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  Kelly’s heart raced as she recalled Dan that morning, quietly drinking his coffee and reading the sports section while she had laced up her running shoes. She wished desperately that she could go back to that exact moment and choose differently. If only she had taken their daughters to soccer practice, or answered an emergency phone call from a client—or had chosen to do anything but run alone through the woods. Kelly’s teeth chattered uncontrollably and her body shook against the cold floor. The only sounds were geese calling and the river flowing nearby.

  Suddenly the stillness was broken by the sound of a door opening, and then footsteps approaching heavily on the hard floor. Kelly startled as she felt two hands touch her just above the waist. She began kicking her legs as she tried to scream through the tape over her lips. Through the dim light that seeped through her blindfold, she could see the shadow of a large man kneeling down on the floor and leaning over her. To her horror, she heard a metal belt buckle hit the hard floor and then she felt her running shorts and underwear yanked down her legs, over her running shoes and off of her flailing feet.

  A pair of strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs apart. Kelly tried to pull and kick, but the unbearable pain and pressure on her thighs was too much to resist. The naked skin of a stranger brushed her thighs as his body violently banged up between her legs, and then….the unthinkable. Pain, humiliation, shame, anger and nausea all filled her at once. Tears welled up in her eyes, soaking through the rough blindfold and spilling down her cheeks. She felt the searing pain of his violent, rhythmic thrusting. He made soft grunting noises for what seemed like an eternity, and then, one final shudder. He slumped on top of her after he finished, breathing heavily and smelling of sweat.

  Kelly could barely breathe with her mouth taped shut and the heavy weight of his spent body lying on her chest. But finally she felt the weight get up quickly and a shadow passed by her blindfold. She heard a case open and shut, and then the shadow approached her again. She braced herself. Her blindfold had loosened during the attack, and she could see the man’s hands as they passed near her face. They were large, with thick white fingers and dark knuckle hair. One hand pulled her T-shirt sleeve up over her shoulder and the other hand held a large needle. The hand with the needle had a small crescent-shaped scar near the wrist and a thick gold ring on the ring finger.

  Kelly moaned as the needle pierced her shoulder muscle. Instinctively, she kicked her legs and flailed about for a moment, but then she felt her muscles shutting down again. Her eyes grew heavy against the rough blindfold and total darkness consumed her for the second time.

  *****

  Solid black became black dots, which morphed into a thick grey haze. Shouting exploded above Kelly’s head, piercing her dark and drowsy state.

  “Oh, my God! Michael, come here quick! Michael! MICHAEL!”

  Kelly braced herself as she felt hands touch her sore head, but this time the hands were gentle. Her head was lifted gingerly and her blindfold was removed carefully. Kelly opened her eyes to see a woman leaning over her. The woman’s eyes were wide with alarm, and she kept turning her head and screaming for someone named Michael. The woman’s skin was a smooth caramel color, and long black braids fell across her face as she leaned over Kelly to untie her wrists.

  “My name is Jen,” she said, in a voice that strained to sound soothing and calm. “Don’t worry, dear. We’re going to help you. You’re safe now. I’m just moving you a little to untie your wrists.” Kelly had never seen the woman before, and yet she felt an immediate and overwhelming love for her. The woman called Jen stood and unzipped her Nike sweatshirt, exposing a T-shirt with the words One Love and the smiling face of Bob Marley. She carefully wrapped her sweatshirt around Kelly’s legs, talking to her the whole time. Kelly then noticed a blue plaid blanket tucked around her chest and shoulders. She raised her right hand and tried to touch her mouth where the tape had been. Her fingers were still numb and clumsy.

  “Michael!” Jen yelled again, looking up the trail. Kelly heard the rapid and high-pitched barking of a small dog and then a man’s voice.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming. Quit your yelling!”

  “It’s an emergency!” Jen yelled, as the barking got closer.

  A white-and-brown Jack Russell terrier danced around Kelly excitedly and then jumped on her chest. “Ziggy, down!” Jen yelled to the dog. She turned to the tall man jogging down the trail toward them. His jog turned into a sprint when he saw Jen leaning over a body.

  “Oh, shit!” he said, as he stopped and bent down next to Kelly. He pulled a cell phone out of his sweatshirt pocket with alarming intensity. Kelly observed their fearful and urgent actions with a dazed detachment. The man dialed the phone and tapped his foot nervously on the ground, waiting for the call to connect. Gold lettering across the front of his sweatshirt read Temple University School of Medicine. “Come on, come on,” he said repeatedly, and finally, “Hello. We have an emergency and we need an ambulance right away! Oh, and we need the police, too.”

  Still shivering, Kelly took the sweatshirt off her legs and wrapped it also around her shoulders and chest.

  “We found a woman who was tied up and hurt pretty badly. We’re in the woods on the north hiking trail of Rockford Park, about one hundred and fifty yards from Rockford Tower. I’ll come out in a few minutes so I can flag them down in the parking lot by the tower, and my girlfriend will stay with the injured woman.” Kelly saw the man glance down at Kelly’s newly exposed legs with a look of alarm. As he was about to hang up the phone, he changed his mind and added, “I’m an ER resident and I have not examined her or anything, but she may be in shock. I think, uhm, it looks like she may have been sexually assaulted.” A moment later he said, “I don’t know. We just found her a minute ago, about nine-fifteen or so. I don’t know how long she’s been here.”

  The man pressed his cellphone against his sweatshirt to speak to Kelly. “The police and ambulance are on their way.” He continued to alternately speak and listen to the phone as Kelly watched. The woman sat in the dirt next to her now, holding the small dog and trying to quiet him. Kelly noticed a stray tear rolling out of her left eye and down her cheek. She wondered why this stranger would cry here in the woods.

  The man squatted next to Kelly and spoke softly. “Hi. I’m Michael. You’re safe now and help is on the way. We’re going to wait here with you for an ambulance and the police.”

  Kelly tried to respond but only yielded a whimper. Michael quieted her.

  “Rest now. You can explain things later.”

  Sirens started getting louder.

  Michael looked directly at Jen. “Stay with her. “I’m going to flag them down. I’ll be right back.” Then he turned and sprinted up the trail toward Rockford Tower.

  Kelly started to shudder violently and then sob. The fog obscuring what happened began to clear. She remembered being bound on a cold, hard floor on her back, completely exposed and defenseless to her attacker. Her crying turned to loud sobs, as Jen gently stroked her head and said, “Shhhhh, it’s okay, now. It is going to be okay now. You’re safe.”

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAD: MAY-JUNE 2011

  CHAD WATCHED WITH disgust as his father plucked a drumstick out of the Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket between them and started to tear at the greasy meat. At a mere thirty-nine years old he looked like an old man, with deep grooves in his face from endless hours in the sun, sunken eyes, and a mouth filled with teeth stained dark by chewing tobacco. Unruly tufts of graying hair sprang out from under a dirty baseball cap that had the words Charlie McCloskey Landscaping embroidered across its brim. Chad saw bitterness and defeat in his father’s eyes.

  “You know, your mother used to say, ‘Chadbourne is so handsome,’ and ‘Chadbourne is so smart’.” He used a high-pitched voice and a mocking tone to imitate Chad’s mother. He stabbed the air between them with the drumstick bone for emphasis as he spoke. “Now look at you. What the hell are you doing with your life? Here y
ou are, eighteen years old and still living with your old man, pushing a lawnmower all day and taking long walks alone in the woods.”

  “Enough!” Chad said, abruptly pushing back his chair and standing up. He strode through the tiny cluttered kitchen and down the back hall to his bedroom where he collapsed onto his unmade bed. He looked at the large world map on his wall and remembered how his mother had pointed to the places they would explore while describing the adventures that they would share. There were vast blue oceans and wide rivers to sail on, snow-capped Alps, Rockies and Tetons to ski down, remote islands where they would bask in the sun and bathe in waterfalls, and foreign cities filled with museums, cafés and cobblestone piazzas where they would meander.

  Chad’s gaze moved to the top of his dresser which held numerous treasures that he had collected on the banks of the Brandywine River. Shoeboxes and clear plastic bags contained bird feathers, dried wildflowers, colorful stones, bird nests, eggs, and even a few skeletal remains of small woodland creatures. He wasn’t sure why he still felt compelled to pick up these items and bring them home. His mother had brought him with her on “treasure hunts” in the woods when he was a child, but he knew that he should abandon that silly practice now.

  Chad tried to drown out his father’s words as they echoed in his head. He breathed deeply and listened to the sound of the gurgling river outside his room as he retrieved a worn photograph from his dresser drawer. His mother’s gaze seemed to go beyond the photographer, as if she was trying to look past her sad little life in that house in the woods. Long, wavy black hair framed a petite face with a delicate little nose, large almond-shaped eyes and full lips that set firmly against each other in an expression of perpetual sadness. Chad realized now that she had always carried this deep sadness, even when he was a young boy. He did not understand it then, but he could still feel it. Chad put the photograph of his mother down, reclined on his bed, suddenly exhausted, and remembered.

  When Chad was thirteen, he started rising from his bed in the morning only after he heard his father’s truck driving away down the gravel driveway. His mother always wrapped him in her arms and clung to him when she greeted him in the morning, as if she were clinging to a tree in a windstorm. When he walked to his school-bus stop, he fought the urge to look back at her. He could not bear to carry the image of his mother standing alone on the sagging front porch in her bathrobe and waving her hand, looking so forlorn.

  On the way to the bus stop by Breck’s Mill, Chad would peer in a small gardener’s shed and wish that he could climb inside and hide while the bus rolled by. He used to watch the mallard ducks on the river and envy them: they had the ability to fly away on a whim. This longing filled him as he eventually climbed aboard the school bus with its rows of middle-school students, each one mocking or shunning him. Almost daily, the leader of the seventh grade started a chant as Chad tried to find an empty seat: “Chad, Chad, he’s so sad. His father’s a drunk and his mother is mad.”

  Chad recalled how his face turned hot with humiliation as he felt the stares and heard the giggles of the other kids on the bus. He remembered how he sat quietly in school, trying merely to be avoided, to be invisible, and how he began to relax as the classroom clock clicked toward dismissal because his mother would be waiting. Chad remembered how he would go to her surely, silently: she was the one person who made him feel whole. They would walk along the sidewalks of the Highlands neighborhood, past large brick homes with the stylishly dressed moms, and nannies unloading groceries and children from expensive SUVs. He and his mother would stop at the base of Rockford Tower and have a drink at a cool water fountain. When the tower was open to visitors, they climbed its circular stairway to an observation deck. From that perch they could see thick green woods to the north and west, tall grey office buildings to the southeast, and the expanse of Rockford Park and the Highlands neighborhood at their feet. Chad remembered the regret and longing as he stood at the top of the tower and watched smiling teenagers throwing Frisbees, young couples kissing as they lay on blankets in the sun, and fathers playing with their children. He recalled looking at the big homes below and imagining that inside their walls, children had normal dinners with parents who spoke lovingly to each other.

  Chad realized now that their walks together were not just their shared oasis from their turbulent home life. They were also the times his mother tried her best to give Chad some hope and guidance. He sighed as he remembered one particular day in March of his seventh grade year, as they walked home through the woods counting the early spring flowers emerging from the ground.

  “Mom, why did you name me Chad?” he asked as he crouched down to inspect a purple crocus head popping through the soil.

  “Chadbourne was my family name,” Louisa said.

  “What does that mean?” Chad asked, squinting up at his mother.

  “Well, as I told you before, I was raised in an orphanage. You know, I had no mother or father to take care of me. So, the only thing I really had to connect me to my family was the name I carried, Louisa Chadbourne.” Louisa noticed Chad’s eyebrows knit together as he contemplated this explanation. “What’s the matter, honey?” Her voice was so filled with love that Chad’s heart hurt.

  “It’s just… uhm, I mean…” Chad stammered. “Oh, Mom!” Chad caught his breath with a loud shudder. “The kids at school make fun of me every day. They call me Sad Chad and they laugh at me.”

  “Oh, baby.” Louisa wrapped Chad in her arms. “People can be mean. That’s just a fact of life. God knows we have our share of meanness in our family. You can let it make you feel bad about yourself, or you can realize that they are the ones who are wrong and are acting small. Keep being the kind and smart person you are and you’ll find good friends with good hearts like you. When we get home you should look at your world map and just think of the possibilities.” His mother had hugged him harder then. “And Chad, nothing would be different for you if you had a different name. It’s in here that matters,” she said, tapping him on his chest.

  That was five years ago, and Chad still had no friends. His eyes became moist as he looked at the world map on his wall, and he wondered where his mother was at that moment. He remembered the day she left.

  *****

  One humid afternoon in late May, Chad ran into his house, eager to tell his mother that he had earned an A on his final History exam and was going to graduate from high school with honors. The house was empty and his mother’s station wagon was gone. Chad assumed she had taken a trip to the supermarket, since she rarely went anywhere else in her car. He went to the kitchen to get a Coke and to see if there was anything worth eating in the refrigerator. His hand froze in midair as he reached to open the refrigerator door. An envelope was taped to the door, with red cursive writing on it saying, My Dearest Chad. He tore the envelope off the refrigerator, ripped it open and began reading the delicate script written on pale lavender notepaper:

  My dearest, sweetest Chad:

  You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Any joy or true love I have experienced in this life was because I had you, my beautiful child.

  You are old enough now to understand that I am deeply unhappy. Every day I feel as if I am drowning, and most of the time I just want to give up struggling for air and for light. I cannot continue suffering here like this and I fear that I am dragging you too, my sweet boy, down into the black depths with me.

  I need to go somewhere right now and I must go alone. But I carry you always in my thoughts and in my heart. I hope that one day you can understand my choice and my actions. I am doing the only thing that I can think of to help us each find peace, lightness and happiness. Go out and find your happiness. I know you have it in you. My dearest Chad, be strong and follow your sharp mind and your beautiful heart.

  I love you more than life itself,

  Mom

  Chad’s eyes burned with tears as he bounded from the house that afternoon. He ran into the woods in a blind rage, crashing throu
gh tree boughs and rocks until he fell exhausted on the mossy banks of the river. He was alone now; she had left him. Her warmth, her comfort, her belief in him—gone. He curled his legs up toward his trunk and wrapped his arms around himself like a fetus.

  As the woods grew dark and a chill settled on his skin, Chad rose stiffly. He moved with heavy feet toward the dilapidated farmhouse, which no longer felt like home.

  He walked up the sagging porch steps, swung open the door, and saw his father sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the otherwise empty table.

  “Dad!” Rage and pity welled up in him and burned his throat. “Is she coming back? How can she just leave me?”

  Charlie raised his head out of his hands and fury shone from his eyes. “How the hell should I know? She didn’t even leave me a note.” He pointed at the note that Chad had dropped on the kitchen floor. “That woman has been crazy for years. The only reason she stayed on here was because of you. I could never make her happy.” His chin quivered as he spoke.

  “Jesus Christ!” Chad shouted at his father. “You never even tried to make her happy. You criticized her and mocked her and made her cry. You drove her away!”

  After his outburst, Chad ran to his bedroom, slammed the door and fell onto his bed. For the first time in his life, he did not care if he angered his father and he did not fear him. Chad peeled off his clothes and climbed into his bed in his boxer shorts. The clock on his nightstand showed it was almost eight-thirty, about three hours before he normally went to bed. He lay motionless, numb, listening to the sounds of the river through his open window. A few minutes later he heard his father’s heavy footsteps shuffling down the hallway to what had been the couple’s bedroom.