Laying a Foundation: Bonus volume: Includes series prequel, The Groundbreaking (The Love Under Construction Series) (5 page)

“Speaking of whom, is Miss Johnson here? Could we talk with her?” the officer asked.

“Yeah. Let me get her.”
Damn, this just keeps getting worse
, Vic thought as he made his way to the bedroom.

Carrie was standing by the bed, slowly packing boxes, and the sight broke his heart. Her face was flooded with tears when she turned to look at him. “What?” she asked.

“The police are here. They want to talk to you.” Vic’s head dropped. “Carrie, you don’t have to say anything for my benefit. Tell them whatever you like.”

She walked past him and headed to the living room without saying a word. Vic followed her, but the officer looked at him and simply said, “Alone,” so he went back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. After about ten minutes, he heard a male voice say, “Well, thank you, miss, and if you need us, please call us.”

In a few seconds, Carrie came back into the bedroom. She started packing again, then looked over at Vic, who sat with his head down. “Don’t worry. I told them the truth, the same thing I told the people at the hospital. I don’t think they’ll bother you again. It’s not like I want to get you into trouble, Vic.”

Vic felt his eyes burning as the tears welled up. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” He reached over and put his hand on her arm, but she pulled away. “Carrie, I’m so sorry. I just, I don’t know what to say because I really don’t know what happened. If I could’ve stopped, I would’ve, but I couldn’t. It was like something just clicked inside me and I lost control and I, I don’t know . . .” His voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands.

Carrie sat down on the bed beside him, but she didn’t touch him. “Vic, I don’t know what to say either. You’re a great guy, really, you are. You’ve treated me like a queen. I’m not in love with you, but I care about you, and I was committed to staying with you, trying to see where this thing between us was going, you know? But now I’m afraid. This is the third time this has happened, and every time has been worse than the one before. And I can’t take a chance on it happening again. Next time you could do damage that couldn’t be repaired and the injuries could be permanent. That really scares me, because some day I want a family, so I can’t take that chance. That means I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” Still not touching him, she stood and started packing again.

Vic got up and walked out of the room, through the kitchen, out the back door, and sat down on the steps. The moon was bright, and there were so many stars that it looked like the sky would explode with them.
This is it for me
, he thought.
I’m done. I’m going to hurt some poor woman. That can’t happen again. Next one might be more than just some stitches; it could be much worse. So that part of my life is over.

“I’m going,” he heard Carrie say from behind him. He turned and looked at her in the doorway. She looked so beautiful there, the lights from the kitchen illuminating her curly red hair, and a deep ache set up in his chest.

She walked up the hallway to the front door, and he followed her, wishing he could come up with something, some reassurance, that would get her to stay. But if he did he wouldn’t even believe it himself, because he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again, since he didn’t know why or how it happened in the first place. When she stopped at the door, she looked at him with such sadness that his heart broke all over again. He reached to hug her; for a moment, she pulled away, then she stood on her tiptoes, leaned toward him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms closed around her waist, and as she began to sob into his neck, hot, sour tears poured down Vic’s face and fell into her hair. They stood like that for several minutes until she finally pulled away and walked out the door without looking back. Vic watched her car roll down the street until the taillights disappeared.

And once again, like always, he was alone.

January 1996

“S
o, what did you get?”

Laura opened the package. Even though Christmas was officially over, it had taken a good while for the boxes to reach Bosnia, military mail being notoriously unreliable. Inside the package were socks, her favorite shampoo, and three sticks of her favorite deodorant, along with some feminine products. They’d also tucked four letters in with the personal items; there was one each from her mom, dad, brother, and Charles. “Did you get a box?” she asked Brian.

“Yeah, my mom sent it. A couple of books and some of her peanut butter cookies. Want one?” He held the tin out to Laura.

“Oh no, you save those for yourself,” she said, packing away all of the things she’d received.

“You going to the card game tonight?” It was one of the few forms of entertainment they had.

Laura shook her head. “Nah. I think I’ll just sit in my bunk and read. Hey, can I borrow one of your new books?”

“Sure!” Brian fished them out. “This one is probably a murder mystery,” he offered, holding one out. It had a picture of a knife with a drop of blood on the tip in full color on the cover. “Wanna try it on for size?”

“Yeah, I like that kind of stuff. Thanks.” Laura put the book under her pillow and got busy.

Being the only woman anywhere near the location was a challenge. She’d had to learn creative ways to shower and take care of her personal needs because the guys had flatly refused to make allowances for her or show her any courtesy. It was obvious they resented her being there, but they sure didn’t want to do her job. The job of a U.S. Navy Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist was something most service people wouldn’t even consider, but Laura had always wanted to be an EOD specialist. She’d gotten interested in explosives when her dad’s department had gotten themselves a bomb squad. The counties around theirs had all pooled their money to start the unit. Since their county was centrally located, they chose her dad’s department to house it, and with him being the sheriff of their county, she’d been able to see up close and first-hand how the bomb squad worked.

When she graduated from high school, she hadn’t been interested in college; she went straight into the Navy to train as an EOD Specialist. It had been hard; the men didn’t want her there. They had no choice but to allow her to do her job, but they didn’t have to accept her. In fact, they made her day-to-day life hell, but she was tough and managed anyway. Then she’d been deployed to Bosnia. It was her dream come true, if she could just hang on.

She spent the afternoon checking in equipment for one of the infantry divisions, then went to the mess hall and ate what only passed for food. Dinner was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, which looked and tasted suspiciously like the chicken fried steak and mac and cheese they’d had the night before. After dinner, she showered and climbed into her bunk to read the book Brian had loaned her. It was kind of nice to have her own sleeping quarters; she loved the privacy after being around the men all day.

She could hear the music from the big hall down the way – the poker games were in full swing. Then she heard something else, something closer and quieter, but still audible. She turned on her battery-powered ceiling light and called out, “Hello?”

Her door opened and Brewster, a private she recognized from one of the infantry divisions, came into her quarters.

“Hey, Brewster! Can I help you with something?” Laura asked him.

“I dunno – maybe.” Brewster walked closer to her. As he crossed the room, the door opened again and two more men walked in. She’d seen them around, but she didn’t know their names. After they’d made it through the door, two more men walked in, two she’d never seen before but also probably from an infantry division. “What are you reading?” He reached over and took the book.

“I borrowed it from Brian.” Something felt wrong, and she started to get nervous. “I think you need to leave. You really shouldn’t be here,” she said forcefully, hoping they’d just go.

“The lady thinks we need to leave,” she heard a voice say and, through the group of five men, a sixth man walked in and right up to her. Her heart froze.

Sergeant Wagner stood in the front of the group, a menacing grin on his face. “But we don’t want to leave, EOD Specialist Billings. We’d like to have a party, but we don’t have any girls to dance with. Do you like to dance?” he asked her, leering.

“Please leave. I really don’t want any of you here.” She tried to sound brave even though she was terrified.

“She doesn’t want us here, guys. What do you think of that?” Wagner asked.

“I think we should make her glad we came,” one of the men said.

Wagner walked right up to Laura and grabbed her arm – hard. “I think you’re right, Taylor. I think she’ll be glad by the time we’re finished.” With that, Wagner pushed Laura back onto her bunk and told two of the men, “Hold her arms. I’m first!”

Laura started to struggle and tried to scream, but one of the men put his hand over her mouth while Wagner fished around under her bed, found a pair of her underwear, and stuffed them in her mouth. He pushed her tank up until her breasts were exposed, and squeezed both of them hard. Some of the men laughed. After he’d stripped her underwear off, he told two more of the guys, “Hold her ankles. I don’t want to get kicked by our mule!” He opened his fly, pulled out his penis, and growled, “Now I’ll teach you to dance, Billings!”

Laura struggled, but the men held her firm. The two holding her ankles walked outward and spread her legs as wide as they could, and Wagner drove himself into her. She tried to scream, but she could barely breathe, and the panties muffled any sound she made.
Oh, god, please, Brian, come back to check on me!
Wagner continued to pound into her, and the pain was excruciating.

When he was finally finished, he said, “Here, Brewster. Give me that arm and you take your turn!” The men swapped places, and Brewster freed his penis and pounded into her just as Wagner had. Laura’s mind spun out of control, and the pain was so unbearable she hoped she’d lose consciousness. Just as she thought she might actually go out, Brewster finished and swapped out with Taylor, and the process continued.

Laura could hear them laughing, making comments about how tight she was, how her breasts looked, how good it felt to take her, but she felt like she was somewhere else, hearing them from a distance. She felt the pain, but it was dulled somehow, and she felt her body being bumped up and down by their activity. It seemed to go on forever, days and days, and she just floated, feeling completely disconnected from what they were doing to her body.

When they’d all had a turn, Wagner started in on her again, and she wondered if he’d ever finish. Just as she thought he might be done, he did something she never expected: He started to stroke her clitoris, trying to make her have an orgasm. Even though she didn’t want to, her body responded, and her hips started to buck of their own accord. She hadn’t felt shame until that moment, but suddenly she felt as though she was an accomplice in her own rape, somehow responsible for it. Charles had been the only man who’d ever done that with her, and when her body convulsed and the orgasm hit, it felt like Charles and all the love and tenderness he’d ever given her had been ripped from her.

“See? You liked it, slut!” Wagner snarled, continuing to rub her until the spasms were unendurable. “Now, you listen to me and listen good. You tell anyone, anyone, what just happened here and you’ll die. You hear me? You’ll be dead before your tongue can wag.” He pulled the underwear from her mouth and asked, “You gonna scream?” Laura was too afraid and too exhausted to make a sound. “That’s what I thought – liked it too much to tell, didn’t you? Hey, maybe we’ll be back!” He turned to the other men. “You can turn her loose now. She’s not gonna do anything, are you, cunt? Let’s go play some poker!” They started out the door, but before they left, one of the men pinched one of Laura’s nipples hard and said, “Nice lay, bitch. Nail ya later!” Another slapped her mound and said, “Can’t wait to fuck you again, sweetheart.” They left her quarters like a bunch of friends walking out of the local bar after a night of playing darts.

Laura lay on her bunk, afraid to move, wondering what she’d find when she looked down at herself. She expected to somehow look damaged and wounded, but when she finally worked up the courage to look, she found she looked pretty much normal, except there was blood on the insides of her thighs. When she finally stood, a tiny trickle of blood made its way down the inside of one thigh. She grabbed her robe and headed to the showers.

There wasn’t enough soap made to wash them off of her, but she tried – god, she tried. While she was in the shower, she ran her fingers up inside herself and the pain was so bad that she couldn’t stand it. She didn’t know what to do. If she went to the medics, they’d ask her what had happened. What would she tell them? No way could she tell them the truth. Wagner would kill her.

By the time she left the shower, she’d devised a plan. She went to the medics’ tent and told them that a Bosnian national had somehow gotten into the compound and assaulted her. Dismay mingled with relief as they took the report but didn’t really seem too interested, as though it happened all the time and they were powerless to do anything about it. They decided she needed some stitches, then gave her some antibiotics to take and sent her back to her bunk. No psychologist. No chaplain. No concern. Nothing.

When she got back to her bunk, Laura wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. She tried, but nothing happened. A numbness set in, and she lay in her bunk and tried to sleep, but that didn’t happen either. Instead, she lay there awake all night, and all the nights to follow.