The Atonement Child

by Francine Rivers

  “You need medical assistance.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “You’re going to be all right,” he said firmly, hunkering down again, keeping his voice calm and low. “I’m not going to leave you alone.” He glanced up at Greg. “Tell them no sirens, and lights only when they need them.”

  “Done,” Greg said tightly and strode off toward the west side of the park, where they had left the squad cars.

  “Come on out, ma’am. You’re safe.”

  She moved, scooting a little bit closer and then stopping. Sinking back, she started to cry again, her body bent over, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rocked herself slowly, head down.

  A lump lodged in Frank’s throat. She didn’t look more than eighteen. “Was it someone you knew?” He wished he didn’t have to ask questions, but every minute counted if they were going to arrest her attacker.

  She shook her head slowly.

  “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I never saw his face.” She tried to get up and uttered a gasp of pain. Frank reached out, but she drew back sharply, clearly not wanting to be touched. She sank down again, weeping.

  “What’s your name, miss?”

  “Do I have to tell you?”

  “I want to help you. I have to know your name to do it.”

  “Dynah Carey. I live in the dorm. My roommate’s expecting me. Her name’s Janet, Janet Wells. It’s only two blocks. Can I go home now? Please?”

  “Not yet. You need to go to the hospital first, Miss Carey. Just stay put. We’ll get help for you.” He hoped the ambulance crew had a woman with them.

  They didn’t. Two men arrived with a gurney. The older man spoke with the girl and coaxed her out of her hiding place. Frank stood close by, watching the paramedic support the shivering girl as she lay down upon the gurney. They wrapped her in warm blankets, snapped the belts around her, and wheeled her along the park pathway to Henderson Avenue. She said nothing and kept her eyes tightly closed.

  Frank’s mouth tightened when he saw the ambulance lights flashing. The woman who had called in the report was outside on her porch again. So were others all up and down the street. Windows were illuminated in half a dozen houses, faces peering through the curtains. Some, bolder in their curiosity, came out onto their lawns to watch what was going on. He had hoped to save the girl further embarrassment.

  She was loaded quickly into the ambulance. One of the men went inside with her and closed the doors behind him. The other took the driver’s seat. They pulled away from the curb and were on their way to the hospital before Frank had reached his squad car.

  Greg was waiting for him. “We patrolled the other side of the park but didn’t see anyone. No cars parked along this street or on the other side. Did she give you a description?”

  “She said she never saw his face. I’ll talk to her more as soon as the doctor’s examined her.”

  Dynah couldn’t stop shaking. She asked the nurse if she could shower but was told she would have to wait until after the doctor had seen her. The nurse helped her undress and don a white hospital gown. Shivering, Dynah watched the nurse put her torn, stained waitress uniform, undergarments, and shredded nylons into a large plastic bag. Her muddy snow boots were placed in another. Both bags were given to someone waiting outside the door.

  Dynah’s teeth chattered, but her chill had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, which was kept at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. The shaking, the terrible cold, came from inside her. Even the blanket the nurse put around her did nothing to ward off the chill.

  “I’ll get you another blanket, Miss Carey,” the nurse said and went out.

  Dynah almost protested, afraid to be alone. Clutching the blanket, she sat on the edge of the examining table, wondering what she was going to wear home. The silence increased her anxiety. She wanted desperately to wash. She yearned to stand beneath a scalding spray, so she could soap and scrub every inch of her body and wash away what had happened.

  Would she ever be cleansed of it? Could she wash the horror from her mind and heart? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images in her mind away. She was safe now. Or was she? Her eyes flew open. She’d thought she was safe before, but that had been an illusion, ripped away. Sitting on the examining table in the short, backless gown, she felt naked and as vulnerable as she had been in the park. Sick with fear, she looked from one end of the cubicle to the other for some avenue of escape. She wanted to go home. Home to her parents. Home to the house on Ocean Avenue. But what would her parents say? Perhaps locked in her dorm room, she would feel safer.

  Someone rapped on the door, and she jumped. A doctor entered, the nurse who had taken her clothes just behind him. “I’m Dr. Kennon, Miss Carey. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” she said without thinking. Wasn’t that what she always said in a doctor’s office? She grimaced, her eyes tearing up, and he winced. When she spoke again, she hardly recognized her own voice. “Could I take a shower, please? I want to take a shower.”

  “In a little while.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small recorder. Depressing the button, he set it on the counter to his right. “Now, let’s take a look at that eye first.” As he gently tested the bruised flesh and flashed a small light into her pupil, he told her he was recording the examination in order to help the police apprehend her attacker. He asked her if she was experiencing any dizziness. Some, she said. She was nauseated.

  “Lie down, please.”

  The nurse assisted her, speaking softly, encouraging her to follow the doctor’s instructions. Dynah trembled even more violently as he examined her scrapes and asked more questions. As she answered, she relived the nightmare in the park, seeing it from every angle. Some of the questions the doctor asked made her blush with embarrassment and pale in shame: Was she on birth control? When was her last menses? He wanted details about what had happened to her, details she was loath to remember, let alone speak aloud.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Everything you’re telling us will help the police.”

  And who would help her?

  God, where were You?

  When the doctor told her to scoot her bottom to the end of the table and put her feet in the stirrups, she didn’t understand. The nurse, sensitive to her anguish, tried to explain as delicately as possible.

  “The doctor needs to make sure you’re not injured internally, Miss Carey. And he’ll be able to collect a specimen. For evidence.”

  “Evidence?” she said.

  The doctor explained; revulsion filled her.

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Why do I have to go through this? Haven’t I gone through enough already?

  “I’m going to be sick.” She sat up quickly. The nurse held a small basin for her and stroked her back, murmuring words of sympathy. The doctor went out to give her a few minutes to recompose herself. After a while, the nurse calmed her down enough to continue, and the doctor came back.

  The nurse’s eyes were filled with compassion. “It’ll be over soon, dear. Hold my hand. Squeeze if you want to.”

  Dynah clutched it tightly, her body tense.

  “Breathe, Miss Carey. That’s it. Try to relax.”

  The doctor explained everything he was doing to her and why, but it didn’t help. The physical examination was extensive, intrusive, and painful. When he finished, he apologized and then told the nurse to cut her fingernails. More evidence. The clippings were put in another small plastic bag and labeled for the police lab. The nurse took pictures of the abrasions on her shoulder and right hip, the bruises on her thighs, her throat, and her battered face.

  Spirit crushed, Dynah fell silent.

  Dr. Kennon looked at her sadly and said again that he was sorry.

  “You can sit up now,” the nurse said gently.

  “I’ll have admissions get all the paperwork going,” Dr. Kennon said, turning toward the door.

  “No!�
�� Dynah said, heart jumping. “I want to go home!”

  “I understand your feelings, but—!”

  “No, you don’t! How could you?” For all his assurances of wanting to make sure she was all right, she felt degraded and reduced to just a recorded voice that would be turned over to the policeman waiting outside the door. “You don’t understand!” She covered her face and cried.

  “I’d like to keep you here overnight, for observation.”

  “No.” It was all she could choke out.

  “We would start you immediately on estrogen therapy.”

  She raised her head. “Estrogen—? Why?”

  “In case conception has taken place.”

  Dynah felt all the warmth drain from her. She stared at him in horror as full comprehension struck. “I might . . . I might be pregnant?”

  “The chances of that are extremely small, but it’s better to take precautions.”

  If she had conceived, it was already too late.

  “There may be some side effects to the estrogen. That’s why I’d like to keep you here for one night, possibly two.”

  Dynah sat on the edge of the examining table, her eyes closed tightly. She had attended several pro-life rallies with Ethan. She knew he was talking about an abortifacient.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I want to go home. Please.”

  Dr. Kennon glanced at the nurse, and she moved to his side. They talked in hushed tones for a moment; then the doctor left the room. The nurse put the blanket around her shoulders again. Dynah clutched it tightly.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through this, Miss Carey. Dr. Kennon was only trying to make things easier on you.” She offered her a cup of cool water. “I know how difficult this is. If you’d rather not take the medication right now, that’s fine. You can take it tomorrow.”

  Dynah shook her head.

  “You’ve been through enough tonight. You can wait a few weeks. If you miss your period, you come back and have a pregnancy test. If it’s positive, you can have a menstrual extraction.”

  Dynah didn’t want to think about what the nurse was saying. Being raped was horror enough without considering the possibility she might have become pregnant.

  Oh, God, You wouldn’t be so cruel. Would You, Lord?

  “You can take a shower now, if you’d like.”

  Down the hall, in a quiet room, Dynah stood beneath a hard, hot spray of water, scrubbing and scrubbing. Still feeling dirty, she sank down hopelessly in the corner of the stall and wept.

  God, why? I don’t understand. Why did You let this happen to me? Where were the angels that are supposed to be protecting me? What did I do to make You angry?

  Someone tapped on the door, making her start.

  “Are you all right, Miss Carey?”

  “I’m fine,” Dynah said in a choked voice, huddled beneath the hot, pounding water. “I just need to stay in here for a little while longer.”

  “Your roommate brought you a change of clothes.”

  Dynah pushed herself up. “Janet’s here?”

  “She just arrived. She’s in the waiting room. Officer Lawson is speaking with her now.”

  Dynah closed her eyes in relief and leaned her head back against the wall.

  “I’ll leave the clothes on the seat for you. Don’t feel rushed, Miss Carey. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.” Dynah sensed the unspoken message. The nurse would be far enough away to give her a sense of privacy but not so far she would be left alone.

  Dynah emerged from the shower and dried herself quickly. She donned the fresh cotton underwear, a lightweight white turtleneck, a pair of faded blue Levi’s, and a cable-knit pale-yellow sweater. Even after pulling on the white woolen socks and gray vinyl zip-up boots, she was still shivering. She couldn’t seem to stop. The dark violence of the assault gripped her soul and wouldn’t let go.

  Looking in the mirror, she saw the reflection of a face she barely recognized. Raking trembling fingers through her tangled blonde hair, she tried to make a French braid. After a few minutes, she gave up. She didn’t care how she looked. She just wanted to leave. She wanted to go back to her room in the dorm, bury herself beneath a mountain of heavy blankets, and never come out into the light again.

  The nurse ushered Dynah to the waiting room. She saw Joe first, standing in the middle of the room, his expression filled with pain and compassion. Janet was sitting on the couch; Ethan stood near the windows. As she drew near, he turned and looked at her, his face etched with a terrible grief and anger. Janet bolted from the sofa and hugged her tightly. “Oh, Dynah,” she said, crying. “Oh, Dynah, Dynah. Come on, honey. We’ll take you home. You’ll be okay now.”

  On the way out, Ethan touched her once, a brief squeeze on her bruised shoulder. She flinched, and he withdrew completely, eyes shadowed. She felt his anger and was frightened and confused by it.

  Janet bundled her into the backseat of Joe’s Honda. She kept her arm around Dynah, holding her close. Dynah glanced up and saw Joe looking at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes were dark, reflecting her pain.

  “There’s a blanket back there, Janet,” he said quietly, starting the car. “Keep Dynah warm.”

  Ethan didn’t say anything until Joe pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “We’ll find the guy, Dynah. I swear. And we’ll—”

  Joe glanced at him sharply. “That’s enough, Ethan.”

  “It’s not enough! It’s not enough by half!” Ethan’s voice cracked. He turned. “What’d he look like, Dynah?”

  “I don’t know.” She felt her mouth trembling, but she couldn’t stop it. “I never saw his face. All of a sudden, he was there, a shape in the darkness. And he grabbed me.”

  “Leave it alone, Ethan,” Joe said firmly. “The police will handle it.”

  “Yeah, right. They’ll handle it, like they handle everything else these days.” He kept looking at Dynah. “You must’ve seen something. Weren’t you paying any attention when you walked up Henderson?”

  “Leave her alone!” Janet said, angry now as well. “You act like it’s her fault she got raped!”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  As soon as Joe parked in front of the dormitory, Dynah pulled away from Janet and fumbled for the door handle. Joe got out of the car and opened the door for her. He helped her out. Contrite, Ethan caught up with them at the front door. “I’m sorry, Dynah. I didn’t mean—”

  “I just want to go inside.” She pulled at the handle and found the door locked. Curfew had long since passed. Her heart hammered. The glass door rattled loudly as she fought to open it.

  Joe put his hand over hers. “Easy. The housemother’s coming, Dynah. She’ll open the door. You’re safe.” His calm, reassuring voice and presence calmed her slightly.

  Mrs. Blythe opened the door. She allowed Dynah and Janet inside. “She’ll be all right now, gentlemen. Thank you. We’ll look after her,” she said and closed the doors again. Dynah glanced back at Ethan standing on the other side of the glass. She was thankful to hear the sound of the key turning in the lock. Mrs. Blythe turned to her in concern and put her arm around her. “I thought the hospital would keep you overnight.”

  “She wanted to come home,” Janet answered for her, a solid presence on her other side.

  “Well, that’s all right, I suppose, if you’re sure she’ll be all right.” She looked at Dynah, assessing her and grimacing in sympathy.

  “I’ll be all right,” Dynah said, forcing a smile, wanting to allay the dorm mother’s worries. She wanted to stay here, not in a strange room with strangers to care for her.

  “I called the dean. I’ll let him know you’re here so he won’t go to the hospital in the morning. He’ll want to know how you’re doing.”

  Mortified, Dynah said nothing. How many people knew what had happened to her?

  “He’s alerting the student body tomorrow to the danger in our community,” Mrs. Blythe went on. “He assured me your na
me wouldn’t be mentioned, dear, but it’s important for everyone to be warned until this man is arrested.” She pressed the top button to call the elevator. “Dean Abernathy wants to save you as much embarrassment as he can.” She assessed Dynah’s bruised face again. “I think it would be best if you stayed in your room for a few days.”

  “I have classes.”

  “I’ll send word to your instructors that you have a bad case of the flu. They can send your assignments here. And Janet can bring you your meals. How does that sound?”

  Dynah nodded bleakly as she stepped inside the elevator.

  “I’ll call your parents in the morning.”

  Dynah slapped her hand against the door to keep it from sliding closed. “No! Please, don’t do that!”

  “But they should know what happened, Dynah.”

  “There’s nothing they can do. You’ll just worry them. I want to forget it happened.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning. You get a good night’s sleep first.”

  “Promise me, you won’t call them.”

  “Do you think they’d blame the school?”

  “They’d be upset. I don’t know what they’d do.”

  “Well, we’ll wait and see then.”

  Janet stood by solicitously while Dynah got ready for bed. She asked how it all happened, and Dynah told her. She wanted to talk about everything, to pour out her anguish and fear, her feelings of shame and degradation, but at the facts, Janet grimaced in repugnance.

  “I’m sorry I asked. We won’t talk about it anymore. It’s better you forget it happened.” She pulled the blankets up and tucked them snugly around Dynah. “Put it out of your head and get some sleep.” Bending down, Janet kissed her forehead. “I wish you’d called me. I would have picked you up.”

  Dynah felt a stab of guilt for not having done so. She should have heeded Mr. Packard’s warning. She should have asked Sally Wentworth for a ride. She should have listened to Charlie and watched herself. “You said you were going to study at the library tonight.”

  “I didn’t go. I went out with Chad for coffee instead and then came back here and studied.”

  Dynah didn’t say anything more. She couldn’t speak past the lump of pain tightening her throat. If only . . . if only . . .