"I have scars so deep they will never heal. Not completely. Physical scars. Mental scars. Scars that haven't been classified. I know you've heard the rumors. I know that there are rumors. But no one knows what really happened that night on the mountain. Nobody but me. And that's why I'm telling you. I know what she did to you. I know you're terrified that Natalie is going to reject you. I know you're terrified that because she drugged you and strapped you to a table that you somehow deserved what happened to you. You didn't deserve what happened to you and it wasn't your fault and you're not weak. And no one is going to think less of you. My sister and your mother are grateful that you survived. And that's all that matters. You fucking survived a serial killer and walked away."
When he was finished spewing his guts out to a man who was a virtual stranger, Nathan heaved a breath hoping to clear his head of all the shit that he'd let loose. Lonnie's face registered shock and disgust. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
A tear slipped from the corner of Lonnie's eye. He didn't flick it away. "Dude," he whispered. "Takes some brass balls to survive that shit."
"Yeah," Nathan agreed, wiping his own eyes. "I had to let someone else carry me for a while. I didn't get there on my own. I have a life. I have a family. I survived because the people I love made sure I survived. I'm not telling you how to deal with this. Only you can decide how to process this. She raped you. Don't let her live in your head. That's all I can tell you. Get counseling. Now. Not later. You control this. She doesn't. She's dead. She can't control you."
Lonnie blinked. His shoulders shook but he didn't shed another tear. "What about the man? What happened to him? She told me what he was going to do to me. You know. He watched her. He kept bitching that she was taking too long. He wanted his turn. God, Nathan, she told me what he did to the men when she was done with them. He was a sick, twisted fucker. Tell me he's dead. Tell me you got him."
Nathan shook his head. "He's alive. He's in custody. I'm not on the case. That's all I can say."
Lonnie looked straight ahead. Color seeping back into his face. "I'll testify against his ass. He's the one who drugged me. He came up behind me and stabbed me with a needle. He's the one who stripped my clothes off. And strapped me to the table. I remember it all. I remember every damned thing they did. She helped him. She didn't just get her jollies before he killed them. She helped him. She got off on it. Sick, twisted bitch."
Nathan had to stand up. He clenched his hands and tried not to let the memories swamp him. Whatever, Tori had become a monster … He had to let it go. He couldn't let himself think for a moment that leaving her had anything to do with what she became. "She was. She's dead now. I guess that's all the closure that's needed. She got what she deserved."
"You sound like you have regrets," Lonnie said, surprising him.
Nathan turned back to face the man who finally met his gaze. "Death is regrettable. Doesn't matter who it is." His phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew he was out of excuses. "I have to go to the station now. I'll be seeing you around, Lonnie. Fourth of July. Counting on it."
Lonnie frowned, his gaze growing distant. "I'll think about it," he said and then sighed. "Yeah, you'll see me there … And, Nathan … " He paused for a long moment, dragging in a deep breath. "Thanks for coming. I know it … it means a lot that you trusted me."
Nathan knocked on the table because he didn't know what else to do. "Yeah. Get better, man."
He left before Lonnie could say anything else. The skin over his shoulders itched so badly he could tear his own flesh off. He nodded to the deputy on duty and took off down the hallway.
His phone buzzed again. This time he pulled it out. It was Agent Asshole. Nathan ignored the call. He didn't owe that dick a damned thing.
He drove to the station in silence. His skin crawled and tightened. He could feel the ink on his back almost as if the tattoo was new. It wanted off. He'd imagined the sensation so many times. Times like this when his past was rising up to choke him. He'd dredged up his deepest, darkest secrets. All of them. Even the gun. He'd never even told Quinn about the gun. Maybe he hallucinated the damned gun. He'd found it in his office the day he'd returned to work. It should have been lost in the fire. It should have burned with the man who'd taken it from him and perverted it.
He clenched the steering wheel. The station loomed in front of him. Almost like a prison. He was trapped.