“Go ahead and do it!” he screamed.
Damita held fast to the gun, pointing it at him.
“Go ahead. Put me out of my misery! Just do it!”
There was no doubt that Damita’s experiences had greatly changed her, but she wasn’t sure if she had it in her to kill another human being, even Neal.
Neal moved closer to Damita and her hand began to shake. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and brought it directly to his forehead.
“Go ahead and fucking do it!” he screamed.
When it appeared Damita would not shoot, Neal snatched the gun from her hand and turned it on her, with his hand on the trigger. When Damita was sure her life was about to end, the man who had led her to safety and out of the Towers, the same man she had recently begun to believe was stalking her, appeared and made an attempt to save her once again. He wrestled Neal to the ground and the two of them fought over the gun. Damita heard a gunshot and both men lay still. She saw the blood seeping to the floor and knew that someone had been shot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
She was free. This time there was no doubt that Neal Westman was dead. After years of running and hiding she could finally return to those she loved.
Coop was his name. That was the only thing she knew about the man that not only saved her once, but twice. Just as he had done on nine-eleven, he rescued her and then he was gone.
After the agony her mother and Carmella had undoubtedly been through, Damita felt the very least she owed both of them was the truth. She explained to them that under the circumstances, however, a slightly revised version of the truth was definitely required for the rest of the world. After the initial shock of her return from the dead, Carmella, Damita and her mother put their heads together and came up with a story akin to the stuff great dramas are made of. To the world, Damita became the courageous nine-eleven victim who escaped the Towers in shock, only to lose her memory. According to the story, she had wandered around lost, until suddenly something jogged her memory and she showed up on her mother’s doorstep, shaken, but mostly intact. Damita kept waiting for someone to come along and challenge her story, but no one ever did.
Gathered together with her family and friends at the unveiling of the FDNY Memorial Wall, so many memories came flooding back to Damita. The wall was at the FDNY Ladder Company 10, Engine 10 Firehouse and was directly south of the World Trade Center site. For so long she had tried to get past the memories and the nightmares, but today was different. She kept thinking of Coop and how he had saved her not only that fateful day but once again. If it weren’t for him, she never would have made it.
“I can’t believe it’s already been three years since you came back to us,” Karen said.
“And, five years since I escaped from the Towers. If someone would have told me how much my life would change ten years ago, I wouldn’t have believed them.”
“Damita, you are a shining example of how a person can turn their life around,” Carmella added.
“Don’t canonize me, guys. All I did was survive. That’s all any of us can do. In the end, the good stuff, the things that make us smile, that’s gravy. I used to think a beautiful home, money in the bank, expensive clothes; that was the meat and potatoes, but it’s not. The love and respect of those we care about is what truly makes life great. Everything else is. . .gravy.”
“Well, philosopher and friend, there are some people out there that are reaping the rewards of all that gravy you’re heaping on.”
“Carmella, stop it!”
“No, really. In three years you’ve opened a shelter for victims of domestic violence, you’ve given money to a multitude of charities and what about all those education programs you’ve started so undereducated abuse victims don’t continue the cycle of dependency. You, my dear, are a trailblazer.”
“Yes, she is,” Karen chimed in.
“Karen, did she tell you about her new venture?”
“No. What are you up to now, baby?”
“When I was with Neal, I kept asking myself all these questions that I didn’t yet have the answers to. I couldn’t figure out how something like that could happen to me. I started to think about my past relationships. Of course, none of them physically abused me. But, then I started looking at how dysfunctional many of my relationships with men had been. I even realized that on the rare occasions when I did enjoy a healthy relationship, I found some way to sabotage it. When I was in Seattle, it was the first time I considered going to a psychotherapist, but I was so afraid of anyone learning my secret that I didn’t dare chance it. As soon as I came back here, I found a therapist and started to work through all of my issues. Those two years of therapy made me whole. Recently, it occurred to me that eliminating the source of the abuse is bigger than simply getting rid of the abuser. In order to truly solve the problem, you must dig deeper; you must get to the root of the problem. I believe that root is hidden deep within the psyche of every woman that has ever been abused by a man.”