her face against the hard ground again and again. Then he elbowed her in the back, twice, knocking the wind out of her. Her face and head hurt so badly she could barely see straight, could barely find the strength to fight him anymore.
She told herself it was all a bad dream, that it wasn’t happening, and then he pushed his way inside her. He was rough, and just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he withdrew. She cried with relief until she realized he was touching her butt, pressing a finger inside her anus.
“Nooooo!” she screamed into the rag, her protest no louder than a humming sound. And then he forced himself into her, tearing and ripping her insides until he finally ejaculated.
When it was over, he placed his mouth near her ear and whispered her name. “Hollin,” was all he said. Then a hand went to her throat, and she thought he was surely going to strangle her. But instead, he jerked the locket, the one her mother and stepfather had given her for her thirteenth birthday, from her neck, the chain snapping with a tiny clink.
Placing his hand on the back of her head, he pressed her face into the dirt and held it until she couldn’t breathe any longer. She blinked, silently begging him not to kill her, and then he released her, lifting his weight from her.
She took several lungfuls of air, noticing for the first time the sweet, cloying smell around her. Lilies. She was lying next to the patch of lilies that lined the garage wall.
She heard him rustling with his clothing as he restored himself, and caught sight of his shoes as he disappeared over the bank. Penny loafers. She also noticed his head was covered with something dark. A ski mask.
She lifted her head and yanked the rag from her mouth. She tried to get up on her elbows and knees, but couldn’t. She was too weak, in too much pain. She collapsed against the ground, facing the patch of lilies and the rich soil beneath them. A wave of nausea rolled through her and she vomited.
Then she passed out.
Rachel was the one who found her, hours later. She helped her into the house, and up the stairs. Rachel wanted to call the sheriff, but Hollin had begged her not to. She felt dirty, ashamed. She couldn’t bare the thought of being questioned, poked, prodded. Besides, she couldn’t identify anyone. It had all happened so fast, and yet while he was hurting her it seemed as if it had gone on forever.
Rachel bathed her, made her a cup of tea, which Hollin didn’t drink, and crawled into bed with her, promising they would figure it out in the morning.
The next day Rachel called Brad. He came home from school, cried when Rachel told him what happened. He sat with Hollin every night for a week until she fell asleep. They told Josephine that Hollin had slipped and fallen on the diving board, and assured the woman Hollin would be as good as new in a few days. Hollin couldn’t bear it if the woman blamed herself for what happened, for not keeping a better watch on her and Rachel.
But after a week went by, Hollin still didn’t have the strength or desire to get out of bed and realized she needed to talk to someone, to deal with what happened to her. And she wanted the bastard, whoever it was, to pay.
Rachel called the sheriff, and after combing the area by the garage, he found a pocketknife with the initials GW. Hollin had no choice but to tell him about the party at the trailer, and all the other humiliating details of that night. And then she had to tell her story again in court. By the time her case had gone to trial, she truly believed, without a shadow of doubt, that Griffin Wells was the one who had raped her.
#
The present
Hollin sat up in bed, and reached for the lamp on the beside table. The room was soon bathed in soft light and she shivered. She hadn’t relived the incident or her past in years. It was too painful, too shameful, to face the memories. But if she was going to live in Whisper Lake, she had no other choice but to
She told herself it was all a bad dream, that it wasn’t happening, and then he pushed his way inside her. He was rough, and just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he withdrew. She cried with relief until she realized he was touching her butt, pressing a finger inside her anus.
“Nooooo!” she screamed into the rag, her protest no louder than a humming sound. And then he forced himself into her, tearing and ripping her insides until he finally ejaculated.
When it was over, he placed his mouth near her ear and whispered her name. “Hollin,” was all he said. Then a hand went to her throat, and she thought he was surely going to strangle her. But instead, he jerked the locket, the one her mother and stepfather had given her for her thirteenth birthday, from her neck, the chain snapping with a tiny clink.
Placing his hand on the back of her head, he pressed her face into the dirt and held it until she couldn’t breathe any longer. She blinked, silently begging him not to kill her, and then he released her, lifting his weight from her.
She took several lungfuls of air, noticing for the first time the sweet, cloying smell around her. Lilies. She was lying next to the patch of lilies that lined the garage wall.
She heard him rustling with his clothing as he restored himself, and caught sight of his shoes as he disappeared over the bank. Penny loafers. She also noticed his head was covered with something dark. A ski mask.
She lifted her head and yanked the rag from her mouth. She tried to get up on her elbows and knees, but couldn’t. She was too weak, in too much pain. She collapsed against the ground, facing the patch of lilies and the rich soil beneath them. A wave of nausea rolled through her and she vomited.
Then she passed out.
Rachel was the one who found her, hours later. She helped her into the house, and up the stairs. Rachel wanted to call the sheriff, but Hollin had begged her not to. She felt dirty, ashamed. She couldn’t bare the thought of being questioned, poked, prodded. Besides, she couldn’t identify anyone. It had all happened so fast, and yet while he was hurting her it seemed as if it had gone on forever.
Rachel bathed her, made her a cup of tea, which Hollin didn’t drink, and crawled into bed with her, promising they would figure it out in the morning.
The next day Rachel called Brad. He came home from school, cried when Rachel told him what happened. He sat with Hollin every night for a week until she fell asleep. They told Josephine that Hollin had slipped and fallen on the diving board, and assured the woman Hollin would be as good as new in a few days. Hollin couldn’t bear it if the woman blamed herself for what happened, for not keeping a better watch on her and Rachel.
But after a week went by, Hollin still didn’t have the strength or desire to get out of bed and realized she needed to talk to someone, to deal with what happened to her. And she wanted the bastard, whoever it was, to pay.
Rachel called the sheriff, and after combing the area by the garage, he found a pocketknife with the initials GW. Hollin had no choice but to tell him about the party at the trailer, and all the other humiliating details of that night. And then she had to tell her story again in court. By the time her case had gone to trial, she truly believed, without a shadow of doubt, that Griffin Wells was the one who had raped her.
#
The present
Hollin sat up in bed, and reached for the lamp on the beside table. The room was soon bathed in soft light and she shivered. She hadn’t relived the incident or her past in years. It was too painful, too shameful, to face the memories. But if she was going to live in Whisper Lake, she had no other choice but to
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