

Hours later, her father walks through her bedroom door. He sees her torn skirt, her fear. He calls the cops. Unknown man. No true markings or distinctions. Hard to find.

Her dad takes her to the shooting range the next week. Teaches her to pull a trigger. Shows her how to hunt and kill. Anything wild. Anything.

She swears to him she will protect herself. She will get revenge for that little girl left alone on her bedroom floor. For all women left abused and battered. No matter how long it takes, she will find her peace.

7 Years Later

“Speak now. Do it, speak.” she thinks to herself. Or maybe not. She looks up and notices four pairs of eyes on her. She must have spoken her thoughts aloud. Everyone is watching her, waiting for her to talk. Her lips stick together. She pops them loudly open and close. A trick she has learned through the years.

“Young lady, do you need help?” a man in blue scrubs asks.

Does she need help? A loaded question. Everyone needs some kind of help. Does she need their help at this moment? She does. Is she ready to speak and tell them? Maybe.

“I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to someone,” she repeats, her voice scratchy and sharp.

The doctor notices her hair, falling from her pony, disheveled around her shoulders. He scans her body. She has mud stains on her jeans and a rip on the sleeve of her shirt. She is holding a broken pair of glasses in her left hand. A tight grip wrapped around the unbroken lens. Her face scans the doorway, fingers trembling. Signs that she needs help. Signs that she may retreat at any moment. He lifts his eyes to the nurse behind the glass. She connects with him and nods. They have both seen girls leave before treatment can begin. She is a flight risk and he knows it. She needs to be treated. May need to begin therapy. Something has happened to this young lady today. 

“Ma’am, can I have you come over to the information desk? We need to check you in before we can begin treatment.” he says, hoping to bring her further into the building. Further from the escape she keeps searching for.

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe this was the wrong place. I think I should go home. I think I want to sleep this off. I am good. I am good. I am good.” She begins to sway. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, begins to wretch.

The nurse runs in with a large silver pan, making it just in time. The girl releases her lunch and dinner into the pan. Continuing until she feels empty inside. She leans back, dizzy from standing for so long.

“I do need to see someone. Please, where can I check in?”

The doctor breathes in deep and exhales slowly. She will stay. She will begin a process. She will tell them what has happened to bring her here tonight, clothes tattered, makeup smeared. Vomiting out her entire days worth of nutrition.

She walks toward the check in area. Looking through her bag, she realizes she does not have her wallet or her keys. She does a visual check of her body. Her shirt and pants are dirty. Her right flip flop is broken, one of the plastic tongs bouncing up each time she steps. She slowly reaches for her hair, half of it falling from the ponytail. Tears fall from her eyes. 

“I don’t have my ID or my insurance card. I will have to come back,” she stutters.

The doctor meets the receptionists’ eyes. He shakes his head. Praying that she understands that it is vital they see her now. No letting her leave or she will not come back.

“No worries hon. We will just start the process without insurance. You can come back later to complete it,” the pretty receptionist says, a comforting smile on her face.

“Yes, ok. That will be ok.” The young woman takes the clipboard and pen from the desk. 

“Should I go fill this out?” She asks, tilting her head toward the waiting area.

“No, you can fill it out in the back. We are slow tonight and there is a room available,” the nurse states. She moves her hand to touch the young woman’s elbow. The girl recoils at the touch. The nurse notices the fear. She points, “right through this door.”

The doctor follows the women through the door, waiting a few steps to give them space. Knowing she needs distance. Once settled into a hospital room, the doctor asks her to tell him her name.

“I am Dr. Stevens. I will take care of you tonight. Can I have your name before we begin?”

“Charlotte. I’m Charlotte. Charlie. That’s what they call me.”

“Ok Charlie. Can you tell me what happened to bring you here tonight?” The young doctor has an idea that something traumatic occurred. He remains unsure exactly how traumatic.

“I was walking home. I go to college at Soleton University. I live right off campus. I go home the same way every night. It has been getting darker. Some of the street lights are broken. I didn’t even notice until tonight. I wish I had noticed it yesterday,” Charlie says, voice trailing as her eyes seem to search the wall for answers. 

Dr Stevens notices her fingers. She is pulling at the skin on her nails, two of them are bleeding from being picked so low. She doesn't seem to notice the blood or the pain. He also notes in her chart that there is a dark substance beneath her nails, dirt or blood.

“Charlie, did something happen tonight on the walk home?” Dr Stevens asks. He gathers any information before he begins his exam.

“Do you know that my dad insisted I learn to shoot when I was 13? A gun. For hunting of course. I have gone hunting in woods for hours that feel like days. I would sit and wait. No speaking. I never missed a shot. My prey never stood a chance.”

“Charlie, before I begin your exam, can you tell me what happened tonight?” Dr Stevens asks again trying to redirect. Realizing she may be in a state of distress.

“I was walking. It was dark. Too dark. I think I may have been looking at Tik Tok videos. I wasn’t paying attention. Not like when I go hunting. I was distracted. I heard a cough in front of me. I looked up and there was a man, maybe 35 or 40 years old. He was smoking a cigarette. Our eyes met. He had cold eyes. Dead eyes. He smirked at me. I thought about turning around. I wanted to go home. I tried to walk around him. He darted in front of me. I opened my mouth to scream. A slimy hand wrapped around it. He pulled us down the next street. I heard my top rip. I think he tugged on the neckline. The side street was even darker than the one we were first on. He hurt me. He pulled at me, choked me. I was scared. I can hear his heavy breathing. Whispering things in my ear. Awful things. I pushed him away. Kicked him hard. He fell over. I started to run. He caught me by my hair. It’s falling down now. I fell down, landed in a puddle on my knees. I begged him to stop. I may have screamed. Or I may have whispered. It’s a blur. I thought this is where I would die. Or he would. One of us survives to tell the story. Only one.” Charlie finishes. Speech drifting off. Sadness in her eyes.

“Ok Charlie, I am going to examine you now. Do you know if he assaulted you?” Dr Stevens asks. 

“One of us survives to tell the story.” Charlie repeats.

As he begins the examination, he realizes quickly she has been sexually assaulted tonight. Dr Stevens is about to confirm these findings with the nurse when there is a knock on the exam room door.

“This is not a good time,” he yells out.

The white door cracks open. “Sorry, Dr, but the police are here. They are looking for Charlotte Reese. They have questions for her. They tell me it is about a murder investigation.”

Dr. Stevens thinks back to his intake notes. Blood under her fingernails, not mud. And not her blood.

Charlie lifts her lips in a smile for the first time tonight. “I told you Dr.,I never miss a shot. One of us survives to tell the story.”

“Yes, Darlene, you may send them back.” Dr. Stevens says as Charlie puts her wrists forward, waiting for the handcuffs.

Seven Months Later

Charlotte stares straight ahead. Turning to look directly into the eyes of the jurors. She has taken the stand and is waiting for the questioning to begin. The scared girl who entered the hospital is long gone. In her place, a calm, collected defendant. She is unrecognizable to the hospital staff who treated her that night.

“Charlotte, can you tell the jury what happened that day?” Her lawyer asks. He has gone over her testimony for weeks. Say self defense. Make sure they know he assaulted you. Tell the jury your emotions from that moment. Self defense, don’t talk about shooting him. Talk about everything that led up to that moment. She should listen to his instructions. She should, but she won’t.

“He was my prey and I have never missed a kill.” Peace washes over her.