Page 36 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

“All the girls involved were taken to hospital and inspected by a medical examiner,” Fraser says.

“The doctor confirmed she’d been assaulted,” Joel says. He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m glad. I don’t want to know how much she was hurt.

“Does she remember it?” I ask.

They both hesitate. “She says not,” Joel says.

“Do you believe her?”

“She was pretty out of it, even when Dad brought her home hours later,” Fraser says. But it’s not an answer. They think she can remember. Ahhh… Elora…

“She went to court,” Joel says. “She was exceptionally brave. She identified three of the guys who pressed her to drink, although she said she couldn’t remember the actual assault. Luckily the other girls confirmed the guys she’d named as those who assaulted them, and all three were eventually sent to prison.”

We all have a mouthful of whisky. Suddenly, the merriment and laughter around us feels out of place.

“Oh fuck, Atticus,” I say, suddenly realizing what an effect it would have on her parents. Her mother would have been out of her mind with worry, but Atticus…

“He hired a top lawyer who was instrumental in the guys getting jail time,” Fraser says. “He took a leave of absence from the school afterward and went away on a retreat for a while. He was better when he came back, but he hasn’t been the same since.”

I know that Atticus’s faith was a core part of the man he’d become, and something like that happening to his daughter, especially after what happened to his sister, must have shaken his faith severely.

“What was he like with Elora?” I ask.

“We all thought he’d be ten times worse with his over-protectiveness,” Joel says, “but he was just quietly supportive and kind of left it to Mum to tell him what to do. It wasn’t like he said Elora couldn’t go to uni or anything. It was she who didn’t want to leave home for a while.”

“Understandably,” I say, and they both nod.

“She didn’t want to go to Otago where she didn’t know anyone,” Joel continues. “She retreated into her shell and talked about doing an online course. It was Fraser’s idea that she go to Vic. I’d just graduated and had started to get jobs around the country as an underwater archaeologist, but I was based in Wellington, and he’d taken over the museum there. He suggested the three of us rent a large apartment together so she wouldn’t have to live on campus. I think he knew that if she stayed at home, she might never leave.”

I can see what he meant. After an ordeal like that, someone quiet and gentle like Elora might struggle to rejoin the normal world.

“She lived with us for two years,” Fraser says. “She was determined not to let it define her. She went to therapy every week, and support groups, and she healed a lot during that time.”

“She also met Zoe at uni,” Joel says. “Zo’s been a real friend to her, just amazing, and Elora eventually moved in with her.”

“Zoe knows, I’m guessing,” I ask, and they both nod.

“When they graduated,” Fraser continues, “I was really pleased they both decided to work at the museum. She’s so much better now—she goes out with friends, and on her own, during the day anyway. But I know when she’s not doing well, and I’m able to keep an eye on her.”

“It’s obviously affected her deeply,” I say, thinking of the way she had to keep checking the lock on the door.

“Unsurprisingly, she has PTSD,” Joel says. “Zoe says Elora doesn’t sleep much, and when she does, she has bad dreams. She has severe anxiety at times. She has negative feelings, about herself especially. I think she blames herself.”

“For what?”

“For going to the party in the first place. For letting the other kids influence her into drinking the punch when she didn’t really want to. She doesn’t like crowds—of strangers, I mean, tonight she was fine because she knew us all and she was excited to see you. She’s better than she was. But she still has a way to go. It’s worse when she feels out of control or anxious. That tends to ramp up her OCD behaviors.”

“Like checking the locks.”

“Yeah. She has to go through the routine of checking them at least three or four times, and sometimes a lot more. We used to try and talk her out of it, but eventually she calms down and stops, so we just ignore it now.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry,” I tell them, because what else is there to say? Events like this have a huge impact on everyone around them, as well as the victim.

I don’t like to use that word about her. She’s not a victim. I think of how she came into my hotel room, even though we hadn’t seen each other for years. How I stripped off and made her look at my naked torso—Jesus Christ, I’m such an idiot. I did it on purpose—I thought it was funny at the time, because her eyes nearly fell out of her head. She could have run screaming, but she didn’t. She took it all in her stride. She’s bright and funny. Spirited and intelligent. I think Fraser’s right—I think she does still have feelings for me. Just like I do for her. I didn’t think I would, but I do.

The word victim implies she’s helpless and passive in her misfortune. I don’t see her like that. I think she’s amazing.

“I don’t think she’d want you to know,” Fraser says. “So be sensitive about it. But I think it was best that we told you, just in case anything was to happen between you.”

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