He Saved Me, Loved Me, Wanted Me
IX.
“Was Al the one who killed Ricky?” Leana asked. I nodded.
“I don’t know what to do,” I told them, “Go against Dad and for Ricky? They’re both equal assholes.” I sat down on the closest couch seat with a sigh. “I mean, he’s my father.”
It was now Brian’s turn to sigh. “That fucker abandoned you. You have this chance to send him to prison. Take it!”
I didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did anyone else. I looked around the room and saw the walls still had paint splatter all over them.
“Get away from me!” Johnny screamed behind me. He came running down the stairs covered in purple and red paint. Realization swept over my face.
That was my paint!
Jimmy was tight on his heals, holding a bucket of paint.
The whole room laughed, except me. I was just annoyed. I was now fully awake watching this take place in front of me.
“What the hell, dude?” Matt exclaimed as a splotch of paint hit him on the chest. Jimmy just laughed that much more.
“I found paint!” Jimmy exclaimed.
“Yeah. Paint that wasn’t yours,” I said calmly.
Jim Bo’s face made an ‘Oh’ shape, yet he continued flinging paint. That of which hit the walls in splotches.
Brian laughed beside me. “Oh well. The house needed repainting anyway. I’ll get you more, okay?”
“You,” I pointed to Jimmy. “Wasted all my paint, and you,” I pointed to Brian, “never got me more.” Brian and Jimmy laughed, while Leana just smiled.
“I remember that night,” she said.
“No changing the subject, now why don’t you call that guy and get more information.” Brian smiled down at me as he gently rubbed my shoulder.
I smiled back. “Okay.”
“Jimmy and I better go; we’ll talk later, okay?” Leana asked. Brian and I nodded, seeing them out the door. Brian followed me to the couch where I took out my cell phone from France. I figure with the area codes and such… yeah. Before I could even consider the time difference, the phone on the other end picked up.
“Pierre Ames. How may I help you?”
“Oh, Mr. Ames, I’m so sorry, am I interrupting anything? I didn’t think about the time difference.”
Mr. Ames laughed. “That’s fine. I was just about to leave. Can I help you with something?”
Brian held onto my hand. There was no use in letting him listen to the conversation. It was all in French, anyway. “I’m Anastasia Whitaker; I just got your letter in the mail this morning.”
“Oh, excellent! I’m so glad you called! What do you say about things then?”
“Well, first, I would like to know how you got my info and what’s going on.”
Mr. Ames cleared his throat. “After some investigating, a man named Richard Claremont said he housed you for a bit. He told me that you saw the incident. He told us you moved out, and into Charisse Apartments, and when we went to go talk to you, the landlord said you moved out. We’ve had a hard time looking for you. There were some articles of Avenged Sevenfold, in which you were in, so we decided to talk to their manager, Larry Jacobson. He told us where you lived and I sent a letter there.”
“Well, what is it exactly you want from me?” I asked.
“I would like to know what happened on the night of October 14th, 2007.”
“Well…,” I said, trying to remember what was going on. “That night there was a concert, and Brian proposed.”
“Congratulations,” Mr. Ames said.
“Thank you. Afterwards, some friends wanted to celebrate. So we all went to the store to get alcohol. Before we checked out, I went to the bathroom and as I came out, I was kidnapped.”
“By who? Do you know?”
Brian stood up, mouthing, ‘I’ll be back,’ and walked away. “Yes. It was Ricky Miller. The one that Al killed. I was forced asleep, and woke up later in a van. It gets real cloudy from here on but… Ricky was about to do something but Al came into view. He yelled something about wanting his money, and Ricky started running.” I started to tear up. Brian came soon after with a glass of grape juice and a package of pop tarts. He rushed to me when the tears trickled. It was all because I saw some one die.
“Please go on. I know this may be hard.”
“Al shot Ricky. Point blank.”
“So you did see it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, wow. You would be perfect as a witness. Do you have any time to fly over to Paris?”
“I don’t know, I’m pregnant, have doctor appointments, I have a wedding to plan…”
“Please, there must be a way…”
I sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Whitaker. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Just put my father in jail. Even if he did kill the bastard that raped me.”
“Excuse me? Al is your… father?”
“Yes. Al is my father. Brian, my fiancé told me Ricky had called him and he mentioned that Ricky wanted money for drugs. That might be the money Al was talking about. Ricky raped me, and I’m pregnant. I’m hoping that it’s Brian’s though.” I grabbed Brian’s hand and interlaced our fingers. He kissed the side of my head.
“Would you be comfortable with testifying against your father?”
“More than most. He emotionally abused me as a child. He and my mother both. I’m not wanting sympathy but I have no one on that side of my family that would want me.” Fresh tears began. “And I have no one to walk me down the isle, now that I think about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Ames started.
“It’s fine. But I’ll try to get to Paris. Thank you, Mr. Ames.”
“Thank you, Miss Whitaker.”
I hung up and looked to Brian. I explained all that was said.
“We can keep in contact with the wedding planner,” he tried.
I nodded. “You know what I realized?” I asked him.
“What, baby?” He caressed my cheek.
“Who’s going to walk me down the isle? Who’s going to give me away?”
Brian hugged me. “How about Papa Gates?”
I sniffed. “Do you really think he’d do it?”
“Oh yeah. He’d be all for it. You’re like a daughter to him now as it is.” I smiled. “Cheer up, sweetheart. This wedding is all about you.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I told them, “Go against Dad and for Ricky? They’re both equal assholes.” I sat down on the closest couch seat with a sigh. “I mean, he’s my father.”
It was now Brian’s turn to sigh. “That fucker abandoned you. You have this chance to send him to prison. Take it!”
I didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did anyone else. I looked around the room and saw the walls still had paint splatter all over them.
“Get away from me!” Johnny screamed behind me. He came running down the stairs covered in purple and red paint. Realization swept over my face.
That was my paint!
Jimmy was tight on his heals, holding a bucket of paint.
The whole room laughed, except me. I was just annoyed. I was now fully awake watching this take place in front of me.
“What the hell, dude?” Matt exclaimed as a splotch of paint hit him on the chest. Jimmy just laughed that much more.
“I found paint!” Jimmy exclaimed.
“Yeah. Paint that wasn’t yours,” I said calmly.
Jim Bo’s face made an ‘Oh’ shape, yet he continued flinging paint. That of which hit the walls in splotches.
Brian laughed beside me. “Oh well. The house needed repainting anyway. I’ll get you more, okay?”
“You,” I pointed to Jimmy. “Wasted all my paint, and you,” I pointed to Brian, “never got me more.” Brian and Jimmy laughed, while Leana just smiled.
“I remember that night,” she said.
“No changing the subject, now why don’t you call that guy and get more information.” Brian smiled down at me as he gently rubbed my shoulder.
I smiled back. “Okay.”
“Jimmy and I better go; we’ll talk later, okay?” Leana asked. Brian and I nodded, seeing them out the door. Brian followed me to the couch where I took out my cell phone from France. I figure with the area codes and such… yeah. Before I could even consider the time difference, the phone on the other end picked up.
“Pierre Ames. How may I help you?”
“Oh, Mr. Ames, I’m so sorry, am I interrupting anything? I didn’t think about the time difference.”
Mr. Ames laughed. “That’s fine. I was just about to leave. Can I help you with something?”
Brian held onto my hand. There was no use in letting him listen to the conversation. It was all in French, anyway. “I’m Anastasia Whitaker; I just got your letter in the mail this morning.”
“Oh, excellent! I’m so glad you called! What do you say about things then?”
“Well, first, I would like to know how you got my info and what’s going on.”
Mr. Ames cleared his throat. “After some investigating, a man named Richard Claremont said he housed you for a bit. He told me that you saw the incident. He told us you moved out, and into Charisse Apartments, and when we went to go talk to you, the landlord said you moved out. We’ve had a hard time looking for you. There were some articles of Avenged Sevenfold, in which you were in, so we decided to talk to their manager, Larry Jacobson. He told us where you lived and I sent a letter there.”
“Well, what is it exactly you want from me?” I asked.
“I would like to know what happened on the night of October 14th, 2007.”
“Well…,” I said, trying to remember what was going on. “That night there was a concert, and Brian proposed.”
“Congratulations,” Mr. Ames said.
“Thank you. Afterwards, some friends wanted to celebrate. So we all went to the store to get alcohol. Before we checked out, I went to the bathroom and as I came out, I was kidnapped.”
“By who? Do you know?”
Brian stood up, mouthing, ‘I’ll be back,’ and walked away. “Yes. It was Ricky Miller. The one that Al killed. I was forced asleep, and woke up later in a van. It gets real cloudy from here on but… Ricky was about to do something but Al came into view. He yelled something about wanting his money, and Ricky started running.” I started to tear up. Brian came soon after with a glass of grape juice and a package of pop tarts. He rushed to me when the tears trickled. It was all because I saw some one die.
“Please go on. I know this may be hard.”
“Al shot Ricky. Point blank.”
“So you did see it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, wow. You would be perfect as a witness. Do you have any time to fly over to Paris?”
“I don’t know, I’m pregnant, have doctor appointments, I have a wedding to plan…”
“Please, there must be a way…”
I sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Whitaker. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Just put my father in jail. Even if he did kill the bastard that raped me.”
“Excuse me? Al is your… father?”
“Yes. Al is my father. Brian, my fiancé told me Ricky had called him and he mentioned that Ricky wanted money for drugs. That might be the money Al was talking about. Ricky raped me, and I’m pregnant. I’m hoping that it’s Brian’s though.” I grabbed Brian’s hand and interlaced our fingers. He kissed the side of my head.
“Would you be comfortable with testifying against your father?”
“More than most. He emotionally abused me as a child. He and my mother both. I’m not wanting sympathy but I have no one on that side of my family that would want me.” Fresh tears began. “And I have no one to walk me down the isle, now that I think about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Ames started.
“It’s fine. But I’ll try to get to Paris. Thank you, Mr. Ames.”
“Thank you, Miss Whitaker.”
I hung up and looked to Brian. I explained all that was said.
“We can keep in contact with the wedding planner,” he tried.
I nodded. “You know what I realized?” I asked him.
“What, baby?” He caressed my cheek.
“Who’s going to walk me down the isle? Who’s going to give me away?”
Brian hugged me. “How about Papa Gates?”
I sniffed. “Do you really think he’d do it?”
“Oh yeah. He’d be all for it. You’re like a daughter to him now as it is.” I smiled. “Cheer up, sweetheart. This wedding is all about you.”