“Oh my,” I then whispered frantically, dropping the picture suddenly; it landed back in the safe deposit box. “Oh my. . .God,” I whispered again only this time in a state of heartache, heartbreak, disappointment, and backed by a fear much more worse than those countless men who took turns raping me, sodomizing me, and verbally tormenting me the night Justin and Josh broke into my house and stole me in the middle of the night to prostitute me.
And only for a moment did I feel like I was imprisoned back in that motel room; my sanity on the very brink of insanity as both my mind and my body had been at the merciless hands of monsters disguised as men now meaning with these pictures.
“Oh, God!” I repeated, bellowing my disgust as well as my rage and shame.
“Jane, what is it?” Bree suddenly pressed as she shook my arm in a panic of her own. “What is it, Jane? Please. . .Please tell me?!” she then pleaded urgently with a spark of desperation grazing her irises.
“No. No. No!” I then chanted aggressively, staggering back from both Bree and the pictures and into the other safe boxes with this despairing hope of what I had just discovered was nothing short but of a lie clinging to my tone – just a big fat fucking lie!
“Jane, please?” Bree pleaded once again as she stepped hurriedly into me and continued to shake my arm. “Please, Jane. . .You’re scaring me!” But when Bree saw that I had no intention on answering her or comforting her fears, she instead quickly left my side and rushed up to the safe deposit box and picked up the picture, flipped it over and read the back. And no sooner had her expression dropped and her eyes had widened in disbelief but most importantly, in shock.
“You’re a. . .you’re a Ra – Ray?” Bree then stammered out harshly as her gaze shifted from sympathetic to downright accusing.
“No, Bree!” I then retorted quickly, stepping forward suddenly; all the while hoping that both my interruption and intrusion would keep things from escalating with her.
“You’re a Ray, Jane,” Bree stated matter-of-factly thus forcing me to stop from reaching out to her.
“No, Bree! What you read. . .is wrong!” I adamantly argued standing my ground.
“No, Jane! That’s not what it says in the back of this photo!” Bree also argued and standing her ground.
“No, Bree. Don’t you go believing what you read! It’s a lie!”
“Pictures don’t lie, Jane!”
“Well I say otherwise! And I say that that fucking picture is a lie!”
Then. . .“It is not a lie, Janie. . .I can assure you.” And just like that, from out of the Caldwell deep blue, Parker casually strolled into the vault with my breath suddenly suffocating me. `Cause from one minute to the next my entire body went numb with this inescapable fear thus giving away from beneath me.
I was now lying face up and staring statuesque into the eyes of a ghost now looking down at me while Bree remained at my side fussing over me; and only for a moment did she look like daddy’s little girl. Though Parker’s ghost looked somewhat concerned over my dilemma, Pontius suddenly came into my view with that same inescapable fear now gripping at my insides until it eventually paralyzed every inch of my body. I could literally feel my eyes starting to close with my tongue much too heavy to speak. And my breaths. . .they were short and constricted: I was shutting down physically.
Then. . .“You said you weren’t going to hurt her!?” Bree shouted accusingly to Parker.
“I didn’t hurt her, Sweetheart, her father did.” he stated calmly.
“You never said there were pictures in that box, Dad! Or else I would have never talked Jane into coming here!” Bree scolded with a faint hint of regret leaving Parker to nod without argument. “Why?” she then asked, softening her tone a bit once she was able to grasp how completely vulnerable I was. And if I hadn’t known any better, I’d say Bree actually felt utterly responsible for my demise.
“Because, Sweetheart, it was necessary,” Parker then justified just as Pontius was sweeping me up into his arms. “It was time for her to know the truth.” Parker then stated matter-of-factly as if to convey a certain weariness to the lies and the deceptions that, and in my opinion, almost always accompanied its very truth.
And the last thing I remembered before those lights went out in Colorado was the warmth of the late afternoon sun kissing my skin and my conscience mustering, “. . .Shane. . .Shane.”