Lost (44 page)

CHAPTER 35

  “Sophie?  I'd like you to tell me why you're here?”
  “I am.  Please... Just listen.  I'm almost there.  We're almost done,” I say bursting into tears.
  “Why are you crying, Sophie?” He asks me gently.
  Exhaling my sadness as I look at him, I try to understand why I'm here, but all I can think about is the last year and a half of my life.  I think about the little pieces of happiness I've felt- the happiness that I held onto, as the only thing that got me through all the pain I've lived.  I remember the 3 months of happiness I had, but all I feel is the pain of its loss.
  “I'm lost...” I whisper suddenly.
  “How are you lost?  What are you feeling?”
  And looking at him I take a deep breath before speaking my absolute. “I still love him,” I say simply.  And that is all I feel.  What else can I possibly say?
  “Tell me about your rapist?” He asks suddenly.  So I tell him.
 

                                           *****

  I received another call from Detective Dent on March 4th telling me they had a suspect in custody.  She told me she was sure they had the right man, but obviously there was more investigating, and more forensics needed before they formally charged him.  She did tell me quite adamantly though that she was sure she had him.
  Dent told me they picked him up outside Perry's gallery, based on a tip from Michael Sharpe who she had spoken to after the attack.  She had spoken to both Michael and Perry after the attack, and though both had alibis, and were never suspects in my rape, she did want me to know that she believed Perry's gallery was involved.  So she waited for a break in the case.
  Apparently, Michael called her to tell her about a man who was in the gallery often.  He told her of the man who was very unassuming, but who for a few weeks had been asking many questions about Peter Connor, his paintings, and about Sophie Morley.  He asked if I had been around again, and he asked if more paintings of me would come in and where he could buy them.  He asked too much about Sophie Morley, and Michael became very suspicious because no one knew who I was in relation to Peter's paintings. 
  Dent received a description of the man, and asked Michael and Perry to try to detain the man for as long as possible should he return.  She asked them to call her immediately if he returned so she could ask the unknown man some questions.
  I was told the man entered the gallery again and Perry maintained a long conversation with him about me, to my horror, until Michael could reach the Police.  The man was subsequently taken into custody for questioning by Detective Dent and her partner Detective Dolby.
  I also found out 4 hours after the first phone call, that the man named Frederick McGregor confessed to everything and didn't seem to even care that he was being charged with rape and sexual battery. 
  Sadly, I was told by Detective Dent he had no remorse, nor did he even request a lawyer's presence.  Frederick McGregor was my rapist, confessing to everything that occurred, even giving additional information the Detectives withheld from him, which obviously I was curious about, but didn't ask.
  I was called later again and told a formal statement from me was required again because I didn't recognize the man's name, and I was also asked to look at his photos to see if I recognized him physically at all.
  I was promised when I arrived at the police station there was absolutely NO chance of seeing the man because he had already been moved.  I was also told I would be safe, and I could have someone accompany me to the police station for further questioning while I looked over the mug shots.  I was told to try to remember anything I could on the way to the station to help ensure a conviction.
  So late in the evening on March 4th, my mom and I went to the police station again.  We went quietly, and with little said between us as she drove.  My mom was stoic and strong as usual, waiting for my mood to set the tone once again.  But I had no mood. 

  I was scared and numb at the same time.  I was glad the nightmare of who did it, and why did he do it was going to be over, but I didn't really feel much of anything at all.
  Once inside, everything moved quickly and smoothly.  I looked first at the photos and knew I had never seen the man before in my life.  I answered all the questions asked, and was even recorded given my sworn statement as to the fact that I didn't know Frederick McGregor at all. 
  There were a few questions about Perry's and the paintings, and if I had told anyone about my association with the paintings, but I hadn’t, so I answered truthfully.  I explained that I had only told my immediate family, and didn't know anyone else who knew about them or even about me for that matter, other than Margaret at the health food store.
  Eventually, Peter was brought up and I was asked if I knew his location, which I didn't.  Strangely, I was asked if I had seen Peter Connor since the assault, so I lied and said I hadn't. 

  I'm not sure why I felt like I needed to lie, but if Dent was asking, it meant she wasn't the one who had reached Peter to tell him what had happened in the first place.  I didn't know why, but I felt like I needed to protect Peter from being found during whatever job he was on.
  But I answered everything else asked of me honestly and calmly while my mom waited in the hall.  And then I asked my questions.
  After Detective Dent stopped recording, I asked why he did it.  I asked such a simple word with all the potential in the world.  Why? That's all I needed to know-
Why?
  Looking at me with compassion, I knew she couldn't tell me anything specific because of the investigation and subsequent charges, as had been explained to me earlier, but she did anyway.
  Exhaling deeply, while repeating the obvious, 'this is confidential- NOT to be repeated', Detective Dent leaned back in her chair further from me and the table, and said the only words that mattered.
  “All he said as an explanation was 'Peter Connor loves her, so I had to take her.'“ And I nearly threw up after she spoke. “That’s what he said no matter how hard Dolby and I pushed for more information.  He admitted to everything regarding the entry of your apartment, to loving the paintings, to sexually assaulting you,” she said as I sat in a stunned silence.  “Are you okay,” she suddenly asked reaching for my hand, but I could only nod. “We’re through here.  You'll be contacted soon, but probably not to testify because he's confessed.”
  On a gasp, I begged, “What else did he say?”
  “Are you sure?”
  “Yes...” I shook my head to clear it.  “Please tell me what he said, I need to know.”
  “Well, he said he didn't mean to hurt you,” she said gently as I cried out. “He said
you
hurt your own arm because you were fighting him.  He also said the only reason he physically assaulted you was because you refused to open your eyes.  He said you kept saying Peter over and over again, so that's why he punched you in the face until the neighbor started banging on your door.”
  “What else?” I begged again when Dent paused.
  “There's nothing more, Sophie.  I'm sorry.  We tried to get more from him, but he stopped talking.  He didn't give any more explanation than that, except for his full confession to the actual assault.  But before he was led out to booking, he did ask if you were okay, and then he asked if you still had the paintings?”
  “Why?” I choked. “What the hell do the paintings have to do with anything?  I don't understand,” I moaned.
  “I don't know, but we're trying to find Mr. Connor to bring him in for questioning.  We need to know if he knows Mr. McGregor, and if so, how.”
  “Peter doesn't know him.  Well, maybe he does.  I don't know.  But Peter didn't know how he hurt me.”
  “How do you know?” Dent asked me suspiciously.  And in that moment I realized I had screwed up.
  “Um, I just do.  Peter wouldn't know someone like that guy,” I gave as a lame excuse, but I could tell Dent knew I was lying.  I could see the calculated look she gave just before she asked again if I had seen Peter Connor since the assault.  But again I lied.
  “Are you protecting Mr. Connor, Sophie?” Dent asked professionally, almost like she didn't like me anymore.  But I didn't care.  If Peter was in trouble, or these were the kind of cops Peter was up against, I knew he needed my help.  I knew he needed me to protect him while he was doing whatever he was doing.
  “No,” I breathed with as much conviction as possible in my voice.  “I haven't seen Peter, and I don't know where he is.  I haven't seen Peter since he broke up with me almost a year ago.  Can I go now?” I asked accidentally, knowing my mistake as soon as I asked it. 

  If I wasn't hiding anything, I wouldn't have wanted to get the hell out of there so quickly.  If I wasn't lying, I would've sat calmly and waited for Detective Dent to finish up with me.  If I was being honest with her, I wouldn't have looked guilty as hell while I tried to get out of there as quickly as I could.
  She let me go anyway though.  Knowing I was lying, and knowing I was full of shit, Detective Dent let me walk out of the door, to my waiting mother in the hallway.  She let me go to face the endless questions I would obsess over alone.
  When my mother and I returned to my apartment I was exhausted.

  “What can I do to help?” She asked.
  “Honestly, nothing.  Thank you for taking me and for coming over, but it's late and I'm exhausted, and I want to go to sleep.  Do you mind leaving?  I promise to call in the morning.”
  “You're so strong, Sophie.  You always act so together and tough all the time, but just remember, you don't have to if you don't want to.  I'm here if you want to just freak out a little, okay?”
  “I will,” I smiled and that was all we said as she walked out my door for home.
 

  Once she left, I was again alone with my paintings and my drawing, and a world filled with question after question regarding the elusive Peter Connor.
  I was left with a world full of pain and sadness and confusion and paranoia.
  I was sure McGregor had something to do with Peter's life or his job or the undercover investigation, or whatever the hell he was doing, but I had no way of knowing, or of finding Peter to tell him. 
  I was exactly back to where I had started.  I loved a man I couldn't find, and I begged for a man who wouldn't come.
 

  “But what about your rapist?  What came of him?” He again asks me gently.
  “He's going to be convicted, which apparently he wants.  The DNA collected from my nails matched his, and he has fought nothing while he waits for his trial.  He refused a trial by jury, and though he has representation, he doesn't want it.  He has told anyone who will listen that he raped me, and he doesn't seem sorry in the least.  He apparently has a history of mental illness and he lives in a halfway house not too far from where I live in the village.  But that's all I know.”
  “And how does that make you feel?
  “The same.  Nothing.  I feel nothing about anything anymore.”
  “Can you elaborate?  What don't you feel?”
  “Can I finish my story first?”
  “Of course.”
  Knowing the end, I take a big breath and finish.
 

CHAPTER 36

 
4 days ago, 2 months after Peter left me again, I saw him. 
 

  I saw him and suffered the worst of karmic cruelty. 
The very day I knew I couldn't keep living without him, I found him lifeless in the street.
  Leaving Pandora's, I decided to walk home, keeping my car in the little back lot overnight.  It was warm for April, and it was a clear Wednesday evening and I decided to walk for no other reason than the Fates had finally stepped in.  The Fates decided enough was enough, and they stepped in to give me back Peter.
  Walking home, I passed Murphy's and thought about a plate of their awesome cheese fries, but knowing I hadn't eaten in a few days meant serious gut rot if I did, so I passed Murphy's and...
  The déjà vu was so intense I stopped dead in my tracks.