The Choir Director 2 (12 page)

I circled the block for the third time then sped down Hillside Avenue, checking my rearview mirror again. The same circular headlights were still about a block behind me, and it was making me nervous. It seemed like the car had been following me ever since I pulled away from Monique's house. Thank God I had Black Beauty in my purse on the seat beside me.

My phone rang, and Monique's name showed up on the caller ID. I was relieved to hear her voice, until I realized she was calling to yell at me.

“Why aren't you at the house?” were the first words out of her mouth. She'd been acting more like my mother every day; at first I appreciated her concern, but now it seemed like she was forgetting that I was a grown woman.

“Wait. How did you know I wasn't at the house? Is that you following me?” I asked, then regretted the slip.

“Following you?” she said, her voice rising an octave. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

I tried to clean it up so she would stop asking questions. “Don't worry. I'm fine. I was mistaken.” Surprisingly, another check in my rearview mirror revealed that statement to be true. The headlights were no longer behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief. My paranoia was really getting the best of me these days.

“You didn't answer my question. Why are you out? I told you I'd come by to get you.”

“I had some things to do,” I answered vaguely, hoping she'd back up and give me some space. When I made my appointment for tonight, I'd forgotten that Monique was planning to come over.

“I knew, should have never given you those car keys back,” she said. It took some convincing, because she was worried about me going out alone, but I'd finally worn her down, promising I wouldn't go anywhere without telling her first. Obviously, I'd broken that promise, but I knew she'd forgive me eventually.

“Monique, I'm a big girl. I just needed to get out for a while, go for a little drive, and I didn't feel like waiting for you. Stop worrying about me, okay?”

She let out a big sigh. “I know. I just want to make sure you're all right.”

“I'm fine. I promise. I'll call you as soon as I get back to the house, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. I could tell by her tone that she didn't like it, but she knew she had no choice in the matter. I had disappeared on my wedding day, and she had to be worried that I could do it again if she pushed too hard.

I ended the call and put the phone down. One more glance in my rearview mirror showed no sign of the car I thought had been following me. Just to be sure, I zigzagged my way around a few more blocks instead of driving straight to my destination.

When I finally arrived at the church, I sat in the car for a minute, making certain I didn't see the car again, and also gathering my nerve. It felt like a lifetime since I'd been in church, and it wasn't the most comfortable feeling to be there now. But this was a conversation that I had to have. As much as I wanted to avoid it, I knew I could never move on if I backed down.

I took a deep breath, staring up at the impressive megachurch where thousands came each week to worship. Unfortunately, that wasn't what had brought me there today. Today was about trying to find closure.

It was late and the church was empty, but he'd told me he would leave the side door open for me and meet me in the sanctuary. As I headed down the corridor, I passed by the choir practice room, and my heart ached. How many times had I watched Aaron rehearsing with his choir, impressed by his talent and proud to be his woman? If only I could turn back the hands of time.

I made my way to our meeting place and slipped into a seat in the last pew. The engraved nameplate on the seat in front of me indicated that the pew had been donated by a Mr. and Mrs. Kimble. I didn't know who they were, but I imagined them to be an older couple, dedicating a pew in gratitude for a long and happy marriage. The image brought tears to my eyes. That type of long-lasting love was something I didn't know if I would ever have, but I really wanted the chance to try. I just needed to be able to breathe again, to be free of the darkness and pain.

I heard the door open behind me and then footsteps moving in my direction. I froze, my body went numb, and a heavy feeling hit me in the pit of my stomach. Despite the fact that I had called ahead to set up this meeting, I was still nervous. This was suddenly harder than I thought it would be, but then again, there was no precedent in how to have a conversation like this.

“I hope you weren't waiting too long.” His voice was gentler than I expected.

I didn't want to turn around, but I knew that I had to. I stood up and looked into his face.

“No, I just got here.” He didn't look like I'd expected him to. It wasn't just that he'd aged. There was also a calmness and serenity that I didn't remember—and I certainly didn't expect. It may have had something to do with the collar.

“I'm Reverend Clifford White Jr., the youth minister and second assistant pastor here at Mount Olive Church.” He held out his hand to shake mine.

I stepped back, refusing to allow him to touch me. “I know who you are,” I answered calmly, holding him in my gaze.

He looked uncomfortable for just a second, but covered it up quickly. “I'm very sorry for your ordeal,” he said. “Would you like to sit down so we can talk?”

After I found his Facebook page and discovered where he worked, I'd called the church. I got him on the line and told him that I didn't have a church home, but I needed to talk to someone because I'd been sexually assaulted. At first he tried to pass me off to a female church employee, telling me that he was a youth pastor and not necessarily trained in this area. I just carried on, boohooing in his ear so he felt like he couldn't put the phone down. When I'd had him on there long enough, I told him I felt comfortable, and only wanted to meet with him.

We sat down in the pew. I left a good amount of distance between him and me, and my hand rested on my purse so I could pull out Black Beauty if necessary.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between us. I guess he was waiting for me to speak up first. When he realized I wasn't going to, he said, “We have an amazing ministry that helps women who have gone through crisis.” He went to place a hand on my arm and I jumped as if I had been burned. “Maybe I should ask one of the women of the congregation to talk to you.”

“No. I don't want to talk to anyone but you.”

“Okay, I understand. I get it. We have a rapport, and that's a good thing.” He used a calming voice, meant to assure me that I didn't have anything to worry about—that he was a safe servant of God who would take care of me. Maybe that worked on his unsuspecting church members now, but I knew the real Clifford White. The only thing I could think about was how he had forced his way on top of me, grunting like a pig.

“So, would you like to talk about the tragic moment?” he said, still trying to fill the awkward silence created by my refusal to speak. As I listened to him pretend to be a kind person, I struggled to keep my anger from boiling over. “Have you visited a hospital, or contacted the police about this incident?”

When the rape occurred, I knew that the logical thing to do would have been to report it to the police, but I'd felt so ashamed and powerless. I hadn't even told my brother for almost a year. This asshole thought he was counseling a stranger to report a rape, when he was the one who had made me feel so worthless I couldn't do that.

I finally spoke up. “Actually, maybe I should have been clearer. I experienced my trauma years ago.”

“I see…” he said, and then went silent. If he asked me why I waited so long, I might have pulled out my gun and shot him right then and there. If he was dead, though, I wouldn't have a chance to tell him how he'd destroyed me, and find out who his last accomplice was, which was the main objective of why I'd come there. I swallowed my rage and continued to talk.

“I never went to the police. I tried counseling, support groups, and prayer, and for a while I thought I was doing better.”

“Praise be to God,” he said. It sounded like blasphemy coming from his mouth.

“Like I said, I
thought
I was doing better, until I spotted one of my attackers recently. Now I feel like I'm back at square one.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

He had no idea how sorry he'd be in a minute.

“So I decided to tackle this thing head on, go straight to the source. You know, challenge your fear directly.”

He gave me one of those practiced looks of compassion, as if he actually wanted to help. At that very moment I felt the heat inside of me rising up and growing into a complete rage. I took a deep breath and attempted to choke it down with a fake calmness.

“That sounds very wise,” he said. “I'd like to help in whatever way I can. Would you like me to pray with you?”

That was all I could take. The rage rushed to the surface and I exploded, jumping up from my seat. “No, you can't pray for me, motherfucker! You raped me, you sick bastard!”

He got out of his seat, too, and backed away from me. At first I think it was because he was frightened by my outburst, but then I saw recognition dawn on his face. All of a sudden he realized who I was and why I was there, and he was trying to put some distance between himself and his past.

“Oh my God! You're her?” His hand shot up to his mouth and I could see that he was trembling. Once he looked down and noticed that I was aiming Black Beauty at him, he had to grab the pew to keep from hitting the floor.

Not wanting a repeat of what happened with Vinnie Taylor, I kept a good amount of distance between us. “Yes, you monster, I'm one of the women you raped.”

“I'm sorry. I am so sorry,” he said as tears ran down his face.

“Are you?” I said as a strange calm washed over me. He was crying; I was the one in control now.

“Please believe me. I have agonized over my wicked past for a long time now,” he cried out, as if his pain could even begin to come close to mine. His eyes had doubled in size, and the confident facade had deflated right before my eyes. “Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” His voice cracked under the weight of his guilt, but that only made me feel more powerful.

“You mean make up for destroying my life? For making it impossible for me to marry the man I love? To ensure that I would not be able to allow another person to touch me without flinching and reliving the violence you and your friends put me through? None of you bothered to treat me like a human being, but I'm supposed to absolve you of your guilt now? I don't think so. I won't take away your guilt, just like you can't take away the nightmares that wake me in a cold sweat every night.”

“I know. You're right. It is unforgivable. Please, what can I do? I have not been able to get that image of what we did to you out of my mind. Not even after all these years. It has haunted me. You have haunted me,” he whined like a little bitch. “That's why I went into the ministry to ask for forgiveness.”

“How's that working for you?” I shouted, enjoying his emotional pain. I wanted him to hurt as deeply as I had been hurt. I wasn't about to give him the illusion that we would skip off into the sunset, awash in the glow of forgiveness.

“I've never been able to forgive myself. Ever since that day I have prayed for you. I even tried to find you to make sure that you were okay. When I couldn't, I decided to dedicate my life to helping others in your honor. I joined the Peace Corps and went to Africa to help women and children with AIDS.” He almost had me for a minute with that Peace Corps stuff. I almost believed he was repentant, until he said, “I created a ministry to help young boys so that they grow up to respect women and don't make the same stupid mistakes that I did.”

“Stupid mistake!” I yelled, waving my gun at him. “Is that what you're calling my rape? Just a stupid mistake?” I smiled as I realized that my outburst scared him so bad he pissed his pants. “Violent, yes. Brutal. Sadistic,” I corrected him. “But I'd say ‘stupid' is a real understatement.”

He looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I've given back to the community in every way possible, but I still hate myself every day for what I did to you. I am so sorry.”

“I don't care how you feel. You stole my life.” I lifted Beauty and aimed at his face.

“I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I will go to the police and turn myself in right now,” he pleaded with me. I guess a gun to the head will make a man promise to do anything, but I didn't care about telling the police. It was too late for that.

“Shut up and sit down,” I commanded. He complied in a hurry.

“I will take full responsibility for my actions. I will do whatever it takes to win your forgiveness.”

“Unless you can take back what you did to me, I will never forgive you,” I said, still aiming the gun at him. “But you will tell me the names of your accomplices.” My voice was so cold and ruthless that I barely recognized it myself. This guy must have had nerves of steel, though, because he refused to give up the others.

He shook his head. “I can't do that. You already have a gun to my head and you're threatening me. If I am going to die, then so be it, but I am not willing to put another man's life at risk.”

“Oh, how fuckin' noble of you,” I spat. “Your friends deserve everything they have coming to them.”

“Please,” he begged. “Don't make me tell you. I don't want to be responsible for another man's suffering.”

I laughed at him. “Now you're worried about harming another human being? Afraid it will be a black mark against your soul? Too late for that. You condemned yourself to hell the night you raped me.”

He was full-on crying now, tears and snot running down his face.