On the Other Side (31 page)

Damita stared him directly in the eyes. “Go for it,” she said.

Damita ran from the living room into the bedroom. She had the most incredible sense of déjà vu. Only this time, there was no large walk-in closet to cower in. However, she had learned some new tricks in anticipation of danger. Neal never noticed Damita purposely leaping over the doorway entrance. When he continued in pursuant of her, he stepped in the exact spot that would activate the trap she had set. Soon after she cleared the doorway, a large plank embedded with several large nails came flying down from the top of the doorway and slammed into Neal's chest. It only slowed him down for a moment. He wiped at the blood and continued after Damita. She hoped that his limp would slow him down but it didn't. Instead, he was even more intent on getting her. Damita dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed, hoping to evade him, if only for a moment. Just when she thought she could get out from under the bed and run for the front door, he lunged at her and pulled her back down on the floor. He straddled her and the weight of his two hundred and thirty-five pounds was too much for Damita, with or without his deficiencies.

“Who's in control now?” he asked her.

“Did you have fun taunting me? Well, if you thought that was fun, sweetheart, you ain't seen nothing yet.”

Damita struggled beneath him, but her efforts were useless. He was too heavy. Eventually, she recognized that her constant struggling was arousing him. She could feel his erection spring to life and was sorry to see
that
hadn't been impacted by the damage to
his brain. Suddenly, Damita stopped struggling. Her body went limp.

Damita was surprisingly defiant. “So what's next, Neal? You rape me again? Or, maybe for fun, you invite another one of your friends to do the job for you. Tell me, what's next?”

For a moment it felt like Neal was going to get off of her. The pressure of his body lifted and she thought she saw something in his eye. She hoped that something she said had gotten through to him. Instead, he increased the pressure on her and from his back pocket he extracted a knife. He held it to her face.

“Do you really want to know what I'm going to do next or are you still posturing? Quite frankly, I'm not sure yet. I was thinking I'd ruin that pretty little face of yours so no man but me will ever want you again.”

He pressed the tip of the blade to her cheek and she could feel the warm blood come to the surface and trickle down her face.

“Neal, you don't have to do this,” she pleaded.

“That's where you're wrong. I do have to. It's all I've thought about doing since I came out of that coma. After physical therapy and headaches so violent I've wanted to blow my own brains out, I realized one day that the only way I would be whole again is if I found you.”

“It doesn't have to be this way. We've both changed. We can start again. We're in a new city with a clean slate. Why can't we start over?”

“Do you think I'm stupid? You would say anything to save yourself. The last thing you want is to be with me.”

“I can see you've changed. I'd like to try. Wouldn't you like to at least try, Neal?”

“That's all I ever wanted. I don't know what happened to us. We were once so in love. Somehow everything got so screwed up.”

Damita managed a smile. “We can get it back. I know we can. Don't we owe it to ourselves to at least try? Isn't your leg hurting? Why don't we both lie down on the bed? That way we'll both be more comfortable.”

Neal looked at Damita skeptically, but released his hold on her. Slowly he got up, but he held on to the knife.

Damita lay back on the pillow.

“Even with everything that's happened between us, I still miss how we fit together. Do you think there's any chance we could recapture some of that old magic?”

Neal continued to hold onto the knife. He didn't quite trust her yet. Once he started kissing her and Damita returned his affection, he let go of the knife and gave into the feeling. Within minutes Damita kneed him sharply in his groin and while he was doubled over in pain, she extracted the gun hidden under her pillow and pointed it at him.

“Go ahead and do it!” he screamed.

Damita held fast to the gun, pointing it at him.

“Go ahead. Put me out of my misery! Just do it!”

There was no doubt that Damita's experiences had greatly changed her, but she wasn't sure if she had it in her to kill another human being, even Neal.

Neal moved closer to Damita and her hand began to shake. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and brought it directly to his forehead.

“Go ahead and fucking do it!” he screamed.

When it appeared Damita would not shoot, Neal snatched the gun from her hand and turned it on her, with his hand on the trigger. When Damita was sure her life was about to end, the man who had led her to safety and out of the Towers, the same man she had recently begun to believe was stalking her, appeared and
made an attempt to save her once again. He wrestled Neal to the ground and the two of them fought over the gun. Damita heard a gunshot and both men lay still. She saw the blood seeping to the floor and knew that someone had been shot.

S
he was free. This time there was no doubt that Neal Westman was dead. After years of running and hiding she could finally return to those she loved.

Coop was his name. That was the only thing she knew about the man that not only saved her once, but twice. Just as he had done on nine-eleven, he rescued her and then he was gone.

After the agony her mother and Carmella had undoubtedly been through, Damita felt the very least she owed both of them was the truth. She explained to them that under the circumstances, however, a slightly revised version of the truth was definitely required for the rest of the world. After the initial shock of her return from the dead, Carmella, Damita and her mother put their heads together and came up with a story akin to the stuff great dramas are made of. To the world, Damita became the courageous nine-eleven victim who escaped the Towers in shock, only to lose her memory. According to the story, she had wandered around lost, until suddenly something jogged her memory and she showed up on her mother's doorstep, shaken, but mostly intact. Damita kept waiting for someone to come along and challenge her story, but no one ever did.

Gathered together with her family and friends at the unveiling of the FDNY Memorial Wall, so many memories came flooding
back to Damita. The wall was at the FDNY Ladder Company 10, Engine 10 Firehouse and was directly south of the World Trade Center site. For so long she had tried to get past the memories and the nightmares, but today was different. She kept thinking of Coop and how he had saved her not only that fateful day but once again. If it weren't for him, she never would have made it.

“I can't believe it's already been three years since you came back to us,” Karen said.

“And, five years since I escaped from the Towers. If someone would have told me how much my life would change ten years ago, I wouldn't have believed them.”

“Damita, you are a shining example of how a person can turn their life around,” Carmella added.

“Don't canonize me, guys. All I did was survive. That's all any of us can do. In the end, the good stuff, the things that make us smile, that's gravy. I used to think a beautiful home, money in the bank, expensive clothes; that was the meat and potatoes, but it's not. The love and respect of those we care about is what truly makes life great. Everything else is. . .gravy.”

“Well, philosopher and friend, there are some people out there that are reaping the rewards of all that
gravy
you're heaping on.”

“Carmella, stop it!”

“No, really. In three years you've opened a shelter for victims of domestic violence, you've given money to a multitude of charities and what about all those education programs you've started so undereducated abuse victims don't continue the cycle of dependency. You, my dear, are a trailblazer.”

“Yes, she is,” Karen chimed in.

“Karen, did she tell you about her new venture?”

“No. What are you up to now, baby?”

“When I was with Neal, I kept asking myself all these questions
that I didn't yet have the answers to. I couldn't figure out how something like that could happen to me. I started to think about my past relationships. Of course, none of them physically abused me. But, then I started looking at how dysfunctional many of my relationships with men had been. I even realized that on the rare occasions when I did enjoy a healthy relationship, I found some way to sabotage it. When I was in Seattle, it was the first time I considered going to a psychotherapist, but I was so afraid of anyone learning my secret that I didn't dare chance it. As soon as I came back here, I found a therapist and started to work through
all
of my issues. Those two years of therapy made me whole. Recently, it occurred to me that eliminating the source of the abuse is bigger than simply getting rid of the abuser. In order to truly solve the problem, you must dig deeper; you must get to the root of the problem. I believe that root is hidden deep within the psyche of every woman that has ever been abused by a man.”

Karen looked confused. “I don't understand, baby. How can you blame abuse on the woman?”

“Mom, that's not what I'm doing. I'm not placing blame. I consider the underlying problem a disease. The actual physical abuse is a symptom. Each party shares in the illness. Choosing the abuser and continuing to stay in that abusive relationship is the way in which the person suffers from the illness. The actual unhealthy choice is symptomatic of the illness. The man who abuses also has an illness. In my work I have chosen to deal with the woman. That's why I've added a component to our assistance programs that makes a certain number of psychotherapy sessions mandatory. You both know, research is my forte. That's exactly what I did. I researched all of this. I gathered all my statistics and I put together a business plan; the same as I've always done.

“Did you know that without help, girls who witness domestic
violence are more vulnerable to abuse as adults; and boys who witness domestic violence are much more likely to become abusers of their partners and children as adults, thus continuing the cycle of violence in the next generation? Statistically, a woman who has been in an abusive relationship is more likely to be in the same sort of relationships over and over again, without help. When something keeps happening, you have to ask yourself what is the common denominator. I may at some point consider programs for men that are abusers, but I'm not quite ready for that yet. I've still got my own wounds to mend. The statistics I read about men lead me to believe that at some point it will be important for me to add a program specifically for men. Otherwise, my efforts would not be complete.”

“What is the explanation for your
illness?
You never witnessed any abuse in our household. Your father never hit me.”

“He didn't, but I do think the relationship you and Daddy shared played a part in my path.”

“How can you say that?”

“Don't get me wrong, Mom. You and Daddy were wonderful parents. In fact, you were as close to perfect as parents can get. Do you know what a hard act that is to follow? That's why I found it so difficult to let go of Neal. Somewhere in my head, I believed it would be a personal failure, if I couldn't make my marriage last as long as yours did with Daddy. I also think that is part of the reason I've always been so resistant to having children. How could I ever hope to be as good a mother as you have been? I now realize that I can
drive my own drive,
so to speak. I don't have to keep up with anyone. All I need to do is be the best
Damita
I can be.”

“I get it. I'm very proud of you, baby girl, but I hope you are also managing to take some time to have a little fun.”

“I am, Mom. I've even been considering dating again.”

“Hallelujah!” Carmella exclaimed.

Damita laughed. “Wow, look who's found religion.”

“Let me guess who inspired this shift?”

“It's not a shift. All good things happen in time. I needed a break from dating. As women, we spend so much time looking for a man, cultivating a relationship with a man and maintaining that relationship that we often lose ourselves. There's nothing wrong with choosing someone to share your life with, as long as you don't lose yourself in the process. Sometimes you have to take the time to
do you.
Every woman should.”

“By the way, where is the inspiration for this shift you're
not
having?”

“If you're referring to Daniel, he saw some of his colleagues on the way in. He'll be here in a minute.”

“Well, all I have to say is, when and if you do decide to end your dry spell,
Danny Boy
looks like a good candidate.”

“Do you ever stop?” Damita asked.

“No. That's exactly why you love me.”

“It's one of the many reasons.”

“Damita, are you sure you're ready for this?” Carmella asked.

“Am I ready for what?”

“All this nine-eleven stuff can be a bit overwhelming. I cried for weeks after that date. In the first few hours your mother and I were a wreck. We kept hoping that the phone would ring and it would be you. Brandon had already died a few months before and I knew his brother was a firefighter. Brandon and Daniel's mother was a mess. Your mom was a mess. We all waited together, hoping that phone would ring. It was horrible. When Daniel called his mother I remember your mom breaking down. Remember Karen?
Finally, I stopped watching television or reading the newspapers. Every time someone mentioned nine-eleven, I snapped at everyone so badly, eventually people stopped talking about it in my presence. I can't imagine what it must have been like being there and trying to make it out alive. If I were you, I don't know if I would ever want to talk about it or remember it ever again.”