Maximum Guilt (Hidden Guilt Book 2) (2 page)

We spent over two hours in the examination room. They’d given Miranda multiple IV bags of fluids and had even mentioned a possible blood transfusion. Finally, the door opened and the head doctor entered.

“David, we’ve given Miranda a thorough once-over. Other than the expected dehydration and malnourishment, everything seems to be okay. I’ll have you bring her back in two weeks, and we’ll take a look at that finger she lost and see what, if anything, we can do from a cosmetic standpoint. We can keep her here for a few nights or you can take her home, but you’ll need to make sure she gets plenty of rest and continues to hydrate. She’s also going to need some counseling. Most abduction victims find it speeds up their recovery.  Here’s my cell phone number. I usually don’t give it out, but I figured what the hell. Everything you guys have gone through with Karen and Miranda would be hell for anyone. Call anytime. I mean anytime, David.”

I took the business card with Dr. Peter’s information and stuffed it into my wallet. I reached out to shake his hand and thank him for everything he’d done for my family.

“Take me home please,” Miranda whispered to me as a stray tear trickled down her cheek. She wouldn’t look at me. I knew she didn’t want me to see her like this.

I hated what I had allowed to happen. She looked so weak, so fragile. I walked beside her as the nurse wheeled her out to my truck. Hilary trailed close behind us.

The walk to my truck seemed to drag on forever. I hit the button on my key fob to unlock the door, and then I reached down to help Miranda in.

“You ready to do this?” I asked.

“More than you know.”

After I got Miranda buckled in, I walked behind my truck, tears streaming down my face. I stopped for a moment and rested my hands on the tailgate. Right now, for everything that was right, a million other things were broken. Shattered. Everything needed fixing.

Chapter 2

I drove home faster than usual—way too fast, actually, according to the speedometer. Too many thoughts racing through my head, I guess. My mind was so jacked I didn’t even notice red lights versus green. I was really
just
driving.

“Dad, what are you going to do about Karen?”

“I’m working on it, Hil. I have some ideas. I’m going to get her home, you can bet on that. The whole station is looking for her.”

“David, I need you to know I don’t blame you for any of this. You couldn’t have known I was alive, and though it hurt a little, deep down I knew you needed to move on.”

I was more than a little shocked that, amidst all that was happening right now and everything she’d been through, Miranda was trying to sort through it all so quickly. I imagine she’d processed a lot while being held captive, given she didn’t have many options.

“Well, I blame him! If he hadn’t raped Stacy back in college, maybe she wouldn’t have come back looking for revenge! Maybe Rodney would still be alive. I mean, is it true? What I read? How could you, Dad?”

I knew I needed to address the elephant in the room—well, in the truck—but I didn’t want to do it like this.

“Hilary, what are you talking about? Your dad never raped anyone. David, what is she talking about?”

“Just try to rest, Miranda. We’ll talk about all that later. Hilary, it’s a long story and it’s complicated. There are parts of what you may have read that are true, but I didn’t rape anyone. I was young and stupid, and I made some poor choices, yes; but I never raped anyone. That part is not true.”

I tried to use my training to defuse the situation, but with Hilary I knew it would be of no use.

“I’d really like some fast food,” Miranda said. “How about Jack in the Box?”

“I can do that!”

We went through the drive-through and ordered one of almost everything. I guess its true how much we really take for granted— like eating fast food. As we continued toward home, I watched in amazement as Miranda ate like a fourteen-year-old football player.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long time,” Miranda said through a mouthful of fries.

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry, so I just smiled and nodded.

“Dad knew Stacy back in college. She didn’t just happen on us. She planned this whole thing out. She’s been watching us and planning revenge on Dad for what he did to her in college.”

“Hilary, enough. Your mother needs to rest. And I didn’t know her as Stacy in college; actually, I didn’t
know
her at all. Right now I need to use all the brain power and energy I have left to track down Stacy and your sister before . . .”

“Before what? Say it, Dad. Before she’s dead?”

I could see that Hilary put the blame for all of this squarely on my shoulders. Maybe she was right. She was clearly angry, hurt, and confused. I needed to give her my side of the story. Maybe that would help. Maybe it wouldn’t. But I had to tell her and tell her fast. I tapped my hands nervously on the steering wheel as I drove.

“Hilary, it’s really, really important that I explain to you and your mother what brought all of this about . . . and I will. I’m just not sure right now is the best time. My—our—first priority should be on finding your sister and bringing her home. And being there in whatever way your mother needs us.”

“David, I feel like there is a big something that both of you know about that I don’t. What is Hilary talking about?”

Just as Miranda finished speaking, we pulled up to the house. I knew I needed to get it off my chest, and it was clear neither of them was willing to drop it.

I gestured toward the house. “C’mon. Let’s go inside first,” I said as I turned the engine off.

I walked around to Miranda’s side and helped her out. Arm in arm, we trudged toward the house. Miranda was so weak she could barely stand. I opened the door to lead Miranda in. She was so weak from muscle atrophy that I was all but carrying her. She broke down in tears when she looked around, home again at last. I held her tight—tighter than I had ever held her before.

I got Miranda settled on the couch and sat beside her. This was a big moment for us. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to throw up.

I stood up and paced a few steps. “Listen, both of you,” I said as they sat, eyes and ears glued to me. “I don’t know why I was so nervous but I was. Like I was a rookie cop back in court for my first firearm discharge case.

“Miranda, Stacy used to attend Wayne State back when I was playing football there. I didn’t recognize her or know any of that before. Rodney stumbled across some old files on her laptop, or so I’m told. That’s how he found out who she really was—Lisa Crease.”

Miranda had a confused look on her face. “So what, she’s an old girlfriend from college or something? How does that explain all of this?”

There was no beating around the bush on this one. Time to lay it all out on the table.

“Well . . . not a girlfriend, exactly. It’s going to sound gross and terrible, but it’s the truth. So here goes. We had a rule on the football team that all incoming freshmen had to have sex with a random girl at a party. Some stupid macho thing, I know. Anyway, you go up to some girl you don’t know and make it happen that night. To prove, you know, who the biggest stud was. Finding the hottest girl you could, of course. If you didn’t, you’d face some pretty harsh hazing. I’m not the most outgoing guy in the world, and I felt weird about the whole thing. Well, the guys didn’t know it, but I had spoken with Lisa before the party, and we had sort of a deal. We agreed to have sex at the party, and I agreed to pretend to be her boyfriend for . . .  I don’t know . . .  a few weeks afterward. So she’d look cool or whatever. So here we were at the party. Everyone was drinking and being stupid. I went up to Lisa, made it look like we’d just met as we had planned. She was hammered to the point where I didn’t even know if we were going to be able to do anything or if she’d blow the plan all to hell. I thought maybe we’d just disappear and pretend we’d messed around. She’d been drinking, for sure, but seemed messed up enough that I figured drugs were involved, too. We went to the back room, and she sobered up some. One thing lead to another . . . you get the idea.”

I paused to catch my breath. The only sound I heard was the blood pounding in my head.

“Then about twenty minutes in, the door flies open. The guys start going on and on about how she used to be a stripper or prostitute or something. They’re yelling and screaming and acting belligerent. At this point, she could barely hold her eyes open, but we had talked some and I knew she was coherent. In fact, she was better off than I’d previously suspected. They start talking about wanting some of the stripper, too, and how I had definitely gotten the hottest girl. I told them no, it wasn’t right. And it certainly wasn’t the plan. Try reasoning with ten to fifteen drunken football players. I’d been drinking, too, so I probably didn’t seem like the best person to listen to. An upperclassman pushed me out of the way, and that’s when the shit hit the fan. Everything got crazy. They took turns with her. All of them. At one point, one of them could tell I was clearly bothered and asked if I knew her or something. I wasn’t supposed to, according to the plan, so I said no. I tried to make it seem like I didn’t care one way or the other. No vested interest. In other words, don’t stop on my account. And I
didn’t
know her, but like I said, I knew it wasn’t right. She didn’t fight them, and I couldn’t really tell if she wanted them to stop or not or if she was too messed up to even know what was happening. Everything was moving really fast. There was yelling, laughter . . . It was wild and out of control. At least that’s what I tried to make myself believe.

“I left before it was over. Looking back, she probably thought I set the whole thing up, but that wasn’t my plan at all. I looked for her around campus the next few days, to talk to her, but I never found her. A few days later, she filed rape charges against me and the team. We had a lawyer who volunteered to defend us, some big shot alumni ex-player. His first words to us were, ‘No one speak to her—ever.’ So I stopped looking for her. Then he told us not to worry; with her checkered past it would never even make it to court. And it didn’t. In a few weeks it all blew over.

“So . . . I did not rape Lisa, nor did I set up the team to do so. The whole thing was a bad deal that spiraled out of control a lot faster than a bunch of drunken kids could handle. And now, hindsight being 20/20, I should have reported every single one of my teammates. I should have told the cops exactly what happened. It would have meant me losing my scholarship, probably, and being ostracized from the team, but it would have been the right thing to do. It’s easy to say now, but I’m not an eighteen-year-old college freshman who’s just trying to fit in anymore either. It’s hard to admit, but I was a coward—at least at that moment. None of us ever saw her or heard from her again. I figured she just left school and went back home, wherever home was for her. I felt terrible for what happened to her, but I didn’t plan it nor did I realize the intentions of the upperclassmen. They were basically using us to get some free playtime, as they called it; it had been
their
plan all along.

“So there you have it. I’m not a rapist or any of the other awful things she thinks I am. I didn’t set her up to be gang raped!”

I looked from Hilary to Miranda, who looked pale and woozy. I knew this was a major revelation and had to be a huge disappointment, given how long we’d been married. You always think you know someone and then . . .
bam
! I wasn’t a rapist, but I’d allowed it to happen, and I sure as hell hadn’t stopped it. This was a pretty big
bam
.

“Dad, I can’t believe you would do such a thing! What a creep! All you jocks are just assholes!” Hilary yelled as she jumped from the couch and headed for the staircase.

“Listen, like I said, to me it was nothing more than two college kids having sex at a party. I never planned for any of that to happen. And I already admitted I acted cowardly when I realized what the others were doing.” I yelled back, heading for the staircase to cut Hilary off.

She tried to push me aside. “You didn’t stop it either. You’re just as guilty!”

I tried to reason with her. “I wasn’t a grown man, husband, father, or officer. I was a stupid eighteen-year-old drunken kid. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s the truth.”

“Both of you. Please.” My wife had found her voice. “Hilary, you’ve heard and said enough. All you need to know is, while your dad isn’t perfect, he certainly isn’t a rapist. And although he should have reported his teammates, you can clearly see how a person in his position wouldn’t have. I probably wouldn’t have and neither would you. I don’t blame your father for what his teammates did. You shouldn’t either. And in the midst of it all, I do not believe Lisa would have believed your story, David. If it had been me, I sure wouldn’t have. From her perspective, you look like a monster who set her up to be gang raped. You look like an asshole jock and a terrible person.”

I leaned against the banister and buried my face in my hands. I was embarrassed and humiliated, just as I’d been so long ago.

Miranda came over and wrapped her arms around me. “This doesn’t change how much I love you. It doesn’t change who I think you are—who I know you are. I wish you would have somehow found a way to tell me about all this. I do wish that. But my time away from all of you makes me appreciate every second we have together—even now. I want to spend every minute I have left loving you and enjoying our life.”