Status: complete!(:
Unseen
The End.
ALY: Right now, I am in wonder. I am wondrous, Mom. I needed to call you straight away and tell you that I am standing at this payphone in some gross bar in wonder. I can’t believe HE is gone. I can’t believe that they caught HIM. HE’S gone. Finally, after all of this time and all of this running, HE is gone. I saw it on the news in this nasty bar, Mom. I saw HIM being dragged out of our house by the police. I heard the news reporter say that HE is going to be charged with suspected sexual assault after one of his previous victims came forward. They said there might be another victim named Alyson Hoitz. That’s me, Mom. And you know what, now that HE’s gone, I can come home. I can finally stop running and come home to you, Mom. You have no idea how happy this is making me, Mom. After these seven months of being away from you I finally get to come back and be safe. No more fear, no more running, no more Bryan to come home to and be terrorized by. Just you, Mom. Just you. I love you. I’ll be back home in three hours.
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My homecoming was not what I had expected. I hadn’t thought that everyone would be waiting for me. I hadn’t known that my mother was the one that was actually getting all of my messages. I hadn’t known that she was the reason I was back home. She had gone to the police and played the recordings of my messages. She told me that after six months of being gone, everyone else had thought I was dead. Except for her. The police had wanted to give up and officially declare me dead. She had played them the tapes. She told them that she knew who I was talking about. She told them that Bryan was the reason I was gone and they had better figure out what he had done. They put his picture on the news the night I left Mom the Valentine’s Day message. She had taken Bryan away to our condo in the mountains. Nobody but us ever went up to it. Anyone with information about him was given three hours to call in and help save a poor girl’s life. She told me that I was very clever about never giving anything away, but the police got a hit just one hour after the picture was shown. It was Makala. She told them Bryan had raped her two years ago, she didn’t press charges because he was her step-brother. She never told anyone until the day his picture went up on the news. She was waiting at the house with Mom for me when I showed up, dirty clothing, scraggly hair and all. Everyone was there. My friends, the football team, Student Council, the baseball team, the volleyball, soccer, tennis, basketball, and swim teams. All the cheerleaders were there and so was my coach. And Andrew Charleston. He was there too. They all had managed to squeeze themselves into my small apartment to see me. After all of these months, they still believed I would come home. They cried when I came in. And I cried too. And we all hugged and they all told me how much they had missed me and how they had all hoped I would come home soon. And Andrew Charleston had kissed me right on my chapped lips in front of everyone. And I realized something. HE happened. IT happened. I was raped six-and-a-half months ago by a man named Bryan Raynolds. There is no denying it. No trying to pretend like it didn’t happen. Bryan Raynolds took advantage of me when I was just 15 years old and very vulnerable. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Standing here, in this room full of people, I have come to realize that I was assaulted. But I am still loved. Every single person in this little apartment loves me. They all stayed up late praying that I would come home. They all wanted me to come home. They all missed me. They all believed that I was alive when everyone else had given up hope. They all loved me. I am still loved. No matter what. And I will never forget that. Never.
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My homecoming was not what I had expected. I hadn’t thought that everyone would be waiting for me. I hadn’t known that my mother was the one that was actually getting all of my messages. I hadn’t known that she was the reason I was back home. She had gone to the police and played the recordings of my messages. She told me that after six months of being gone, everyone else had thought I was dead. Except for her. The police had wanted to give up and officially declare me dead. She had played them the tapes. She told them that she knew who I was talking about. She told them that Bryan was the reason I was gone and they had better figure out what he had done. They put his picture on the news the night I left Mom the Valentine’s Day message. She had taken Bryan away to our condo in the mountains. Nobody but us ever went up to it. Anyone with information about him was given three hours to call in and help save a poor girl’s life. She told me that I was very clever about never giving anything away, but the police got a hit just one hour after the picture was shown. It was Makala. She told them Bryan had raped her two years ago, she didn’t press charges because he was her step-brother. She never told anyone until the day his picture went up on the news. She was waiting at the house with Mom for me when I showed up, dirty clothing, scraggly hair and all. Everyone was there. My friends, the football team, Student Council, the baseball team, the volleyball, soccer, tennis, basketball, and swim teams. All the cheerleaders were there and so was my coach. And Andrew Charleston. He was there too. They all had managed to squeeze themselves into my small apartment to see me. After all of these months, they still believed I would come home. They cried when I came in. And I cried too. And we all hugged and they all told me how much they had missed me and how they had all hoped I would come home soon. And Andrew Charleston had kissed me right on my chapped lips in front of everyone. And I realized something. HE happened. IT happened. I was raped six-and-a-half months ago by a man named Bryan Raynolds. There is no denying it. No trying to pretend like it didn’t happen. Bryan Raynolds took advantage of me when I was just 15 years old and very vulnerable. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Standing here, in this room full of people, I have come to realize that I was assaulted. But I am still loved. Every single person in this little apartment loves me. They all stayed up late praying that I would come home. They all wanted me to come home. They all missed me. They all believed that I was alive when everyone else had given up hope. They all loved me. I am still loved. No matter what. And I will never forget that. Never.