“He’s missing part of a finger.” She closed her eyes to concentrate. His hand over her face. His left hand. It had to have been his left hand. “From the last knuckle. He must have had an accident.”
“You told the police that?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I must have. But I can’t remember.”
“Call the detective in the morning. Tell him.”
“Then maybe I won’t have to go look at this lineup.” Her relief was immediate and intense.
Mouth against her hair, Caleb asked, “Did you study his face while it was happening and think, I have to remember what he looks like so I can describe him?”
“Only for a minute, at the end. I think I must have been losing consciousness. I was floating down, seeing him through a tunnel. I was sure I was dying. But then I thought, just in case I don’t, I need to remember him. I tried to take a snapshot. You know?”
He nodded. She’d always had a photographic memory for words on a page. When she was taking a test, she could close her eyes and see the paragraph she needed from the textbook. Faces were different, but this time, she’d made an effort.
“It was because of Mom.” She surprised herself, telling him that.
“What?” He sounded startled, as well he might. Her mother had been dead over ten years on the night Laurel had been raped.
“I saw her. She said I wouldn’t die, to hold on. So I looked at him. He was a blur, because one of my eyes must have already been swollen shut and the other one wasn’t so good, either, but I tried.”
“My gutsy woman,” Caleb murmured, voice like a torn piece of velvet.
“It happened so fast, Caleb.” In the cocoon of his arms and her memories, she didn’t know why she’d never told him about the attack. “But when I remember, it’s as if it lasted for hours. So much else has happened in my life, but it’s huge. No matter what I’m thinking about, I can feel it, casting this shadow. It dominates me, and I hate that.”
“Putting him away might help.”
“I’d have to testify. I’d have to tell a whole courtroom full of people what happened.”
He was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “Why would that be so bad? You didn’t do anything wrong. He did horrible things to you. You survived despite him. Now you have the chance to look him in the eye and say, ‘You picked the wrong woman. Guess what? You lose.’”
Voice a thin thread, she said, “I don’t want him to see…” She couldn’t finish.
“See what?” Caleb asked gently.
“What he’s done to me,” Laurel whispered. “Because then he’ll know that really he won.”
“Won?”
Caleb took one arm from around her and reached for the lamp. Laurel blinked in the sudden brightness. He gripped her shoulders and held her so that she couldn’t look away from his fierce gaze. “That scumbag didn’t win. And don’t you think for a minute that he did! You recovered from your injuries, you live a full life. You’re a mother, a daughter, a friend. You recovered. You’ll keep recovering. He’s going to live his life in a windowless cell. And then, if there’s any justice, he’ll rot in hell.”
Laurel gaped at the fury on his face. She hadn’t known he carried so much anger. He’d hidden it from her.
“I used to think that’s why I’d lived,” she confessed. “So I could describe him and he’d be put in jail before he raped another woman. But when months went by, and then a year and another year…” Her mouth twisted. “I thought I’d failed.”
Caleb’s eyes flared, as blue as the heat at the center of flames. “But you were wrong. Because now you have your chance.”
She pressed her lips together, nodded. “Will you come with me?”
“If they’ll let me.”
“I have an advocate, too. She’s supposed to call and tell me what to expect, and then she’ll go in with me.”
“If they won’t let me, I’ll be waiting right outside.”
“Okay.” She smiled, even as her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for coming today, Caleb. I’ve been so…flaky lately. So changeable. And you’re always patient. I don’t deserve you.”
“Yeah, you do.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his mouth resting against her for a moment. His breath shuddered out. Finally, he sat back. “You deserve a hell of a lot more than you think you do, Laurel.”
Looking into his eyes, his grip lending her strength, she almost believed him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I love you, you know. Friends forever.”
For a moment something had flashed in his eyes, as if she’d jolted him. Then he smiled. “I know, Woodall. Now go to bed.” He jerked his head in the direction of her bedroom. “Lydia is going to be up in less than two hours.”
She nodded and stood. “You, too. Thank you for…”
“Thank me one more time—” his voice had a sudden edge “—and I may lose my temper.”
She backed away, bumped into the coffee table and had to readjust her path. “Okay. No more. Just… No. I’m going. I promise. Good night.”
“Good night.” He waited until she reached the hall, then turned off the lamp, plunging the living room into darkness.
Back in bed, Laurel listened to the silence from the living room.
I love you. She’d never said those words to him before. She’d barely jumped to recover. Friends forever. Uh-huh, but that’s not what she’d meant.
The look in his eyes… Laurel shivered, remembering. If he felt that way, why were his kisses always so gentle? Why had he let her go so easily?
Was Megan right? Was Caleb waiting for her? If he was, would she ever dare find out what he was like when he wasn’t being gentle, when he quit worrying about scaring her?
My gutsy woman.
If only…
IT HAD TO BE TODAY that Caleb’s luck at finding parking spots ran out.
He put on the turn signal and Laurel realized he was going to enter a parking garage that was ahead on the right.
“If we go around one more time, maybe we could still find street parking.” Her voice was high and thin.
“What?” He looked at her, saw her face. “You don’t like… Oh, damn.” Shaking his head, he turned off the signal. “I’m sorry. God. I’m an idiot. I should have realized.”
Her hands were clasped on her lap, her nails biting into her flesh. She was stretched like wire, quivering with the strain.
“It’s silly,” she said.
“No. Not silly.” Turning the corner in what she knew would be another fruitless trip around half a dozen blocks, he said, “That’s why you don’t drive to work, isn’t it?”
“Parking is expensive, too.”
He didn’t say anything. Laurel stared straight ahead.
“If there was a lot at street level, I would.”
“How is it that in five years, we’ve never once gone into a parking garage?”
“Because, when you’re driving, a spot always opens up right in front of wherever we’re going. And also because…” She hesitated, then thought, Oh, why not admit it. “I plan ahead. We don’t go anywhere that would mean having to park in a garage.”
He shook his head again. “I can’t believe I was that dense.”
They circled, and circled again. Laurel looked at her watch, her tension increasing until she thought she’d snap. What if she was late? Did they hold police lineups if the witness was late?
The next time around, she said, “Go in the garage.”
“What?”
“Caleb, we’re going to be late. Anyway…You’re with me. I can’t live the rest of my life this way.”
“I can drop you off while I park.”
“No. I mean it.” If she could face her rapist, she could walk through a parking garage.
Still staring straight ahead, she felt his quick assessment. Then he put on his signal again, and a moment later turned into the low, concrete-framed opening.
If it was possible to get any tenser
, she did. Completely rigid, she sat silently as he took a ticket from the machine and then drove down a ramp to the first subterranean level of the garage. Her breathing grew shallow. It looked…not the same, but close enough. Dim, with a low ceiling. Dark corners, shadows between cars.
Only, in this garage today the slots were full, row upon row of cars. Two well-dressed women were just leaving one, tote bags over their arms. Brake lights flickered ahead as another car made the same turns Caleb was.
“Ah,” he said with satisfaction, and she, too, saw a couple leaving an elevator and going straight to an SUV parked nearby. Caleb paused, the SUV backed out, and he took the slot.
Laurel got out, trying not to look at the concrete abutments or the painted yellow line underfoot.
But I have to remember.
Today, she was going to point at her rapist and say, Him. It was him. She had to remember everything.
Caleb laid a hand on her back. A moment later they were in the elevator, then emerging onto the street.
In the public safety building, the middle-aged detective who’d handled her case and the advocate from the rape center both waited in the lobby. Esther Smith was no more than Laurel’s age, and had herself been attacked when she was a teenager. She and Detective Garner talked to Laurel, repeating things they’d already said, and she let the words wash over her. They ended up standing around waiting, with her feeling as if she were having an out-of-body experience. There she was, Laurel Woodall, apparently composed, nodding as people spoke to her, and yet already she didn’t know what they were saying.
She did hear the summons, and the detective telling Caleb he had to wait outside. The squeeze of his hand, warm and strong, worked as nothing else had to bring her back into her body.
“Go get ’em,” he murmured.
She gave a shallow, jerky nod and let Detective Garner escort her through a doorway.
The room he led her into was small, almost a hall, but the glass was reassuringly thick, nothing like that in her dream.
Even so, she gasped and tried to back up when the row of orange-suited men filed in on the other side of that glass and turned to face her. She hadn’t expected them to be so close to her.
She saw him right away, the second in line, and stared fearfully. His hair was longer, and he was shorter than she remembered. His hands were curled at his side, so she couldn’t see whether he was missing part of a finger, but she knew.
“Look carefully at their faces,” Detective Garner said, voice low and calm. He’d talked to her in advance, too, but he must have sensed her panic. “Don’t hurry to give a number. Study all of the men in the lineup.”
She drew a deep breath and nodded. Even so, wrenching her gaze from that face took a painful effort. She was momentarily jolted when she looked at the man at the end, who held the number-six placard. He looked so much like him. Did they all? She scanned the faces. They’d picked a physical type. They did all resemble each other. Maybe number two wasn’t him. How could she be sure?
Her heart raced and her breathing came even faster.
“Carefully,” the detective murmured. “Feature by feature. Face by face. Take your time.”
Another shaky breath and she nodded, turning her attention back to number six. There was a resemblance, but his lips were full, fleshy. No, it wasn’t him.
Reassured to have eliminated one man in the lineup, she studied number five. He was beefy, thick, his face too broad.
Number four’s nose was thin, his chin receding enough to give him a ferretlike appearance.
Number three was the closest. She skipped past him and eliminated number one next. Although he’d shaved, the shadow on his jaw was still dark, and hair peeked above his collar. No. He wasn’t that hairy.
Back to three, then two. They did look a great deal alike, both staring defiantly at the glass, their mouths curled as if in contempt. But she knew.
Finally, to be sure, she said, “Will you ask them to hold out their hands?”
Detective Garner stepped forward to a speaker. “Spread out your fingers.”
The police had done their jobs well. Number five, the beefy one, was missing an entire finger on his left hand. But he lacked only the last inch or less on the index finger.
“Number two,” she said, surprised at how strong her voice was. “That’s him.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re done.”
The tension left her in such a rush, Laurel’s legs went weak. She nodded and started to turn toward the door, then stopped and took one last look. She wanted to remember him like this, in an orange prison jumpsuit, in a police lineup. Powerless. Smaller than she remembered, more ordinary.
Despite the sneer, there was fear in his eyes. He was sweating heavily, and his hands had curled into fists again.
She thought with surprise, He’s afraid of me. And then, He should be afraid of me. She was going to send him to jail for a long, long time. If some of the other women were able to identify him, too, or if the DNA from the one attack was a match, it might be for a lifetime.
Released by the knowledge, she turned and walked out. Caleb had been pacing. He froze midstep, spun and covered the distance between them in a couple of strides. He studied her face but said nothing, only placing a supportive arm around her.
She turned to Detective Garner. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
The detective grinned at her. “Damn straight. You did fantastic, Laurel. I always knew you’d be a great witness. We rarely get descriptions as detailed as yours, and especially from a victim in the shape you were in. I still remember the way you closed your eyes and just painted him with words. I’m only sorry it took this long to nail the bastard.”
“The other woman…the one he just raped. How is she?”
“She’s out of the hospital. She got lucky. Luckier than you were. A med student was napping in his car. He’d put his seat back and was so low, our guy didn’t spot him. The victim doesn’t think she screamed, but something woke him. He peered at his side mirror, saw this guy assaulting her and jumped out. The slimeball was too busy to see him coming. The student’s a big guy. He was able to wrench him off the woman and sit on him while she found her phone.”
“Are you able to pin other rapes on him?” Caleb asked.
“He was smart enough to use a condom, but it ripped in one case. We’ve sent off DNA, and if it matches we’ll get him for that one, too.”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done.” Laurel held out a hand. “You always seemed to care. That meant a lot to me.”
He shook her hand. “We’ll be in touch, Laurel. We’re putting him away.”
She thanked the advocate, too, and then Caleb and her left the building. It was a rare, sparkling-clear winter day, and the chill outside made her skin tingle. Her senses felt heightened, every sensation enhanced. It was as if they’d been muffled before. Smells from a deli, a hearty guffaw from one of a pair of expensively dressed businessmen who passed her and Caleb on the sidewalk. A Metro bus stopping half a block up, brakes squealing. Her own muscles and skin, the pavement under her feet.
“How are you?” Caleb asked.
“I…” Laurel searched herself. “I’m okay. No, I’m good.” She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “I did it. I feel amazing!”
He laughed, and she realized she was, too.
“I knew you would. What have I always told you?”
“I’m a gutsy broad.” Her knees were still shaky, but ebullience bubbled in her. “Caleb, he was afraid of me. He was sweating fear.”
Something dangerous flashed in Caleb’s eyes. “And he should be.”
“Testifying in court doesn’t seem so scary now. I want to testify. I hope they don’t plea bargain him.”
“Let the D. A. know how you feel.”
“I will.” She drew in a deep, clean breath. “Let’s get Lydia at your mom’s and go home. No.” She smiled at him. “I’m starved. Let’s go
out to lunch first.”
“And celebrate.” He nodded. “I like your plan, Woodall.”
They walked into the parking garage, getting on the elevator with a group of women carrying full shopping bags. The women left the elevator on the next level, Caleb and Laurel continuing down. When the doors opened again, they went to his car.
Laurel waited while he unlocked. The air in here had that hushed, thick quality, even as the sound of a car a level or two away was magnified. This time, she looked at the many black marks on the concrete where drivers had misjudged, down at the painted yellow line so much like the one in which her face had been ground, and thought with a dawning sense of wonder, I’m free.
A part of her inside surfaced to protest. The frightened woman she’d been these past five years argued, It’s not going to be that easy.
It had still happened, that cautious side of her pointed out. There were other monsters walking around.
Yes, but this one wasn’t anymore. And knowing that made her feel different. As if… She struggled to understand what was breaking loose inside her. Then, almost in puzzlement, she identified a part of her she hadn’t known still existed.
She felt strong. Certain of herself. Able to overcome fear. She’d spent the past five years debilitated by fear and an overpowering sense of helplessness. She felt as if she’d been drugged but had suddenly refused to take another dose. Suddenly she was aware of the confidence that had her able to look around and think, I will never be afraid of a parking garage again.
Maybe it wouldn’t be this easy. Maybe she was just giddy. But she didn’t believe it. Refused to believe it.
The Laurel she’d once been hadn’t died that night after all. She’d just been hiding.
But I’m not hiding anymore.
“Laurel?”
Startled, she realized Caleb had gotten into the car and reached across to open her door while she stood oblivious. He looked worried.
“Sorry,” she said, getting in. “I just had a little moment there. But I’m back.”
His brows rose as he studied her face. “So I see.”
She grinned at him, as brash as the old Laurel. “What are we waiting for? I’m ready to pop the champagne.”
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