After that day, he fell further into the bottle that he loved to hold onto so tightly while he beat me with it.
Everyone was so understanding of the poor drunk man who had already lost his wife and now his daughter. I doubt they’d have thought the same if they knew how he was treating his only remaining family at home.
Not like I can judge though.
I dropped out of college, held onto any job I could, and left home. For years I crashed on friends’ couches until I saved enough to afford rent on a room in a shared apartment.
My nights, and most of my days, were spent high on whatever drugs I could get my hands on.
One day, I took the tape to the police station, but as soon as they sniffed the alcohol on my breath, they threatened to throw me in the drunk tank if I didn’t go home.
It was then that I knew no one would help, and it was up to me to make things right. I didn’t pay enough attention when Kat was alive to know how badly she was hurting, but I sure as shit paid attention after.
I sobered up as best I could and focused on tracking down the men on the tape.
I spent years stalking them, figuring out the best ways to make them pay. It all led to tonight, but as soon as one little nun appeared out of nowhere the whole plan derailed.
With confusion festering in my heart, I begin my searchof the apartment for another copy of the tape. It takes me longer than I’d like. I’m already behind on time and will be cutting it tight to finish by dawn.
If I left Chloe here, then I’d be guaranteed to make it. But the thought of carrying on this night without her doesn’t sit right.
Eventually, I find the tape in a shoebox in the back of the closet along with a few others all dated in the same handwriting.
Were they so sick in the head that they didn’t think of the consequences of keeping evidence? They just took them home as party favors.
I destroy Kat’s tape by pulling the film out and shredding it with my knife. I can’t bring myself to watch it. What’s the point when I’ve got the permanent recording etched into my psyche forever.
Chloe watches me silently from the bed. Blocking her out, I take a few tapes through to the living room.
There’s already a VHS machine set up, with no other tapes in sight. The motherfucker must have used it especially for these. Did he spend the weekends watching them, one hand buried in a tub of popcorn and the other jacking himself off? Or maybe he invited his friends over for a circle jerk.
I insert a random one and press play. The recording is almost identical to Kat’s. It’s the same basement, the same metal framed bed, and the same camera angle from the foot of it. Only this time, the victim is different. A small blonde girl is sat on the bed, her naked body swaying. She’s drugged and can barely keep her eyes open. I can’t tell how old she is. I swallow back the bile burning my throat. Three men appear on screen. Walter, Jackson, and Christopher.
Just how many have they hurt?
I knew it happened to other girls, but not the extent. During my search, I broke into Christopher’s house and found one loose tape in his bedroom. He must have got sloppy and forgot to put it away. I played it there. It wasn’t Kat.
What I saw was enough for me to assume it wasn’t a two-time thing. There wasn’t enough time for me to find a way into his locked basement where it had to have happened, and I had to leave it all behind so he wouldn’t know I was on to him.
I’ve been so careful up until now.
Chloe comes in when she hears the crying on screen. She’s horrified as she stares at the scene in front of her.
I turn it off and destroy the tape like I did Kat’s.
Chloe runs to me. “You can’t destroy that! It’s evidence.”
“No one’s going to help that girl.”
She narrows her eyes at me. Fear and hesitation replace her usual defiance. “Did you…Are you on the tape?”
“No!” I’m disgusted that she’d even think that’s a possibility. “Don’t believe me? There’s half a dozen more you can watch to find out.”
She seems to take my word for it. Stupid girl. She shouldn’t trust anyone in this world.
“Was that Kat on the bed?”
I shake my head.
