I wait, aware of a tightness in my chest. I’ve felt that sensation enough to know it’s in response to the anticipation of hearing something I don’t want in my head.
“We had fun. Afterward, we drank a beer and he took me out to that old gas station.”
“Vernon Fisher’s place?” I ask.
She nods. “I didn’t want to go. All those crude boys. I don’t like them. I don’t like the way they look at me. The way they make fun. Like they’re nice. Only they’re not.” She shrugs. “But Aden said it was okay. He said we wouldn’t stay too long. So we went.”
She lifts the mug and drinks. Not because she wants it, but because she doesn’t want to say what comes next.…
I wait her out.
“All the boys were there and they had this bottle of tequila. They were passing it around. I didn’t want any, but I didn’t want them to think I was … a kid, you know?”
I nod, silent, but I can feel the hairs at the back of my neck starting to tingle. I have an idea where this is going. And it is a place I don’t want to go. A place I wish she’d never ventured.
“It was fun at first. I mean, there was music. I felt so grown-up. My head was spinning. And Aden was laughing.” She smiles again. “I thought I was having fun. I thought it was going to be okay.”
I nod.
“Then he … he kissed me,” she whispers. “Right in front of everyone. And all those boys were … watching. They were smoking cigarettes and passing around that bottle. Aden kept saying that love is as important as being married. He said that God was love and He would be okay with it because we weren’t yet baptized. And he took me into that back room where that mattress is and we … you know.”
She breaks off, looks down at the tabletop as if she’s going to be sick, and she struggles on. “It should have been beautiful. I mean, it was. At first. Yes, I knew it was a sin and I had guilt because we weren’t married. I knew all of those things but I couldn’t stop. I loved him so much.”
Her brows furrow. “But everything was so … confused. Because of the alcohol, you know. I drank too much. And we were lying there and the next thing I knew there was someone else in the room with us. It was dark and I couldn’t see who it was. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew Aden would take care of me.” She closes her eyes tightly, as if doing so will keep the memory at bay. “The man got into bed with us. I tried to leave, but my clothes weren’t there. And Aden … he said it would be okay. I lost sight of him and I got scared. I began to cry.… And then they all came in. And they…” She chokes out a sound that’s part sob, part gasp. “I can’t…”
For a moment, the only sound comes from her rapid breaths. Then I ask, “Emily, did they rape you?”
“Aden said that wasn’t what it was,” she says quickly. “He said I wanted to do it. He said it was my fault because I tempted them. I drank too much and I asked for it. Chief Burkholder, I don’t remember so much of it.” She squeezes her eyes closed and begins to cry again. “And I’m so ashamed. I wanted to die.”
I pick up my cup and sip, giving her a moment, giving myself a moment. I feel rage, but I know it will do nothing but get in the way.
Rising, I go to the counter, pull open a drawer, and remove a notepad. “Do you know the names of the men who were there that night?”
“No.” She shifts her gaze to the window, at the darkness and rain beyond, but she’s not quick enough to hide the flicker of the lie in her eyes.
“How many of them came into the room?”
“I don’t know. It was too dark to see.” She squeezes her eyes closed. “Everything was spinning.”
I feel nauseated and I think about the murder of Aden Karn and I wonder if—or how—this incident plays into it.
“Did you tell anyone what happened?” I ask.
She raises her eyes to mine. “What would I say? That I went there to sin and had sin committed against me? It was my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell her.
The bitterness of her laugh tells me she doesn’t believe me. That she will never believe me. “It doesn’t even matter. Aden is gone. Everything is … ruined. I don’t see how God can forgive me for what I did. I don’t see how I can forgive myself.”
“God forgives all of us our sins if we ask Him.” I’m certainly no expert on the subject, but I say the words because I need to, because she needs to hear them.
She says nothing.
“Did this happen just one time?” I ask.
She squeezes her eyes closed, shakes her head. I sense the shame coming off her in waves. The self-loathing. The blame. “There were a few times when … I went to the gas station with him. I can’t explain it because sometimes I didn’t drink any tequila, and yet I got that crazy feeling in my head. You know, like I was dizzy and … then I was in that room with them and I just don’t remember.”
I curb a surge of fury. “Did Aden or anyone else ever give you any pills? Or ask you to smoke something? Marijuana? Or cigarettes? Anything like that?”
“No.”
I take my mug to the counter. I’m aware of the anger thrashing inside me, and I remind myself to keep a handle on it.
After pouring another cup of coffee, I reclaim my seat. “It took guts for you to come here tonight and tell me the truth. You were very brave. Thank you.”
“I don’t feel very brave,” she mutters. “I feel … dirty and … more awful than I’ve ever felt in my life.”
“No one has the right to do that to you or anyone else. It’s called sexual assault and it’s against the law.”
The girl looks down at the tabletop, saying nothing.
“Emily, you did the right thing,” I tell her. “Now it’s my turn to do the right thing. In order to do that, I need the names of the men who hurt you.”
Gasping, she raises her head, stares at me, eyes wide with panic. “I don’t know who came into the room.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t want anyone to know,” she whispers. “Please. I didn’t want to come here. Datt made me. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone to know!”
I’m too angry to look into her eyes, so I glance down at the mug and take a drink of coffee I don’t want.
“Chief Burkholder, if the Amish find out … it’ll ruin my life more than it already is. Please. I just want to go on like it never happened.”
As a formerly Amish woman, I understand more than I want to. As a cop, I know if I don’t get her to open up, the men who assaulted her will get away with what they did. In the state of Ohio, once a sexual assault is reported to the police, it becomes a crime against the state and the victim has no say in the matter.
“Why did you come here tonight?” I ask her.
“Datt made me.”
“You came here because it was the right thing to do.”
“I just want to forget about it and go on with my life,” she pleads.
I consider that a moment. “How did your datt find out?”