Rachel's Hope

Rachel nervously studied the doorknob of the room she was in, awaiting it to turn and reveal another person who wanted to ask her questions. Her mind reeled with the events she had just suffered while her eyes searched for cues of more to come. The emotional trauma of the day left her feeling like she had been riding a roller coaster full of plunges waking to an aftermath of her body limp, mind scattered, and in a constant search for the end. Maybe it was all a nightmare that she could wake herself from, but the blood stains on her jeans reminded her it was all too real. Her long brown hair was drawn back against her neck with a clip yet sweat soaked ringlets framed her withdrawn features. The beauty of her youthfulness still found its way through and captured you with those pale blue eyes. She sat there chewing her fingertips where nails had been previously devoured. Her eyes still focused on the doorknob, waiting and anticipating.


It had been a dreadfully cold day, with rain quickly turning itself to ice and pelting itself against your face like sharp needles. The very reason why Rachel had not bothered to walk next door and check in on her mother before leaving for the day was that she dreaded the cold walk those ten steps would bring. Rachel had been reminded of what today would be, yet slinked into her rhythm of daily activities forgetting that her brother was being brought up on charges for the molestation of his daughter. Rachel’s childhood was not something she enjoyed remembering since it was riddled with her older brother’s torment, so she quickly forgot about the hearing she wouldn’t attend and left her house without caution of the storm brewing within her family focusing only on the drive through an ice storm she immediately faced.


The neighborhood was filled with streets named after seasons and Rachel found comfort in those seasons in which she lived. Her season was Spring Street which brought images of flowers in bloom, trees blowing their leaves against her bedroom window and the idea of something brand new to live for. Just like the life growing inside her was brand new – she had hope and her home brought her hope as well. Very little in her life did she ever take for granted and as she was driving she scolded herself for not checking in on her mother. Jane was an elderly woman but sharp as a tack living next door to her daughter who planned to take care of Jane to her very last day. Last winter they had both suffered the loss of father and husband when his heart beat for the last time. Winter was the worst of all seasons.


The wipers became paralyzed in ice on Rachel’s windshield as she made her way through the gridlock of fearful motorists easing their way to the start of the day. The fourth floor of the parking garage was a relieving site after the distressing weave through winter travelers. She made her way to the sliding glass doors defeating the cold behind her and enveloped into the warmth the hospital building provided. She slipped into the ladies locker room and adorned herself in scrubs. That is when she felt the flutter of a butterfly across her growing abdomen. She lingered for a moment thinking of the hope she was carrying.


After the third complaint of molestation substantiated by a social worker, the state of Rhode Island finally came forward in the defense of an eleven year old girl named Abigail Romerez. She sat next her mother in the court room with an expressionless face – the face of her father. Rick sat with his back to his daughter barely twenty feet from her, displaying only the right side of his face to her view and coldly staring at the prosecutor clearly wasting his precious time with ramblings of charges against him. He was a wealthy and powerful man that had distinguished earlier complaints with bribes easily paid to hungry government officials. This time the bribe wasn’t taken by the new prosecutor who planned to use this case as a medal for his career. Jane sat next to her grand daughter holding her hand as her son was found guilty of the charges displayed before everyone by countless doctors, psychologists and social workers. Neither Abi nor her mother had to take the stand and for once everyone else fought their battle.

After Rick’s bail was set and he was being carted out of the room, he looked at his mother with his hard face and said, “You will pay for this, you will all pay for this. I did nothing to you.”


The three of them each knew he was right. They would all definitely pay a price. A small battle had been won, but an even bigger battle had been created. They sat there watching their son, husband, and father being led out of the room after an entire day of scars being ripped open for the public to see. The cold air riddled Jane’s bones as she stepped out of the court house and made her way to the car. She had felt the cold all day, even sitting there watching her son in the court room she could not escape the ice storm. As she made her way home, her phone began vibrating in her pocket. She immediately flipped it open and could hear the DA apologizing in her ear. He was out on bail and the only protection they had is a piece of paper stating a protection order for their safety until the trial was set for his sentencing.


At the close of Rachel’s twelve hour shift, she made her rounds and left orders at the nurse’s station for a patient when she saw the day’s newspaper staring at her through innocent eyes. It was a picture of her niece, Abi, from four years ago. Rachel had forgotten what today had meant for her family. The reporter hadn’t even bothered to take a new picture of Abi probably because her face now lacks definition. The picture they used was when Abi still had a youthful glint in her eyes which her father had successfully taken from her. Rachel read the article and felt suddenly hollow, her mind began racing and remembering what she pushes down and tries to successfully forget. As her mind pushed forward images of the past, Rachel began dialing her mother’s number. She should have remembered. She should have checked on her this morning. Guilt was the lump growing in her throat as she listened hoping to hear her mother’s voice on the other end. Jane wasn’t answering.


As a child the truly safest place that Rachel felt was deep into the darkness of the crawl space under her parent’s home. She could hear his feet stomping through the house searching for her and calling her name with threats of what he would do to her if he found her. Deeper she crawled under the house until her own hand she couldn’t even see. There she would lay in the cold dampness and dream herself out of reality until the sound of gravel in the driveway announced her parent’s return home from work. Dreaming was always her escape from the harrowing reality of what he did when she did give in to his demands. The times when she gave in and let him touch her, probe her, and take from her childhood. Sometimes he even made her undress for his friend’s enjoyment as well. Rachel grew up craving safety and protection that she had yet to find in any relationship, but a new instinct was growing inside her now – an instinct for survival.


The trees had taken the abuse all day from the storm and wore ice on their branches making them droop to the ground in the weight. Jane drove slowly thinking about how those branches must be feeling what she felt inside – heavy and brittle, ready to snap from life and fall to the ground. The driveway was long and dark before her as she glided onto its path. Did she not turn on her porch light this morning? She also noticed the lamp in the window that she kept on a timer was out. She eased her car closer and parked sitting for a moment to take in the darkness around her. Something wasn’t right. Then she thought the electricity must be out because of the storm, so she eased her tired body out of the car clutching her purse against her body. The whole way to the house she scolded herself for not wearing more sensible shoes as she kept feeling her slick-soled flats slip against the ice. She reached with her hand for the railing just as her right foot started to go out from under her and she steadied herself from a fall. Resting there for a moment, she looked at the dark windows of her home wishing her daughter home that moment to help her inside. Rachel still had one more hour left of her shift and then a treacherous drive home. Jane thought she should call her to warn about how terrible the weather had become, but decided she’d wait until she was inside. Easing her foot up onto the porch she made the final step to the entrance of her home. Leaning against the door to steady herself in search of her key, the door swung open. Had she been so absent-minded this morning that she left without even shutting or locking her front door? She walked into the house flipping light switches that failed her when she remembered the gas stove in the kitchen. She fumbled along the hallway with her hand out in front of her, purse still clutched in the other, and finding her way to the kitchen from memory instead of sight. There was a stench that filled her nostrils as she walked into the kitchen – a musky sweat odor she couldn’t place. She felt her way over to the breakfast table and sat her purse down she had been holding so tightly her hand ached when she brushed against something or was it someone sitting there in a chair? Her phone began vibrating again in her pocket. She pulled it out seeing that it was Rachel calling when the light from the phone cast a glow across the room revealing she was not alone. She stood there stunned not even answering - just looking at the familiar face sitting at her table.


“Hello mother,” he said with the confidence of someone who felt their presence would be no cause for alarm.


Jane stood there still with the phone vibrating in her hand and its light illuminating his hardened face unable to believe what she was seeing. Paralyzed by fear she could do nothing but stare into his cold dark eyes, her mouth gaping open in astonishment and her knees weakening beneath her. She swallowed and then flipped open her phone to scream for help, but it was too late. The screen told her she had a missed call. He jumped up from the table and smacked the phone from her hand sending it flying across the room and shattering it to pieces on the floor.


“You stupid bitch,” he said as he stood over her - dominating her.


Jane’s mind snapped to Abi thinking of her beautiful damaged grandchild he had manipulated and ruined under his control. She began praying for the words to say to her son and gaining an instinct of survival to fight him. She reached for the candlestick on the table when he grabbed it from her and struck her with a swift blow across her left temple. A cracking sound followed as she fell to the floor at his feet.


“Stupid cunt,” he said under his breath, as he then began whistling a tune, and grabbed her unconscious head - dragging her through the house to her bedroom.


Rachel dialed her mother’s number again and this time it went directly to voice mail. Something was wrong, she could feel it. With only a few minutes left of her shift, she made her way to the locker room and changed into street clothes all the while images of Abi’s face from the paper haunting her. The eyes were looking through the paper calling out to Rachel for help. Were they Abi’s eyes or her own mothers? Fear crept up her spine and tingled in her ears as she dashed out the door and jumped in her car. She slid into reverse and back into drive with one clean motion, speeding through the parking garage when a child stepped in front of her car. Slamming on the brake, she slid to a stop within feet of hitting the young girl. The girl’s eyes peering at Rachel with a knowing look that made Rachel blink shut and then look again to make sure she wasn’t seeing a child that wasn’t there. When she opened them again, she realized the young girl was real and waited for her to pass by. Rachel then slowed her pace out of the garage with those eyes burned into memory.


Rick meticulously displayed his mother on her bed while she remained unconscious, blood dripping down her face from the gash above her hairline. Her white lacy shams stained with her blood beneath her head, he began tying her hands and feet to the posts of the bed leaving her spread open before him. When he was satisfied with her display, he set out through the house for the weapons of her demise.


As Jane lay there, she began going in and out of consciousness and calling, “Rachel, Rachel?”


Rick could hear his mother’s cries from the kitchen, and stomped back through the house after her.


“No one is going to save you. You are all alone and you are going to die alone. Rachel will find you after I’m finished with you. I might sit and wait for her – take her too. She started this. This is her fault,” he said to his mother.


He then took the jagged steak knife he had collected from the kitchen and began forking his way through her clothing, ripping and tearing to expose the naked flesh beneath. With each thrust of the knife he tore through her flesh and clothing leaving her naked and bloody beneath him. Her cries only amplified his pleasure and angered him more. He stood back to admire his master piece and found himself overcome with excitement. He crawled on top of her while she laid there crying in agony. Laughing he mocked her moans and cries with those of his own. He picked up the knife that was beside him on the bed and thrust it into her eye socket digging her eye from her head. When he had accomplished the one, he thrust it again into the other eye. She was quiet now and he started losing interest, cocking his head at her trying to listen for a sound that wouldn’t come. Running a finger across her cheek, he lifted her blood onto his finger. Looking at it trickle down his fingertip, he licked it - tasting her death. He got up from her without fear of evidence and walked out the bedroom door to see the shadow of someone standing in the hall. He strained to focus in the dark when the shadow drew closer.


“You piece of shit. I should have done this long ago,” she said.


He lunged for her but she quickly fired directly at him with her daddy’s shotgun she had found leaning against the wall near the front door. The deafening blast lingered in her ears as she watched her brother crumble to the floor in front of her. She pumped it again, firing again. His blood splattered the walls and the floor. The taste of metal was even in her mouth. His blood was everywhere. Rachel walked past him on the floor searching for her mother, but she was too late.


She found her mother splayed out on her bed, gaping holes where her eyes had once been. The eyes – her mother’s eyes weren’t there.



Seven months later…


“Keep pushing Rachel – she’s almost here,” the nurse said.


“C’mon girl – you can do this – keep pushing,” her doctor said as he watched the head crown in the birth canal. He could see red ringlets of hair on the baby’s head as Rachel kept pushing.


“One last push and she’s here,” the doctor told Rachel.


And with a loud cry, Hope was born. She was a perfect blessing. She was Rachel’s Hope. She held her close to her chest and looked into her eyes. Hope had her grandmother’s pale blue eyes.