Legacies

2.

"I figure we head up the West Side, catch the Saw Mill, cross the Tappan Zee, and continue up the thruway," Jack said as he put the Taurus in gear. The dashboard clock read 10:33. The morning rush hour would be petering out about now. "Unless you know a better way."

Alicia shrugged. "Whatever gets us there."

Jack looked at her. He'd never figured her for a barrel of laughs, but this morning she seemed more down, more subdued than usual.

"You okay with this?" he said.

"Yeah," she said with a too-vigorous nod. "I'm fine. I'm just…" She let the word hang.

"Just what?"

She sighed. "Just sorry you had to get stuck listening to me yesterday. That wasn't in the job description."

Tell me about it, he thought, but said, "It's okay. Don't give it another thought."

"That's just it—I can't stop thinking about it. I've spent too many years not thinking about those pictures, or at least trying my damnedest not to. I sealed up that little girl and the reality of what happened to her behind an inner wall, but try as I might I couldn't forget. Knowing those pictures existed, knowing that I was still being passed from one pervert's grubby hands to another's sickened me. I was damned if I was going to let that define me, but it sure as hell has haunted me. It's been a dissonant, ominous background music to my everyday life. But after all these years, last night was the first time I was able to talk about it. And I know it made you uncomfortable."

"Well… yeah."

Sexual abuse of a child… hearing about it from the victim… uncomfortable barely touched how something so awful and so wrenchingly intimate made him feel.

"But you've got to understand, Jack, that I've never been able to share this with another soul. I've never had close friends because I never felt I could be honest with them. To tell the truth, I couldn't bear to hear them talk about their families, especially about the fathers who were so special to them. Every time I heard somebody talk lovingly about their 'daddy,' I wanted to scream. Even now, when I think of how this flesh is half his, I want to rip it off my bones. I kept asking myself, why couldn't I have had a father like theirs, one who cherished me, who would have willingly died protecting me? But you've seen the pictures, Jack—" , "Some of them," he said quickly. "Just a few."

"Even one was enough. It meant you knew. And everything I've been holding back broke free. As I said, I'm sorry."

"And as I said, it's okay. I hope it helped."

"It did. For a while. For a few moments last night as the negatives were going through the shredder, and later as the collection was dropping into the fire, I felt free. It was a… wonderful sensation. But Thomas's Parthain shot about the Internet brought me back to reality. I see now I'll never be free."

"Never is a long time," Jack said, cringing at his triteness, but not knowing what else to say. He wasn't a therapist, and he didn't know how to stop Alicia from going where she was headed.

"Well, as long as copies of those pictures are being traded back and forth along the pedophile networks, either through the mails or zapped through the Internet as GIFs and JPEGs, as long as I know that a single picture of me is circulating, it will never be over. Sure, easy to say 'get over it' or 'get past it' or 'let it go'… but how can I do that when I know that even as we speak some slimy pervert could be ogling images of me doing… those things? How can I leave the events in the past when the pictures remain in the present?"

Jack could only nod. She was right. Those images were an ongoing violation that would continue even after she was dead.

"He still has power over me, damn him!" she said, her voice rising. "How do I break that? How?"

That was a problem Jack had no idea how to fix.

"Speaking of him," Jack said, hoping to steer the subject back to the purpose of their trip, "why do you think he left the technology to you? Could he have been trying to"… how did he say this?… "make it up to you in some way?"

A soft bark of a laugh, then: "Not a chance. That would require remorse. Ronald Clayton didn't know the meaning of the word. No, leaving me the house and the clue to the technology was as self-serving as everything else he did in his life. He knew that Thomas would bury it, and he didn't want that. So he put it in my hands, absolutely certain that I wouldn't go along with Thomas." She slammed her fist on the dashboard. "You see? He's still doing it. Still using me, damn him! Damn him!"