Twisted

By Marjorie Brody

If she acknowledges the truth, it will destroy everyone she loves.

Timid fourteen-year-old Sarah wants her controlling mother to stop prying into what happened the night of the freshman dance. Confess to the police? No way. Confide in her mother? Get real. The woman is too busy, too proud, and too jealous of Sarah to really care if her life disintegrates. Besides, her mother will say Sarah is totally to blame for what the boys did--which Sarah believes is true. So she doubly needs to shield the truth. Not just from Momma. But from everyone. Including herself.

Beautiful, confident, eighteen-year-old Judith Murielle lives the ideal life. She has college plans, respect from family and friends, and a fiancé she adores. But as a mysterious connection pulls her toward Sarah, Judith's perfect world unravels. Acting as Sarah's sole confidante, Judith gains the power to expose her secret. Will the truth be worth the sacrifice? Or will Sarah stop at nothing to keep Judith quiet?

Marjorie Brody, an award-winning short story author and Pushcart Prize Nominee, crafts a riveting debut novel of psychological suspense with a shocking twist. A former psychotherapist, she now writes fulltime. Visit her at Marjoriespages.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Mar 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611942750

Book preview

Promo Page

Sarah Hausman must hide a secret—even from herself. If she acknowledges the truth, it will destroy her family.

Sarah’s teenage innocence ends when she’s raped outside a freshman dance at high school. Steeped in shame and fear, she struggles to keep her parents, teachers and friends from learning what happened. Yet her moody behavior quickly raises suspicions that something has gone wrong with her. The adults’ well-intentioned questions quickly give rise to increasing distrust. Sarah’s strident mother accuses her of promiscuity. Her adoring father remains stalwart, but even that relationship shows signs of strain.Eighteen-year-old Judith Murielle becomes Sarah’s sole confidante. She exudes happiness and security, caring and wisdom. But Judith hides a secret of her own—one she can’t risk telling Sarah, though the two girls form an unusual friendship filled with mysterious parallels and overlapping similarities. As denial takes its toll and their worlds crumble, what will they risk to protect their secrets? Will they find the courage to confront the past, or will they bury their future forever? Debut author Marjorie Brody crafts a gripping psychological suspense with a shocking twist.

———

Marjorie Brody handles family dysfunction the way a top-notch surgeon handles a scalpel.

—Robin Allen, author of the Poppy Markham: Culinary Cop mystery series

TWISTED is a stunning psychological suspense novel . . . The story illuminates the staggering twists and turns in seemingly ‘normal’ families of yearning teenagers and their equally yearning mothers and fathers.

—Lori Gordon, Ph.D., Founder of PAIRS, author of Passage to Intimacy and If You Really Loved Me

". . . a compelling story of the aftermath of a young girl’s horrible trauma. . . . the suspense builds, making it impossible to put the book down as it becomes more and more apparent that we don’t know the whole truth."

—Suzette Stoks, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist

Twisted

by

Marjorie Brody

Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-275-0

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-256-9

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2013 by Marjorie Brody

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo credits:

Girl (manipulated) © Konradbak | Dreamstime.com

Author photo © Beth Coyle

:Etyx:01:

Dedication

For my parents, Hazel and Herbert Feldman, who taught me to count riches with my heart.

Twist

Twist (twist), v.t. 1. to combine, as two or more strands or threads, by winding together. 2. to alter in shape, as by turning the ends in opposite directions. 3. to distort the meaning or form of; pervert. 4. to cause to become mentally or emotionally distorted. 5. to warp or bend tortuously. 6. to turn (something) from one direction to another. 7. to combine or associate intimately—v.i. 8. to become intertwined. 9. to writhe or squirm. 10. to turn so as to face in another direction—n. 11. the stress causing this alteration.

—Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary

Chapter 1

Sarah

TEACHERS DIDN’T see you sneak out, did they, Sarah? Howard Blake’s whisper reached out to me, coaxing me deeper into the darkness.

Don’t think so. My voice—thin as tracing paper—disintegrated in the night air. Maybe before it even reached the night air. What was I doing?

Evening had stolen all the blue from the sky, draping it in veiled shades of black. The lone glimmer of light, a slender, curved moon high overhead, dangled among sooty clouds. Pastor Johnson wouldn’t like me being here. He’d add this transgression to my growing list of sins. We shouldn’t do this. Not here.

We have to. Please, Sarah. The quiver in Howard’s plea reminded me of a bluegrass guitar, its strings vibrating long after being plucked.

Behind me, muffled chords from Faith Hill’s There You’ll Be leaked from the gym, tempting me back to the dance floor. Inside me, adrenaline bubbled like a shaken bottle of Dr. Pepper, its foam out of control, making me dizzy with risk. Dizzy—and excited.

Please-please-please. Howard pressed his palms together and held them in front of his lips. You can’t leave.

Don’t worry, I said to calm his nervousness. And mine.

Applause skidded into the night. New music. Louder. Faster. Matching my heartbeat.

We can’t stay here, Howard said. They’ll find us.

Sport jacket sleeves draped to his fingertips. Pant cuffs bunched in excess around his ankles. Poor Howard. Daddy had splurged on my strapless dress. Howard got stuck with his brother’s hand-me-downs. He fiddled with the longhorn bolo on his braided leather necktie, slid it up and down, the tarnished bull more confident than either of us.

I know a good spot, he said.

A thicket of clouds slid across the moon and masked its light.

It’s too dark now, I said, glad to have an excuse to go back inside.

Don’t chicken out. You can follow the wall. Howard slipped deeper into the night. Only his voice stayed close. Come on, you promised.

A promise was a promise, Daddy would say. Your word, your actions, reflect the honesty of your character.

I didn’t feel honest sneaking out like this, but I reminded myself of my goal. And, it was only this once. What could one time hurt?

Filling my lungs with the late spring air, I breathed in my resolve. I could do this. I would do this. I dragged my fingers along Canonville High’s prickly bricks, arched my feet and inched forward on tiptoes—Momma’d have a fit if my imitation Valentino heels sank into the dirt.

Let’s dance right here, I said when I reached the corner of the building. Field crickets sounded a Morse code. Chirp-chirp-chirp, scratch-scratch-scratch, chirp-chirp-chirp. My feet anchored with their call. We don’t have to go farther.

We’re almost there, come on. I chose the perfect place. You’ll see.

Who would’ve thought learning to dance would be so important to a guy like Howard, but fitting in, being accepted—geez, just to feel normal—I understood all that. If dancing was the answer for Howard, I had to help him.

Wait up, Howard. My toes crushed against the front of my shoes as I hurried to stay close.

Halfway along the back of the building, he stopped. If this was Howard’s perfect place to dance, he knew less than I thought. I didn’t expect strobe lights, and there weren’t any stars, but even the field lights along the west side of the running track offered no glow. Town vandals had once again used them as target practice, leaving each bulb atop its pole, exposed and shattered.

Thankfully, the moon peeped out from behind knobby clouds, providing pale—if unreliable—light. We’ll start with the basics, I told him. You’ll pick up the steps faster than Mr. Nobel can give out tardy slips.

They told me you’d be special. He turned his head down, his eyes unable to meet mine.

I hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but wow, I could do that to a guy? A warm haze replaced my shimmying insides. I lowered my chin, gave him a mock frown. Who told you I was special?

My tone came out way too flirty. I quickly added, I’m curious, that’s all.

None of the freshman girls talked with Howard. Except me. A little. So, if they said I was special, maybe I shouldn’t have worried about dancing with him in front of them.

Nope. Too risky. Got enough judgment from Momma. Didn’t need any from uppity classmates. But here? Behind the gym? Where nobody would see? I could be nice. I could be a friend. And not because my boyfriend—the real love-of-my-life—was at home, not even knowing how I felt about him, but because everybody needed a friend. A special friend. Even Howard.

Didn’t think you’d really come.

Me neither. Giddiness toyed with me. Kinda nice, kinda weird, relaxing my shoulders, stretching my smile.

He stabbed the ground with the point of his boot. Glad you’re here.

I was glad too, but I didn’t say that. I just hoped he didn’t step on my toes with those clodhoppers—how’d I explain that dirt to Momma? I didn’t say that either. Should we start?

Howard leaned up to give me a kiss. He smelled of licorice.

I turned my face—not from the smell, but because Pastor Johnson said it wasn’t right to let a boy have more than a cheek kiss.

Hey, don’t be so selfish.

I’m not. Leastways, I didn’t mean to be.

Don’t pretend. You know you want to.

Did I? Confusion formed like delicate dewdrops. I . . . I . . . Did I really?

Maybe.

No.

Yes.

No! I wasn’t like that. My throat constricted as I strained to keep my voice neutral. You wanted to dance.

Just one kiss. One kiss won’t hurt.

I touched my lips with my fingertips. How would it feel, a boy’s lips on mine? Gentle and sweet. Loving, like in the movies. Howard could be like a secret admirer. No one would have to know—but me, of course—and my kindness to him would change him from frog into prince.

He leaned up again, and the dewdrops evaporated. I let him kiss me.

Sloppy wet lips covered mine. Then a slobbery tongue dove into my mouth. Yuk. I pulled away. He pushed his hands against the back of my head, pressing it forward, and thrust his body against mine. My back scraped against the building, but I worried about my new dress more than my bare skin. If the rough bricks chafed the material, Momma’d be furious. She’d complain about Daddy spending all that money and me not being respectful of what he gave me.

I pushed Howard away.

He reached out and squeezed my right breast. Wow, you’ve really got nice ones.

I smacked his hand. What do you think you’re doing?

Isn’t this why you’re here? To have a little fun?

Pity for him vanished. I’m going inside. I adjusted the top of my dress. How dare he? A kiss was one thing, but a feel? He could stay a frog forever.

I spun to my right.

Three boys stood not a bus length away.

Heat radiated up my neck, stung my cheeks. I hoped they hadn’t seen us kissing. The guy on the left played on the Turnbull High football team. My friend Emily had pointed him out at the last game. He didn’t need shoulder pads to look broad-shouldered. Or tough. Being from Turnbull, he wasn’t supposed to attend our dance. The others didn’t go to our school, either. One wore a letter jacket, so he wasn’t even a freshman. The one in the middle wore a white dinner jacket with black trim. When it sunk in they weren’t from our school and wouldn’t know who we were, I breathed easier.

Howard couldn’t satisfy you, could he, gorgeous? The one in white poked the guy next to him with his elbow. I told you he’d never pass the test.

Letter Jacket spread his hands. Guess you don’t get into the club, Howie-boy.

What club? I glared at Howard. You know these guys?

His fists clamped at his side, and he ignored me. I was just getting started and you shit-heads showed up.

The football player cocked his head. Who you calling shit-head, Howie-boy?

You didn’t give me enough time. Come oooon. Howard whined like a cat in pain. I copped a good feel.

Copped a feel? Sparks of rage flew through my limbs.

Her nipple got hard—I felt it. I was getting her hot. Hot. And she wanted more—I could tell.

I punched my fists against my hips. In your dreams. Now I was hot.

The football player pointed a thumb over his shoulder. Get lost.

But you promised, Howard pleaded.

Get the hell out of here.

Howard slouched and lowered his head.

The football player stomped a foot in Howard’s direction. Now! The word smacked the air.

Howard scampered off, his steps slapping the ground as fast as my heart pounded. I shifted my weight to follow him.

Don’t even think about it. Letter Jacket pointed at me. Stay right where you are. His eyes bored into me as he opened his jacket, reached a hand across his chest, and slid it into a vest pocket.

I swallowed hard.

He kept his hand there, a riveting grin unfurling across his face.

My stomach hitched, dropped to my feet like a pigeon after smacking a window. This was it. My life was over. Headlines would shout: Bullet Rips Hole in Dress. I stared at his hand, not daring to breathe.

In painstakingly slow motion—he knew he was scaring me—he removed his hand, turned his wrist, and showed me his weapon.

A flask.

A sigh of relief—a mere whisper really—tumbled from my lips, like a whimper bouncing down a steep flight of stairs.

He held up the flask in a silent toast, guzzled from it and passed it to the guy in white, never taking his eyes off me.

Cold, ripply tingles ran across my shoulders, up my neck and down my spine, toppling into each other like dominoes, splitting into separate paths, cascading down my arms, racing down my legs. I wanted to be inside, at the dance. With the loud music and the crepe paper and the streamers and the girls giggling and pointing out sexy dancers and the chaperones standing by the punch bowl, arms folded, satisfied smiles on their faces. Only, I wasn’t inside.

Tears huddled behind my eyes. I didn’t know how long I could keep them from falling.

Don’t be afraid, the football player said. We aren’t gonna hurt you.

His smile reminded me of another smile. Another face. A face I trusted.

I breathed again. I could handle this. Everything would be all right.

Pretty night, isn’t it, Sarah?

Another chill rushed across my shoulders, sank into my bones. How do you know my name?

We’ve been watching you. His lazy voice swayed in the air. Like a snake charmer. A pretty girl like you stands out.

The guy in white pulled on his lapels. We even dressed up. His crooked grin sucked up whatever hope his friend’s smile offered. You should be honored.

Honored nothing. That guy needed a kick between the legs. I ignored him and addressed the football player. I need to go inside.

I need to go inside, Letter Jacket mimicked. And we need . . . a little taste.

Maybe a big taste, the guy in white whispered.

Their laughter sounded like firecrackers.

I threw back my shoulders. You touch me, I’ll scream bloody murder.

I don’t think so, Letter Jacket said.

Get out of here and leave me alone. Or you’ll be in trouble. Big trouble.

Your word. Letter Jacket shrugged. Our word.

The guy in white crossed his arms. And who would believe you?

They took a step toward me. All three of them at once.

A breeze chilled the air and I thought I heard a sound behind me, but I didn’t dare take my gaze off them.

They advanced again, in unison, spreading out like feral cats. Their movements slow—almost graceful—deliberate. Their lips tight, unsmiling. Their eyes hard, uninhabited.

Eyes! I needed eyes. The windows by the dance floor around the east corner. Maybe twenty yards behind me. Everyone would see. I’d be safe.

If my heart had feet I’d be galloping to shelter. Instead, its stomping beat only shamed my paralyzed legs.

Move, I ordered my feet. Move.

I backed up.

Arms flung around me from behind.

Let go of me, I shouted, leaning forward. Where’d he come from? I whipped my head back, banged it against a body, caught a whiff of something. Something familiar. Baby powder? Fabric softener? I squirmed. Help! Somebody help!

Shit, the guy behind me yelled. Get her down.

Let me go!

Quick, grab her legs, Letter Jacket said.

Oh-no-you-don’t. I twisted, kicked, launched a fake designer shoe into a face.

The vise tightened.

Oh God. Help me. Please help me.

Hurry up. The bitch is killing me.

More arms, hands, grabbing me, pushing, pulling.

Where’s that damn rag? Another voice. A new voice.

My stomach shriveled. How many were there?

Cloth covered my nose and mouth—pushed sickening sweetness into my lungs. I flailed my arms. Fought for breath in short, shallow gasps.

Something dark covered my eyes.

Hands yanked my ankles, pulled me off my feet. I fell backward, free falling like at the carnival. Into hands. Lots of hands.

Holding me down, pushing against me.

Messing my dress. My pretty new dress. The dress Daddy bought me.

Grass stung my shoulders, the back of my neck . . . sweet cloth . . . fight, fading, slipping . . . down . . . legs . . . drifting . . .

In the distance . . . the Southern Pacific . . . chugged . . . through . . . town.

FIRE BURNED in the back of my throat. My tongue tasted like rubbing alcohol. My lips felt like cracked desert soil. Tiny blades poked my neck and I reached back to remove them. My fingers hit a patch of grass.

My eyes flung open. Still dark. I blinked. Blinked again.

Clouds crammed the sky. The moon hid his face. Fireflies scattered trails of light. I pushed up on one elbow. Heard faint notes spilling from the school.

A cold hand swept the back of my neck.

I flinched. I screamed. I covered my head with my arms. When would this nightmare end?

I was just brushing off the grass.

I peeked over my arm.

He kneeled forward. Howard. Howie-boy. The Hand-Me-Down kid. My secret admirer. You okay? He stood and offered to help me off the ground.

I stared at his hand a long time before I pushed myself to my feet.

It wouldn’t’ve mattered what I did. I couldn’t’ve stopped them. Howard stooped forward, brushed my skirt with quick, flapping motions. I don’t think it got too dirty.

My gaze dropped. Filth smudged the lace on my ripped bodice. Something damp darkened my hem. No pantyhose. No shoes covered my toes.

A gush of slime leaked from between my naked legs, no panties to catch it, and I had no idea what to do. It inched down my legs like sap on a tree.

Howard continued to swipe at my dress as I tottered forward. I wanted to swat his hand away, but didn’t have the energy. Wooziness filled my head. Shakiness filled my legs. Ice filled the rest of me.

You’re all right, aren’t you? They told me to come back and make sure you don’t blab.

His words made no sense. I staggered on.

He ran around in front of me and walked backward. They said I should give you this.

Howard reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a handful of cash. Here. This is yours.

I couldn’t go back into the gym, not with the dance still going on. I couldn’t walk home along the street, not unless I wanted everyone in town to see me.

Go on, take it.

Maybe the path by the railroad tracks. Or the stream by the paper mill.

Howard shoved the money in my face. You have to take it, Sarah, or they’ll get mad.

I concentrated. One foot in front of the other. Right, left, right.

Well, I don’t want it, he said.

Dollars fell like rose petals on a dying breeze.

Judith

THOSE CLOUDS weren’t part of tonight’s plan, I said. How dare they lock away the stars and moon. I lay next to my boyfriend, Carlton Powell, exemplar for the All-Texas Brightest and Sexiest College Senior, our comforter spread in the southeast corner of the Turnbull College football field, my head nestled in the crook of his left shoulder.

On second thought, my finger drew a lazy spiral on Carlton’s chest, maybe I should thank them—for providing such delicious darkness.

Umm. Delicious darkness, he said. I like. His voice carried a smile, but only a partial smile.

You have something on your mind? I asked. Desire tickled away my unwelcomed wariness, forcing me to keep my tone light.

Hmm?

You seem preoccupied.

He didn’t respond.

What a tease I was. Of course, he was preoccupied. It was my birthday and he was going to propose. He wanted to find the right words, the right moment. His internal pressure had to be mounting. Don’t worry, love, I wanted to tell him. Just hurry up, or I might propose to you.

The disk on the CD player changed. Carlton closed his eyes and his head lolled away from me, as if slipping into a faraway galaxy. That kernel of wariness planted an ominous foreboding in my chest. Intuition shouted, Things aren’t what they seem.

Josh Groban sang about the weight of the world, the need hidden inside each of us, our inner longing. I knew about that longing. It forced me to cover my uneasiness the way a gardener pats dirt over a seed, hiding it from view. Tonight had to be perfect.

I love his voice, I said. He touches my soul when he sings. He’s so sensual.

The music encouraged the Carlton I knew and loved to drop his voice and belt out words from the song. Don’t give uuuup. He raised his voice to an impressive falsetto, threw an arm theatrically into the air and sang, You are looooved.

Bravo, I shouted with my best trilled ‘r.’ Bravisimo! I patted his chest in one-handed applause.

With your eyes closed, he said, bet you couldn’t tell whose voice was whose.

We laughed and I awarded him with, You’re so right, oh-you-with-the-sensual-larynx. Look. Even the moon peeped out to hear you sing.

But just as quickly, the moon slipped under cover and Carlton’s chuckle fizzled. My comment didn’t even earn me an extra squeeze. That seed of foreboding sprouted troubling roots. My hand stilled on his chest. Something’s wrong, I said. I feel it.

He lifted my hand to his mouth. Warm, gentle breath floated over the back of my wrist when he spoke. This is what I want you to feel. He nibbled my fingers and covered my palm with tender, unhurried kisses.

A gust of wind blew across the field and whistled through the empty bleachers like a muffled whine from the Southern Pacific. Each time his lips brushed across my skin, my uneasiness grew. It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?

What?

Whatever it is you’re not telling me.

He lay my hand down. Don’t spoil tonight with questions.

But—

No. Tonight’s about your birthday and you should enjoy every second of it. The only thing I’m gonna talk about is how much I love you. Romance is part of your birthday present, babe, so listen up. He kissed the crown of my head and my lips drew into a smile, the tightness in my neck eased. I want you to remember everything about this night. Even those clouds. He sketched an arc in the air, without his previous drama. Those big, fat, puffy clouds.

Big. Fat. Puffy. I chuckled. How romantic.

Hey. He kissed my head again. Give a guy a chance. I’m just getting warmed up. His heart thumped harder against the side of my face.

I’m listening.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. I want you to remember that when those big . . . beautiful . . . soft clouds open just a tad, a sliver of moon will reveal its face. Its light may be weak, but it shines for you, babe. How was that for romance?

The tempo of my heart synchronized to his, slow and even. Mesmerizing.

Remember this moment. This exact spot. Even this comforter—borrowed surreptitiously from the frat house, I might add—though I wish it were a bed of rose petals.

I want tonight to last forever.

If we make it a night to remember, he said, it can.

Another breeze raced along the ground, flittered across my exposed arms and legs, gentle and sweet. Arousing me. Alerting me. Cradling his words with a breath of sorrow.

A firefly landed on the corner of the comforter, flashed a glow, then lifted into the night. I couldn’t determine its direction because it flew off without its light. I’d have to remember its visit. Remember, because it was gone. I sat up, swiped hair from my face, and turned to Carlton. Was he saying I needed to remember him? Whatever it is, tell me.

Not yet, Jude. It’ll wait. Let’s not spoil your birthday.

I bent my knees and dropped my chin to my chest. Oh, God. It is bad.

He sat up, swiveled my entire body around so we sat facing each other, and took my hands in his. His thumbs stroked my palms with the lightest of touches, back and forth. Back