After a long day of work, Damita stopped by Wendy’s office to say goodnight.
“I’m heading out,” she said.
“Look at you, taking advantage of the perks of being a VP.”
“What perks? It’s nearly eight at night.”
“Like I said, you have to love those perks. Grunts like me, on the other hand, will be here until at least midnight.”
Damita looked at Wendy with a fake pout. “Poor baby; maybe I’ll take you out for a drink later this week, so you can drown your sorrows.”
Wendy waved her hand at Damita, shooing her out of the office. “You better. Now go home.”
Damita wanted to stop at a home furnishings store in Midtown to pick up a vase Carmella mentioned she liked, so she took the subway to Fifty-ninth Street. She was happy that the subways were running quickly, since the store closed at nine o’clock. Once she got out of the train she walked toward the First Avenue store and under an overpass. She glanced at her watch and it was only eight twenty-five. She was glad to see she had time. She thought she felt someone walking behind her. She quickened her pace to get out from under the overpass as quickly as possible. As soon as she had cleared the overpass and was about to cross the street, a van pulled up in front of her. The van door opened up and the person behind her shoved her toward the van. Two sets of hands grabbed her and pulled her inside. Damita put up a fight but there were too many of them. They were all wearing ski hats. Damita could see there were three men in the back of the van with her, including the one who had pushed her in. She tried to scream and fight, but one of them pulled out a gun and put it to her head.
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.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You said the voice sounded familiar,” the officer continued.
Neal interrupted. “That’s enough. Can’t you see my wife is in pain? She’s got a concussion and she needs her rest.”
“Okay. We will need to talk to Ms. Whitmore again. We’ll stop by tomorrow.”
Once out of earshot, one of the officers spoke.
“Did you notice that her husband never reacted when I mentioned she was found naked and that she may have been attacked. Most husbands would be outraged at the thought of their wife being raped.”
“Maybe he was too upset or maybe it didn’t register what you meant by attacked,” the other officer offered.
“Sure, maybe. They both definitely need to be questioned again.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” his partner added.
All Damita wanted was to sleep and to forget. She was out again and Neal sat down in a chair next to her bed. His face was etched with concern and the nurse that was on duty when Damita arrived did her best to reassure him.
“She’ll be fine, Mr. Westman. She has a concussion and she’ll probably need to rest for a few days, but she may even be released tomorrow. They want to keep her overnight for observation. That’s customary when there’s a head injury. It’s so late. You can go home. I’m here all night. I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
“Can I stay a little longer?” he asked.
“Sure, you can. I hate to bother you, but you look so familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?” the nurse asked.
“My company and I were featured in Black Enterprise magazine last year.”
“I knew you looked familiar!” she responded excitedly.
Five minutes later, the nurse was back with a pillow, blanket and another chair.
The nurse grinned at Neal. “It’s not the most comfortable, but if you put the two chairs together, you can at least try to get some sleep.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Westman.”
• • •
The next morning Damita was released from the hospital. Along with the concussion, Damita also had a sprained ankle. One of the attendants in the hospital wheeled her to the exit in a wheelchair. Instead of the car service and driver Neal often used, he pulled up driving his own car.
“Did you call my mother?” Damita asked.
“Yes. She’s meeting you at the apartment.”
“She didn’t come to the hospital?”
“I didn’t think it made sense to call her last night. It was so late. I called her this morning and told her they were releasing you.”
As they drove, Damita realized they weren’t headed in the direction of Carmella’s apartment.
Damita looked through the window uncomfortably. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I thought it best that you stay at our apartment, under the circumstances. We have much more room. I can have the nurse, Florence, come back and if you like, your mother can stay as well, if that makes you more comfortable.”
“Okay,” Damita responded.
Once in the apartment, Damita looked around and couldn’t help but realize it no longer felt like home. She had felt nothing but pain ever since she had come to this place. The truth was it had never been home. Yet, here she was, back again.