The Raping of Ava DeSantis Page 7

  “Hey, Pumpkin. Are you all through with the doctor?”

  Ava put the clipboard down on her lap and nodded: yes.

  “Good, I want you to meet someone.”

  Ava cringed. She was in no condition to communicate with anyone else, let alone a sexual assault detective. But to her surprise, a petite, well-dressed, big-haired blonde woman wearing a bright red business suit entered the room. She was carrying an over-the-top flower arrangement that was so large it covered most of her face.

  “Pumpkin, I want you to meet—”

  The nurse abruptly entered the room with Ava’s bottle of water. Nick and his mystery guest stood awkwardly silent until the nursed finished placing the water on the nightstand, then exited. The blonde woman placed the flowers beside the water bottle and began to speak.

  “Hello, Ava. My name is Miriam. I’m Wesley’s mother.”

  Ava nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Miriam Scarborough was a forty-five-year-old strikingly beautiful, church going steel magnolia who couldn’t get into Heaven even if she gave Saint Michael a blowjob. In addition to being the richest and most active member of her century-old Baptist church, Miriam was also a Davenport, a well-known Confederate family that helped found Atlanta back in 1847. But what was most interesting about Miriam was that despite her inherited wealth, she had attended law school at a time where nice Southern ladies stayed out of such sticky matters, let alone grow up to become the highest paid criminal defense attorney in all of Fulton County.

  “It’s okay, Pumpkin, Mrs. Scarborough just wants to talk to you.” Nick’s voice was oddly authoritative given the circumstances.

  Ava was unsure of how to respond.

  Miriam drew a deep breath and then hesitated. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t expect this visit to be so difficult.”

  After a few moments of stale silence, Nick jumped in and got straight to the point. “Pumpkin, you didn’t write down anything to the doctor about how you got here, did you?”

  Ava gently shook her head: no.

  Nick and Miriam exchanged a look of relief.

  “Ava, I know that we do not personally know one another, but I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that I do not judge you in any way. Wesley tells me that you are a very smart girl, and what you do behind closed doors in no way affects my opinion of you.”

  Ava was confused by her words.

  Miriam drew another fake deep breath and continued her speech: “I know you are wondering and yes, Wesley told me everything. As a mother, it was probably the most painful thing my only son has ever told me, but the good Lord knows how things like this can happen when alcohol is involved. I’m sure you can remember that you drank a little too much that night. Am I right, sugar?”

  Ava felt a pang of guilt in her stomach.

  “Now this doesn’t mean you are a bad person whatsoever. You are just an innocent victim like the millions of other young girls out there who throw their virginity to any sweet man who buys them a drink. Everyone in this room knows alcohol is just the Devil’s way of making good people like you do his dirty work. And I am sure beyond the shadow of a doubt that you would have never convinced the other boys to play that…that…God forsaken sex game if you hadn’t been drinking so much alcohol.”

  Miriam became emotional. Nick consoled her.

  Ava stared at the scene before her in disbelief.

  Miriam slowly pulled herself together. “Ava, I beg of you, as one Christian to another, please consider keeping this mishap just between us.”

  Ava was frozen.

  “I’m afraid, since our name is so well known in this town, that if you tell anyone about what happened, the media will surely get a hold of it. All the tabloids, the local TV stations, the national papers, everyone will write a story about this.” Miriam moved closer to Ava and leaned in only inches away from her mummified face. “Ava, you strike me as a private person. Do you really want everyone to know you had sex with three men at the same time?”

  Ava was taken aback.

  “Do you really want to read about yourself in the papers, Ava? Everyone at Anniston University will know. Your childhood friends in New Jersey will know. Everyone will know your name, Ava. The media will slaughter your reputation like they did with Jessica Hahn, Donna Rice…Their lives are destroyed forever.”

  Nick shot Miriam a dirty look that said: take it easy.

  “Do you really want your father to have to read ugly lies about you, Ava? About your family? I’m sure your sweet mother in Heaven is looking down on us right this very second, crying her eyes out into Jesus’s arms.”

  “That’s enough.” Nick had reached his limit. “Do not speak about my wife. Ever.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick. I, I didn’t mean to offend. I just know as a mother I would hate to see your daughter ruin her life for just one little mistake.”

  “Just get to the point, Mrs. Scarborough. Please.”

  Miriam squared her shoulders and went in for the kill. “Ava, what’s done is done. None of us can change the past, but we all have the power to change the future. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Ava gently shook her head: no.

  “Ava, if you agree to keep this between us, I promise you that I will take care of you for the rest of your life. As soon as you leave here, you can move back to New Jersey, get your own apartment, spend time with your friends—”

  Nick interrupted. “Baby, Mrs. Scarborough was nice enough to pay for all of this. You and me, we don’t have health insurance.”

  Ava was surprised at her father’s revelation.

  “Yes, Ava, I have arranged with your father to cover all of your medical expenses. Not just the tens of thousands you are incurring every single day you stay here, but also your future medical expenses. I know you don’t want to be a financial burden on your father, Ava. Plus it will take years to repair your f…” Miriam caught herself before saying it. “What I mean to say is that I will pay for the best plastic surgeon in all of New Jersey. And I promise you he or she will restore that lovely face of yours and make you prettier than ever.”

  Ava was terrified. It never even occurred to her what her face must look like under the mummy mask.

  “Ava, God has blessed me with an amazing family. When my father passed last year, he left me more money than any one person could ever spend in a lifetime. Which is why I am willing to share my blessings with you. Specifically, I will wire your father five hundred thousand dollars the minute you return to your home in New Jersey. And, in fifteen years, I will wire you another five hundred thousand dollars.”

  Ava was floored.

  “That’s one million dollars in total, Ava. More than you could ever hope to earn as a teacher in a lifetime.”

  Ava’s eyes pleaded to Nick for help.

  “And all I ask from you in return is that you keep this misunderstanding between us. Nothing more. Just never say another word to another soul and we will all be fine.”

  Ava was shocked.

  “Pumpkin, all you need to do is promise to keep this between the three of us. It’s as simple as that.”

  Ava could not believe what her father was saying. The man who stood by his principles no matter what the cost…the man who always said rich people were evil and should never be trusted, was now the man standing side by side with a woman willing to part with a million dollars to keep her privileged son out of prison.

  For a good twenty seconds, a heavy, sick feeling of silence filled the room.

  “I should go. I’ll leave you two alone to think this over.” Miriam turned and looked directly at Nick. “All I ask is that if your daughter decides to speak to the police, that you will at least call me in advance so that I may prepare my family.”

  “Of course.” said Nick. “That’s the least we can do.”

  Miriam turned back and looked directly at Ava. “I know you will make the right decision, Ava. You are a very smart girl.” Miriam turned to leave once more. “And thank you b
oth for listening to me. I pray we can all work this out.”

  ***

  Soon after Miriam left, Nick pulled his chair a foot away from Ava and rubbed his scruffy dark chin. “Pumpkin, do you remember about a month after your mother died, you were getting ready to start school again, and you got your hair cut so short that you looked like a boy?”

  Her eyes welled with tears.

  “I know you remember that day. Do you remember what I told you when you wouldn’t stop crying?”

  Ava nodded: yes.

  “Right, I told you that when life deals you a bad hand, just play it the best you can. And the very next day you walked into that school, with your brand new yellow backpack, proud of your new hairdo and everyone loved it. All the other girls got their hair cut short too, just like you. Remember?”

  Ava nodded, knowing where the conversation was going.

  “Baby, Mrs. Scarborough makes a lot of sense. What’s done is done.”

  Ava looked at her father, pleading for guidance.

  “Trust me, I could kill those boys with my bare hands for hurting you the way they did, taking away any chances you got to settle down with a good man. But then your mother’s voice just enters my head and tells me I’d just wind up in jail like your Uncle Billy, and then you wouldn’t have me or your mother for the rest of your life.”

  Ava’s eyes streamed with tears.

  “Pumpkin, this is our only chance to never have to worry about money again. A million dollars is a lot of money if you save it right. Nothing fancy, just keep everything normal and that money will go a long way. See, I’ve got one regular customer and all he does is invest money for rich people. I know he could help me figure this all out. I’ll just tell him I won the cash at a slot in Vegas, plus he won’t care where I got it anyways. But Ava, this has to be your decision. I’ll support you in whatever you decide. I swear it on your mother’s soul, I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. And then we’ll never talk about it again.”

  Ava’s bandages darkened with more tears.

  “You’re all I got left in this world, kiddo.” Nick’s eyes glistened as he kissed her mummy forehead. “I love you.”

  Ava struggled to lift her bandaged arms to embrace her father.

  Outside in the hallway, Miriam watched Nick and Ava through the interior window. Doctor Morris approached her cautiously.

  “Can I help you?”

  Miriam returned a cold stare. “No. I was just leaving.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Verdict

  Wednesday, February 6, 1991

  6:18 P.M.

  In just eleven days, the interior of Wesley’s home went from looking like a college co-ed disaster area to a pristine pre-war museum. New gold and sage colored curtains hung in every window. The walls had been carefully re-painted, the antique cherry wood floors had been polished and the broken staircase spindles had been replaced and re-stained. Most noticeably, the old patio furniture had magically disappeared with elegant Scarborough furniture standing in its place. Yet, despite its brand new appearance, the one thing that remained at Black Acre was the energy of the house. The dark, eerie feel that was once stale and musty was now vibrant and bloodthirsty, as if the raping of Ava DeSantis fed the negative energy that possessed it. Yes, somehow the house influenced what had happened that night. And even if it had to wait another century, it looked forward to tasting that blood-filled, carnal debauchery once again.

  ***

  Wesley, Sebastian, and David sat at their new Henry XIII inspired dining room table, unenthusiastically playing poker. Their appearance had become radically different: Wesley, gray-skinned, gaunt and disheveled; Sebastian channeling King Henry XIII himself, fat and slovenly with an invisible red beard; and David, black-eyed, slow and sleepy, still in withdrawal from the party favors he had once adored.

  Wesley dealt another hand as the phone rang in the adjacent kitchen.

  DINGGG ALING.

  They all looked at one another.

  “Answer it!” hollered Sebastian.

  Wesley darted out of his dark wood mini-throne and answered the wall-mounted corded phone in the kitchen. “Momma?”

  All three exchanged looks of heightened stress. This was it. The verdict. The very last moment they would know whether they would continue living well-funded lives or spend the rest of their days sucking the cocks of hardened criminals.

  “…And what did he say?” asked Wesley with a broken voice.

  Miriam mumbled a long-winded sentence on the other end of the phone line.

  “Are you sure?”

  Miriam mumbled loudly in return.

  “Okay.”

  Stunned, Wesley just hung up the phone.

  Sebastian and David looked at one another, scared beyond measure.

  “Well?” asked Sebastian.

  “She took the money.” Wesley’s sad eyes did not match his words.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, it’s done. We’re okay.”

  Sebastian and David erupted with excitement.

  “Go Miriam!” yelled Sebastian as he grabbed David and Wesley into a group hug.

  “Freedom! Freedom!” yelled David, mimicking William Wallace from Tales of Scottish Heroes.

  Wesley was silent as his roommates squeezed him roughly, celebrating the greatest victory of their lives. After a while, he broke free from the huddle and quietly pulled away from the celebration. Unnoticed by the others, he walked over to a white upholstered chair in the living room and plopped down, exhausted.

  Sebastian and David continued celebrating in the kitchen. First they pulled out bags of chips and jars of dip from the pantry. Then they moved to the refrigerator, yanking out a vintage bottle of Dom Pérignon they were saving for graduation.

  “Open that hooker!” said Sebastian in a rare, jovial tone.

  Meanwhile, in the living room, Wesley was alone in his new white chair, with his golden-fleeced head of hair buried in his hands, not uttering a single celebratory word.

  Instead, Wesley was quietly crying to himself.

  Ava…

  CHAPTER 11

  15 years, 7 Months & 28 Days Later

  Wednesday, October 4, 2006

  10:13 A.M

  A stiff, elderly Southern lawyer sat at an opulent desk, reading a teleprompter like a Disney animatronic. “Have you been injured? Has someone done you wrong? If so, call the law offices of Hall, Wentworth and Garcia.”

  “Cut!” yelled Wesley Scarborough, looking upon the commercial shoot with disgust. Now thirty-six, Wesley was more mature and handsome than ever, dressed in a navy blue power suit adorned with a bright orange silk tie. His formerly long, wavy blonde hair was now darker and slicked back with hair gel, his eyes were as bright blue as ever, and his yellow-gold wedding band beamed against the color of his just-vacationed-in-Aruba tan skin.

  “Let’s try this again!” he shouted.

  Lilly Torres, Wesley’s pint-sized Latina firecracker assistant, quickly approached him on the set. “This isn’t working,” she whispered into his ear.

  “No shit. What about Garcia?”

  A charismatic Hispanic man in his forties sat off to the side, observing their conversation.

  Lilly furiously shook her head. “No, no, no, you’ll alienate the natives. What if you get mister corpse here to do it from memory? Or maybe we can ask—?”

  Wesley’s vibrating cell phone interrupted her.

  “You better get that. Could be the big call.”

  “Give me two seconds.” Wesley took several steps away from the set, pulled the cell phone from his belt loop clip and answered it. “Hey, honey. How are you feeling?”

  “No baby yet, so stop worrying,” said his wife cheerfully on the other end.

  “Good ’cause I’m in the middle of directing a commercial. Can I call you back in thirty?”

  “Well, I just need a few seconds really. I need to ask you something important.”

  He looked out to the crowd of people
around him. “Okay, let’s take a ten minute break everybody! Be back here at ten-thirty!” Wesley then turned back into the phone. “Okay, Michelle. Shoot.”

  Twenty-seven-year-old Michelle Scarborough was the kind of peppy Southern Belle that would constantly re-enact her High School Prom Queen speech in the mirror when nobody was looking. Her small frame, alabaster skin, shoulder-length fluffy brown hair and baby-doll brown eyes perfectly complimented Wesley’s golden Adonis features. She stood eight-and-a-half months pregnant in the living room of their brand new home in Buckhead, surrounded by a crew of immigrant workers industriously unpacking stacks of moving boxes behind her. Sitting close by at a round kitchen table was Miriam Scarborough (who magically hadn’t aged one bit) and a flamboyantly dressed man with books of wallpaper swatches before him.

  “I hate to bother you at work, Wes, but we need you to cast the deciding vote. Fish or trains?”

  Wesley was instantly annoyed. “What kind of fish?”

  She looked at the man sitting at the table. He held up two samples of colorful fish wallpaper. “Tropical fish.”

  “Tropical is fine.”

  “Wes, really think about it.”

  Miriam rose from the table and approached Michelle.

  “Tropical. River. Whatever you like, baby. It’s your choice,” replied Wesley.

  “Let me talk to him.” Miriam gently pulled the phone from Michelle’s hand.

  “Oh, here’s your mother…” Michelle’s eyes fell to the floor as she handed the cordless handset to Miriam.

  “Wesley, you should at least have the decency to put some serious thought into this. In fact, you should have made these decisions months ago! Your baby is due in less than two weeks and you haven’t even assembled the crib yet. You’re not going to be able to work eighty hours a week when the baby gets here. Do you hear me?”

  Wesley was five years old again. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Now do you prefer the fish or the trains?”

  “What does Michelle want?”

  “She likes the fish. However, I think trains are more masculine and will be more practical as your son grows older.”