Convolution

I was just getting into my steaming bubble bath after getting home and making dinner when my five year old knocked on the door said, “Mom, there’s a man here that says he from the FBI.  He wants to talk to you.”

Startled, I jumped out of the tub only to slip and bash my head onto the edge of the porcelain.  When the stars faded, I hurried more carefully to get to the door and to my daughter.  I yelled for her.

“Angela!”

No response.  I was horrified when I discovered that the door had been jammed from the outside, effectively locking it.  I was trapped.  My daughter’s voice no longer audible.  I knew she was gone, I yelled and created a commotion that I hoped would wake the neighbors.

After yelling for what seemed like an hour (I found out later it was only fifteen minutes) the Sheriff’s Department came and released me from my ceramic trap.  The door of the bathroom opened and two young Clark County Deputies, one a baby-faced “man” who looked no older than 19 and his partner, a blonde that had a permanent bitch face, looked down at me on the tile floor.  His expression was one of pity for a thirty something woman sitting against the wall of her bathroom covered only with a towel as he offered to help me up.  Hers was a look of contempt laced with annoyance.

“Why did you lock yourself in your bathroom ma’am?” she quipped.

“I didn’t.  The chair must have fell against the door.”

“Really?  And you must have walked into a cabinet too.  How did you get that bruise on your face?”

“Boxing class.  Thank you for you help.  I’m sure you have more important business to tend to.”

“Yes, ma’am.  We’ll see ourselves out,” said Officer Babyface.

She rolled her eyes in disgust.

Three years ago, my daughter was sexually molested by her father, my husband.  Charles is a ten-year veteran with the Clark County Sheriff’s Department.  Now, he’s been working for the federal government for fifteen years with the FBI.

Yesterday, Charles and I got into a fight.  Not an argument, a fight.  I confronted Charles about something that was wrong with Angela.  Earlier that day, I had to pick her to pick her up early from school because the school said she was sick.  I told her I’d take her to the doctor to see what was the matter.  I arrived at the school office and found Angela standing in front of the Secretary, admiring her assortment of office supplies.  We made our way towards the car.

Angela was walking slow and deliberate, almost like she pulled muscle and didn’t want to agitate it.  “Why are you walking so slow Angie?” I said.

“My bottom hurts a little, that’s all.”

I put her in the car, and she collapsed across the back seat like she had been on an eight-hour road trip.

“I’ll take you to Dr. Redding Angie.    He’ll make sure everything is ok with you.”

“No! No, Mama! We can’t go to the doctor.  I’m ok.”  She tried to sit up, but she winced and layed back down.

“Honey, I just picked you up from school because your teacher said you weren’t sitting at your table working, and—“

“I just told her I didn’t feel good, but I don’t want to see Dr. Redding.”  I buckled her up and walked around the driver side.  Something wasn’t right. I started driving towards Dr. Reddings office, which happened to be close to our house.

“Why not honey?  You like Dr. Redding, he always gives you lolli-“

“Mama, I just don’t want to go! Daddy said, -I mean, I’ll be fine.”  I could hear her wall of stubbornness building around her, definitely a trait from her father.

“Angela, what did your father say?”

“I can’t tell you.”  I couldn’t process what my five year-old said.  I pulled into an empty parking lot so I could turn and see her face.

“Angela, I am your mother.  There is nothing you should not tell me.  Now what did you father say?” I was already angry with Charles, but didn’t realize how angry I would get when she answered.

Angela’s eyebrows rose, “We were only playing.  Daddy didn’t mean to hurt me, and he said it was our little secret.  I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody.  I’m ok Mama, really.”  I got back on the road.  I saw Dr. Redding’s office.   I didn’t stop.  I took Angela home, and laid her in bed.  Then I called Charles.

“Charles it’s me.”

“I can’ t talk.  What do you want?”

“I want to know what you did to our daughter.  I had to pick her up from school because she won’t sit down.  She says that the two of you were ‘playing—“

“Barb, we always play.  You know that.”

“You must have been playing pretty rough Charles.”

“ Look, I really can’t talk right now.  I’m sure she’s fine.  She was probably just having a bad day a school, and she wanted to come home.”

“Well I’m going to take her to Dr. Redding just to—“

“No you’re not, Barbara.”  His tone changed from the standard asshole to something more demanding but still assholeish.  “Angela’s fine.  Just let her lay down, and she’ll be back at school tomorrow.”

“I don’t know Charles, she seems—“

“Barbara, let your daughter rest.  She’s fine.  I’ll be home at 4.”

When Charles got home, I told him that I didn’t feel comfortable about what happened to Angela.

“What do you mean what happened to Angela?” was his retort.

I followed him to our bedroom.  “Charles, something had to happen to her.  She can’t sit down because it hurts.  Why would she be hurting after playing with you Charles?  I don’t think your telling me the truth.”

“What do you mean you don’t think I’m telling you the truth?  How can you think that I would hurt our daughter?  Much less, how could you think I would hurt our daughter on purpose?”

“Well why the hell would she tell me that it’s ‘Daddy’s little secret?’  Why did you tell her to lie to me?  You did something to her and I want to know Charles?”  I began raising my voice, “ Did you touch Angela?”

“What do you mean did I touch Angela?”

“You know what I mean.   Did you molest our daughter Charles?”  The back of his hand felt like a sack of rocks thrown against my face. This wasn’t the first time he hit me.  I fell.  Then I knew.

“I told you to leave it alone and let her sleep.  Now I’m telling you to shut the fuck up before I—“

“Fuck you Charles!  I’m calling the police.  I can’t believe you.

“Call them!  I’ll dial the number.  Who do you want to speak to .  Jimmy, Greg, Bryan.  One of them has to be on duty.  Let me get my cell.”

I was going to get my daughter back, but I knew I’d have to do it alone.  I couldn’t trust the Sheriff’s Department, where his legacy was renown and his former deputies called him Ol’ Charlie.  Since Charles was the Chief of the Illinois FBI field office, I couldn’t make a missing persons report either.

TBC