Sean. Where is Sean? She needed him. Wanted him to come to her so she could feel safe. When her nurse returned she’d tell her...
When Von surfaced again, the hospital had the still quietness that came only in the darkest, deep of night. She weakly pressed the call button. Thirsty, so thirsty.
“Yes,” a disembodied voice said.
“Water.” It came out a croak.
“Be right there.”
Seconds later. “Suck on this.”
Icy coolness touched her lips. Not water but close. A few chips were all she had strength to manage. The nurse checked her vitals, a running commentary on her lips. Thirst sated, Von faded away.
When next she roused, it was to the pressing need to use the bathroom. Knowing she should call for help but not having the patience to wait, she crept to the bathroom, step by painful step, leaning heavily on the IV pole. Emptying her bladder proved to be a painfully torturous experience. Upon returning to bed, Von gladly pressed the button which dispensed pain medication that took her out of her body and into a netherworld. How long she drifted there she had no idea. Time passed. People—nurses, staff, doctors—came and went. Vitals were taken, bandages checked and changed, and still Von lingered, not quite present, aware but not alert.
She answered questions—doctors, nurses and, she thought, the police. And she asked for Sean, repeatedly, until suddenly he was there, by her bedside, holding her hand. Safe. She was safe.
Days later, she was much improved and not as dependent upon the morphine. Final report: a broken nose, concussion, ruptured spleen, bruised ribs, and an assortment of colorful bruises all over her body. She would live, and for that Von was extremely grateful.
The report of what happened made the news. “Respected Pastor shot, almost kills faithful Parishioner, news at five.” Marketta was in jail, or had been. Von wasn’t exactly sure and no one in the family would tell her. She was told to concentrate on getting better.
Derrick Senior was in this same hospital in critical condition, and his prognosis didn’t look good. Von wasn’t sure how she felt about it or him. He was her pastor, a man of God. One whose bible teachings had helped her become the woman she was today. But the man that attacked her, tried to rape her and meant to kill her when he finished—yes, she remembered every foul word he’d spoken, every blow, every kick—that man she didn’t know.
Which was the real Pastor Derrick Wilkins Senior? Where was the man who’d preached and taught on love and respect? Was it all a lie? Von didn’t know and not knowing left her vulnerable, her faith floundering, in a way she’d never been.
Thank God for Sean. She drew strength from his quiet, solid presence. Whatever she needed, he made sure she had. He didn’t talk but his being there was statement enough. He left only when necessary and even then he didn’t stay gone long.
On one of his absences, Von woke to find a red-eyed Derrick sitting beside her bed, holding her hand to his mouth. She must have made some sound, or maybe it was the way she reflexively tensed, preparing to pull her hand away. Something alerted Derrick she was awake and his gaze switched from the machines to her.
He looked rough. Grief stricken. Despite that, he attempted a smile. “Hi.”
“Derrick.” She tugged on her hand. His hold tightened briefly before he released it. “I know you don’t want to see me and I don’t blame you, but I had to come.” He cleared his throat so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching since this happened. I’m sorry, so sorry. For hitting you, and so much more. I...I have no excuse. I know I was wrong. Knew it even while I was doing it, but couldn’t seem to control myself. Please, please forgive me.”
Von closed her eyes and nodded. It didn’t matter anymore.
“I went to the jail and told them...”
He paused for so long Von looked at him. Derrick clenched the railing of her bed so tight his knuckles were white. “I told them, if your cousin hadn’t shot my father, he would have killed you...like he killed my mother.”
Von sucked in a sharp breath. No wonder he didn’t like talking about her. Von had always assumed his mother had left Derrick’s father, leaving her son behind like unwanted garbage. Derrick’s gaze connected with hers and the pain she saw in its depths made her forget about her own. For the first time, Von believed she was seeing the real Derrick.
“My dad used to abuse me, for as long as I can remember. Mom found out...no, I said something, I don’t remember what, and she figured it out. She confronted him, said she was taking me and leaving, and if he tried to stop her she would go to the police, and the church elders, and tell what he was doing and he...he...killed her. Put his hands around her neck and choked her. I was eight. She crumpled on the floor, her face...”
He turned away so that she viewed his profile. “She wasn’t breathing. He told me if I told anyone else he’d kill them, too. That he loved me. I was his, and no one would take me away from him.” He closed his eyes. “He said he needed me. That everything he did was because he loved me so much.” A tear slid down his cheek and his breath shuddered in and out.
“In middle school, one of my teachers took an interest in me. Ms. Mulligan. She was really nice. I liked her a lot. Used to spend whatever time I could with her. She reminded me of my mother. I must have said something, let something slip, even though I’d gotten better at hiding it. She got suspicious. Started asking questions about our family, my dad, making subtle inquiries to other teachers, neighbors. A few weeks later, she was in an accident. Her brakes failed. She was almost killed. No one suspected anything but I knew. I knew...”
Derrick jerked to his feet and began to pace in short, choppy steps as Von listened in horror. “We moved here. Dad started this church. Things got better. He didn’t come to me at night as much. Said he didn’t love me any less, but that I was getting too big, too old...he likes ‘em small, and young...but I’d always be his special love...”
With dawning horror, Von remembered how Derrick had always hated his size. How he was always trying to bulk up, and her stomach lurched as his meaning sank in.
“But the beatings, those never stopped. He demanded instant obedience in everything. He had to be in control.” He stopped with his back to her and dragged his hands over his head before turning to face her, his eyes tortured. “Then I met you. Dad found out. He didn’t want me having a girlfriend. Said I didn’t need anyone but him. It’s the first time I ever stood up to him. I refused to stop seeing you.”
Von put a hand over her mouth. God, she was going to be sick.
“You and I were so much alike. Had so much in common, but you never knew. I couldn’t tell you or he’d have hurt you, too.”
Von spoke then. “Why’d you come back? You’d gotten away from him.” She remembered his father’s fury when he found out Derrick had enlisted. How Derrick had waited until the very last moment to tell him he was leaving.
Derrick’s solemn gaze held hers. “Because he had you.”
She jolted. He’d come back to his demon father because of her? No. Everything within her rejected that. “Derrick, I loved you. I would have joined you, if you asked.”
He shook his head. “No you wouldn’t have. He would have stopped you, just like he stopped you from going to school in Atlanta. You turned down a four-year scholarship to stay here, despite my encouraging you, almost pleading with you to go.”
“No, I—” she started to argue, then stopped. Hadn’t Marketta just said the same? Always intimidating, Derrick Senior had a way of making a person want to do what he wanted them to do. At eighteen, nineteen, even twenty, would she have been able to stand up to him? No, she’d only recently stood up to Derrick and he was nowhere near as forceful as his father.