35. Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
Warlock
During my career, I’ve been shot, stabbed, and blown up. I’ve killed men and willingly jumped out of planes and into firefights. But sending Tallahassee away was harder than anything I’ve ever done as a SEAL.
I didn’t want to do it, but it had to be done.
The words tasted like acid on my tongue.
After being so careful not to hurt her, seeing the pain in Tallahassee’s eyes felt like a blade slicing open my heart.
The worst part was witnessing her reaction.
Shame. Shattered but resigned. As if she believed she deserved it, even though none of this is her fault.
Letting her walk away without chasing her was unbearable.
I regret not kissing her goodbye. Not savoring the feeling of her against me one last time before I sent her away.
For the past few days, I’ve told myself I did the right thing. That I don’t miss her. But it’s an unconvincing lie. Time after time I’ve had to stop myself from reaching out or driving to her RV or McQueen’s to take it all back and beg for her forgiveness.
I can’t turn off the replay of being with her. So instead, I allow myself to relive it. Every incredible second. Every intimate touch. Every breathless sigh.
My trial is set to begin in thirty-six hours, and I’ve been summoned to a meeting with my JAG. I’m not in a hurry to get there. Every time I’ve been in her office, she delivers bad news. I don’t even want to speculate what’s gone wrong this time or how much worse it’s going to make my life.
Honestly, at this point, how much worse could it get?
Lieutenant Commander Hadleigh doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. Once I take my usual seat in front of her desk, she gets right to the point. “We need to talk about Tallahassee Crockett.”
I don’t try to hide my confusion. “It was my understanding you thought it best to leave her out of this.”
“Someone should’ve convinced her to stay out of it. Despite the media blackout, Ms. Crockett decided to try your case in the court of public opinion.”
This has to be a mistake. For years, Tallahassee has avoided any sort of public attention. “Meaning?” I ask, frowning.
My JAG picks up a tablet, taps the screen, and hands it to me. “This was posted across multiple social media platforms yesterday morning.”
My heart lurches when Tallahassee appears on the screen. It’s been more than a week since the last time I saw her, and the sight of her takes my breath away. She looks tired, but so beautiful. She’s composed. Self-confident. And, much to my surprise, not the least bit nervous.
“My name is Tallahassee Crockett,” she begins, her voice steady and clear. “Three years ago, my life was destroyed when a man I was dating slandered me. Today, I intend to set the record straight.
“Vincent Catalano’s lies were repeated as if they were fact.
The press vilified me. I was stalked, chased, groped, and ridiculed.
It ended my swimming career, and I spent three years running from the harassment I encountered.
My life was ruined by the media and the public that perpetuated those lies.
“Recently, Mr. Catalano confessed.”
Tallahassee disappears, and a film clip begins to play. It’s from a surveillance camera in the hallway at McQueen’s the night she had the panic attack.
“You. You ruined my life.”
“So?” Catalano shrugs. “What the fuck do I care about your life?”
I watch the words hit her like a blow.
“But why? Why me? What did I ever do to you?”
“You didn’t do anything. You were just…there,” he tells her in a condescending tone. “I took advantage because you’re such an easy target.”
“Why are you here, Vincent?” Tallahassee repeats more forcefully.
“To see you, of course.”
“You’re never going to leave me alone, are you?”
His devious eyes rake over her. “Oh, sweet, na?ve Tallahassee, now why would I do that?” When he reaches out to touch her, she smacks his hand away.
“Your lies destroyed my life!”
“Yeah, but I got rich and famous off it.” He twirls the gaudy ring on his pinky. “It was totally worth it.”
Tallahassee reappears on screen. “Mr. Catalano’s devious behavior caused a chain reaction. Because of his lies, I was recently attacked, beaten, and almost gang-raped by Cyril Abernathy, Brady and Brandon Lombardi, and Corey Kimball, who filmed their abhorrent act of violence.”
Tallahassee disappears again, and video of the attack fills the screen. My pulse quickens as she’s ambushed, dragged, punched, held down, and fighting for her life.
The brutality is nearly impossible to watch and sparks that same lightning-hot fury I felt that night. It’s a vast difference from the edited video the prosecutor played at my preliminary hearing.
Tallahassee holds up a picture of her bruised and swollen face. “This is what I looked like after their attack.”
My hands ball into fists. Gut-wrenching anger and grief constrict painfully in my chest at the sight of her beautiful face beaten to shit. I recognize Nash’s bathroom and realize she must’ve taken a selfie when she went to take a shower that night.
“I am not alone in this. My story is not an isolated incident. Too many women—our mothers, sisters, daughters, and friends—have suffered at the hands of men like these who believe the word no only means they’re not trying hard enough.
That a woman’s body is theirs to abuse or take by force without repercussions.
“Where my story differs is that a Navy hero came to my defense,” she continues.
“Taking on all four of them alone, a man of honor, a man of character and substance, stepped in on my behalf.
With no thought for his own safety, his only objective was to save me from what those four men intended to do to me.
“This rare act of selflessness resulted in him being arrested and charged with aggravated assault and, because of his military training, attempted murder.
“This brave and decent man is being persecuted for saving me from being beaten further and gang-raped because everyone, from the perpetrators to the police and the hospital, are working to cover up this crime.
“All evidence that this vicious crime occurred has mysteriously vanished into thin air. The men who attacked me allege that the events of that night were consensual. There’s no police report. There are no photographs. The hospital records have disappeared. But I have proof of their cover-up.
“I wasn’t their first victim.” She holds up a phone.
“This is Corey Kimball’s phone. He dropped it the night I was attacked.
It contains irrefutable evidence that proves beyond any doubt that these four men are serial rapists.
In addition to my assault, there are seven video files of other women being beaten and raped by these animals.
They film their attacks to relive the horrors they inflict on their innocent victims.”
Learning the extent of what these men are capable of, something dark and treacherous unfurls inside me. I shudder at the thought of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone out to find her.
“In my opinion, the beating these men received is far less than they deserve, and the man who saved me—my protector, my savior—should be receiving a medal, not facing prosecution and the destruction of his naval career. He should not be looking at years in prison for coming to my rescue.
“After a shoddy investigation, a blatant cover-up, and an attempt to buy my silence, a decorated war veteran, a man with an honorable reputation who has sacrificed for duty and country, is being unfairly railroaded by the Navy to protect and defend a vicious gang of serial rapists.”
A chyron of #SavetheSailor #SavetheSailor #SavetheSailor scrolls across the bottom of the screen.
I can’t believe she did this for me after the way I hurt her. I don’t know how I can ever thank her for this.
Tallahassee’s strong voice is full of righteous anger. “I, for one, refuse to allow this injustice. I stand before you today demanding answers from those who have covered up this crime and would see this brave and principled man incarcerated.
“They must be forced to explain themselves. To justify their actions to the American people, the Naval community, and especially to any woman these four men have sexually assaulted.
“They need to explain why these predators are being protected simply because of their wealth and status while the life of an innocent man, whose only crime was preventing me from being beaten and viciously gang raped, is being destroyed.
“I am asking you to voice your outrage. To demand answers. I implore you to stand with me and save the sailor. Thank you.”
The screen fades to black.
I sit motionless, staring at the blackened screen. Her bravery coming forward this way leaves me stunned and speechless. I’m also so immensely proud of the way she took control of the situation and reclaimed her power.
My JAG starts to speak, but it barely registers, “Her post included a list of email addresses and phone numbers…Navy brass, senators, congresspeople, the police department, and the prosecutor.”
I exhale a deep breath. She’s amazing. She did the one thing she spent years running and hiding from.
She exposed herself.
For me.
My JAG voices my thoughts. “She must care a great deal about you. She spent years hiding, avoiding the media, and put herself directly in the line of fire with this.”
I’m not sure how to react to Tallahassee’s selfless act of bravery.
“Ms. Crockett sent me copies of all the video files from Corey Kimball’s phone, including the entirety of the film involving you,” Hadleigh tells me. “She made it quite clear she’s willing testify on your behalf and offer any assistance that might be helpful.”
I inhale a couple of deep, shaky breaths. For the first time since I was arrested, a sliver of hope swells and takes up residence in my chest. And it’s all due to the bravest woman I know.
Hadleigh’s next words jar me out of the mindfuckery that threatens to overwhelm me.
“Her video has had serious consequences for your case. It’s gone viral.
More than half a million views since it was posted.
It’s been shared tens of thousands of times across multiple social media platforms. The press is eating it up.
Almost every news outlet has picked up the story.
“Crockett the Rocket is trending again. But so are Save the Sailor, Stop the Cover-Up, and Imprison the Tallahassee Four.
“Online petitions are being signed insisting you be cleared of all charges.
The brass is being inundated with emails and phone calls demanding to know why the Navy is protecting rapists.
And at a press briefing this morning, the President was broadsided with a question about why a sailor is facing court-martial and prison time for preventing a gang rape.
“Five women have already come forward, claiming they were also assaulted and raped by these four men. Their identities have been confirmed with video files from Corey Kimball’s phone.”
This information onslaught threatens to overwhelm me. “What does all that mean?” I’m so overcome with emotion I can barely get the words out.
“If there’s one thing the brass hates, it’s the court of public opinion. And by revealing the unedited film, Ms. Crockett has destroyed the prosecutor’s case. It means, Master Chief Stevens, that as of two hours ago, all charges against you have been dropped. You’re a free man.”
Relief strikes first, sharp and overpowering but it’s quickly annihilated by guilt and remorse. After what I did to Tallahassee, I don’t deserve her generosity.
I broke up with her and callously sent her away. Even after I was so heartless and cruel, the woman went public and exposed herself for only one reason...
To save me.