Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3) (8 page)

Chapter 11
What the Hell?

              Sunny Sykes was a long trim bombshell blonde that did human interest pieces for the local news. Her parents aptly named her, since her ‘sunny’ personality drew in her fans, made them feel safe, comfortable, respected. And the utmost deference was given to the subjects of her interviews. That was the reason I chose her. She was like everyone’s best friend, reporting on the news every night at five, six and eleven.

             
“Good morning, Emari.” She extended her elegant hand toward me and I gently squeezed her fingers.

             
“Good morning,” I stammered, a little star struck.
Don’t be a fangirl!

             
Sunny guided me to the set that was bathed in a warm pink glow. All the glaring lights of show time, now dimmed.

             
“I need to know you’re totally comfortable doing this, Emari. I don’t want you to feel coerced.”

             
“It’s all good,” I said as we sat down. “Office Elliot and I made a deal. This is my end of the bargain. We’re all sure there are other girls out there this creep has raped. I want them to know they’re not alone. If any of them had the kind of problems I did, they’re going to need some support and counseling.”

             
“I agree. But—because of those ‘problems’—are you sure you want to do this? We can put you in silhouette if you want so no one will know it’s you.”

             
Valleys cleaved my brow. “Let me ask you this: Do you believe I did something wrong?”

             
Sunny’s mouth gaped opened. “No. No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply….”

             
I raised my hand to stop her. “Then why would I want to hide my face as if I’m ashamed? Those other girls are hiding in anonymity. Maybe if they see my face, it’ll give them the courage to come forward.”

             
“Of course. I just…People will recognize you. Notoriety can have both good and bad repercussions.” Her glittering blue eyes were wide with sincerity. Her voice, soft and soothing like calming a wounded animal. But, I hadn’t considered myself ‘wounded’ for a long time now. I reached over and squeezed her hand.

             
“Sunny, I understand what I’m getting myself into. I know people will recognize me, but it’s worth the risk. I went through hell afterwards. If it hadn’t been for my—friend keeping me sane, I’d probably be dead. I have to consider what these other survivors are dealing with.”

             
“I noticed you said ‘survivor’ not victim.”

             
“I’ve learned it’s a choice. I chose not to be a victim. I chose to be a survivor,” I explained. “It gives me back some of the power he took away from me.”

             
“I’d like to touch on that especially.”

             
A chubby intern, who seemed to be midway between his teen years weight and developing into a lean grown man, addressed her. “Make-up’s ready for you, Sunny.” His eyes sparkled with affection when he gazed at her. I couldn’t blame him. She was lovely, even borderline sugary sweet. But her sincerity was beguilingly honest.

             
“Thank you, Bobby. By the way, this is Miss Sweet. Emari,” she corrected at my scowl. “She’s doing the human interest piece we’re working on today.”

             
He shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

             
“You too.”

             
“Will you show Emari to make-up? I have some last minute details to work out before taping.”

             
“Sure thing.” And with a gallant sweep of his arm, he beckoned me off set.

*          *          *

              The studio lights were warm and glaring, and beads of nervous sweat glistened on my top lip and brow.

             
Sunny patted my knee. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop anytime.”

             
“No. It’s all good.”
Suck it up, Sweet. This ain’t just about you anymore.
How often had I said that to myself lately?

             
“Are you okay with the camera man? I can have him set the camera and leave it, just splice it together later.”

             
“No, that’s fine. The whole Inland Empire is about to hear my story, so one camera guy isn’t going to make a difference one way or another.” I was playing tough, but the anxiety of reliving my nightmare in front of the populace was churning in my gut.
I will not throw up. I will not throw up.

             
Sunny reviewed the questions with me and put DeLaRosa’s picture up on a monitor so it wouldn’t come as too much of a shock seeing him during the interview. Finally, the make-up people came and touched us both up, the studio lights dimmed and the room grew quiet.

             
“In 5,” a phantom voice intoned from the dark. “4-3-2….” The camera tech made a fist on 1, then pointed at Sunny.

             
“Hello Spokane. I’m Sunny Sykes with K5 news and this is ‘Sunny Says…’ Today we’re going to be discussing a subject that may be considered inappropriate for young audiences.” She paused as though to give parents the opportunity to remove their children from the room. “Every two minutes, another American is sexually assaulted,” Sunny quoted from the RAINN statistics we’d looked up on the web. “237,686 people each year become victims of sexual assault. Sixty percent of sexual assaults are not reported to the police and ninety-seven percent of rapists will never spend a single day in jail for their crime. These are alarming statistics.

             
“My guest today is Emari Sweet, a local girl hoping to make a difference, even if it’s only for one other person.” Sunny turned from the camera to me. “Emari, tell us about yourself.”

             
“I’m just a local girl, like you said….”

             
The car takes flight, crashes and rolls. Like scattering diamonds, glass tumbles across the tarmac. My mother screams. Blood trickles down her face. Her knuckles split against the window and smear her blood in crimson webs. Her screams rake the inside of me like claws down your back. The night turns day and the inferno consumes her.

              My lungs screamed for air.

             
“Emari? Do you need to stop?” Sunny’s face was dark with concern. Her hand gripped my knee, drawing me back to reality.

             
“No, I... Can we start over?”

             
“Tell me what happened.”

             
“I just—got a picture of the crash my parents were in. I wasn’t going to mention it. It doesn’t define me.”

             
“But it influences who you are.”

             
“Yes. I suppose.” I filled my lungs and my thoughts congealed.

             
“Tell me about your parents.”

             
I laughed. “Sounds cliché, but best parents in the world. They were killed in an accident a little over a year ago when I was seventeen.”

             
“Seventeen? And you’ve been on your own since?”

             
“Yes. My aunt and uncle had custody of me but I filed for emancipation of a minor. My parents left me a house up north in Mead and I’ve lived there ever since.”

             
Sunny pursed her lips. “We can edit out the location of your house later.”

             
“Oh! Of course. What was I thinking? Maybe I’m still a little more naïve and trusting than I should be.”

             
Sunny patted my knee. “I suppose that’s better than assuming everyone is evil.” I nodded. ““Ready to continue?”

             
I hauled in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

             
Sunny dived right back in as though we hadn’t missed a beat. “You suffered from nightmares after the accident, didn’t you?”

             
The urge to scream, ‘no, it wasn’t an accident at all—they were murdered’ convulsed in my throat. “I did. But with a lot love and coaxing from my girl, Ivy, I survived.”

             
“She sounds very special.”

             
“Absolutely. I’d probably be dead without her. Ivy kept me grounded and fed. Neither of which I was capable of at the time.”

             
“That wasn’t the only trauma that happened to you in a few short months,” Sunny coaxed.

             
“No. I started receiving phone calls at work. The guy made all kinds of lewd suggestions and threatened me. Eventually, he stopped calling. But I knew he wasn’t done with me. It just didn’t feel right.”

             
“Intuition?”

             
“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Isn’t that what people always tell you about judging a dangerous situation? Trust your instinct?”

             
“I think that’s wisdom in any case. What happened after the phone calls stopped?”

             
“I was in a stock room at work and he attacked me. He dragged me into a back room….”

             
Fists battered my face. My heart exploded with fear. Pain echoed through my body. Brutality personified in this one man.

              My chest shuddered for air as my stomach lurched.

             
“Emari?” Sunny’s eyes were bright with concern.

             
I blinked away the transitory images. “Uh, yeah. That happens sometimes. If I’m in a stressful situation.” I laughed, “Like taping an interview everybody in the city is going to see.”

             
“We can stop.”

             
No. I knew the cause of this. And it wasn’t PTSD. “No. I’m fine. I have to do this.”

             
Sunny scowled at me, then arranged her features back into the consummate pro that she was. She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, so I plunged ahead.

             
“He beat me up pretty badly. When I was unconscious, he raped me.”

             
Grief, horror, sympathy, all twisted the reporters brow in quick succession. “What happened after that?”

             
“The nightmares came back—of the rape and the crash. I never knew which was going to hit me. Not that it mattered. Both of them tore me up. I tried not sleeping at all, but that didn’t work out so well. I cut myself off from all my friends. Something I regret to this day.”

             
“But you did have someone who helped you?”

             
Yeah. He’s a Dream Weaver. He manipulated the nightmares and made them go away. And then he lied to me about everything else from that moment on.
“Yeah. I met someone who supported and encouraged me. He’d been through a trauma of his own and helped me a lot. My uncle Adrian is also a psychiatrist and he’s been helping me, too.”

             
“You said earlier, ‘I have to do this.’ What did you mean?”

             
“The officer who interviewed me after the rape has become a friend. During her investigation, she’s discovered that I wasn’t Mr. DeLaRosa’s first victim. And as you said at the beginning of this interview, sixty percent of sexual assaults are not reported. I know there are other girls out there that this
man
has hurt. I want to make an appeal to those women to come forward. If not to bolster the case against him, then to get help for themselves. I know how bad it can be in the aftermath.”

             
“What would you say to them?” Sunny gestured toward the camera, so I turned to face the red blinking light. The mug shot of my attacker took over the corner of the viewing screen.

             
“This man’s name is Rico DeLaRosa. In December of last year, he attacked me at work. I was beaten severely and raped by him. Since that time, I’ve learned that there may be other survivors out there. Young women that are suffering in silence. Women that, for one reason or another, haven’t reported the attack to the police.” Did I dare give the names of the girls from Rico’s memories? How would I explain that—to the police and Sunny? “I know the fear that follows you. I know the nightmares, the feelings of shame,” I rubbed the tendons in my wrist. “The desire to cut yourself off from others—the desire, maybe, to cut yourself—just to block the internal pain, even for a moment. But I also want you to know, you are not alone. There are great people available to support you and help you heal. Coming on the local news is the last thing I really wanted to do. I didn’t want the whole city to know my business. But even if there’s just one girl out there who will be brave enough to reach out and take the hand that’s been extended, it will all be worth it. I promise. If you’re hearing this—please ask for help.” My throat clamped shut as I thought of these girls, alone and afraid.