Out of the Darkness...Light (7/?)
Jul. 8th, 2007 06:19 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorli Title: Out of the Darkness...Light ( 7 /?)
Author: DS
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Orlando undergoes a terrible, life-shattering experience, but
will
find a light at the end of the tunnel
Warnings: Mentions of rape and violence; extreme emotional suffering
Disclaimer: I have no affiliations with any of the actors, only the
plot is mine.
Feedback: I'd love to hear what you think.
Note: I originally began writing and posting this story several years ago,
but was sidetracked by real life and had to put the story on the shelf.
I'm
back now and want to finish it, so I'm going to post it once again. I'm
starting at the beginning, for those who missed it the first time:)
************
CHAPTER SEVEN
Squeezing the hand he still held in return, in an attempt to
reassure and to also lessen the death-grip Orlando was holding on it, Viggo
looked beyond the nurse to the two imposing figures standing behind her.
The woman held the curtain aside so the two officers could move forward, and
as they did Viggo saw that Beanie was behind them, and had taken in Orlando’
s reaction. Sean’s eyes contained concern and sadness for his young
friend—emotions that were mirrored on his handsome face.
A quick intake of breath from the bed returned his attention
to Orlando, however, and he looked down, ready to soothe.
“Shhh. It’s all right, Orlando. They’re here to help. No
one is going to hurt you.”
Viggo wished he could convey to the young man how true those words were to
him—how much he meant them. During the long hours of waiting, he had
realized—and finally admitted to himself—just how much this boy had come to
mean to him. The feelings he’d been experiencing, but not acknowledging,
were no longer being pushed deep down inside the abyss that was Viggo
Mortensen’s soul. No, nothing or nobody was ever going to hurt Orlando
again. He was willing to stake his life on it!
The dark head moved slightly on the pillow, the soulful eyes closing.
A whisper. “I don’t want to talk…to anyone.”
The rustle of equipment momentarily diverted Viggo’s attention and he
looked up to see the nurse busying herself with checking her patient’s
readings. As she reached over to grasp a wrist and take a pulse, she looked
down at her patient for the first time since entering the cubicle, ignoring
the slight flinch when she encircled his wrist with her fingers.
“Mr. Bloom. They only want to ask you a few questions. Find out what
happened last night. It’s necessary. It’s their job.” She paused for a
moment, waiting for a reaction. There was none. “Your friends can stay, if
you like.” Still nothing. Looking over to the two officers, the nurse
nodded her head at them, as if she were giving her permission for them to
start.
Viggo looked up at them for the first time. One of the officers, hair
gray and paunch barely contained by his uniform belt, looked close to
retirement. The other man looked to be his own age. They both stood
silently, as if waiting for the right moment to start. Was there ever a
right moment in a situation like this, flickered briefly through Viggo’s
mind.
Ignoring the closed eyes and the nonresponsive patient, notebooks came
out and were flipped open to blank pages. Pens were at the ready.
“Mr. Bloom. Where were you last night?” The older officer paused, giving
time for Orlando to respond. Nothing.
“Did you go out last night? Or were you at home?” Silence.
Viggo had to hand it to them. They weren’t losing their tempers. In
fact, they both seemed to have the attitude that they could outwait the
patient, if need be…that they had all the time in the world.
Looking down at his young friend, Viggo reached over to stroke the bruised
forehead, smooth the hair back. “Orlando, why don’t you just tell them.
Let them know what happened and then it will be over.”
A small moan was caught before escaping the trembling lips. Eyes were
still scrunched shut, face tortured. “No, it’ll never be over.” A mere
whisper. Barely heard.
Viggo was mesmerized. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. He felt as if
his heart was breaking and the only way to fix it was to help the young man
before him.
“Orlando…Orli…please. Tell them. Tell me. I want to know what
happened.”
He heard a rustle and a scrape and lifted his eyes just enough to see the
curtain fluttering back down and a chair appearing from…somewhere. Mr. Gray
Hair set it down next to the bed and sat, ready to talk, but obviously also
ready to wait.
“Son. I know it’s not easy. And I know you don’t want to talk about
what happened to you. It was a horrible thing. But not talking about it
won’t make it go away. “ Gray Hair paused, waited a moment to see if he’d
get any reaction. Then, “son…tell me what happened Sunday night.”
Amazed, Viggo watched as Orlando took a shaky breath and opened his eyes.
The young man looked straight at him, his face solemn, almost fearful.
Then, he moved his gaze to the officer sitting next to him. It was obvious
to everyone that he was wrestling with himself, attempting to formulate the
right words.
“I…was going out. Went out….” He trailed off, as if not sure what he
wanted to say next. Dead silence from everybody present, as they waited for
him to continue on his own…in his own time. “I…stopped at the store, to get
a bottle of wine.” Orlando paused, as if uncertain what to say next.
“Which store?”
“…the…umm…Centre City on, umm… on Waring Taylor St.” He stopped talking,
as if the effort was just too much.
“Alright. What time was this?”
“…umm, about 5:15.”
“And then what?”
Viggo watched as the young face ran the gamut of emotions, finally
settling on a look of bewildered confusion. Orlando was staring straight
ahead, not looking at anybody. Haltingly, he began again.
“I…got it.”
“The wine?”
“Yes. A bottle of White Zinfandel….”
Silence again.
“Alright. Then what happened?”
“I…left the store and…came out and…”
Instinctively, Viggo knew something was coming, and he had a pretty good
idea what it was. Looking across to where Sean was still standing on the
periphery, he could tell that his friend had come to the same realization.
Gray Hair again. “What happened when you came out of the store?”
“Umm…I came out of the store and….” He stopped.
“Yes?” Encouraging, but not pushy.
Deep breath. I came out of the store and…they were there.”
“Who was there?”
“They. Them. Four…men.”
Viggo watched as the boy took a deep shuddering breath. It was obvious
that he was having difficulty saying the words. After a moment during
which no one said anything, though, he continued.
“There were four of them.”
“Can you describe them?”
“They were about my age.”
“Race?”
“White.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you could identify them if we show you some pictures?”
Orlando was silent for a moment, obviously considering the question.
Then, “I…think I could. Maybe.”
“Alright. We’ll bring some photo books by later. Well, then, you came
out of the store and then what?”
Silence, during which everyone waited, wanting to know, but dreading the
answer. Even the nurse stood silently by the bed, a look of compassion on
her normally stern face.
Then, “I tried to walk past them, but…they kept blocking my way.”
“All of them?”
Small nod. “Yes. They kept taking turns, moving in front of me so…I…I had
to keep moving to the side. I couldn’t walk.”
“Okay.”
“Then…then they started pushing me from the side…moving in on both
sides…and behind.”
“Did they say anything?”
A quick jerk of brown curls on the stark white pillow.
“Just rude comments.”
“Like what?”
“They…wanted the wine. And…” Deep breath. As Viggo watched, a strange
look came over his friend’s face. A look he couldn’t quite identify.
“Yes?”
“They made comments about…about…me. How I looked. How I walked. What…”
he stopped, lips clamping shut like a vise, eyes closing again. Viggo
sensed they were coming to it—the heart of the matter.
Leaning over the bed, he whispered into the closest ear. “Go on, Orli.
Get it out. Tell us everything that happened so the police can help you.”
To his utter amazement, the brown eyes opened and looked straight at him.
Then, tentatively, the young man began again.
“They kept saying what they wanted to do with me…to me.”
Officer Gray Hair spoke again, his voice compassionate. Viggo wondered
how many horror stories like this these men had heard. How did they do it?
How could they continue to do it?
“Mr. Bloom, what did you do then?”
Silence for a moment, then, the words almost poured out of Orlando, as if
he felt that by getting them out, once and for all, he could free himself
from the horror of his ordeal.
“I got scared. At first I thought they were just kidding around. Joking.
I told them to ‘sod off.’ But then…then they got aggressive, angry almost.
They kept pushing me and touching me. I…I heard one of them talking to
somebody, on a cell phone I think. Before I knew what was happening, they’d
pushed me around a corner, off the main street. Into an alley. I was
surrounded. I couldn’t get away. I told them I’d give them the wine, my
money, whatever they wanted if they’d just leave me alone. Let me go.”
He stopped suddenly and took a deep, shaky breath. Viggo saw tears
glistening in his eyes, but they didn’t fall—not yet.
The older officer spoke in a quiet, calm voice.
“What happened, son? What did they do to you?”
Pain-filled eyes moved to where the officer was sitting next to the bed.
“They hurt me.”
The pain in the small, anguished voice cut straight through to Viggo’s
heart. Looking around the small cubicle, he could see that it had had the
same effect on everyone there. Sean looked like he was ready to cry
himself, and even the younger officer silent throughout the proceedings,
looked distressed as he listened to the painful narrative.
“What did they do, son?
Looking over at the older officer, Viggo had the sudden urge to scream at
him. ‘You know what they did to him!! You saw the medical reports!! Don’
t make him relive it!!’
But he knew that the officers had to be told, by Orlando, himself. That
didn’t make it any easier to listen to, though. To his amazement, however,
the young man began to speak again.
“They pushed me into an alley and…there was a van sitting there. The side
door slid open and they shoved me inside—hard. Another guy was driving and
he took off. I was…I was on the floor and the other four were sitting
around me. On the floor. There were no seats. One of them had taken the
bottle of wine and he opened it and started passing it around. They wanted
me to drink some and I didn’t want to so they…made me.”
“How did they make you?”
“Two of them held my arms so I couldn’t move. Another one forced my mouth
open. I…I spit at him and he punched me. Then he…he poured some of it down
my throat. I started coughing and choking and…they just laughed. They
thought it was funny.”
“So then what happened?”
“The van finally stopped. I don’t know how long we drove. It finally
stopped and the driver came back, too, with the others…with me. He…he
scared me.”
“Why?”
“He had a strange look on his face, in his eyes, like…like he hated me.
But he didn’t even know me. He knelt down in front of where I was being
held and he told me that ‘tonight was my night.’ ‘I was going to pay.’ I
didn’t know what he meant. I asked him what I was going to pay for…what I’d
done. He just laughed and…hit me. Then…”
He stopped, face going pale in remembrance and Viggo knew, this really was
it. For a brief moment, he almost panicked, not sure that he wanted to hear
the graphic details of what his young friend had been through. But he
calmed himself. If Orlando had the courage to live through it, he would
have the courage to listen.
As if recognizing the difficulty the boy was experiencing, the elder
officer posed another question.
“Did you say anything? Call for help?”
“Yes!” an anguished sob, torn from the throat. “I tried. I tried. I
screamed, told them no, to leave me alone, let me go. But they just
laughed. Then the one who’d been driving knelt down in front of me. He
grabbed my hair and he…he kissed me. I…I tried to fight, to get away, but
the others were holding me too tight. When he finished, I screamed again
and the driver told the others to shut me up so he could ‘get down to
business.’ One of them shoved a dirty sock in my mouth. I couldn’t
breathe. Thought I was going to suffocate.” He trailed off again,
terrified eyes staring a speck of something on the ceiling.
“What happened then, son?”
Another sob, this time accompanied by tears. “They were all tearing at my
clothes, touching me, hurting me. They tore my clothes off.”
“All of them?”
A jerk of the head which passed as a nod.
“What then? What did they do?”
“They pushed me down so I was lying flat on the floor of the van. Four of
them held my legs and my arms and…and…”
Crying in earnest now. Once again, Viggo wanted to wrap the young man in
his arms and protect him from everything cruel in the world. He wanted to
turn back time. But he couldn’t. Instead, he was forced—out of friendship
and concern—to stand here and listen to the horror Orlando had lived
through.
Orli continued, brokenly. “The driver, he took his clothes off, too, and
he laid down on top of me. He was crushing me. Every time I closed my
eyes someone would hit me, said they wanted me to watch. He was touching
me, everywhere. It was horrible. I couldn’t move. He kissed me and bit me
and…and then…and then…”
He stopped and pain-filled, tear-filled eyes looked over at Viggo, as if
in apology.
His heart breaking yet again, Viggo looked through his own tears as he
mustered up his most convincing smile. Awkwardly, he squeezed the hand he
still held. But the young man wasn’t finished. He was going to see this
through to the end.
“It hurt…so much. I didn’t know anything could hurt like that. And I
couldn’t even scream. I could only scream inside.”
“Son, did he achieve penetration? Is that what you’re talking about?”
Not taking his eyes off Viggo, Orlando mouthed the word with trembling
lips. “Yes.”
But Gray Hair wasn’t finished, and even though Viggo knew the questions
were necessary, he resented them, and the officer doing the asking.
“Was this your first time?”
Orlando hesitated, as if unwilling to answer the question. Finally, he
did.
“Yes.” Almost inaudible. Viggo closed his eyes for a moment, nearly
unable to bear the pain looking at him from the chocolate brown depths. And
his mind was working, trying to figure out what…’wait, the doctor had said…’
Then, almost not loud enough to be heard, “I’m sorry.”
His eyes snapped open and he looked at Orlando in confusion.
Shaking his head, he looked the young man straight in the eyes.
“Listen to me. You’ve done nothing wrong. You have nothing to be sorry
for. Nothing! You have to believe that.!”
Orlando didn’t look like he was convinced. The tense moment
was broken by yet another question.
“What happened next?”
Viggo sighed. Would this never end?
Now, two hours later, Viggo was exhausted. Emotionally wrung
out. He had listened as Orli—at the officer’s prodding—described the attack
in brutal, graphic detail. He had listened in horror as his friend
described how each of the five men had taken a turn with him. The pain he
felt. The fear he experienced. Five times he’d been raped.
And then again, as each of the men took another turn. And
then, listening in dismay, he heard the boy relate how, tiring of their
sport, the men had opted to continue the game using different equipment.
Viggo listened, horrified, as the recitation continued, describing the wine
that was poured over his friend’s body, the bottle that was used to rape
him, yet again, followed by a stick his assailants had picked up from
somewhere.
And finally, almost with relief, he listened as Orlando told
how, finally overcome with fear and pain, he had fainted, only to awaken
bruised, injured and confused, in a dark alley. He’d assumed they had
pushed him from the van and driven off, leaving him in a crumpled heap, torn
clothing thrown on top of him. Listened to the young man tell how he’d
forced himself to stand and hurriedly dressed as best he could before
getting his bearings and stumbling home, where he’d tried in vain to scrub
himself clean. When he finally fell into his bed, it was almost 4:30 in the
morning.
Viggo ached with the realization that the young man had been
in the hands of those—animals, for want of a better word—for nearly twelve
hours. Almost twelve hours of torture and horror and he hadn’t said a word.
He’d just gotten up and come to work as usual. That fact alone was
testament to the strength and courage of the young man before him.
Finally, with the promise of extracting more information on
the van and the assailants later, the nurse called an end to the interview.
It was obvious that the patient was out of what little energy he had. As
Nurse Parker injected what he assumed was a sedative into the IV line,
Viggo watched as the pain-filled eyes slowly closed and—after a brief
moment—the beautiful face was at peace once again.
The nurse verified to the police that a rape kit had been done
in the ER, though little hope was held out of recovering much evidence.
Testing for STD’s, including AIDS, had also been performed and the results
were forthcoming. Satisfied, the two officers excused themselves, promising
to return soon.
Looking over at Sean, Viggo could tell that he was upset.
They were both shaken, horrorstricken as the graphic details of what their
young friend had undergone had unfolded. In addition to being worried for
his friend, angry at what he had gone through, Viggo was furious at the men
who had done this. More than furious, he was enraged. For the first time
in his life, Viggo Mortensen knew what it was to want to kill another being.
Squeezing the hand he still held in return, in an attempt to
reassure and to also lessen the death-grip Orlando was holding on it, Viggo
looked beyond the nurse to the two imposing figures standing behind her.
The woman held the curtain aside so the two officers could move forward, and
as they did Viggo saw that Beanie was behind them, and had taken in Orlando’
s reaction. Sean’s eyes contained concern and sadness for his young
friend—emotions that were mirrored on his handsome face.
A quick intake of breath from the bed returned his attention
to Orlando, however, and he looked down, ready to soothe.
“Shhh. It’s all right, Orlando. They’re here to help. No
one is going to hurt you.”
Viggo wished he could convey to the young man how true those words were to
him—how much he meant them. During the long hours of waiting, he had
realized—and finally admitted to himself—just how much this boy had come to
mean to him. The feelings he’d been experiencing, but not acknowledging,
were no longer being pushed deep down inside the abyss that was Viggo
Mortensen’s soul. No, nothing or nobody was ever going to hurt Orlando
again. He was willing to stake his life on it!
The dark head moved slightly on the pillow, the soulful eyes closing.
A whisper. “I don’t want to talk…to anyone.”
The rustle of equipment momentarily diverted Viggo’s attention and he
looked up to see the nurse busying herself with checking her patient’s
readings. As she reached over to grasp a wrist and take a pulse, she looked
down at her patient for the first time since entering the cubicle, ignoring
the slight flinch when she encircled his wrist with her fingers.
“Mr. Bloom. They only want to ask you a few questions. Find out what
happened last night. It’s necessary. It’s their job.” She paused for a
moment, waiting for a reaction. There was none. “Your friends can stay, if
you like.” Still nothing. Looking over to the two officers, the nurse
nodded her head at them, as if she were giving her permission for them to
start.
Viggo looked up at them for the first time. One of the officers, hair
gray and paunch barely contained by his uniform belt, looked close to
retirement. The other man looked to be his own age. They both stood
silently, as if waiting for the right moment to start. Was there ever a
right moment in a situation like this, flickered briefly through Viggo’s
mind.
Ignoring the closed eyes and the nonresponsive patient, notebooks came
out and were flipped open to blank pages. Pens were at the ready.
“Mr. Bloom. Where were you last night?” The older officer paused, giving
time for Orlando to respond. Nothing.
“Did you go out last night? Or were you at home?” Silence.
Viggo had to hand it to them. They weren’t losing their tempers. In
fact, they both seemed to have the attitude that they could outwait the
patient, if need be…that they had all the time in the world.
Looking down at his young friend, Viggo reached over to stroke the bruised
forehead, smooth the hair back. “Orlando, why don’t you just tell them.
Let them know what happened and then it will be over.”
A small moan was caught before escaping the trembling lips. Eyes were
still scrunched shut, face tortured. “No, it’ll never be over.” A mere
whisper. Barely heard.
Viggo was mesmerized. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. He felt as if
his heart was breaking and the only way to fix it was to help the young man
before him.
“Orlando…Orli…please. Tell them. Tell me. I want to know what
happened.”
He heard a rustle and a scrape and lifted his eyes just enough to see the
curtain fluttering back down and a chair appearing from…somewhere. Mr. Gray
Hair set it down next to the bed and sat, ready to talk, but obviously also
ready to wait.
“Son. I know it’s not easy. And I know you don’t want to talk about
what happened to you. It was a horrible thing. But not talking about it
won’t make it go away. “ Gray Hair paused, waited a moment to see if he’d
get any reaction. Then, “son…tell me what happened Sunday night.”
Amazed, Viggo watched as Orlando took a shaky breath and opened his eyes.
The young man looked straight at him, his face solemn, almost fearful.
Then, he moved his gaze to the officer sitting next to him. It was obvious
to everyone that he was wrestling with himself, attempting to formulate the
right words.
“I…was going out. Went out….” He trailed off, as if not sure what he
wanted to say next. Dead silence from everybody present, as they waited for
him to continue on his own…in his own time. “I…stopped at the store, to get
a bottle of wine.” Orlando paused, as if uncertain what to say next.
“Which store?”
“…the…umm…Centre City on, umm… on Waring Taylor St.” He stopped talking,
as if the effort was just too much.
“Alright. What time was this?”
“…umm, about 5:15.”
“And then what?”
Viggo watched as the young face ran the gamut of emotions, finally
settling on a look of bewildered confusion. Orlando was staring straight
ahead, not looking at anybody. Haltingly, he began again.
“I…got it.”
“The wine?”
“Yes. A bottle of White Zinfandel….”
Silence again.
“Alright. Then what happened?”
“I…left the store and…came out and…”
Instinctively, Viggo knew something was coming, and he had a pretty good
idea what it was. Looking across to where Sean was still standing on the
periphery, he could tell that his friend had come to the same realization.
Gray Hair again. “What happened when you came out of the store?”
“Umm…I came out of the store and….” He stopped.
“Yes?” Encouraging, but not pushy.
Deep breath. I came out of the store and…they were there.”
“Who was there?”
“They. Them. Four…men.”
Viggo watched as the boy took a deep shuddering breath. It was obvious
that he was having difficulty saying the words. After a moment during
which no one said anything, though, he continued.
“There were four of them.”
“Can you describe them?”
“They were about my age.”
“Race?”
“White.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you could identify them if we show you some pictures?”
Orlando was silent for a moment, obviously considering the question.
Then, “I…think I could. Maybe.”
“Alright. We’ll bring some photo books by later. Well, then, you came
out of the store and then what?”
Silence, during which everyone waited, wanting to know, but dreading the
answer. Even the nurse stood silently by the bed, a look of compassion on
her normally stern face.
Then, “I tried to walk past them, but…they kept blocking my way.”
“All of them?”
Small nod. “Yes. They kept taking turns, moving in front of me so…I…I had
to keep moving to the side. I couldn’t walk.”
“Okay.”
“Then…then they started pushing me from the side…moving in on both
sides…and behind.”
“Did they say anything?”
A quick jerk of brown curls on the stark white pillow.
“Just rude comments.”
“Like what?”
“They…wanted the wine. And…” Deep breath. As Viggo watched, a strange
look came over his friend’s face. A look he couldn’t quite identify.
“Yes?”
“They made comments about…about…me. How I looked. How I walked. What…”
he stopped, lips clamping shut like a vise, eyes closing again. Viggo
sensed they were coming to it—the heart of the matter.
Leaning over the bed, he whispered into the closest ear. “Go on, Orli.
Get it out. Tell us everything that happened so the police can help you.”
To his utter amazement, the brown eyes opened and looked straight at him.
Then, tentatively, the young man began again.
“They kept saying what they wanted to do with me…to me.”
Officer Gray Hair spoke again, his voice compassionate. Viggo wondered
how many horror stories like this these men had heard. How did they do it?
How could they continue to do it?
“Mr. Bloom, what did you do then?”
Silence for a moment, then, the words almost poured out of Orlando, as if
he felt that by getting them out, once and for all, he could free himself
from the horror of his ordeal.
“I got scared. At first I thought they were just kidding around. Joking.
I told them to ‘sod off.’ But then…then they got aggressive, angry almost.
They kept pushing me and touching me. I…I heard one of them talking to
somebody, on a cell phone I think. Before I knew what was happening, they’d
pushed me around a corner, off the main street. Into an alley. I was
surrounded. I couldn’t get away. I told them I’d give them the wine, my
money, whatever they wanted if they’d just leave me alone. Let me go.”
He stopped suddenly and took a deep, shaky breath. Viggo saw tears
glistening in his eyes, but they didn’t fall—not yet.
The older officer spoke in a quiet, calm voice.
“What happened, son? What did they do to you?”
Pain-filled eyes moved to where the officer was sitting next to the bed.
“They hurt me.”
The pain in the small, anguished voice cut straight through to Viggo’s
heart. Looking around the small cubicle, he could see that it had had the
same effect on everyone there. Sean looked like he was ready to cry
himself, and even the younger officer silent throughout the proceedings,
looked distressed as he listened to the painful narrative.
“What did they do, son?
Looking over at the older officer, Viggo had the sudden urge to scream at
him. ‘You know what they did to him!! You saw the medical reports!! Don’
t make him relive it!!’
But he knew that the officers had to be told, by Orlando, himself. That
didn’t make it any easier to listen to, though. To his amazement, however,
the young man began to speak again.
“They pushed me into an alley and…there was a van sitting there. The side
door slid open and they shoved me inside—hard. Another guy was driving and
he took off. I was…I was on the floor and the other four were sitting
around me. On the floor. There were no seats. One of them had taken the
bottle of wine and he opened it and started passing it around. They wanted
me to drink some and I didn’t want to so they…made me.”
“How did they make you?”
“Two of them held my arms so I couldn’t move. Another one forced my mouth
open. I…I spit at him and he punched me. Then he…he poured some of it down
my throat. I started coughing and choking and…they just laughed. They
thought it was funny.”
“So then what happened?”
“The van finally stopped. I don’t know how long we drove. It finally
stopped and the driver came back, too, with the others…with me. He…he
scared me.”
“Why?”
“He had a strange look on his face, in his eyes, like…like he hated me.
But he didn’t even know me. He knelt down in front of where I was being
held and he told me that ‘tonight was my night.’ ‘I was going to pay.’ I
didn’t know what he meant. I asked him what I was going to pay for…what I’d
done. He just laughed and…hit me. Then…”
He stopped, face going pale in remembrance and Viggo knew, this really was
it. For a brief moment, he almost panicked, not sure that he wanted to hear
the graphic details of what his young friend had been through. But he
calmed himself. If Orlando had the courage to live through it, he would
have the courage to listen.
As if recognizing the difficulty the boy was experiencing, the elder
officer posed another question.
“Did you say anything? Call for help?”
“Yes!” an anguished sob, torn from the throat. “I tried. I tried. I
screamed, told them no, to leave me alone, let me go. But they just
laughed. Then the one who’d been driving knelt down in front of me. He
grabbed my hair and he…he kissed me. I…I tried to fight, to get away, but
the others were holding me too tight. When he finished, I screamed again
and the driver told the others to shut me up so he could ‘get down to
business.’ One of them shoved a dirty sock in my mouth. I couldn’t
breathe. Thought I was going to suffocate.” He trailed off again,
terrified eyes staring a speck of something on the ceiling.
“What happened then, son?”
Another sob, this time accompanied by tears. “They were all tearing at my
clothes, touching me, hurting me. They tore my clothes off.”
“All of them?”
A jerk of the head which passed as a nod.
“What then? What did they do?”
“They pushed me down so I was lying flat on the floor of the van. Four of
them held my legs and my arms and…and…”
Crying in earnest now. Once again, Viggo wanted to wrap the young man in
his arms and protect him from everything cruel in the world. He wanted to
turn back time. But he couldn’t. Instead, he was forced—out of friendship
and concern—to stand here and listen to the horror Orlando had lived
through.
Orli continued, brokenly. “The driver, he took his clothes off, too, and
he laid down on top of me. He was crushing me. Every time I closed my
eyes someone would hit me, said they wanted me to watch. He was touching
me, everywhere. It was horrible. I couldn’t move. He kissed me and bit me
and…and then…and then…”
He stopped and pain-filled, tear-filled eyes looked over at Viggo, as if
in apology.
His heart breaking yet again, Viggo looked through his own tears as he
mustered up his most convincing smile. Awkwardly, he squeezed the hand he
still held. But the young man wasn’t finished. He was going to see this
through to the end.
“It hurt…so much. I didn’t know anything could hurt like that. And I
couldn’t even scream. I could only scream inside.”
“Son, did he achieve penetration? Is that what you’re talking about?”
Not taking his eyes off Viggo, Orlando mouthed the word with trembling
lips. “Yes.”
But Gray Hair wasn’t finished, and even though Viggo knew the questions
were necessary, he resented them, and the officer doing the asking.
“Was this your first time?”
Orlando hesitated, as if unwilling to answer the question. Finally, he
did.
“Yes.” Almost inaudible. Viggo closed his eyes for a moment, nearly
unable to bear the pain looking at him from the chocolate brown depths. And
his mind was working, trying to figure out what…’wait, the doctor had said…’
Then, almost not loud enough to be heard, “I’m sorry.”
His eyes snapped open and he looked at Orlando in confusion.
Shaking his head, he looked the young man straight in the eyes.
“Listen to me. You’ve done nothing wrong. You have nothing to be sorry
for. Nothing! You have to believe that.!”
Orlando didn’t look like he was convinced. The tense moment
was broken by yet another question.
“What happened next?”
Viggo sighed. Would this never end?
Now, two hours later, Viggo was exhausted. Emotionally wrung
out. He had listened as Orli—at the officer’s prodding—described the attack
in brutal, graphic detail. He had listened in horror as his friend
described how each of the five men had taken a turn with him. The pain he
felt. The fear he experienced. Five times he’d been raped.
And then again, as each of the men took another turn. And
then, listening in dismay, he heard the boy relate how, tiring of their
sport, the men had opted to continue the game using different equipment.
Viggo listened, horrified, as the recitation continued, describing the wine
that was poured over his friend’s body, the bottle that was used to rape
him, yet again, followed by a stick his assailants had picked up from
somewhere.
And finally, almost with relief, he listened as Orlando told
how, finally overcome with fear and pain, he had fainted, only to awaken
bruised, injured and confused, in a dark alley. He’d assumed they had
pushed him from the van and driven off, leaving him in a crumpled heap, torn
clothing thrown on top of him. Listened to the young man tell how he’d
forced himself to stand and hurriedly dressed as best he could before
getting his bearings and stumbling home, where he’d tried in vain to scrub
himself clean. When he finally fell into his bed, it was almost 4:30 in the
morning.
Viggo ached with the realization that the young man had been
in the hands of those—animals, for want of a better word—for nearly twelve
hours. Almost twelve hours of torture and horror and he hadn’t said a word.
He’d just gotten up and come to work as usual. That fact alone was
testament to the strength and courage of the young man before him.
Finally, with the promise of extracting more information on
the van and the assailants later, the nurse called an end to the interview.
It was obvious that the patient was out of what little energy he had. As
Nurse Parker injected what he assumed was a sedative into the IV line,
Viggo watched as the pain-filled eyes slowly closed and—after a brief
moment—the beautiful face was at peace once again.
The nurse verified to the police that a rape kit had been done
in the ER, though little hope was held out of recovering much evidence.
Testing for STD’s, including AIDS, had also been performed and the results
were forthcoming. Satisfied, the two officers excused themselves, promising
to return soon.
Looking over at Sean, Viggo could tell that he was upset.
They were both shaken, horrorstricken as the graphic details of what their
young friend had undergone had unfolded. In addition to being worried for
his friend, angry at what he had gone through, Viggo was furious at the men
who had done this. More than furious, he was enraged. For the first time
in his life, Viggo Mortensen knew what it was to want to kill another being.
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-09 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-09 01:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-09 03:12 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2007-07-09 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-09 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-09 06:17 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing, hugs and kisses!