On the Other Side(54)

Damita’s expression was one of fear and agony. “You make a sound, bitch, and I will blow your brains out,” he said.

He ripped her clothing from her and began touching her breasts and her stomach. Damita tried to struggle and fight again and he punched her in her stomach and face. Damita could feel her mouth filling up with blood and, for a moment, thought about her ribs and hoped they weren’t broken again. One man held her arms above her head, while the other held her feet and the one holding the gun roughly ripped her panties off and brutally shoved his dick inside of her.

Damita cried, silently, afraid he might hit her again or even worse, make good on his threat of killing her. When he was done each of the other men took turns raping her as well. When they were done, she hoped they would simply let her go. They drove for a while before stopping the van. Her heart was beating wildly in anticipation of possibly being killed. Whoever was driving came around to where she was being held. He was also wearing a mask. He got in and looked her over, before pulling down his pants. He too held a gun. He bent over her, with both of his knees on either side of her head. He held the gun to her temple.

“If you bite me or do anything else I don’t like, your brains will end up scattered all over this van. Do you hear me?”

Damita nodded her head in agreement.

“Now suck it. You better make it good.”

The other men in the van laughed. He shoved himself inside of Damita’s mouth and from the position he was in Damita felt as though she might choke to death. She gagged and prayed for him to finish quickly. Finally he did. When he was done, he got off of her, wiped himself with his hands and smeared it on her face.

Damita was crying and he reached down and caressed her face. “Don’t cry, I’ll be back,” he said.

When he first spoke, Damita thought she recognized his voice, but now she was sure. This man was someone she knew.

One minute she was sitting in the van, wondering if this was the moment she was going to die, the next she was lying in a bed and a middle-aged black woman in a light blue uniform was telling her she was going to be okay. She tried to move, but her head was throbbing relentlessly.

“Lie still, you probably have a concussion. You have a pretty bad gash in your head.”

Damita frowned. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Jacobi Hospital.”

“Isn’t that in the Bronx?”

“Yes, it is. We’ve called your husband. He should be here soon.”

“You called my husband?”

“Yes. The police found your pocketbook. There was a card in your wallet that listed your husband as the person to call in case of emergency.”

Damita was surprised to see how distraught Neal was when he arrived.

“Baby, what happened? Who did this to you?”

Two young, white police officers were there, waiting to ask Damita some questions.

“Mr. Westman, when was the last time you spoke to your wife?”

“I spoke to her this morning.”

“Where does she work?”

“She works at the World Trade Center.”

“Do you have any idea what she was doing in the Bronx?”

“I have no idea at all. What happened?” Neal asked.

“The details are pretty fuzzy. Your wife was unconscious and naked when she was found. We believe she may have been attacked. We would like to question her now while the details are still fresh in her memory.”

“Fresh? She has a concussion. She’s not going to be able to remember much in this condition.”

“You’d be surprised how much someone can remember immediately after a crime is committed, even with a concussion.”

“Mrs. Westman. . .”

“Ms. Whitmore,” Damita said.

“Okay, Ms. Whitmore. Can you tell us what happened?”

Damita’s face appeared to be trying very hard to concentrate and remember. “They shoved me in the van and then drove me somewhere. They raped me!”

Damita started to cry.

“Do you remember anything about the van?” the officer asked.

“It was a light color, maybe white.”

“Did you see the license plate?”

“No. It was too fast.”

“What about afterwards?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You said they? How many were there?”

“There was the driver and three men in the back.”

“Did you recognize anyone?”

“They were wearing masks, but his voice—”

“You recognized someone’s voice?”

“Yes. I may have heard it before.”

Damita reached up to touch her head. She winced when her fingers found the spot where her head was injured.

“Are you okay? Should I get the doctor?” Neal asked.