Whispers of Redemption Pt. 01

Hey Readers!! This is the first installment of Whispers of Redemption so feedback and voting would be much appreciated.

Enjoy :)

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Prologue: "Adversity introduces a man to himself"

"What's this?" Bruce spat

"Ravioli" Kayla murmured.

"Well, hell. Did I say I wanted fuckin' ravioli?" He shoved the heavy plate off the table with a swift and brute force. Kayla flinched. She took an unconscious step back as her head began to pound.

"Girl you better speak when you're spoken to!" He jumped up and rushed towards her, Kayla tried to bolt but he caught her left wrist in an unforgiving fist. Bruce pulled her towards him and wrenched her hand behind her back; she cried out. He laced his other greasy hand through her long black curls just before he brought his lips only inches away from hers.

"Did I say I wanted ravioli, Kayla?" He whispered through clenched teeth. She lifted her free hand to push at his chest.

"You lift a hand to me and I'll break your wrist. I swear it. Answer the question." He warned

"No" Kayla managed to roar. His sinister smile grew slowly, while the hand in her hair loosened its death grip. But Kayla knew there was no such thing as alleviation when she was at his mercy. She closed her eyes hoping to God that he would let go of her wrist...that he wouldn't touch her; her stomach turned. No, she couldn't survive another attack. God never seemed too close, though. When he let go of her wrist she breathed out of a sigh of relief, a breath that would only get caught once more in her throat as he ruthlessly tore open her cotton button down cardigan. Kayla's eyes were as wide as saucers as she began to scream and claw at every inch of his body that she could come in contact with. But Bruce was so much bigger and so much taller. He would win. She didn't recognize her own voice-as she sobbed and wailed with wild abandon.

"Please! No!" She pleaded over and over again. He punched her square in the jaw and she fell silent. As the side of her face began to swell her voice escaped, yet her hands still fought. She knew he had already won. He threw her down on the kitchen floor and grabbed her ankles. She caught a glimpse of what had to be a blade in his hand.

"Open your eyes, Kayla or I promise I'll carve a little token of my love on this pretty little thigh" He growled. Kayla would take every hit, every insult, every cut, but she couldn't bear to look. She felt her legs being spread painfully wide. Why Me? Her whole life revolved around that one question. This was the second time Bruce had won.

Chapter 1: Angel

November 1st 2000 Boston, Massachusetts 6:09 PM

Kayla Warner walked down the steps of Bruce's old townhouse. Her head throbbed and the diminutive cuts on her swollen lips protested the ruthlessness of the bitter winter wind. She struggled with numb fingers to wrap her woolen scarf around her bruised and sensitive neck. There was no coat to engulf her shivering body, no heavy snow boots to protect her toes from the heartless cold, no gloves to hide her bleeding knuckles, no arms to hold her. A long, flimsy, white cotton skirt flowed to her ankles, surrounding stocking covered legs; the hem of her long-sleeved shirt barely reaching the waistband of the skirt, exposing a slither of her mid-drift and promising full blown fever. Tears of despair fell from her hazel eyes onto the pavement with every reluctant step she took. Tall willow trees stood amongst the even taller lampposts. The dark reflection of their lengthy limbs dueling with the dim light that shone over the sidewalk provided a haunting shadow dance. She heard a glass bottle crash against the pavement in the faint distance and quickened her step. She didn't know where to go or how to get to that nowhere. Bruce was back from a two week convention in Kansas.

Bruce Torch was a car salesman. He was also a forty-three year old alcoholic. Kayla had lost both parents to a fatal car crash when she was twelve. She was left in the custody of her father's best friend, Bruce. Bruce had abused her from day one. It had always been physical abuse though, a slap across the face for forgetting the dishes, a punch for ruining the dinner, a kick for dressing inappropriately, an insult for existing-that was until her eighteenth birthday. She had thought she had seen the regular hatred in his eyes when she had looked into those sickening orbs, but that night he wanted more than the satisfaction of bruising her; that night, she lost her soul. She resented how Bruce's heavy hand felt against her temple when he had too much to drink. She resented the vindictiveness his demeaning words elicited from her overbearing self-conscious. She resented the echoes of a belt lash in the bathroom and the cold water that followed. She resented the scars. She resented the rape. She was ashamed of the way she whimpered, begging for mercy. She was ashamed of her suicide attempts, ashamed of the immortality of the pain she felt everyday in every way. Pain. What a sad excuse of a word. What she'd been through, what she'd felt, was not pain, it was a boundless mock of hope. The ineptitude of hope was just as painful as the blows and insults. Just as damaging as her scars and just as weak as her will.

A revolting whistle of appreciation pierced the emptiness of her solitude. The sound came from behind her. Whoever had made the vulgar gesture was close. Kayla didn't dare look back. She was losing her breath briskly, due to the agony of taking deep breaths in itself. Her chest hurt; hard boots that were not hers, hit pavement just as fast- crunching fresh snow beneath their rough soles.

"Slow down, sweetness" a male voice called out in a drunken slur. A different voice laughed wickedly. Kayla's ears grew hot and her throat started to burn. She whimpered involuntarily when her legs began to grow numb, she was so tired. Her body was giving up but her mind was screaming fight. It was like being set on fire after paralysis. She didn't want to cry but her tears cascaded now, she needed to run faster. She needed to fly. There was no way she'd let them touch her, she'd rather die. Yes, that was the solution. Kayla glanced at the street to see if any cars were passing by. All she had to do was throw her self into the street just before one did, that way she'd get to lie down and the pain would stop. It would stop forever. She smiled through her tears and prayed for a car. Prayer answered. The excruciatingly loud engine of what was most likely a motor cycle or sports car ripped down the road, she couldn't tell the difference. Her hands commoved. Ten, nine, eight...she started to count down the seconds...two. The sports car screeched to a stop just before she jumped off the slightly elevated sidewalk.

"Get in, now" A deep voice urged. Kayla didn't consider the possibility of this stranger being no better than her pursuers, she considered nothing but hope... the painless kind. Her movements were a blur as she ran to the car and jumped in. As her back hit the warm seat and the car sped miles away from her should-have-been death she broke down in unearthly sobs. The mysterious driver quickly turned on the heat and pulled off of the road. Kayla left her head in her hands because she couldn't stop crying. She didn't want this stranger to see her bruises; she didn't want to be judged.

"You're okay now" He whispered. His voice was deep yet gentle in hesitation. Kayla lifted her gaze to the hood of the car and wiped at her eyes and nose. She was hardly aware of him reaching into the glove compartment. A warm hand grasped hers. She flinched back and her wide, startled eyes grew wary.

"I'm not going to hurt you" the man murmured. He reached for the water bottle in the cup holder and opened it. After turning on the overhead light and pouring some of the water onto the napkin he began to wipe the blood from her knuckles. Kayla stared at the young man beside her. After he cleaned both of her hands, he reached for a dry napkin and handed it to her.

"Are you okay?" He asked. His voice was soothing. Kayla would have answered the question if she could but the truth was she couldn't. He had the most compelling green eyes she had ever seen. A color you could only find in a jewel or untouched fertile grassland. His hair was midnight black and cropped short, it lay against his forehead lazily, the snow must've gotten to it. He had high cheekbones and a defined jaw line. A gorgeous straight nose graced his unblemished olive skin tone, adding the finishing touch. He wore a pastel green dress shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing toned looking tan forearms. Thick veins intertwined under his smooth looking skin-she couldn't see them because of his lightly tanned skin but she could trace the shape of them with her fingertips if she had the audacity. Enthralling, sensual lips opened and closed and she gawked at them mutely. A second passed before she realized he had spoken.

"Are you ok?" he had repeated. She nodded while closing her eyes and turned away. She wiped at her wet cheek and blew her nose. When she turned back to face him with the napkin balled up in her fist she found his gaze fixed on something. She followed it to her numb left leg and gasped when she saw blood, bright red, staining her white skirt. Her stitches. She hadn't even felt her stitches rip open! She had stitched a deep cut Bruce had caused on her inner thigh, only a few nights before. Before she knew it he was lifting up her skirt. She saw red. Kayla thought she would die.

"Don't touch me!" She screamed

"Hey, hey, hey you're leg is bleeding. I have to take a look at it. I won't hurt you." He said softly "Miss, I won't hurt you." He reached for her skirt once more but Kayla flinched back into the door of his sports car. He sighed.

"What is your name?" he asked. Kayla looked down at first and then slowly gazed into his eyes. She felt safe; she wasn't going to try to lie to herself. But then again she didn't know what safety was anymore and she wasn't going to try and guess at what exactly it felt like.

"Kayla" Her voice was hoarse and tiny. She cleared her throat.

"Kayla, I'm Jeremy Alessi. Your leg is bleeding and I'm sure you've noticed. I'm no doctor but it would be best if you let me take a look at it. I won't hurt you, Kayla. I give you my word." Jeremy had a thick northern accent and it complemented his deep voice. He was young but his tone was that of a self assured man. He stared at Kayla cautiously. With agonizingly slow advancement he grasped the hem of her skirt and began to lift.

***

Jeremy had never seen a woman in such a bad state. Hell, she wasn't even a woman, just a girl. Her small body shivered violently and he truly felt pity for the first time. She was harmless. He turned on the heat. The girl had fresh-looking bruises covering the left side of her face ...he hadn't gotten the chance to have seen the right. Her lips were torn and her scarf had fallen loose exposing her long neck. It had a trail of black and blue bruises running down its length. She had russet colored skin-rich caramel-and a thick massive head of curls that were caught up in a pony tail- it flowed down between her shoulder blades. She was beautiful-he could tell by the way she closed her eyes, her lips slowly parting in relief when she had settled in his car seat, by the way her chest rose and fell frenetically, by the way her skin was radiant despite the bruises.

***

Kayla struggled to suppress her impulsive urges to flee. Urges that had been trained for so long to sound the alarm, any alarm, at human contact. His finger tips were warm and his touch was gentle. She could feel her heart beating rapidly, fighting to burst out of her bruised chest when he pushed the skirt over her thighs and exposed the thin see-through stockings. He cursed as he stared at a bloody laceration and a heinous stitch job. Jeremy ripped the stocking and Kayla gasped, concurrently clenching her thighs together.

Jeremy felt anger anew pulse through his body when she did that, when she clenched her thighs in barefaced fear. The new anger flowing through him was irrational, yet insuppressible. He hoped to god it was innocence and not habitual panic that caused her to do such a thing. He didn't want to do what he had to do next, she would certainly take it the wrong way but since he had exposed the wound, blood ran from her thigh onto his car seat. He stared into her hazel eyes and spoke slowly.

"Kayla your losing a lot of blood, you've got to apply pressure to the gash"

She immediately reached into the glove compartment for napkins but there were no more.

"We need hand towel or something, there is a convenience store just up the block-" Jeremy ignored the gesture. He unbuttoned the buttons on his dress shirt exposing his black muscle-shirt. He never broke eye contact and saw the transition from calm to frenzy on her face the moment it happened.

"Wha- what are you do- doing" Kayla stuttered, her hand already on the door.

"I'm going to use my shirt to apply pressure to it. I told you I wasn't gonna hurt you, don't be obtuse." He pealed off his shirt and balled it up. Kayla flushed in embarrassment.

"This might sting" Jeremy covered the gash with his shirt and pressed down slightly. Kayla moaned throatily as she threw her head back unto seat and bit down mercilessly on her bottom lip. She was so cold. He cradled her cheek with his other hand- his finger tips brushing her earlobe in the process-and she was surprised at herself when she tried to move closer to the warmth.

His fingers slightly brushed across her upper lip.

"Don't bite, Kayla" he whispered intensely. His voice sounded as if she was causing him pain by doing so. Kayla released her bottom lip at the words; a surge of blood rushed to it.

"I'm going to take care of you, get you to a hospital. You'll be alright. I promise you."

"No, I can stitch myself back up, I did it before. I don't have insurance and Bruce will kill me if I leave with a bill" She blurted out. Jeremy's eyes narrowed. Bruce. He would remember.

"Don't worry about the bill" Jeremy clutched the steering wheel and stepped on the gas.

November 2nd 2000 Boston, Massachusetts 9:30 am

Kayla woke to the redundant beeping of an EKG monitor. She knew that sound anywhere. When her eye sight focused she looked at the IV needle and felt ill. She was definitely in the hospital. The room had huge windows that covered around seventy-five percent of the wall to her right. The blinds were pulled back and soft sunlight peered through the spotless glass. She stared out into the vastness of the dim sky and sighed. Jeremy. She remembered his eyes first, then his voice then his unforgettable visage. Next were his strong hands and the way they held her face or grasped her hand. She remembered the needle before the stitches and his sensuous lips on her forehead when he had had to step out of the room while she was being examined. Her Angel.

"Miss. Warner?" A soft feminine voice asked. Kayla shifted her head to peer at the door. A blonde-haired lady peeped her head into the room.

Kayla struggled to sit up.

"Oh no, darling, you lay back down." She said while walking across the spacious floor to Kayla's bedside. She smiled almost sadly at her.

"My name is Samantha George and I am a social worker from the Violence Intervention and Prevention center. Dr. Brody, your general doctor, thought it best I come in and see you."

Kayla could feel her heart beats in her finger tips. If she was of a lighter complexion she would have turned cherry red. Violence Intervention and Prevention center? How the fu-

"Where's Jeremy?" She demanded, ending her own hysterical, mental break down. She felt tears fill her eyes. She couldn't justify her immediate reaction; she didn't understand why she felt so...ashamed. She did nothing wrong! She didn't even know why she was asking for Jeremy, she didn't even know him!

"I'm not sure if I know who exactly you speak of, Kayla. I need you to take deep breaths. I'm not here because you're in trouble, I'm here to help.

"I don't need help." Kayla snarled

"Explain the bruising, and I'll go. You'll never hear another word from me." She said gently.

"I-I fell" Kayla stuttered lamely as tears started to stream down her raw cheeks. Samantha pulled up the guest chair and took a resigned seat. She opened her bag and pulled out a miniature clip board. Kayla closed her eyes. She wanted the help, she wanted to get away from Bruce...but that would require the full fledged story and she wasn't ready to divulge any of that.

"Who do you live with?" Samantha asked sweetly

"My godfather"

"And do you have a good relationship with your godfather?"

"No" Kayla said shakily. Samantha sighed and tucked the clipboard under her arm. She wasn't going to go through the regular procedure with this girl, because it was obviously not going to work that way.

"I'm going to ask a few compelling questions, Miss. Warner and you are, by law, allowed to abstain from answering. Although, if I were you, I would answer them. I can help you, Kayla" Samantha whispered "I can end the pain, and I can help put your abuser away for a very long time." Kayla nodded her head as she wiped at her blood-shot eyes.

"Who did this to you?" Samantha asked bluntly

"My godfather" Kayla sobbed. Samantha wished she hadn't forgotten her box of Kleenex. She held the girls hand as she fought to keep herself in check. Each call was so different and affected her in different ways. All the training about sexual assault calls taught her how to support a victim, but no amount of training could prepare her for the emotions she felt as a person.

"Was there only physical abuse, Kayla? Or was it sexual abuse as well?" That question seemed to be the girl's undoing. Samantha watched as she brought her right leg up, wrapping her arms around her shin and began to rock, all the while sobbing unintelligibly. Samantha wasn't allowed to touch patients. Although all she wanted to do was hold the girl before her, she knew she couldn't.

"Kayla?"

"I turned eighteen last week." Kayla wept "That's when he star-started touching m-me." She hiccupped. Samantha felt the urge to look away. What possessed man to commit such evils?

"Did he ever force you to engage in intercourse with him?" Samantha whispered. It was always respectful to tone down the pace and blatancy when asking questions about sexual abuse. Intimacy was one of the most dreaded topics.

"This is between me and you, Kayla" Samantha reassured. Kayla nodded her head franticly.

"How often has he done this since you turned eighteen?"

"Twice"

"Okay, Kayla. I've only one more question for you. This one involves answering and eventual compliance. I believe you sweetheart, but when dealing with such subjects, proof can certainly keep us from taking unwarranted action. Would you consent to a rape kit?"

"A what?" Kayla looked as if she was flustered.

"It's just an exam the doctors perform that will result in biological and physical evidence collected from your body of a sexual assault. In addition to leading police to the perpetrator, a rape kit will also augment the case in court, should it come to trial."

"I-" Kayla breathed deeply for a few moments, wrenching her quivering hands. She closed her eyes as she fought a wave of nausea. To her surprise the first things that she saw was fiery, green eyes. Jeremy.

"Can you find Jeremy for me?" She was losing her voice.

"Sure, sweetheart. You don't have to make the decision now. Are you related to Jeremy?"

"No"

"A boyfriend?"

"Just a friend"

"Are there any family members you would like me to contact?"

"I have none; Please just find Jeremy."

***

"I couldn't find Jeremy. But I did find out that your godfather is waiting downstairs. He wants to come up and see you. You don't have to see him though. I can even stay here with you if you'd like."