Fighting Mirrors

The light on my nightstand shined a spotlight on the picture of me and my twin sister, Violet, a picture taken before she was raped and murdered.

I took a deep breath, crawled out of bed and packed for my trip home to North Carolina. My contract in the army was up.

I rolled my clothes tightly, placed travel size toiletries in a zip-lock bag, and tucked the photograph in my back pocket. The taxi picked me up from my hotel in Berlin. I finally arrived the next day in Charlotte where my dad was waiting for me in his favorite bright golf shirt, smiling at the end of the terminal. He opened his arms wide. I hugged him stiffly from the long flight.

“Hi, daddy,” I groaned.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he said warmly. “Let’s get your bags.”

When I joined the army, I imagined returning home to meet my sister’s murderer face to face.

I pictured the scenario many times while on tour, picturing different outcomes; one being my hands strangling his large throat and beating every breath out of his disgusting body. I dug deeper to carve out some forgiveness. I tried whispering, “I forgive you.”

I failed to finish the sentence every time.

Enlisting was the best decision I made. I finally had the opportunity to make my parents proud and do something great with my life. I didn’t intend to forget her or “outdo” her. I intended to be strong in honor of her. She wanted to be a doctor. She would’ve saved lives. The least I could do was fight for others who still had their own.

I felt closer to Violet as we passed by the prison on our way home.

It was a humid August afternoon. We finally turned down our street and pulled into the driveway. Even though some of the furniture had been replaced while I was gone, the house still had that comforting childhood smell. Biscuit, the golden retriever, wagged his tail as he jumped up and licked my face.

“I baked you cupcakes,” mom called from the front door, rolling my suitcase inside the house.

“Thanks,” I smiled, shoving Biscuit off the couch and wiping away the slobber. “I’m tired. I think I’m just gonna crash.”

She sighed and nodded her head. Dad sat down on the couch and turned on ESPN.

“Okay, honey. You want to see a movie tomorrow?” She asked as I started ascending the steps with the dog at my heels.

“I have an interview tomorrow,” I said.

“A job interview?” She asked eagerly.

“Sort of,” I responded.

Walking up the stairs, the memory of that night came rushing back.

I remembered my sister lying face down, completely still, on her bedroom floor with torn clothes in a pool of blood with her legs spread open.

There were several EMT’s, police officers and investigators. They took her body, but the blood stains remained on the carpet as they asked me questions about who could have raped and killed her.

Biscuit and I paused in the hallway. I looked inside her old room which was turned into an office. The carpet had been replaced by wooden floor.

I had no idea at the time who he was. Everybody loved Violet. We assumed it was a stalker or some criminal socially unrelated.

I was too shocked to realize that she wasn’t even supposed to be the victim. He was after me.

I settled into my room with the dog nestled at the foot of the bed. I decided not to change my clothes, and fell asleep within minutes. My eyes opened at the sound of my 4am alarm. Biscuit continued snoring as I scrambled through my suitcase for my toothbrush and clean clothes.

By 4:10am, I was downstairs and out the door with my parents’ car keys in hand.

My parents let me stay home during the court case. They knew I would break down if I saw my boss from the gym standing in front of the judge in handcuffs. I stayed out of the settlement process and spent my time grieving over my sister.

He confessed to the police about murdering Violet after he had been arrested for sexually assaulting one of his clients.

I kept quiet about his inappropriate comments and gestures while I was working. He always made me feel uncomfortable at the gym and his strength intimated the hell out of me. But I had no idea he had followed me home several times. But he didn’t know that I had a twin sister.

The judge sentenced him to forty years.

When I got to the prison, I waited in the car for visiting hours to start.

If I had told my parents I was visiting Vic, they would’ve talked me out of it. They would have said that it’s not worth it. Six years after her death, five years in the army, and I was STILL afraid of him. I didn’t want to be afraid anymore, nor did I want to be silent.

He strolled into the meeting room wearing an orange jumpsuit. I could see that he maintained his muscular appearance, assuming he lifted every chance he had.

That moment when I saw him sit down on the other side of the glass, I felt fire in my chest. I wanted this man dead. I wanted my sister back. Hate was all I felt. I had waited for this moment for years, but I choked.

He didn’t smile. His face was motionless and unshakeable, as if he was playing poker. I worked for this man for three years. All of a sudden, I had no idea what I came here to do or say. I was too angry to cry. I was too lost to do anything but stare at him.

“Hello,” he said in that stupid deep voice, finally breaking the awkward silence.

“Hi,” I replied.

“How are you?” he asked.

I couldn’t believe he would even ask such a generic question, as if we were working together again.

“Conflicted,” I answered. Suddenly, I screwed my head on and poured my heart out. “I don’t know whether to hate you or forgive you,” I said.

“I messed up. But I’m a changed man. I’ve moved forward, and you should too.”

“MOVE FORWARD?!” I shouted. “You raped and murdered my sister! You wanted it to be me, but you were too stupid to see that it wasn’t. Well here I am, Vic!! You want me NOW?!”

I couldn’t stop myself from word vomiting. But I had held onto these words for so long, and it was time for them to be heard.

“Why did you – ”

“Shut up, Vic,” I said cutting him off. “You had your chance to talk in court. Now it’s my turn. You hurt so many people, and you take no responsibility for it. You have not changed. You will have nightmares about the lives you took. They will haunt you until the day you die an old, lonely, ugly man. I DON’T forgive you.”

His face grew redder as I jabbed. Before he could say anything, I grabbed my keys and left the building, finally letting the tears fall down my cheeks.

Even after four deployments in Iraq, facing Vic was by far the hardest battle I had ever went through.

I drove home and never looked back. I counted the years until he would be released, but I did move on. Little by little, Vic was erased from the forefront of my mind.

Every anniversary of my sister’s death, I visited her grave. I shared with her stories of the women’s self-defense organization I opened. I told her about the strong inspiring women who trained there.

Sometimes it felt as if she responded lovingly through the soft wind, and encouraged me whenever I saw her face looking back at me in the mirror.