Out of the Shadows

by Melanie Mitchell

  Frantically, she tried to pull away from Ben. “No! Ben, no! We have to stop them!”

  His face was implacable as he held her tightly, struggling to keep her eyes averted. “Honey, we can’t,” he whispered in her ear. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

  Leslie started sobbing and managed to turn her head toward the mob, which had grown even larger and more vocal. As she watched, a young boy, probably about ten or eleven years of age, appeared to rise from their midst. Incredibly, he was carrying her canvas bag. Leslie ceased struggling, but she was still sobbing when the boy reached them. Grinning, he proudly presented the bag to Leslie, and she robotically took it from him. Ben let go of her long enough to reach into his pocket to grasp a handful of shillings. He did not stop to count them, but simply thrust the money at the boy before he grabbed Leslie’s arm to drag her away from the ugly confrontation.

  Stunned, Leslie clasped the bag to her chest and continued to cry as she allowed Ben to pull her down a side street. The noise of the beating had attracted considerable attention, and a large group of people had gathered around to watch or participate. Fortunately, the gawkers ignored Ben and Leslie, and they moved unhindered away from the throng.

  * * *

  BEN WANTED TO put as much distance between themselves and what had transpired as quickly as possible. Walking rapidly, they covered several blocks, turning a couple of times to move in different directions. The streets became considerably less crowded, and they could no longer hear the sounds of the beating. Finally, he stopped and turned to Leslie.

  “Oh, dear God!” His whispered response was panicked. She was covered in blood. The canvas bag was wet with thick streaks and large splotches, which evidently had come from the thief’s wounds. Leslie clutched the bag to her chest and, as a result, some of the blood had rubbed off on her hands and bare lower arms and permeated her blouse. One of her cheeks was smeared. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were oddly vacant. Ben could recognize the signs of shock.

  Blood. In most circumstances, a little blood was no big deal. It was certainly not a big deal to Ben, who’d been exposed to various injuries and even death on many occasions. And blood would not bother Leslie, whose passion and livelihood involved dealing with the substance on an almost daily basis. But Ben had lived in Kenya for years and knew that blood could bring death. AIDS was pervasive, and exposure to even just a drop of contaminated blood on an open wound could infect. Ben also knew that a significant percentage of Kenyans had the virus.

  Ben had observed both Mama Joe and Leslie enough to know that they were extremely cautious about avoiding direct contact with body fluids, always wearing gloves, aprons or gowns, and sometimes even masks, to protect themselves. He had taken precautions himself whenever he anticipated being exposed. Anything less would be stupid. But Leslie wasn’t in any shape to think through all that right now—he doubted she even realized there was a problem.

  Hastily, he scouted the area. They were near an outdoor café that was rather quiet, with only a few patrons this early in the evening. Keeping hold of Leslie’s arm, Ben drew her to a cloth-covered table that appeared to have been recently vacated. On it was a half-empty glass of soda and a nearly full glass of water, sitting next to a couple of used plates and coffee cups. Swiftly, trying to avoid attracting attention, Ben moved the dirty dishes onto a chair. He stripped off the tablecloth and held it toward Leslie, who was staring blankly in his direction.

  “Honey, drop the bag onto the cloth.” He was grateful that she did not question him or argue, but merely obeyed. He wrapped the cloth around the bloody bag and set it on the table before reassessing Leslie. “Hold out your hands,” he commanded. When she complied, he poured the remains of the soda on her hands and forearms; this was followed by most of the water. He wet a napkin and gently washed the smear off her face. Her blouse needed to come off, but there were too many people around, and he had nothing to replace it with.

  He grabbed the cloth holding the canvas bag in one hand and Leslie’s damp hand in the other and pulled her in the direction of the Hilton. Their circuitous route from the mob beating had not taken them far out of their way, and they reached the hotel in only a few minutes.

  Hugely relieved he’d reserved rooms earlier, Ben steered Leslie straight to the elevators. Fortunately they were alone in the car, and he pushed the button for their floor. He took those seconds to assess her again and was alarmed by her white face and blank expression. He realized that she had not said anything since witnessing the brutal beating.

  They exited the elevator, and he quickly led her down the corridor to the room where he’d stored his backpack a short time earlier. He opened the door and ushered her into the room before he closed and locked it.

  Just inside the room, he dropped the tablecloth containing the bag and grasped Leslie by her shoulders. “Honey, we need to get you undressed,” he cajoled. She shook her head, apparently not understanding, so he tried again. “Leslie, there’s blood on your shirt. You need to take it off and go have a hot shower.” He reached up and started to unbutton the buttons, but realized he would have to deal with the blood. To avoid further contamination and speed the process, he simply yanked the tail out of the waistband of her skirt, and without an explanation, ripped the ends apart, rending all the buttons off at once. Her chest was fully exposed, covered only by her bra, which also bore splotches of blood where the fluid had seeped through.

  The ripping of her blouse jerked Leslie from her stupor. She gasped loudly and pulled away from him, urgently trying to pull the garment back together. “What are you doing?” Her voice cracked, and alarm was evident in her expression.

  Ben stilled her hands and managed to keep his voice calm and insistent. “Leslie, your blouse and bra are covered with blood. You’re risking exposure to HIV. You need to take them off and go have a hot shower.” His eyes held hers, and he was relieved that she seemed more alert.

  “Okay.” She looked down at her tattered, bloodstained blouse and nodded. Her words were quiet and flat. “Yes, okay.” She turned her back to him and slipped off the blouse, and it fell to the floor between them. “The bathroom... Where’s the bathroom?” Her voice was devoid of inflection and her movements were erratic.

  Ben’s mouth went dry as he stared at her nearly bare back. After catching his breath, he pushed past her, leading the way into the bathroom, trusting that she would follow. There he turned on the shower full blast and adjusted the hot water as high as he could stand it. Pulling a large towel from the adjacent rack, he turned back to face her and saw that she had followed as he hoped. But he was dumbfounded to find that she had blindly complied with his instructions and removed the bra.

  He tried—he really tried—to keep his eyes on her face, but he didn’t quite succeed. His breath caught. He could feel his face darken, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Seconds passed before he thrust the towel at her and walked quickly out of the room. “Use a lot of soap and shampoo. I’ll find something for you to wear,” he said as he practically slammed the door.

  He waited outside the bathroom door until he heard her get into the shower. His hands were shaking as he silently berated himself. Get a grip! She’s not for you! He knew he had to get his responses to her under control.

  After he’d assured himself that she was okay and his heart rate had slowed a bit, he grabbed his backpack from the closet and rummaged through it, trying to find something she could wear. The best he could do was a pair of worn gym shorts and a clean cotton shirt. He left them on the bed and went to scrounge through the contents of the minibar, all the while listening to the sounds in the bathroom. He pulled out a beer, a Coke and a couple of candy bars.

  He heard the shower cut off. Returning to the bathroom door, he snagged the shirt and shorts. He knocked lightly. “Leslie, I have some clothes that you can wear for now.”

  She cracked the door just wide enough to re
ach through and take the items from him. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible.

  A few minutes passed with Ben staring at the closed door. His mood was foul, and he was halfway through the beer when she emerged. The tails of his shirt fell nearly to her knees, and it was buttoned almost to the top; the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she was holding the shorts with one hand. He took another swallow of the beer.

  “Um, I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. Her voice was still small and flat. “But I need a pin or staple or something to hold up the shorts.” Ben set down the beer bottle with a thud and leaned over to dig through the backpack. Amazingly, he was able to produce a safety pin.

  Leslie turned her back to secure the shorts. When she accomplished that small feat, she faced him and quietly asked, “Do you have a brush or comb?”

  More time in the backpack produced a small brush, which Ben handed to her. “Thank you,” she whispered, then returned to the bathroom. A short time later he heard the sound of the hair dryer. That struck him as a positive sign—she could manage something routine like grooming. He sighed with relief.

  When the hair dryer turned off, he knocked on the door. “Leslie, come have a Coke and candy bar. Or if you want, I’ll call down for room service.” When she didn’t answer, he knocked more loudly. “Leslie!” There was no response, and he roared, “Leslie, I’m coming in!”

  Fortunately, she had not locked the door, so he was able to enter without the added drama of breaking it down. But he was alarmed anew to see her staring at the mirror, her expression stark, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, baby,” he mumbled. He drew her into the bedroom and gently pushed her to sit on the bed. Handing her a glass half-filled with Coke, he said, “Drink this.” Obediently, she took a sip while staring at the carpet.

  His gaze followed hers and then moved across the room to where he had dropped her bag—the source of her extreme consternation. Quickly, he pulled the bag, tablecloth and all, onto the room’s small desk. Carefully avoiding touching any of the contaminated spots, he opened the bag and rifled through its contents, sorting through bottles of medications. He recognized the names on about half of the bottles and finally found one that would work—Diazepam, five mg. He opened the bottle and took out a tablet, glanced at Leslie and took out another. She had drunk about half of the Coke, and he held up the candy bar. “Would you eat a Snickers?” She shook her head. “Okay. Here,” he said, holding out the medication. “Honey, they’re Valium. I got them from your bag. They’ll help you rest.”

  In slow motion, she took the tablets from him and swallowed them with a sip of the Coke. Finally, she looked directly at him; her eyes were tear swollen and bleak. “Ben, I don’t know what happened.... I didn’t mean for him... I didn’t know...”

  Fearing that she would start crying again, he sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, comforting her with his embrace. “I know, honey. I know. You didn’t have any idea... I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it for you.” He cradled her head against his shoulder and rocked her back and forth for a long while. Finally, he smoothed back her hair and studied her. She had a bit more color, and her eyelids were starting to droop.

  Ben pulled back the bedcovers and tenderly guided her down. He covered her with the sheet and blanket, saying, “Rest for now. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BEN HAD FALLEN FAST, and he had fallen hard. He knew it was happening, and he had done nothing to stop it. Indeed, he did not want to stop it.

  He sat beside the bed for a time just watching her sleep. He knew what he felt for her was not merely interest or infatuation. It was love. He admitted it, accepted it. He loved the way she looked, the way she talked and the way she cared for her patients. He loved the way she had felt in his arms and the way she smiled at him on rare occasions. She was smart, brave, caring, funny, fragile and precious. How could he not love her? It was so simple.

  It was so extremely complicated. He scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed.

  After making sure she was deeply asleep, he slipped out of the room to take care of several pressing issues. Because her blouse was ruined, he went directly to the hotel’s boutique and selected a replacement. He didn’t even glance at the price, just forked over cash when the saleslady gave him the total. That process was uncomfortable enough, so he was not about to buy a bra. But hers could not be worn in its current state, so he jogged a block from the hotel to a small store to buy bleach and detergent. On the way back, he bargained with a street vendor for a large nylon backpack to replace the contaminated canvas bag, then stuffed his other purchases into it.

  Ben’s final stop was the hotel bar. He was impatient to get back in case Leslie woke, so he was relieved to see that Justin Cooper had already secured a table near the door. The lawyer had obviously showered and changed and was sipping a cocktail.

  Cooper remained seated when Ben approached him, so Ben pulled out the opposite chair and sat down without being invited, placing the recently procured backpack on the floor.

  “Hello, Murphy. I wasn’t sure you were coming.” The men shook hands briefly. Justin’s eyes conveyed annoyance, although his tone was cordial.

  “Yeah, well...I need to let you know that the plans have changed.” Ben leaned back in his chair. “Leslie won’t be able to make it tonight. She’s not feeling well and decided to order room service.”

  “That’s odd. She seemed okay an hour ago,” Justin countered. Irritation and disbelief were apparent in his expression. He dropped his negligent pose and sat up straighter. His plans for the evening had been changed, and obviously he did not like it. “What room is she in? I’ll go check on her.” Pulling his wallet from his coat pocket, he gestured to the waitress.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ben replied. “I’ll take care of her.” He reached for the backpack and stood. “I trust that Bill will be able to leave tomorrow. Give him my best.” With that, he effectively dismissed the other man and started toward the lobby.

  Justin Cooper was rich and handsome. He was also an aggressive and successful attorney, and he rarely lost at anything. With his father in the hospital, he’d been planning to encourage Leslie to accompany him to his room after dinner. He was reluctant to give up easily.

  Angered by losing control of the situation, Cooper paused for a few seconds then threw some shillings on the table and followed. They had covered about half the distance to the elevators when he called, “Hey! Murphy! Wait a minute!”

  Ben stopped and turned. “What?” His face remained expressionless, although impatience was evident in the single word.

  “Look, Ben,” he said. “Leslie is here because of me and my father. I promised her dinner, so I need to see about her. Where is she?”

  Ben’s words were measured and authoritative. “Like I said...she’s not feeling well and has gone to bed. I’ll tell her that you were concerned. I’m sure she’ll want to check on Bill in the morning. Good night.” With a nod, he started toward the elevators again.

  In a display of bad judgment, Justin persisted. “Hey. I’m not finished.” He placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder to stop him. He regretted his action immediately, however, when Ben swung around and faced him.

  “What now?” Ben’s words were spoken quietly but with an undertone that was chilling.

  Feeling the tension in the hard muscle, Cooper quickly dropped his hand and took a step backward as he stared into green eyes that were cold and flat. His experience and intuition finally recognized the warning conveyed in Ben’s expression. He perceived power and danger in the other man and understood that at that moment Ben represented a considerable threat.

  Justin put both hands in his pockets, unconsciously signaling surrender. “Uh, tell her thanks again.” He took another step
backward. “And tell her I hope she feels better tomorrow.” Without waiting for a response, he quickly headed back toward the bar, leaving Ben to watch his retreat in silence.

  * * *

  RETURNING TO THE room, Ben was relieved to find Leslie still sleeping soundly. Dining on two candy bars and a soda, he watched her with longing. He had no illusions that she returned his feelings. The man he had become would hold no appeal for a woman like her. He knew he was attractive to other women—women who wanted irreverent men, women who were captivated by danger and intrigue. But to him, their appeal was virtually nonexistent.

  He knew the type of man who would attract her. Someone like her dead husband—solid, smart, temperate, devoted, and, he silently scoffed, gainfully employed.

  He reached out and touched her cheek very lightly, not wanting to disturb her. He let his fingers wander to her hair and found that it was still damp. He stroked the dark waves before letting his hand drop to his side. He wanted to kiss her, but he did not dare—both for his sake and for hers. Instead, he slipped off his boots and shirt and lay down on the bed, remaining on top of the bedclothes, careful not to touch her again. He knew he had several hours before the medication wore off, and he needed to sleep, too. He could rest, content with the knowledge that she was here and she was safe.

  Tomorrow he would take her back to Namanga, and then the worry for her would return. He was well acquainted with the dangers she faced. She could be preyed on by bandits and mercenaries. The savanna was rife with wild animals and snakes, and disease was everywhere. Even driving the pothole-infested streets posed a threat to her. But for now she was safe.

  He went to sleep thinking of her beautiful eyes.

  * * *

  LESLIE OPENED HER eyes and experienced a moment of panic. She was lying on a bed in a hotel room covered by a lightweight blanket. Her thoughts cleared a little, and she recalled the shower and Ben giving her clothes and a brush. Then she turned her head and saw him lying on his side facing her, apparently sleeping. Hastily, she inspected her body with her hands and discovered that she was wearing his overly large shirt and gym shorts. Thankfully, he was still wearing his pants, and he was on the other side of the blanket.