Rest in Peace Roz: The R.I.P. Series Book 1 Read online

  I shook my head, sobbing out a defiant, “No!”

  He kept one hand on my wrists and let the other explore. I knew I was close to throwing up and prayed it would happen soon. Maybe it would disgust him enough to end this. Maybe it would wake him up, sober him up, or at the very least, gross him out.

  When his hand slipped under my tank top and roughly squeezed my breast, I gagged. He used his knees to force my legs apart, but that action brought about a panic so great my body thrashed in a frenzy, and all I could do was scream, “No!”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  His body was flung off of me and across the room where the back of his head smashed my heavy, dusty vanity mirror. Derek, along with a hundred shards of glass and splintered wood, crumpled to the floor.

  I was making horrifying noises in the back of my throat, and couldn’t utter a single word. My body reacted on its own, convulsing from the shock and horror as I brought myself up on my knees in the middle of my bed. The sight before me stopped me cold, and silenced my sounds of horror.

  Derek lay in a pool of blood, with ten-inches of a thick glass shard jutting out from his chest.

  He looked down at himself, his hands moving toward the bloody shard before falling limply to his sides. I edged closer, looking down at him with tears streaming my face.

  He looked up at me, all traces of his earlier lust and addiction gone. It was the first time I could ever remember seeing him completely sober.

  Horror filled his face as he looked to a spot on my left, then back to me.

  “Help,” he whispered frantically, then blood gurgled from his lips and he slumped back into the open space beneath the vanity.

  Dead.

  Stunned, I sat motionless on my bed. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the blood and body before me.

  And then, I heard it.

  Or rather, I heard him.

  A sound like a whisper reached my ears first, then it became louder and louder, forcing me from my shock and stupor until I realized someone else was in my room with me.

  I looked to my left.

  A boy, older than me and wearing a black leather jacket, stood beside my bed, shouting and pointing at Derek’s dead body.

  “Screw you! That's what you get for attacking her, you sorry pile of--!”

  I gasped and threw myself back on the bed, scrambling away from this stranger.

  He ran his hands through his slicked back hair and removed his shades, hooking them into the neckline of his plain white t-shirt. He fisted his hands and put them into the pockets of his black leather jacket.

  Then he sighed.

  “You'll never hurt her again, you lousy bastard,” he whispered.

  He shook his head and looked at me, his gaze roaming over me as if to make sure I was okay. His eyes were dark, intense, deep and wise. They spoke of kindness and laughter and care, and something other-worldly, but when he realized I was staring back at him, they filled with shock. While he looked at me, I had the distinct sensation that he was looking straight into my soul. His eyebrows were thick, like his dark hair that was styled in a sort of modern-day pompadour. His stance was casual, as if he hadn't just saved me from being raped by my step-father; as if he hadn't just killed another human being.

  As if he wasn't suddenly my hero.

  As I continued to stare at him, questions began to flood my mind, but the only one I could grasp onto was the one voiced by him.

  He moved toward me, kneeling down on my bed and inching his face closer and closer, never once dropping my gaze.

  “Can you… see me?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I nodded silently, confused by the question.

  Of course I could see him, how couldn't I? He was right up in my face, for crying out loud.

  But I remained silent, unnerved by the events of the night.

  The boy (man?), sat back on the opposite side of my bed and raised his hands before him. His eyes were filled with awe as he passed his hands back and forth, his dark gaze following the movement.

  “She can see me,” he whispered. “After all this time… she sees me.”

  I watched him as my confusion and fear grew, and the reality of what I'd just been through sank in. My hands and arms began to shake violently, and instantly I felt chilled to the bone.

  He noticed, and his face filled with deep concern for me, and maybe something else that I was unable to read. Tenderness? Empathy? If I'm being honest, I'd have to say that somewhere beneath all the fear and shock and confusion, it felt nice to have someone look upon me in such a way. It was new to me, and I immediately felt… cared for.

  The boy gently eased me back amongst the pillows and wrapped me up in my thin, worn blanket. He placed his hand on my forehead to brush the hair out of my eyes, and it felt… airy… like his hand was there, but it wasn't. And the touch from him was as cold as ice. It added to my shivering.

  He whispered for me to, “shhh,” and that he'd “fix it.” But I just kept shaking like a leaf… shaking, like I had just been brutally attacked and violated… shaking, like there was a bloody corpse crumpled on the floor just a few feet away from me.

  I looked up at him, and he looked down at me, and I was filled with an inexplicable sense of relief and thankfulness for his presence. I had no idea who this stranger was, or where he'd come from, or how he'd gotten inside my room, but I had never been so grateful for another person before.

  “Jill,” I whispered, wondering about the fate of my mother. He immediately placed an icy finger across my lips.

  “Later,” he promised.

  I nodded.

  “First things first, Roz,” he said.

  How did he know my name?

  He stood from the bed and looked over to where Derek lay, then looked around the room.

  “You'll have to call the police,” he said. “I can't, and even if I could, I'd have to be here when they showed up, since I’d be a witness, and, well, just because you can see me doesn't mean they will.”

  I shook my head, trying to make sense of his words, but he never noticed and my brain was too revved up to figure it out.

  He knelt down, searching for something beneath the bed, and came up with my phone.

  “Call them,” he said. “Once they get here, you have to tell them he attacked you, and that you shoved him off and he fell into the mirror. Tell them, Roz,” he gently demanded.

  “What?” I asked, dazed, trying to force my head to understand his words.

  “But… but you're the one who pushed him off me, aren't you?”

  He sighed and further extended the phone towards me.

  “You have to tell them you kicked him off and he fell into the glass. It's the only thing they'll believe.”

  “Why?” I asked. “You're here, you're the one who got him off me. You're….”

  My hero.

  But I couldn't say it out loud. It sounded so corny. So trite. As if it wasn't a big enough word to describe what he now was to me.

  “What's your name?” I asked in a whisper.

  He smirked.

  “Call the police first. Let's get all that straightened out. The longer you wait, the more questions they'll have for you. Like, why didn't you call immediately?” He shook his head sternly. “Trust me, you don't want them to have any reason to not believe your story.”

  He thrust the phone at me, and I took it.

  “Call them. Now.”

  With fingers that shook and struggled to hold my cell, I punched in 9-1-1. The operator came on immediately, asking what my emergency was.

  My voice was hesitant and shaky as I explained my step-father had tried to rape me, and he was now dead on my bedroom floor.

  I'm sure she thought I sounded like a mental patient (I sounded like one, to me), but her voice came through strong, sure, and gentle.

  “Okay hun, just relax and take deep breaths. What's your name and your address?”

  I told her, and for some reason I gave her my full na
me. Rosalind Ines Pastrano.

  “How old are you, Rosalind?”

  “I'm fif- fifteen.”

  “Okay Rosalind, the emergency vehicles are on their way. You're going to be alright. I want you to stay on the line with me until they get there, okay?”

  I nodded. I watched the boy as he moved about my room, looking at things, touching things, shaking his head down at Derek.

  “Rosalind? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I'm here,” I responded. “Sorry. I think I'm in shock. I can't stop shivering.”

  “Yes, it's an expected reaction. Can you tell me exactly what happened tonight?”

  I replayed the events in my mind, and told her. My parents had been fighting. I'd put my earbuds in to block out the sound. I fell asleep. And then Derek was in my room, uninvited, his hands on me, his tongue swiping across my mouth-

  “Okay, okay, Rosalind, that's alright hun, take a deep breath.”

  I did, and closed my eyes.

  She spoke with me for several long minutes as I tried to get a hold of myself. The whole time, I kept my eyes closed, no longer wanting to see Derek’s dead body, no longer wanting to see the stranger who'd saved me. It was all too real.

  Before I knew it, I heard the sirens approach. I opened my eyes to the sight of red and blue flashing through the windows, beacons that lit up my otherwise darkened room. The sound of several firm knocks pounded on the front door.

  “They're here,” I whispered to the operator. “I'm… I'm afraid to get up and let them in.”

  “It's alright Rosalind, I'll let them know you're scared and they'll come in without your assistance.”

  Seconds later I heard the front door splinter apart as the emergency crews and police made their way inside.

  “Miss Pastrano?” They called, strong, loud voices carrying down the hallway and to my ears.

  “Back here! I'm here,” I called out weakly.

  Flashlights splayed their warmth across my face and I closed my eyes once again. The overhead light clicked on and my room was suddenly filled with officers, EMTs, paramedics, and firefighters.

  The police quickly assessed the situation while the EMTs checked on Derek.

  Nope. Still dead.

  “Please, you need to find my mother,” I said to the officer who looked like he was in charge. “I haven't looked for her. I don't know what he did to her. I can't-”

  I ended my words. I didn't want to say them out loud. I knew the reason why I couldn't remove myself from the bed was that I was afraid I'd find her, dead and bloody like Derek.

  And even though there was no love lost between the two of us, she was still my mother.

  The police soon went through the remainder of my house. The EMTs checked me over as I sat on the edge of my bed, and one of them smiled gently at me.

  “You're in shock, but you’re going to be okay,” he said. His eyes were kind, and very blue, and I found myself desperately wanting to believe him.

  Minutes later, the police came in and advised the paramedics to have me taken to the hospital, where they could run a kit on me. I didn't know what that meant, but I wanted to escape the sight of Derek and blood and fear, so I agreed.

  Before I knew what was happening, I was in the back of an ambulance, lying on a firm gurney beneath several layers of warm blankets. It was then that I realized two things- I never asked about the fate of my mom, and once the emergency crews arrived, the stranger who saved me had vanished.

  ***

  Despite my reassurance over and over again that Derek had not succeeded in raping me, they still made me submit to a rape kit. That's what the policeman had meant. That's what I'd been so willing to agree to back at my house. A freaking rape kit.

  It was horrible and traumatizing to an extent I can't describe. Especially when they made me remove my clothes and took pictures of me. I'll never forget that moment as long as I live. It didn't matter how kind and gentle the female investigator was, or how compassionate and concerned the ER staff was. The bottom line was that I'd had to have naked pictures of my body, the same body I so carefully hid, taken by total strangers. It made me hate Derek with every single fiber I possessed.

  If he'd not already been dead, I would have killed him for subjecting me to this.

  In the long run, Derek had left marks and bruises that I'd not even been aware of, across my face, along my throat, my upper arms, and my breast. I know it was the right thing, to have the markings and bruises documented. But it didn’t stop the overwhelming surges of shame as they ripped through my body and filled my soul. I yearned for it all to go away, to fall asleep, to not wake up, to escape.

  By the time the nurses and doctors were done with me, and the police had taken my statement and informed me my mother had been strangled to death, the sun was rising. I was placed in a private room with a view of the hospital parking lot. A cheerful nurse, who's perky attitude made me want to smack the smile off her cute face, provided me with some kind of pills to help me sleep.

  When she left, I snuggled deeply into the blankets and sighed, wishing my strange hero was here. I felt a lonely tear collect in the corner of my eye, and I let it fall. Just that one.

  The pills kicked in quickly and I became woozy and felt drugged. It was a welcomed feeling, as it made my limbs too heavy to continue shaking, and I could allow myself to succumb to the escape that was headed my way. But thoughts of my stranger, of my hero, invaded my mind one more time, and my heart felt crushed for some unknown reason.

  “You never told me your name,” I whispered, “And now you're gone… just like them.”

  My eyes closed, and I had the sensation of an icy hand brush the hair away from my face before wiping my eye.

  “Shh,” I heard a faint whisper, and struggled to open my eyes but they would not obey. “I’m still here. I'll always be here. Just sleep.”

  My hand flopped toward my head, where I knew he touched me. I tried to grasp his hand with my own. I knew it was there, but I couldn’t touch it, all I felt was cold air.

  I shivered beneath the blankets one more time.

  “Don't go,” I mumbled, as I fell deep into the escape I desperately needed.

  “I'm always here,” he whispered. “I'm always here.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was hours later when I woke up. A nurse came in and took my vitals, and other than my blood pressure being a little on the low side, she declared I was fine.

  Fine.

  Sure, maybe physically. Aside from the handprints around my upper arms and the black and blue fingerprints on my left breast, I was completely sound.

  Emotionally, on the other hand, I was a mess. I had the constant sensation of drowning, and I had no idea if I'd ever take another breath again. Everything was overwhelming, even the faint sounds of doctors and nurses speaking in hushed tones in the hallway. My nerves were on high alert, and at the same time, I was absolutely exhausted. Sure, I was fine physically. Mentally, however, I was on the edge.

  Too bad they can't stick a thermometer in your soul to check for that.

  They fed me something for lunch that I couldn't taste, but I made myself eat it anyway. I figured this might be the last time I had a hot meal, because I had no idea what was going to happen to me now that my mother was dead. I had no interest in food or the small TV which hung in the corner of my room, but I focused on both. I needed to, because doing something as mundane as watching reality TV while eating tasteless crap was as close to normal as I was going to get for a while.

  Deep down, I knew that.

  I was sitting in my bed after lunch, trying to follow the adventures of some idiotic celebrity family on TV, when two policemen walked in. They were the same ones who had been to my house the night before, Officers Port and Jackson. They explained they were there to talk to me about the events the night before and ask a few questions, but only if I was up for it. I told them I was.

  I was a firm believer in ripping off the proverbial band-aid in one quick pull.<
br />
  “How would you describe your life with your parents?” Officer Jackson asked. I answered honestly.

  “Derek was my mom’s boyfriend, not my parent. But, he was the closest thing to a father I had. They were druggies and fought with each other constantly. They didn't care what I did, all they were interested in was getting their next fix, or alcohol when they couldn't score something harder. Dealers were always coming by. I avoided them as much as I could, I never came out of my room except to eat or go to school. Derek hit me off and on when I'd talk back, or question him. My… my mother seemed to be… jealous of me. But honestly, I was nothing more than an inconvenience for her.”

  Officer Port, the older, more seasoned of the two, glanced at his partner. They seemed to communicate silently for a moment before turning their attention back to me.

  “She was jealous of you?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t always think so, but lately it seemed like she was.”

  Officer Jackson wrote something down in a small notepad.

  “Rosalind, are you aware that Derek was videotaping you?”

  I sat up straight. My eyes bored into his.

  “What? How do you mean?”

  The officer proceeded to tell me something that horrified me and made me want to throw up and scream and curl into a ball.

  They'd found videos on Derek’s cell phone. Videos of me using the toilet. Videos of me getting dressed. Videos of me doing my hair. Videos of me walking home from school. Videos of me lounging on the sofa, watching TV. Of me making a snack in the kitchen. Of me doing my homework. Of me taking a shower. Taking. A. Shower. The list went on and on.

  I thought I'd felt shame the night before when I'd submitted to the rape kit and exam. That experience didn't even come close.

  As if that wasn't enough, Derek had added audio to go with the video, as well. Each video was like a commentary, with him whispering throughout of how he would be “tapping that,” soon. Officer Port implied that there were other sounds as well, sounds that suggested Derek was doing something to his person while he videotaped me unseen. I could only imagine what the sicko had been doing, and it repulsed me. I’d never felt so violated. Not ever. Not even when he came into my bedroom the night before.