James Edward McClure - The Monster Who Came Back Into My Life- excerpts from my book

It was Easter 1988, and my husband Russ was overseas. We had just moved into the brand-new officers' housing at Camp Pendleton, where the ocean greeted us each time we stepped into the room. Only a few months had passed when Russ deployed for six months. It was the first time I had ever lived alone.

Still, I loved where we lived. Our home sat at the end of a cul-de-sac with only six houses. Just outside our door was a small park where Kevin could play, though I rarely saw anyone else.

That Easter morning, Kevin and I were excitedly driving to the city park, where our family gathered each year to celebrate. The sun streamed into the car, casting everything in a golden glow, while the sky stretched endlessly blue above us.

We arrived at a small park—simple yet inviting—with a few scattered trees, picnic tables, and a modest playground buzzing with kids. My relatives had already claimed a table beneath a large oak tree.

As we parked, the cheerful sounds of laughter swirled around us, blending with the mouthwatering aroma of roasted chicken drifting through the air.

“It was a good idea for us to come today,” I said to Kevin, smiling as we walked toward the gathering.

I settled beside my mom, content to soak in the warmth of the moment—laughter, chatter, the sight of children running wild. Eventually, the food made its rounds, and to my surprise, I had an appetite. I ate heartily for the first time in what felt like ages. Afterward, my mom wandered off while I relaxed in the breeze, sharing stories and laughter with family, my eyes always drifting to Kevin as he played on the grass nearby.

Amidst the chaos of play, Kevin suddenly broke away from his cousins and began walking toward me. I smiled at him—until I noticed something behind him.

A figure in the distance.

At first, just a silhouette against the sun. But as he approached, the shape grew clearer: a man in Levi’s and a red short-sleeve shirt. My stomach clenched.

The way he carried himself—the broad shoulders, the confident stride—I knew it before I could stop myself from knowing.

No. Not here. Not today.

But as he stepped closer, the impossible became real.

Jim McClure.

My cousin. The man who had molested and raped me as a child—and not just me. He had violated others, leaving a trail of shattered lives. Now he stood before me as if no time had passed, as if nothing had happened.

“Hello,” he said casually, like we were old friends. Like he wasn’t a monster.

I froze.

Panic exploded inside me. Without a word, I grabbed Kevin and turned away. My vision blurred as sunlight pierced my tears. I walked fast, breathing hard, trying to escape the weight of memory that had crashed down on me.

Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I flinched, my whole body bracing.

Was it him?

I turned.

It was my mom.

“Why are you acting this way? You didn’t even say hello to Jim!” she remarked, confusion painting her face.

I was taken aback, my silence profound as I struggled to comprehend her words. 

“You should treat him better; he's a nice person who has paid for his mistakes. The years have changed him. He's truly sorry for what he did,” she continued, her voice dripping like a child.

Disgust surged within me, and I started walking away again. Mom hurried after me, her voice unwavering.

“Listen to me, Becky! We’ve talked since his release. He mentioned how you and he played together when you were young."

I stopped short, battling to find my voice as rage and humiliation closed in. My cheeks burned with shame. How could my own mother misunderstand everything so completely?

“I think it's sweet that you had a childhood crush on him. There's no need for guilt, honey.”

But my frustration finally erupted. 

BECKY

“I... NEVER... HAD... A... CRUSH... ON... HIM... MOM! THE... TRUTH... IS... JIM... MOLESTED... AND... RAPED... ME... THROUGHOUT... MY... CHILDHOOD... AND... I... AM... AFRAID... OF... HIM!”

Her reaction was startlingly dismissive.

“If that makes you feel better to say that,” she said flatly.

“When did he get out of prison? Where is he staying? I need to know where to avoid.”

“He’s staying with me. He has nowhere else to go.”

The weight of her words crashed over me like a wave of betrayal.

“Well then, I guess you’re the one I need to stay away from.”

“Becky, you’re being ridiculous. When are you going to grow up?”

I turned away from her, my heart heavy with sorrow and frustration. I grabbed Kevin’s hand, and we walked to the car, leaving my mother behind—both physically and, in many ways, emotionally.

As we drove off, I glanced in the rearview mirror. There she was, standing with Jim, talking to him like nothing had ever happened—as if he hadn’t shattered my childhood. Their casual proximity sent a chill through me. I turned my eyes back to the road, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

When we got home, I took Kevin to the playground. He deserved normalcy—laughter, sunlight, a few moments of joy. I sat on one of the empty benches, my body still, but my mind spinning. The breeze moved softly through the trees, the swing chains creaked gently, and for a moment, it almost felt calm.

But inside, I was unraveling.

I began drinking heavily again. It was the only thing that dulled the pain, the betrayal, the shame that clung to me like a second skin. I felt completely alone. There was no one I could talk to. Russ was far away, and even if he’d been closer, it wouldn’t have mattered.

When I told him what Jim had done to me as a child, he got upset—not at Jim, but at me, as if I had done something wrong. Like I was the one who should have been ashamed.

Would you like to continue from here? We could explore what pulled me out of that dark place—or go deeper into the isolation and the resilience it took to survive it.

--To Be Continued!--