Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
This was my tormentor. I spent so much time thinking about him, and now that he stood so close, I almost didn’t recognize his face. He’d gotten older, sadder, thinner. I remembered a hale young man with crinkles around his eyes and strong hands, but this skeleton ghoul looked more like he was an inch away from passing out. He’d gotten old and gray, and some part of me rebelled against that.
How dare he age like everyone else? I was ageless, stuck as a little girl because of what he did to me. How dare he get older when I couldn’t?
“Is this your dog? He’s real nice. Came right up to me.”
“That’s Hoagie. He’s a sweet boy.” He took a few steps closer. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“I like to go for walks sometimes when I can’t sleep.” The rehearsed words slipped out like they were true. I could almost believe them.
“Huh, that’s interesting. I’ve never seen you before.” He squinted in the dark.
I kept my chin up, meeting his eye.
I wanted him to recognize me. I wanted to see the shock on his face, the bloom of memory in his eyes as he recalled what happened.
Except I got none of that.
He kept a blank smile plastered on his lips and held a hand out. “I’ll take him home now if you don’t mind,” he said.
“Actually, I do mind.”
He hesitated but the smile didn’t go away. The man was a pro. “Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’m not giving you the dog back. In fact, I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
He laughed but there was real uncertainty in his tone. “Are you playing some weird game? It’s really late, I’d like to take my dog back home, please.”
“You know what hurts the most? You don’t even know who I am.” I took a step toward Dr. Silver, toward the man I hated the most in this world, and gripped the leash harder. Hoagie seemed to sense something was wrong, but he only stood next to me, staring at his owner. “I didn’t know that’d hurt, but it really does.”
“Were you a patient of mine?” he asked brightly. “I’m sorry, I’ve seen a lot of people come in and out of my office, it’s hard to keep track of them all.”
“My parents brought me in. I was eight years old and so scared, but you said to me, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I promise. And you know what’s fucked up? I believed you.”
“This must’ve been at least ten years ago.”
“Longer. It feels like a lifetime to me.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name’s Cora. I liked the way you said it. It was comforting. You had me undress and get into a gown, then I climbed up on the table. It was so cold, but you rubbed your hands together to warm them up, which I thought was nice. You cracked my neck, then my back, then you grabbed my butt—” I stopped, hands shaking. I hadn’t gone into detail before.
Jarrod could hear. I didn’t care. This was important.
“I think you’re mistaken—” He started, but I interrupted him.
“You grabbed my butt,” I said harshly. “And you said, ‘You’re a well-built little girl. Look at you. Very well-built.’ Then you squeezed, and spread me open, and you put your fingers inside of me—”
“I would never,” Dr. Silver protested. “This is ludicrous. I don’t know who you are, but—”
“If there’s any humanity left in your pathetic, withered heart, you won’t speak again.” I stepped closer. Hoagie shadowed me. “You put your fingers inside of me and you said, ‘Look at you, very well-built.’ You kept them inside. I didn’t understand why, but you seemed to like it, and I thought it would help me. Isn’t that so messed up? I thought you were helping me.”
Jarrod crashed through the bushes. Dr. Silver let out a strangled cry of surprise, but he couldn’t get away. Jarrod grabbed the chiro’s right wrist and twisted it behind his back. Dr. Silver released a strangled groan of pain and Hoagie whimpered as Jarrod shoved a knife against the man’s neck and held it there.
Dr. Silver stopped moving. He looked up and there was fear in his expression.
“If you misinterpreted something I did, I’m sorry. I don’t do that to children. There’s a thing in clinical psychology when a victim confuses a person of authority with their attacker called—”
“Enough,” I said, so angry I could barely contain it. “You raped me. You shoved your fingers inside of me, and you did the same thing to my brother. He told me, you sick bastard. He told me. His name is Sam Boyle. My name is Cora Boyle. You’re finally going to pay for what you did.”
Recognition sparked. I saw it then. “I remember your parents. They were nice people. If I really did what you say I did, why haven’t you told anyone?”