Chapter 3: Molly learned the severity of her situation.
The hospital stay itself was calming for a while. Unpleasant, to be sure. There was too much poking and looking at things already looked at, even if it was their job to look at her. But it felt safe. That gang of five was out there, and they had her entire life downloaded. But at least they wouldn’t come after her in the middle of Metropolitan Hospital.
Her mother flew in to see her. It was a long trip. Long enough to put Molly’s mind at ease a bit there. They wouldn’t go a thousand miles just to revenge rape her mother, or her older sister either.
But would they follow her a thousand miles to revenge rape her? “Molly, come home and stay with us a while, please,” her mom had begged her. “At least until you’re ready to go back to work.”
“That’s just a couple days, Mom,” she said.
“A couple days? No, that’s far too short.”
“It’s what the doctors say.”
“Molly!” Both women turned as her best friend Tiff arrived, out of breath, at the doorway. “Oh, hi Mrs. Meacham.”
“Hello, Tiffany. It’s been a while.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not kids anymore, so you can call me Mona now.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe. That’s so weird. I’ll try, Mona.”
“Mom got in this morning,” Molly said.
“Yeah. Um, yeah.” Tiff was clearly fidgety. Nothing new there, Molly thought. But her demeanor put her on edge.
“Is something wrong?”
“Um, well. Maybe we should talk, pr…” She paused. “No, no, this should, I mean we all need to, um, handle it.” She was tripping over words, she was so badly agitated. “Mona, have you checked your emails today?” she asked warily.
Molly felt her face turn white. The room temperature dropped five degrees in an instant.
“My laptop is in the hotel. Molly! Good God, are you alright?”
Molly reached her hand out to Tiff. “It’s cued up?” Tiff nodded and handed her her i-phone, then closed the door. They were in a double room, but the other bed was unoccupied. Molly saw it on a field of white. She hit play.
‘The habits of the slut and prostitute Molly Meacham vol. 1’ it read, the letters scrolling across the screen. She sucked in a deep breath seeing her name in print that way. Her other hand clutched the bed rail in a death grip. The film continued. It cut directly to her naked and beaten in her living room. The lighting was awkward. The lights were on, but her crotch as she crawled on the floor while they hit and kicked her was not in good focus. It was the flashlight in her ass. It was on, messing up the lighting on their camera.
“Please, please!” she was sobbing on the film. Her voice was so drained, so pathetic sounding now. It was a later scene, many hours into their rape.
“Say it, bitch!”
“I’m a slut whore I’m a slut whore,” Molly on tape repeated. Yes, that was what they’d demanded of her quite a lot. “I’m a slut whore.”
Someone kicked her belly hard, knocking her down. “Get that light out of your ass!” one of them demanded. Molly watched it happen. It was like brand new. So she’d had to pull it out herself. She remembered it wrong when she was talking to the cops. Should she correct it? Now that they were following through?
Tape Molly reached between her legs, sobbing wildly, pulling the flashlight from her anus and turning it off herself. Tape Molly looked at it in her hands, covered in brown, in obvious disgust. Real Molly felt her breath grow shallow. She didn’t want to watch anymore but couldn’t pull away. The order came, and Tape Molly slowly licked her tongue along the flashlight shaft, sopping up the shit, her own shit, that lined it. As Real Molly watched Tape Molly’s horrid ordeal, Real Mona fled the room, fighting back sobs of her own. Tiff just stared at the window, probably having already seen it.
“Do you like the taste, slut?”
“I love the taste of my own shit,” Tape Molly replied, dead, dull, mechanically. The tears gushing down her face showed she was lying. Then the scene repeated rapidly.
“I love the taste of my own shit.”
“I love the taste of my own shit.”
“I love the taste of my own shit.”
“I love the taste of my own shit.”
It continued as they made her fake a smile. Then the video cut out. Words scrolled across the screen. ‘A Molly Meacham production, starring Molly Meacham, filmed on location in Molly Meacham’s crotch at Molly Meacham’s home at 3786 Pinewood Ave…’ She stared wide-eyed as her full address scrolled across the screen. Then it went dead.
For several minutes, she just sat there on the hospital bed, clutching the bedsheet up to her neck, breathing hard, trying to keep the tears back. “Could you tell mom it’s done,” she finally said. Tiff nodded and hurried out, giving Molly a chance to finally let some real tears flow for a few moments. She wiped her eyes before they got back.
“Well,” Mona said, trying to sound strong now, but obviously with no follow-up.
“Yeah,” Tiff added. “You can’t go back there,” she said. “Ever.”
“I have to move.”
“Okay, but you have our gang with you. At least three of us.”
“Who is in this gang?” Mona asked.
“It’s just a group of friends, Mom,” Molly said. “I have good friends. I hope it stays that way. Tiff, they threatened everyone! You, Melissa, Rachelle, even my grandmother! They said if I told anyone what happened they’d put my film out and pay visits to women on my contacts page. I can’t even reach some of my old friends because the cops have my phone!”
“Alright, alright, alright. Let’s just be calm, okay. Calm,” Tiff said. She already knew that much, having visited Molly in the hospital earlier. “What did the police say?”
“How did they know you reported anything?” Mona asked. “How could they? They’re just a gang of rapists! They don’t have contacts at the police!”
Molly pointed to the previous day’s paper, still sitting on the chair. Tiff picked it up, still open to the metro crime blotter page.
‘A woman was sexually assaulted in her home in the 3500 Block of Pinewood Avenue, at the Carlisle Gardens apartment complex. Five men are reported to have broken into the woman’s home while she was out, and encountered her upon her return home. The attack lasted approximately twelve hours. No identifying characteristics were available from interviews. “We have physical evidence that is being tested in the crime lab,” a metro police spokesman said. “We have details of the crime, but no useful description of the perpetrators. They apparently wore hoods the entire time, and did not address each other by names of any kind.” The victim remained bound in her home until she was able to alert neighbors and the apartment management.’
Mona read the paragraph quickly. “Just enough about police interviews to let them know,” Molly said. “The police said they wouldn’t do anything. They’d be scared to poke around or approach me, and they wouldn’t send video through the internet because it would be too easy to trace. He was very confident of that. Very, very confident.”
Mona set the paper down, excessively paying attention that it was folded back properly and neatly. She patted the crease several times.
“I put you all in danger,” Molly said.
“No, Molly, don’t say that!” Mona cried. “What could you do, not go to the hospital? Not talk to the police?”
“I could have not talked! Maybe I should have shut the hell up! It’s not like anyone will catch these guys! I’ll bet there’s no DNA match.”
“I’m calling your aunt Angela,” Mona said.
“Why?” Molly asked.
“Because Rick used to work as a security consultant out in California before he got into insurance. He once worked protection for some famous people, I think. He’ll have some advice. And it will probably be for you to come home!”
“Mom, I am home!” Molly stated.
“Yeah, you are,” Tiff said. “You can stay with me for as long as you want. Or we’ll move you around, safe house to safe house.”
“Stop watching so much 24,” Molly said.
“But Molly, they’re not going to stop!” Mona cried. “They can keep sending these disgusting videos out. Who got them? Who’s on the list?”
“It just says MollyList,” Tiff said. “Everyone is bcc’d.”
Mona’s phone rang. She looked at the display and drew in a deep breath. “It’s your dad. Urgent.”
“Oh god,” Molly sniffed. “Did he have to look at that?”
“I’ll take it in the hall.”
“Do you think they’ll come after anyone?” Tiff asked when Mona stepped out. She was clearly scared. “I mean, I know you’re not a mind reader. But. You were there. Would they?”
“Maybe,” Molly said.
“I just want you to know that you’re my best friend, and whatever you want to try to do, I’m with you. We can room together, and buy a gun or something, and we’ll all help you move. And we’ll spread the word about the videos, and your real friends will just delete them on sight if they’re warned ahead of time, right? No one wants to see that! I’m stopping and deleting anything I get that’s one of those vids.”
“I know. I can always count on you,” Molly said.
Mona returned to the room. Her face was ashen, much worse even than when she’d watched half of Molly’s rape video. “Dad got a video too?” Molly asked.
Mona shook her head. She collapsed into a chair, atop the newspaper she had so carefully folded up. “Your cousin Shelly, in Springfield. She’s in the hospital.” Molly felt everything around her fade away. All of her peripheral vision cut out as she stared at her mother’s face. Springfield was only eighty miles away. Her mouth gaped open as she listened to her mom’s deadpan recitation of the facts. “She was raped last night. Five men broke in. She’s in intensive care right now.” Her voice seemed to trail off, but her eyes stayed focused. Molly waited for the rest. There was clearly a rest of the story. “They carved words on her stomach. They carved the words ‘it’s on’ on her belly.”
