The night came back to me, as it sometimes did when my defenses were down. When I became too emotional, too full of fear.
My mother screamed, and at first I'd thought it was the television, but then I heard my dad's voice begging someone to stop hurting her. When I crept out to the hallway, I saw him from behind, his pants down as he moved his hips back and forth. I didn't realize right away what he was doing. It wasn't until he stepped aside that I saw my mother laying there naked, her legs spread, blood pooling around them like he'd ripped something out of her.
I knew I had to get to the phone, to call the police, but I just stood there shaking, paralyzed. My dad looked up from the chair he'd been tied to, his mouth gagged and his eyes desperate. When he noticed me he jerked his head side to side once, then watched the man hidden behind the wall, the man who taunted him with my mother's body.
She wasn't screaming anymore.
Something unlocked in me, and I ran to their room, the only phone I could get to without being seen. My hands shook as I dialed 911. My voice caught on a sob when the operator answered. "Someone hurt my mom bad. Hurry, please hurry."
I heard groaning and grunting, and the splatter of blood. I found an old baseball bat in my parents' closet and crept back to the living room. The man, dressed in black with a ski mask on, was beating my father, whose bloody head hung limp, like a broken doll.
I dropped the bat and screamed, and the man turned to me, his eyes manic, crazy. Sirens outside interrupted whatever he had planned as he walked to me. "One is such a lonely number," he whispered, his voice sounding off, like he was speaking through a voice synthesizer, too low-pitched and machine-like to be human. Then he licked my face and ran his hand from my breasts to my crotch, squeezing me. "If only I had more time. I'll have to save you for another day. I don't suppose you know where your mother hid the book?"
My throat locked. I couldn't talk, and after a pause he laughed and escaped through the back window.
They never caught him. Based on what I could remember, he could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty years old with eyes ranging from blue to dark brown. It was too dark, I was too scared, and he was too hidden for my testimony to be helpful.
The crime remains unsolved, but once a year I received a letter, reminding me that he was still out there, still watching me.
I was fifteen then, too young to save them, but old enough to feel the guilt of having done nothing.
When they failed to find him, when they failed to convict anyone for the crime against my family, I knew despite my earlier protests I would follow in my parents' footsteps and go into law, choosing their alma mater for my school.
All that was about to end, all those dreams, all those promises to my dead parents… unless I stopped feeling sorry for myself and got my shit together.
Chapter Five
Law School and Libraries
MY NEW JOB started on Sunday, so Friday after classes I took a bus to the Cambridge Public Library, so as not to run into any of my classmates at the University.
It is an experience to arrive at the main branch of the Cambridge Library. Part fairytale castle, part everything modern and glass, the building is a display of disparate architectural designs that somehow manage to work together to create something stunning.
Overwhelmed by the sheer number of books, and enjoying the sense of being lost in the aisles, unknown and safe, I wandered for a while, pursuing titles that looked interesting. Unfortunately, this branch wasn't open as late as the school library, and I was running out of time when I finally committed to my task of checking out as many romance novels and books on sex as I could find in thirty minutes. There turned out to be a shocking number of both, and I packed my empty backpack as full as I could carry before heading to the check-out. As I pulled my books out to scan, a woman bumped into me, knocking my precarious pile to the floor in a clatter sure to raise the eyebrow of any proper librarian.
The woman didn't even have the decency to apologize, instead walking away with her nose in the air. I sighed and bent over to retrieve the books when a familiar voice spoke behind me. "Need some help?"
I turned and saw the stunningly too-handsome-for-words man I'd run into the other day at school. He had a wry smile on his face and a stack of business books in his hands, which he placed on the counter to help me retrieve mine.
"Um, thanks. I guess this is where I say, fancy meeting you here." My joke felt lame, even to myself, and I laughed. "Clearly, I run into hot guys all the time, so my banter is totally and organically down."
He smiled, showing off a dimple I wanted to touch. "I'd hate to be just another guy who picks up your books." He glanced down at the book he held and raised an eyebrow. "Especially considering your taste in reading."