Nowhere to Hide(4)

She was still reliving all the details of that horrific night, the pain in her elbows, the weakness from losing four pints of blood. Later, a nurse told her that a body only held eight to twelve pints of blood, depending upon one’s height and size.

After she’d awakened from the surgery, the nurse had gently patted her blue-gowned shoulder and told her where she was and what had happened. But only later did Lia’s surgeon, who had used 150 stitches to close all the knife wounds, tell her she had nearly died.

The medical staff was mostly women, and for that she was glad. During her recovery, Lia would cringe whenever she saw men and would automatically tense if a male orderly entered her room to bring her a tray of food.

Her parents had flown in to be with her at Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany. The defensive wounds on her hands were telling. Her dad had held her hands and cried, knowing how hard she’d had to fight to get away. Her mother had clung to her dad, heartbroken over her daughter’s pain.

Lia kept asking herself why would someone do this to her? Why? She’d had a lot of time to lie in that hospital room, each movement causing her pain from her stitches being pulled, to ponder that unanswerable question.

NCIS investigators, both women, had come to take her statement. Just speaking to them had left Lia exhausted. Later, one of the investigators had returned to tell her that the two men she’d named had been apprehended and asked if she wanted to press charges? Hell, yes!

Lia remembered looking at the investigator as if she were insane. Why wouldn’t she press charges? Wouldn’t any woman? These animals had almost killed her. At age twenty, her life could have been erased.

The investigator told her it would be a long, drawn out affair and it would be brutal emotionally for her. Lia didn’t care. She remembered the outrage she’d felt toward Schaefer and Dominguez as they’d cornered and attacked her.

Shakily, Lia drew in a breath. Her mind racing, she forced herself to think about the present. She realized that her mouth was dry and that she was terribly thirsty. Throwing off the twisted sheet from her damp, gowned body, she eased her legs over the mattress, holding it tightly.

Since the attack, she always kept a night-light on down the hall, and her bedroom door open so she could see who was coming. The house was small but it was her private abode, a place of peace and safety.

She loved this little house. It sat near the Delos charity school building that was a classroom for children of La Fortuna, a small town near Arenal, a major volcano in northern Costa Rica.

Slowly pushing damp strands of hair off her sweaty brow, Lia sat there, trying to slow down her heartbeat and wrench her mind out of the toxic nightmare that hit her several times a month. That attack had happened five years ago. God, wouldn’t this nightmare ever go away?

Schaefer and Dominguez had gotten only four years in prison from the Army. Just four years! Lia thought they should have been put away for life and the key thrown away. But there were so many lies and innuendos the two men had used in their defense, saying that she was a flirt, that she had rubbed her breasts and hips up against them. Implying that she was asking to be raped.

All lies! God, all lies. Lia uttered a slight sound of anguish, remembering the ten-month trial at Bagram. The defense attorneys had blamed her for the men’s actions. Insane! They had claimed that if she hadn’t worn tight shirts that showed off her ample breasts, it wouldn’t have happened.

Worse, the jury of her peers, all male officers, listened stoically. Lia had only her parents for support, and although they were not allowed into the military UCMJ, Uniform Code of Military Justice, proceedings, they were there to hold her tightly afterward.

Lia never cried during the proceedings. No way was she going to break down in front of the two bastards who had nearly taken her life. They had, in fact, murdered a part of her soul.

Their handiwork was indisputable. They had sliced her seven times and she would have permanent scars across her body to remind her of that night for the rest of her life.


After getting out of the Army, she had joined Delos Charity, wanting a job where she could help the poor or under educated. She had landed the job and chosen the small village of La Fortuna in northern Costa Rica, to spend her life in quiet solitude. Delos had given her and the other two teachers small homes near the school and she loved what she did.

Pushing herself off the bed, her knees weak, she stood up, feeling the pull of every one of those scars, especially on her lower calves. She shuffled across the cool floor and headed for the kitchen at the other end of the short hall. There was another night-light beneath the cupboards. Glancing at the clock, Lia saw it was only 1 A.M.