Kane (34 page)

“Yes, sir.”

Hugging the wall, he creeps down the hallway.  He pauses when he reaches the living room.  “You like it, don’t you, bitch?” someone laughs.  “Oh, yeah.  You love it.”

He risks a glance into the room.  His eyes widen when he gets to the man on the couch.

The man’s jeans are down around his knees.  Allison lies trapped beneath him, her skirt above her waist, torn underwear bunched around one ankle.  A strip of duct tape seals her mouth; another binds her hands.  Tears stream down her face.  Blood runs from her nose.

“Move, damn you!” the man on top commands.  He delivers a backhanded blow, sending a gush of blood from Allison’s nose.  “I said move!”

“What did you see?”

“Allison and a man in the living room.  He was … hurting her.  Then the other one came and I hid.”

He slides behind the door.  An instant later the other man bursts in.

“Joey, get outta here till I’m done,” the first man orders.  “There’s gotta be cash.  Find it.”

“There ain’t none, Cal.  I looked.”

“Where’s the money, bitch?” Cal demands.  He grabs Allison’s hair, jerking her head from the couch.

“She might be able to talk better if you took off the gag,” Joey points out.

The man rips the tape from Allison’s mouth.  “Where’s the money?”

“There isn’t any,” Allison sobs.

The man doubles his fist.  Coldly and deliberately, he hits her.  Grinning, hits her again.

“So you hid.  Then what?”

Nate glanced at Allison, then lowered his head and continued.  “I sneaked back to the hall closet and got your gun.”

“Then what?”

“I went back …”  Nate’s voice faltered.

He hesitates outside the living room.  He cocks the revolver and steps into the room.

“Oooohhh, baby, get ready,” the man on top of Allison pants.  “I can’t wait no more!”

“Get off my sister.”

“Huh?”  The man opens his eyes.  “Where’d you come from?”

“Get off my sister,” he repeats, his voice quavering.

“Christ, Joey,” Cal laughs, rising from the couch.  “Lookit this.  They’re givin’ the diaper patrol guns now.”  Using Allison’s torn underwear, he wipes his swollen member and pulls up his jeans.

Staring at the pistol, the second man backs away.  “Let’s go, Cal.  There ain’t nothin’ here anyway.”

Cal smiles coldly.  “I don’t think so.”

He motions with the gun toward the door.  “Get out,” he pleads, hating himself for his smallness, so scared he’s begun to cry.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Cal chuckles, moving forward.  “I’ll grant you that.  Now gimme the gun.”

He wishes he could run, knowing he can’t.  He glances at Allison.  Eyes wide with terror, she’s curled her legs beneath her to cover her nakedness.

“Fork it over,” Cal orders, moving closer still.  “Now!”

The revolver bucks in his hands.

Oh, God, I missed …

Cal rushes in.  “You little bastard!” he bellows, rage darkening his face.

And again the deafening roar of the pistol and the smell of smoke and the sound of screaming …

“… and I shot him.  I … I’m sorry, Dad.”

Shocked, I remained silent for a long moment.  Finally I spoke.  “Nate, aside from lying about what happened, you have nothing to be sorry for,” I said.  “Not one thing.  If I had been there, I would have done the same as you.  You did what was necessary to protect your sister, and I’m proud of you for it.”

When Nate didn’t respond, I continued.  “Listen, it’s natural to feel bad about something like this, but this is way too much for a kid your age to be carrying around on his own.  You should have spoken up.”

“I couldn’t.”

I gave Allison a look of irritation.  “Because your sister made you promise?”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“What, then?”

Again, Nate didn’t answer.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—”

“C’mon, Nate.  Spill it.”

“Because I was ashamed,” Nate choked.

“I told you, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So tell me.”

Nate was crying openly now.

“Talk to me, Nate.”

“I
didn’t
feel bad about shooting him,” Nate sobbed.  “When I saw him hurting Ali, I
wanted
to.”

My brow furrowed.  “So what’s the problem?”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“Arrest you?”  I stared at Nate, beginning to understand.  “You think because you wanted to shoot that dirtbag that you’re a killer?  Is that what this is about?”

Nate nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You’re not a criminal, Nate,” I sighed.  “You’re an eleven-year-old boy.”

Still sobbing, Nate wiped his nose on his sleeve.  “But you said it was natural to feel bad about killing someone, and I—”

“Back up a minute,” I said, still holding his hands in mine.  “I know what I said.  I was wrong.  Taking a life is a terrible thing, and there’s no
natural
way to feel about it.  But there’s a big difference between killing and murder.  What you did was not murder.  You killed a piece of trash who threatened your life.  Yours, and Allison’s.  Now you’re choking on guilt because you don’t feel bad about it.  That’s just your conscience working overtime.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I … I think so,” Nate sniffed.

“Good.  Another thing.  Ever since it happened, I’ve been searching for the other guy who was there that night.  I finally ran him down.  He’s serving a twenty-year sentence in Folsom Prison on another charge.  I’m watching his case closely.  If he ever gets out, I’ll make him wish he were back in.  Neither of you kids has anything to worry about from him.  Okay?”

Nate nodded dully.

“Now, I know you’re confused about what happened, but things will seem clearer as time goes on.  You’re a fine kid, Nate.  A good person.  Remember that.”

I turned to Allison, finding her regarding Nate with an expression of guilt and shame.  “I’m sorry, Nate,” she said softly.  “I didn’t know.”

“Allison, how could you
not
know that hiding something like this would hurt your brother?” I asked.  “Why’d you lie and say it was you who did the shooting?”

“I was trying to protect him.”

“Bull!  There’s more to it than that.”

“You’re the detective, Pop.  You tell me.”

I moved forward.  “You’re walking a thin line here, princess.  I want some answers.”

“You already know,” yelled Allison, resentment and anger suddenly boiling to the surface.  “Don’t pretend you don’t.  You know what happened.  You knew it then and you know it now.  You just don’t want to face it.  Or maybe you just don’t care.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, shocked by her fury.

“Sure you do, Pop,” she spat.  “You’ve known all along.”

“Allison, if you don’t—”

“You were there,” she screamed, a storm of tears gathering in her eyes.  “You saw.  What did you think they were doing to me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Money wasn’t the only thing they wanted, Dad.”

The pieces suddenly fell into place.  “Oh, Lord,” I whispered, feeling as if I’d been punched.

“You had to know.  You
had
to.”

“Ali, I swear I didn’t,” I said, my mind reeling as it traveled back to the night I had returned home to find a trail of blood in the entry, the smell of gunpowder in the house.  Bruised and beaten, Allison had been kneeling in the living room, working with a bucket and sponge to clean the blood-soaked carpet.  One of the intruders had fled.  I discovered the other one dead on the beach.  I recalled a suspicion I’d had at the time that Allison and Nate were hiding something.  Granted, there hadn’t been time to pursue it before the sheriffs from the Malibu station arrived, but why hadn’t I followed up later?  Could it be that I hadn’t wanted to face the truth?

“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked at last.  “Why’d you keep it a secret?”

“What good would telling have done?” Allison shot back.  “The guy who attacked me was dead.  There was nothing more anybody could’ve done to him.  Not even you,” she added bitterly.  “I just wanted it all to go away.”

I knew the statistics.  For whatever reason, crimes involving rape and sexual assault are the most under-prosecuted in the country, with nearly sixty percent of all victims never reporting their attack.  But my own daughter …

“You must have known something like this couldn’t stay buried forever,” I said.

“At the time I was so shaken up, I wasn’t thinking too clearly,” Allison answered with a sad lift of her shoulders.  “Like I said, the guy who attacked me had already paid for what he did.  And after I lied to the sheriffs about what happened, things just snowballed.”

“And later?” I asked.  “Why didn’t you come forward then?”

“What for?  How would that have made things any better?  I got myself checked out at a clinic in Santa Monica.  No STD’s, no pregnancy.  As far as I was concerned, it was over.”

“But—”

“Look, for my entire life I’ve been trying to live up to your expectations,” Allison interrupted, her voice trembling.  “Yours, and Mom’s.  Kane kids are the best, the smartest, the toughest.  Kane kids excel at sports, get the best grades, never lie, never cheat, never steal.  Kane kids kick butt while other kids are still sucking their thumbs.  Bottom line, it’s been hard enough being the only girl in our family without becoming ‘the little sister who got raped.’  I couldn’t have lived with everyone’s pity.”

“You should have told us, honey,” I said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do.”  I paused, sensing she was still holding something back.  “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Allison didn’t respond.

“Please, Ali.  Tell me everything.  I want to hear it all.”

After a slight hesitation, Allison shrugged.  “Why not?  You know something, Dad?  The old saying, ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger,’ is wrong.  Some things make you weaker.”

“What do you mean?”

Allison took a long, shuddering breath.  “I learned something about myself that night,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her fist.  “Along with feeling weak, I also learned that I’m a coward.  I tried to fight him, but he was too strong.  He kept hurting me and hurting me and … and in the end I just gave in.  I was so afraid, I just quit fighting and did what he said.  I’m not tough, Dad.  I’m not tough at all.”

“Ali, I’m so sorry.”

“Guess I’m not a real Kane, huh?”

“You’re a Kane, all right,” said I numbly, thinking that of all my children, in many ways Allison was the strongest.  I recalled the day she had come into the world, wishing I could somehow turn back the clock.  With a flash of shame, I also remembered that after having two sons in quick succession, I had initially been disappointed to learn that my third child would be a daughter.  Boys, in my mind, were a known quantity—sturdy, strong, malleable.  Girls, on the other hand, constituted a mystery.  Nonetheless, months later when I stood in the delivery room and held the tiny bundle we’d named Allison, my reservations had evaporated.  And as the years had passed, my daughter had surprised and pleased and puzzled and enriched me in ways I could never have predicted.  Unexpected, for example, was Allison’s unswerving resolve to best her senior brothers in every contest, substituting determination and strategy for any lack of physical strength.  Unexpected too was the barrier she erected around herself, especially over these past years, using words as lances and reason as armor, cloaking herself in a mantle of humor and intellect and wit.

As Allison grew older, although remaining as prickly as a roll of barbed wire, she had increasingly come to resemble her mother.  I saw it not only in her appearance, but also in her gestures, the tilt of her head, her flashes of impatience followed by equally abrupt reversals, her quick intelligence, and a hundred other things.  And as she’d grown older, although part of me had taken pride in her stubborn core of self-reliance, another part had hoped she would someday soften.  It had never happened.  Until now.

I felt my heart swelling with sadness as I gazed into Allison’s eyes, eyes brimming with confusion and doubt, her spirit sullied by a tragedy I was powerless to erase.  “For better or worse, you’re a Kane,” I repeated.  “And a lot tougher than you think.”