To:  
Subject: submission 1 
From: Tonica   Add to Contacts  
Date: Sun, Jul 15 2001 1:54:16 AM +0200 

Title: Choices
Author: Tonica
E-mail Address: tonica@goddess.zzn.com
Distribution: Posted with Tonicaıs permission at ³So Little Time X files Fan
Fiction Archive². Please do not use my story at your site. Link to my site
instead. http://www.tonicasworld.uni.cc
Spoilers: Not really.
Rating: NC-17
Classification: angst
Keywords: Rape of minor
Summary: Someone is remembering a traumatic past.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story donıt belong to me. Iım only
borrowing them from Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and 20th Century Fox. He
isnıt doing all he can with them.


I had the Dream last night. It was the first time in months. But I know it
will always return. After all, I can never forget any of it. That's how my
life began. The life I have now. I rarely think about the life I was forced
to leave behind. What's the point? I have a life. That's reason enough to be
grateful. So many people have gone out of their way to see to it that I
should have no life. But here I am. Still alive, with some of my loved ones
around me. Jake is lying next to me in bed. Mother is sleeping in our
children's room, watching over them. But I will never stop hoping to see my
brother again. To hold him in my arms, to tell him I love him. Will that day
ever come? I have to keep believing that. It keeps me going, from town to
town, from state to state.

The Dream is very accurate. Over the years the memory of the night it all
began hasn't dulled. It is still ingrained in my mind as if branded into it
with fire. One moment safe asleep in my bed, like any child. The next...

I hear my brother crying. He is having a bad dream. That is what I am
thinking. So I sit up, about to throw the covers back and brave the cold
night air to wake him and comfort him. Most likely I intended to slide under
the covers with him and spend the rest of the night close to him. We have
done that before, and though our father disapproves, mother never complains.
I think she understands that the darkness can be frightening for a little
girl. My big brother is always there for me. When I have a bad dream, he is
always shaking my shoulder, telling me it's alright. That no monsters will
come and take me away. How was he supposed to know he was wrong?

As my eyes adapt to the darkness surrounding us, I notice that my brother
isn't asleep, neither is he alone. Someone is lying in bed with him,
covering his body almost completely. I listen more keenly, and I hear
someone else's harsh breathing underlying my brother's soft sobbing, once in
a while broken by a whimper of pain. Now I recognize the person in my
brother's bed. It is our father. What could he be doing to so hurt my
brother? I am 11 years old and I know nothing yet about what pain and
suffering adults can cause children. But something about this is stirring a
memory at the back of my mind.

My mother and my teacher, mrs Tremayne are constantly warning me about bad
men who might hurt little girls if they are foolish enough to go off with
them. Perhaps bad men can hurt little boys too. And now I remember some
magazines with horrible pictures my friends Stephanie and Chrissie showed me
a few months ago. Stephanie found them in her older brother's room. The
pictures show men doing disgusting things to women. It occurs to me that
night that men might also do those things to boys. It is a frightening and
strange thought that my father is doing this to my brother. But I have no
doubt that this is what is happening.

There is no hesitation in my mind. My brother is always looking out for me.
Whenever I am in trouble I can turn to him. Shouldn't he be able to count on
me for help when he needs me? I am not afraid. Although I know our father
has punished my brother on a number of occasions, he hardly shows an
interest in me, preferring to leave my upbringing to my mother. I clear my
throat and call out to my father.

-Stop it. You're hurting him.

For a moment there is complete silence. Then I hear my father's voice,
filled with dismay.

-You should be asleep. This is nothing that concerns you. Little girls can't
understand this sort of thing. It is something between men.

-I do understand. You're hurting him, and he's crying. Stop it. Mother will
say the same thing.

-You will not disturb your mother. She has a bad migraine tonight, and she
will not like being awakened. Go back to sleep.

For a moment I consider disobeying. But he is right. Mother often suffers
bad migraines and if she has finally managed to fall asleep, I shouldn't be
disturbing her. On the other hand, I can't let my father go on hurting my
brother. 

-Leave my brother alone.

For a second there is silence again. Then I hear my brother's bed creaking
as my father's weight moves off it. He is standing on the floor, breathing
heavily. I know he is angry with me, but I'm not afraid. No one has ever
hurt me. Nothing happens. And eventually, I hear my father leave the room. I
am determined to go and tell my mother about the incident first thing in the
morning, but now I want to go to my brother and make sure he's alright. He's
been awfully quiet for the last couple of minutes. Whenever I've been hurt,
from falling down and skinning my knees or something of the kind, he's
always comforted me. I stand beside my brother's bed, speaking quietly to
him, asking if he's alright. There is no answer, but I can hear him
breathing raggedly. That makes me think he is still in pain, and I feel
worried. What should I do? Perhaps I should call a doctor? But I don't know
what to say to dr Witherspoon, and I sense that my brother would not want a
stranger involved in this.

I put my hand on my brother's head, but he turns away from me. No matter
what I say to him, I can't reach him. This makes me feel afraid for the
first time. What's wrong with him? In my fear, I turn on the lamp, but the
curled up figure doesn't look injured to me. I can see no blood, no
bruising. Not that this is surprising. All I can see of my brother is his
hair. He's curled up into a ball, his back to me. Eventually I turn out the
light and go back to my own bed. I get no sleep that night, and I don't
think my brother does either. When I hear my parents moving about, getting
ready for the day, I too get up. I hurry out into the kitchen to speak to my
mother, but she's too busy to listen to me. My words die unsaid in my mouth.
I know it's no use telling her anything important on a busy day. So I will
wait until I get back from school in the afternoon.

My brother doesn't get up, and I see my father going into the room, staring
down at his son. Then he goes into the kitchen telling my mother that my
brother will not be going to school today. He isn't feeling well. I could
have told her that, but if I had she wouldn't have listened. It is
frustrating to be a child and be unable to make the grownups listen to me.
On the bus on the way to school, I consider telling mrs Tremayne, but again
I hesitate. What should I tell her? Would she even believe me? I have no
words to describe last night's events. It is most likely a mistake not to
tell mrs Tremayne but I had no way of knowing that. I had no way of knowing
how little time I had left.

That afternoon, my mother isn't at home. Surprisingly, my father is. He
tells me my mother is away visiting a relative and will not return until
this weekend. As if reassuring me, he also tells me he will be not be going
to work for the rest of the week. This does not reassure me, but I know no
way of protesting. For the first time ever, my father is paying attention to
me. It seems to me as if he is herding me around the house, making sure I
don't go near my brother and never letting me use the telephone, not even to
call Chrissie or Stephanie which I normally do each afternoon. After my
homework is done, my mother usually allows me to play outside in the garden
with my friends, or to go over to one of their houses and play there. Now it
seems to me that I am a prisoner in my own home.

Later that night, when I go to bed, I notice that my brother is still lying
in bed almost exactly in the same position I last saw him. When I try to
speak to him, he tells me to go away. I go to bed, but I still can't sleep,
and after lying in bed a long time, I overhear a phone conversation my
father is having with someone.

-I don't think there's anything else we can do. Will you help me?

What the other person replies I can't hear, but my father seems to be
content with his response.

-Thanks. I knew I could count on you. Alright. Alright. How was I supposed
to know she would take that attitude? You don't need to remind me. How soon
can I expect - 

Again a silence, while the unknown person gives him his answer.

-Good. I think I can manage until then. But you need to hurry.

Silence.

-Yes, I know you do. You've never let me down so far. Yes, you too. See you
soon. 

For some reason this harmless phone conversation fills me with dread. I
don't know exactly why, but I suspect it to be about me. Next morning, I am
sent off to school alone. My brother is still unwell. On my return that
afternoon, he is sitting in front of the tv, looking almost normal. But he
still refuses to talk to me. He is doing what he rarely does otherwise,
treating me like my friends' older brothers treat them. I want to watch a
movie, but he takes the remote from me and switches channels to the
ballgame. For once he is distant from me and it hurts me. Next morning, he
goes on the school bus with me and everything looks alright. Am I the only
person who knows that it isn't alright? Something is badly wrong, and I have
no way of making things good again. Again, I consider telling mrs Tremayne
or the school nurse. But at the age of 11, I had no way of expressing what
was on my mind. 

When I return home again, I am met by my father who is looking at me coldly
and sternly. He takes me into his study and tells me to sit down. I feel as
if I am going to be punished for something, but I know I have done nothing
wrong. 

-Listen to me, carefully. When your mother returns, you will not talk to her
about - About what you saw the other night. Do you understand?

-But why? Why do you hurt my brother?

-Didn't you hear me? I'm telling you to keep your mouth shut. Is that clear?
If you don't want me to hurt your brother more, you will keep quiet.

Now I feel tears flowing down my cheeks. This shouldn't be happening. It's
all wrong. My father ought not to be telling me these things. It is all like
a bad dream, but I know I'm awake and there is no help anywhere. Naturally,
I don't want my brother to get hurt again.

-Say it. 

-I won't tell anyone.

-Good. Now you may go.

And I am only too happy to be able to leave his presence. A few days ago, I
was living a normal and happy life. Today, everything is falling apart
around me. My father turns out to be a cruel stranger. I don't understand
how things could change so.

At the end of the week I know my mother is returning, but by the time I have
to go to bed, she is still not back. I tell myself I will talk to her in the
morning. My father won't be able to threaten my mother. She will know what
to do. But that morning never comes for me. It feels as if I have barely
slept a wink when I hear a noise.

Someone is standing in the doorway. No, two people are standing there
staring at me. Somehow I know it's me they have come for. Behind them I
catch a glimpse of my father's tall silhouette. He has let the men into our
house and now they've come to take me away. I don't know how I know this. I
draw in breath to scream as loud as I can, but I have no time to make even
the slightest noise.

The two men are wearing some kind of strange mask, and they shine a light in
my eyes, blinding me. I feel the sting of a needle in my arm and my vision
blurs slightly. After that I feel less aware of my surroundings, but I
notice that my father is sitting down on the side of my brother's bed,
looking at him, touching him. It occurs to me that my brother should have
been awake, and seeing what is happening to me. Yet, he is still lying there
as if he's still asleep. I don't know what's wrong with him. The men lift me
off the bed, and carry me off. I am taken to a large dark car that is
standing in the drive outside our house, the engine still running. They put
me on the back seat and close the door. In the front seat a man is sitting
and as I am deposited inside, he turns to look at me. I feel a whiff of
cigarrette smoke and a cold gaze rakes me.

Now I hear a door open and someone sits down in the other seat. It is my
father. He looks at the man as if he knows him well.

-I don't appreciate having to clean up your dirty laundry. Personally, I
don't care what you do to your brat, but if the authorities learn about
this, I might not be able to protect you anymore.

-Just get her out of here. I'm counting on you.

-As you always do. Don't get into the habit of turning to me for everything.
I have more important things to do.

My father puts his hand over the other man's and leaves it there. The other
man makes no move to remove it.

-Will your wife be a problem?

-No, of course not. Leave her to me.

-I intend to. Unless she makes trouble about this.

-I prepared the ground a little by mentioning that hostage idea you told me
about. 

-Ah, yes. If you had kept yourself in check we could have avoided this
complication entirely. That was the understanding. You marry her, and you
keep her out of our business. I always said it was a mistake marrying a
woman like that. My wife is much more manageable. After all, who will take
any notice of a woman who's been in and out of nursing homes since the age
of 17? 

-Forget about your wife.

And now I see something else that is astonishing me and forever changing the
way I look upon the world. My father leans over and kisses the other man on
the mouth. The kiss lasts longer than I have ever seen him and my mother
even hold each other. It is the sort of kiss my friends and I have giggled
over in tv shows our mothers don't want us to watch. In those tv shows men
kiss women that way, not other men.

My father moves closer and puts his arms around the other man. A little
while later, he tries to take off the man's jacket and open his shirt. But
the man pushes him back.

-We can't be here all night. One of your neighbors might notice and find it
odd that a car should be standing outside your house all night. If you want
me to take care of your problem I have to go now. It's a long drive to -

-Yes. I understand. When will I see you again?

-I'll call you. Now go.

But my father steals another kiss before he leaves, not giving me a second
glance. Now I know that my father doesn't love me. And I am beginning to
suspect he doesn't love my mother either. The man does look at me, with a
chilling look in his eyes. He doesn't say anything, merely turns the key in
the ignition and drives off. The drive last so long I fall asleep before we
get to our destination. Twice he wakes me and grabs me by the arm, telling
me to relieve myself.

-Hurry up. I don't want you to make a mess inside the car.

Filled with shame, I do as he tells me. While I'm doing this, he is so close
he can see everything. Not that he appears to be concerned with any of that.
I can tell that all he's worried about is that I might get away. This makes
me determined to try and escape as soon as possible. I won't accept this.
Even now I haven't learned to fear. But soon enough I do.

In the years that follow, I manage to run away several times, but he always
finds me and brings me back. I meet Jake, and eventually mother finds me.
Not my real mother. My new mother. Jake and mother are with me now. But I
still miss my brother and my real mother. Not my father. I hope he's dead.
If he isn't, I will kill him myself.

It's strange how one thing leads to another. If I had pretended not to
notice what my father was doing to my brother, I might still have been with
my family. The little girl in my bed knew nothing of fear. I do now. Now I
am afraid all the time. I run, I look over my shoulder, I hide. But if I had
the chance to do it over again, I would do the same. My brother was always
there for me for the first 11 years of my life. How could I turn my back on
him when he was in trouble? I only wish I had been able to do more for him.
What has happened to him? How has his life turned out? Does he still
remember me? Is he looking for me?

All those questions but never any answers. But I know this: Hoping to see
him again helps keep me going. I love mother and Jake and my children. But I
have to tell myself I will see my brother again. Hold him in my arms, tell
him I love him. Because I still do. I haven't forgotten. He still means the
world to me. My brother, Fox.

THE END