Secret Lucidity(78)

I drag myself off the floor when I hear my bedroom door close and then look at my phone, which reads 6:43 PM. Fatigue weighs me down as I clean the crusted blood off my stomach and then attempt to make myself presentable. I don’t move very fast, not wanting to face anything on the other side of this door. When I finally dredge up the courage to go downstairs, Randall is already here.

My mother was clearly able to practice restraint with the bottle today as she stands here, dressed in a nice cashmere sweater and a simple strand of pearls.

Who does she think she’s fooling?

But I go along with her charade, pretending as if we were the same happy mother and daughter from before the accident.

“Camellia, it’s nice to meet you,” Randall greets when I walk into the living room. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but it’s still good nonetheless.”

We all nod, recognizing the awkwardness in the room.

“So, what are we dealing with here?” my mother asks as she sits next to Randall on the couch and I take a seat across from them on the loveseat.

“Well, with Camellia being a minor, her name won’t be public knowledge,” he informs. “Now it’s up to you if you choose to comply and work with the DA in the prosecution—”

“No,” I blurt.

“Camellia, listen,” he addresses cautiously. “After talking with the detective assigned to the case and Mr. Andrews’s attorney regarding the evidence so far . . . well . . . it doesn’t paint this man in a good light. The text messages alone make it clear that he crossed a line.”

“You saw them?”

“I saw enough.”

My neck scorches in embarrassment, and I can’t even look at him.

“This is not your fault. Guys like this prey on vulnerability, and with your father’s passing, he took advantage. No one is blaming you or accusing you, but these guys, they don’t stop. It’s a sick compulsion.”

I want to bite back, call him a liar, tell him he’s wrong, because he is. He doesn’t know David like I do. None of them do.

“That man should be locked up,” my mother says in disgust.

“He is.”

“What?” My eyes dart to Randall.

“A warrant was issued to search his house, and after finding a photo of the two of you and a few articles of female clothing, they felt they had enough evidence to file charges, so they made the arrest this morning.”

Why would he keep that photo?

My stomach turns, knotting itself into a rock. I didn’t think I could break anymore, but somehow I do as images of David in handcuffs pop into my mind.

I drop my head into my hands and blink back tears, but with my chest heaving in severing breaths, they see right through me.

“I will do whatever you tell me to do,” Randall says. “If you prefer to talk to me without your mother present, we can do that, but you staying quiet won’t make this go away. It’s only a matter of time before this gets picked up by the media. Something like this is always news, but in this town, you can guarantee it’s going to get a lot of attention.”

I lift my head in horror when he tells me this.

My mother panics. “How do we keep that from happening?”

“Again, your names won’t be mentioned due to Camellia still being a minor, but there are always cameras in the courthouse for these initial appearances in front of the judge. When he goes in for the charges to be read, the media is going to have a field day with the story, so I’m just warning you.”

I clam up, and my lungs tighten, making it even harder to breathe. “How is this happening?”

“So what do we do?”

“There isn’t much you can do,” he tells my mom. “Either you cooperate or you don’t. You have the right to do whichever you choose.” He then turns his attention to me. “I’m going to be straightforward with you though. I read through those texts, and from what I saw, whether you cooperate or not, they have enough to possibly charge him with multiple counts of second degree rape.”

“From text messages? How can they do that?”

“They will charge one count for each time they feel they can prove sexual contact based on your conversations.”

“A count? I don’t understand.”

“A count means each individual time the crime occurred. If they can prove sexual contact occurred two times, they will charge him for the same crime twice,” he explains. “And for this particular charge, each count holds a maximum sentence of fifteen years imprisonment.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong though!” I burst out, my eyes darting between the both of them before landing on Randall. “I promise you, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You do understand that everything you say to me is confidential, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“They found a picture in his house of him kissing you.”

My mother huffs in repulsion from her spot next to him, and I narrow my eyes. There was nothing repulsive about that moment I foolishly captured and printed off for him to put in his office.

“It was a kiss on the cheek, that’s all,” I defend. “It was purely innocent, I swear.”

“That’s not how the prosecution will see it.”