Healing Hands: Healing Hands Trilogy, #1

Chapter One

How long had she been a prisoner in her own home? How long had she dreamt of escape? Did she have any dreams anymore ?

Leigh Anne wasn’t sure what to believe any longer. Her battles with herself bled straight into those with her family. She was thirty years old but she felt five years old sometimes. Unable to do the simplest of things for herself at times she found herself dependent on her family.

Having a mental illness meant having people around you who weren’t always understanding of your problem. People who looked upon you as if you were broken. People you taxed as if you were a burden.

Leigh Anne Michaels had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder when it was still called manic depression. She took her medications. She talked to her therapist. She had managed to cobble together more good days than bad. But still, she was a long way away from being what you would call healed. And she wondered if she would ever be.

Some days she just wanted to lock herself in her room and never come out. Others she longed for the kind of companionship that would chase away the sort of demons that vexed her and banish them to the shadows. Still there were times when she felt consumed by those demons and shadows.

Leigh Anne had one respite. Her music and the dream that one day she would be discovered by a music label, and her life would change forever.

But that wasn’t the reality she lived. She lived in a world where her family thought she was an invalid. She lived in a world with people who when they tried to help her only managed to make her feel like the gum stuck on the bottom of their shoes. She prayed every morning when she awakened for something or someone who would change her world for the better.

This morning was no different. As she opened her eyes to a semi-darkened room she tried to search for the goodness in the world and in herself. She looked across the room and saw her acoustic guitar signed by Garth Brooks and smiled at the memory of the moment. Her best friend Sheila had made it happen. It was a memory she treasured above all others.

Sheila had dreams of being a singer. So they were a duo – locally popular. Her family was quite supportive. Leigh Anne felt lucky that she wasn’t mocked for her drive and ambition or her ‘hapless’ dream of a music career.

Crawling out of bed, Leigh moved to her desk and switched on the lamp. She methodically opened the lid to her medicines and one by one she took them.

She tried not to think about the night before. The news breaking her attempts to keep certain things secret and shoved back in those shadows. But with her life was on display thanks to a predator she had believed long gone and now was back with a vengeance. The sucky part was both her therapist and Sheila were out of town. And this long time predator and family friend wasn’t getting the cold shoulder from her family. He was getting the all Christians deserve forgiveness.

All Leigh Anne had dreamt of was her childhood the night before. Of how Christopher Gregory, family friend and musical director for the church she’d attended as a child, had groomed her so perfectly to do as he pleased. He would strip her naked, blindfold her, tie her up and rape her while videotaping and taking pictures of it all.

Now it was on the internet along with his other victims.

Now it was all over the news media.

Internet. Newspaper. And local television.

She prayed the story didn’t go national. Then getting away from it would be a pipe dream.

It was bad enough the world was shaming her. But that her parents and church family were doing it too was sickening. She had worked so hard to move past this issue. And now here it was, being dredged up all over again. Throwing her into a maelstrom of turmoil. The kind that could trigger suicidal depression. She didn’t want that. She’d had enough of that in her early twenties.

As she swallowed the pills and replaced the caps to their bottles she rubbed her eyes and took a breath. Her father would be in the kitchen getting ready for work. Mom would still be in bed. Dealing with them had become a powder keg of unexpressed emotion.

It had been years since she’d bottled anything like this up. Hearing her parents trying to finesse a child pornographer’s crimes did little to nothing to soothe her. If anything it was like pouring gasoline onto a blazing fire. It felt like a matter of time before she blew and all the weight she had lost came back to haunt her and her health.

Sheila wouldn’t be back for a week and her therapist was out indefinitely. Finding a way to handle this wasn’t going to be easy and she needed someone who could make her a number one priority.

Leigh clicked off the lamp and looked to her guitar, then back to her laptop. Which she had bought with her disability money. She had once dreamed of being a published author. Her family had effectively squashed that dream.

Now the musical dream was being attacked. She had a show at Phoenix Hill. It was a big deal. And when Sheila explained she was going with her family to see her sister in Atlanta it felt like a swift kick in the gut. It made her question Sheila’s drive and dedication to their musical aspirations. But that she would keep to herself. Sheila gave her blessing for Leigh to play the show solo.

Still it wouldn’t be the same and there was a feeling of leaving her rock behind and that just didn’t make any sense at all. She listened as the front door closed. Dad had left for work. She could slip out do her workout, grab some breakfast and be back in her room before her mother was out of the shower and insisted on pelting her with questions she did not care to answer.

She thought she had dodged the bullet. No such luck. Just as she finished washing her breakfast dishes she came face to face with her mother. The last thing she wanted to do, because her mother would want to talk to her. And while morning chit chat over coffee was normally fine these days it was complicated by her illness and her mother’s instance on trying to convince her not to tell the police she was one of the little girls in the video and pictures.

Leigh Anne.

Mom.

We need to talk.

I think it best if we don’t.

Isn’t it you who says secrets rot the soul?

I don’t have any more secrets.

Don’t you believe in God? In being a good Christian?

My therapist tells me forgiveness is not an act. It’s a process. And that it’s about your healing not giving the other person a pass. Jesus said nothing about hanging out with the asshole who betrayed you.

How long have you been in therapy now?

Long enough to know that you’re wrong about this.

He’s a human, Leigh Anne Michaels. He deserves to be forgiven.

Leigh Anne’s blood began to boil, and her ability to control her emotions began to slip through her fingers like so much sand through an hour glass. The pain, the sorrow, the rage dug into her heart like a dull and rusty bladed butter knife. The betrayal from her mother was as damaging as what Christopher Gregory had done and said to her as child. She could keep her mouth shut no longer.

I was ten years old. Ten. He blindfolded me. He stripped me naked. He hogtied me and shoved his dick into my mouth until I gave him a blowjob and gagged on his semen. The worst part of it is he taped it and took pictures of everything and now my shame is on the internet for everyone to see! So don’t tell me about secrets rotting the soul. You giving this monster a pass? That’s on your soul. And what I want to know is what kind of ‘God’ says forgive a pedaphile but punish a woman for choosing a life other than one her family wants for her. What are you going to say at the pearly gates? Huh? When they ask you if you protected your children or defended from all comers? What will you say then?

Her mother slapped Leigh Anne in the mouth. Shocking her daughter into silence. How dare you talk to me that way. I am your mother.

Tears stung Leigh’s eyes as her face twisted in fury. You will never touch me again.

She then rushed out of the kitchen and retrieved her notebook and guitar. As she headed for the door her mother continued to talk at her.

Don’t you walk away from me. When I’m saying something you’re going to stand here and listen. Do you understand me?

Leigh Anne stopped with her hand on the door knob and faced her mother. Her pale skin flushed red at the cheeks and her eyes bloodshot.

I’m thirty years old today. I answer to no one. Least of all a woman who would rather defend a pedophile than comfort and soothe her own daughter struggling to deal with a trauma she thought she’d put behind her.

You don’t understand--,

No I don’t mother. I don’t want to. When you’ve lived the nightmare, revisiting it like this is no picnic. So, until you can figure out where you stand then I can’t be here with you.

LeLe, she pleaded.

Leigh Anne yanked the door open, LeLe died twenty years ago when Christopher Gregory locked her in a room at his home and killed her spirit. Whatever LeLe was going to be or whoever she was died.

Leigh Anne--,

Her mother’s words died on her ears. She would have to go back for her meds. She didn’t know where she was going. But she’d know when she got there.

Chapter Two

How long had she been walking? Leigh Anne wasn’t sure. She was somewhat delirious. Everywhere she looked she saw pictures of herself splattered across the media. Dehydrated and traumatized she was half out of her head. She had left her medicine behind and her skin was crawling. She couldn’t control her body temperature. And her demons seemed to be clamoring to the surface to reclaim her soul after all her hard work to banish them .

How long since she’d had a glass of water? Powerade? Gatorade? Her mouth was full of cotton and her guitar was slung over her back. She looked ahead as she walked down Main Street. All she saw in the windows were pictures of herself and all she saw in the passersby were reflections of damnation or his face -- Christopher’s face and how he got off on her pain and her shame.

She had to get away but she felt overwhelmed. And then like some sort of angel a voice rang out through the madness. A British voiced angel. One she didn’t recognize but one she seemed to have known forever. One, unlike others, she could trust.

Leigh Anne?

She felt a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Leigh Anne," the voice was tender and entreating. She snapped out of whatever delusion she was in and focused.

Overcome by emotion she threw her arms around Logan and broke down. For once he didn’t smell like alcohol but he did smell like Camel cigarettes. She didn’t care. He was a raft in a storm and he had a tight hold of her.

What the hell is going on with you? he asked releasing her. I haven’t ever seen you like this.

She looked around suspiciously. Is there some place where we can talk in private?

Look around and ask that question again.

Aren’t we downtown?

If we were downtown do you think I’d be sober?

But what’s with all the people staring at me and the businesses showing what that creep did to me all those years ago.

Take a breath, close your eyes. Count to ten and open them.

As she counted to ten he took her hand and she felt him leading her somewhere, hopefully more private. Eight. Nine. Ten. As she ascended a set of stairs with his help she heard a storm door shut. Something in her brain clicked. And when she opened her eyes she found herself surrounded by patio furniture and glass. It was cool inside. It took her a minute to realize she wasn’t downtown at all. Her mind may have been betraying her, but her heart had led her straight to the one place she felt most comfortable being herself. Logan Dashon’s.

Still, internally she was in complete chaos. Her knees buckled, Logan caught her just before she hit the ground and broke down.

She looked around. She was safe in Logan’s living room. Placing a hand to her head she exhaled and looked around. Leigh placed her feet on the ground and took a deep breath. He was smoking. Usually she hated the smell of smoke, but here, with Logan, it was oddly comforting. Standing she made sure her surroundings were real and placed her hand on the arm of the couch before heading for the kitchen.

She stopped short before heading in. Logan was an angel tonight. But when he took the pills he could be a real rattlesnake. When he mixed it with the liquor he could be downright cruel. The alcohol on the other hand, made him suicidal. He said he just wanted to forget the war and everything that had happened there. She hadn’t served in a war but she knew what it was to want to hide. To want to forget. To want to die and escape the pain permanently. It’s why she hung in there with Logan when everyone else was ready to trash him. Of course, how sane was she? She’d thought she was in downtown Grant with everyone staring at her and judging her for her past. Well, thank god for the subconscious will. It had delivered her safely to her best friend.

Leigh looked down at her cell phone. It was eleven at night. The smell of smoke was a dead giveaway. He might not have been drinking beforehand but he probably was now. The thickness of the smoke was a tell tale sign that pills might be involved.

That had been what had driven her away from the comfort of their friendship. She couldn’t bear to watch him kill himself one pill at a time. But the thing was, she needed his friendship now more than ever. He often called himself a monster. A living demon eaten up by torturous demons. She hadn’t believed that. Even when she had left him after his suicide attempt because she couldn’t deal, she knew he was just human battered by the cruelties of life. A lot like her. Only, she sought solace in food. Not pills and booze.

So are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come in here and tell me why you were walking in this part of the woods with your guitar slung over your back and your notebook gripped in your hand with absolutely no idea where you really were.

Am I in trouble or something?

He looked up at her with a tender and compassionate gaze. No, I saw the news. I’ve been sick with concern. And tangled in rage. You have no idea what I want to do to that musical director.

All the air went out of her and she slumped down onto the floor. Logan got up with his drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other and joined her. She hid her face. It was impossible to look him in the eye. His brand of brilliantly blue eyed compassion was enough to cut her straight to the bone and believe healing might be possible. But she knew that as long as he drank and popped pain pills that any real hope for healing through their friendship would be a pointless venture in agony.

He tugged her hands down and lifted her chin up. Look at me tough girl. I’ve watched you climb a mountain of pain and dysfunction and declare victory. If I know your parents then they’re trying to white wash this. Say he was sick or something and give him a pass on it. And with the news running the story in a twenty-four hour cycle I wondered if I would hear from you. I don’t know why but I chose not to drink and the pills I’ve only had enough to take the edge off. I know how much you hate them.

You’re an addict. It’s why I don’t like them. I hate what they do to you.

Hmm, he said taking a drag. But you tolerate these and the booze.

I tolerate nothing. I love my friend and that means living with your flaws until you choose to do something about them or they claim your life. It was something I couldn’t handle a couple of months ago. Clearly my brain and heart feel otherwise now.

You need someone in your life who will choose you over a pedophile. Your parents aren’t bad people, but they are misguided in their thinking. If they were worth their salt they would just cut the bastard out of their lives period.

No such luck. Public defender dad says innocent until proven guilty and mom just mopes around all day.

Well they can’t bring themselves to believe such a piece shit was hiding behind the face of their friend.

No they can’t. But when I turn on the television and they show some of the pictures blurred out I can still tell it’s me and all of that work I did in therapy seems to go down the toilet.

The shrink, huh? They really helped you that much?

I would dare say they saved my life.

Tough girl, I watched you crawl out of that pit of despair and loneliness and take your life back. They may have given you the tools but you did all the hard work.

That’d very kind of you to say. But the reality is this, this event is what led me there along with the sleepless nights. I was losing my mind. Not only did I get a heaping helping of bipolar disorder but I got a side of child sex abuse too. This news story? It’s like ripping open an old wound and pouring salt in the wound.

Leigh, you are the strongest woman I know. You choose to live with people who don’t get what it is you’re about and you have seen them through some of their darkest physical ailments, yet when you need them, they’re too busy helping your youngest sister raise her children or bailing the sister between you out of bad relationships. They don’t see the gem they have right in their own backyard.

She blushed and smiled. You could so break a girl’s heart like that.

"Me? I’m not the settle down type. I had my shot at happily ever after. Then I went to Afghanistan and stepped on an IED. Now I’m in constant pain. My ex-wife