[As you read this story you may believe you know where it's going. I thought I knew too, when I started writing it. Megan had other ideas. Let me know what you think... after you finish reading. I did some research and discovered there is a considerable disagreement as to what defines incest. Is it incest if a man has sexual contact with his adopted daughter who is an adult? Is it incest if a woman has sexual contact with her step-son who is at the time an adult? In either case the "parent" is not biologically related to the child, now adult. If a man lives his life such that he treats his wife's child as if the child were biologically his, and she isn't, is it incest if they share sex when she is twenty-five? They are adults capable of choosing their sexual partners. You may be of the opinion that incest is sexual contact between two people related (however distantly) by marriage or biology. The discussion of incest is a part of this story but is not the theme IMHO. ]
"Daddy?" Her voice sounded strained or in pain over the phone. The caller ID wasn't her number.
"What's wrong?"
"Tom hit me."
"Again. Tom hit you again." I worked to keep the anger and other emotions out of my voice.
"Worse. I need you to come get me from the hospital. I drove here but they won't release me unless someone can drive me."
"Which hospital, Sweetheart?"
"Kaiser West L.A. I'm in the emergency room."
"I'll be there in less than an hour." I hung up. I didn't need the story over the phone. I'd get and see the story when I got to the hospital. I got dressed, tossed two boxes of books from my truck and headed for Megan.
As I entered the emergency room I looked the crowd over. Fifty people in various stages of distress. I didn't see Megan so I headed for the reception desk. I told the woman behind the desk I was there to pick up Megan Wallace. She checked and called someone from the back to escort me into the inner sanctum.
I'm glad they did. I would not have recognized my own daughter. She was battered, bruised, swollen and bandaged. She was sitting uncomfortably in a wheelchair, crying softly.
"Megan?" She looked up and when she saw me she cried harder, which obviously hurt more. The doctor came over and gave me the scoop.
"She has a broken nose, four broken ribs, plenty of contusions on her torso and face." He gave me instructions for her care and sent me to the 24 hour pharmacy to get prescriptions. When I got back I had plenty of pain killers. The nurse gave me bandages for her cuts and broken nose and tape for the ribs. It took well over an hour to get out of the hospital, but I got us home before dawn. She didn't say much, it hurt to talk.
I got her into my guest bedroom that used to be her bedroom and gave her some pain killers. Ten minutes later she was asleep. I covered her and went to my bedroom where I shut of the ringer on the phone. We needed sleep, not interruptions.
Four hours later I heard her call my name. "Daddy!"
I ran to her. The emergency was that she needed the bathroom and couldn't get up. I all but carried her in and had to help her get her pants down and help her sit. Before I could get out of the room to give her some privacy she released and sighed. I attempted not to laugh but I failed. The sigh did me in.
Megan was embarrassed and looked at the floor. When she was done I helped her back to bed. Rather than put her back in bed dressed, I pulled her pants all the way off and got her in bed in just her shirt and panties. I asked if she needed more pain medicine and she said no.
Two hours later she called for me again. We determined the pain stuff lasted six hours, not six hours and ten minutes. Since I was up I decided to eat. She ate a few saltines and sipped some water. Before long she was asleep again.
At three in the afternoon I turned on my phone. There were four messages. Three from the Culver City Police and one from Tom. His was to ask if I had Megan and to request I tell her he was sorry. I called the detective at the Culver City Police.
"Is Megan Wallace with you?"
"Yes."
"We need to speak with her and get her statement. When will that be possible?"
"She'll be awake and needing pain meds in three hours. Come just before the pain meds." I gave them my address. I requested a copy of the police report be provided as soon as they filed it.
A detective and a woman photographer arrived two hours later.. They talked to Megan and when she finished her story the detective and I left the room and the photographer took pictures of Megan's injuries. By the time they left Megan needed the pain meds. I got her to drink some soup, eat a few more crackers and drink some water with the meds.
After she went back to sleep I let my anger out, quietly. I wanted to leave my house and go find Tom... slowly torture him and watch him die. I also felt bad for him. I knew he loved Megan and had to feel shitty for hurting her. Just not enough.
When he and Megan had married three years before their futures looked bright. He was already an assistant manager of manufacturing at a large corporation. Megan was an up-and-comer in the HR department of another good sized company. They made good money together and they didn't blow it. They maxed their 401k's each year and saved more in investments. They drove nice but not new cars, lived in a modest two bedroom house three miles from the beach and didn't party too much. Everything appeared to be going their way.
Then in August of 2008 Tom's company downsized and his entire department was under the axe. He was crushed. They had savings, but suddenly Megan was the breadwinner and Tom's ego took a major hit. For a month he went out every day pounding the pavement and using every computer and personal contact he had to get a job. He finally got one, but it had two big drawbacks: it was a contract job at less than half of what he had been making and it would end in eight months.
He no longer needed the coat and tie of management. He said he felt naked without them at work. Megan told me about his stress whenever we talked. I had learned that when a woman tells me about stuff she wants me to listen, not fix, not suggest or coach. A few times I think my tongue bled from being bitten hard, but I didn't butt in. I listened. I believed they would learn valuable lessons from this adversity.
Just before Christmas Megan's company downsized, too. Her HR department had twenty people in it at Thanksgiving and the day before Christmas there were eight. Fortunately, Megan was one of the eight. Part of the money the company saved by letting people go they paid to those who stayed. They were told that their responsibilities had increased and their pay reflected that. They were right. Megan went from forty hour weeks to sixty hour weeks.
Tom worked hard and kept looking for a better job. When he got his just-before-Christmas paycheck the guys he worked with wanted to go out and celebrate. They got him to go, too. He'd never been to a titty bar and by the time he got home he was down almost four hundred dollars from his paycheck.
He was also drunk and horney. Megan was asleep when he came in. He was loud, stank of booze, perfume, sweat and he wanted sex. Megan said "No."
He insisted and told her the guys were all going home and having sex and he wanted sex too. She said, "No."
Her nightgown was torn off and he overpowered her. He had sex. He passed out before he came. She got out from under him, dressed and knocked on my door at four-thirty in the morning.
The next evening he came to my home and apologized, promised it would never happen again and begged her to go home. She went. I bit my tongue. I told myself they were both adults and needed to work things out between themselves.
In February he came home drunk again and said he wanted sex. Megan said no and started to get dressed to leave their house until he sobered up. He said she couldn't go. She put on another shoe and he slapped her, hard enough to blacken her eye. The remorse was almost instantaneous. He cried and begged her to forgive him. He slept on the couch and she stayed.
For the next two weeks he did everything he could think of to make it up to her. He did the laundry, cleaned the house, cooked dinner three times and was verbally sweet to her. She told me she thought he really got the message about being good to her.
When I listened to Megan talking to the police I wanted to kill him. The other times he was drunk. This time he was just angry. Megan had been promoted. When she came home, excited to share her good news and tell him they would have more money coming in, he exploded. He said she had fucked to get the promotion and only did it to further humiliate him.
She said he was wrong and tried to reason with him. When she got close to him he lashed out with his fists and knocked her to the floor. He kicked her and then picked her up and threw her out the back door into their yard. She lay there bleeding and broken, waiting for and expecting him to kill her when she heard his car start and drive away.
It took her a long time to get her purse and get into her car but she made it and drove herself to the hospital.
That next evening I called a friend, Charlie, and while Megan slept we went and got her car from Kaiser. We went by their house and since Tom wasn't there we went in and got her things, her clothes, makeup, personal items. We left a lot that I wasn't sure she wanted or was hers. We parked her car in my garage.
When she woke the next morning I helped her into the bathroom and to the toilet. It felt strange for me. I'd dressed and undressed her often when she was little, but now she was a grown woman and beautiful, even with the bandages and bruises. As she finished going she said, "I need a shower."
"Ok. I'd worry if you tried to do it without help. Is there a girl-friend we can call?"
"I can call Kathy. Maybe she can come by and help me."
We got her back to bed and she called Kathy. They had been friends since high school. Kathy's answering machine answered and told us that she was unable to return calls today. Megan then remembered that Kathy was in Atlanta for a training course.
She looked at me and said, "I stink. I need to get clean and get new bandages. You'll see everything when you help with the bandages, so you might as well be the one that helps me in the shower."
"I'll wear my bathing suit."
"I've seen you naked Dad. Let's just get me clean, Ok?"
She leaned on me into the bathroom and I helped her out of the t-shirt and panties. I'd helped her onto the toilet a couple of times but hadn't noticed the bruises in her crotch. Tom had hit or kicked her pussy as well as her ribs!
She cried when I pulled the bandages and tape off. Then I started the shower and got the temperature good and warm. I undressed down to my boxers and helped her into the shower. I shampooed her hair and washed every inch of her. I was as gentle as I could be, while hurrying and making sure she didn't fall.
