by T. L. Haddix
A nearly frantic Gordon stood on the porch, cell phone up to his ear. “She’s at the door, Ethan.” He asked Stacy, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She fumbled with the lock on the storm door, cursing as she fought to open it. Her hand finally responded, and the lock turned. As Gordon opened the door, Stacy realized she had something on her hand. Squinting against the light, she brought it closer to her face. The smudge looked like red paint.
Gordon gently grasped her shoulders and moved her back a few steps as he came in. “What the hell happened to you? You’re covered in dried paint. Are you okay?”
“Is that what it is? I can’t tell. I have a pounding headache. Can you close the door, shut out the light?” Her head felt as though it weighed a ton and was lined with cotton. Thinking through the pain was difficult, but she was starting to realize that something was wrong.
“Ethan, hang on a second. Let me check her over.” Gordon laid the phone on the table in the hall and touched her forehead. “Stacy, talk to me. How do you feel? What’s going on?”
Irritated, she pushed him away. “My head’s killing me. And how the hell do I know what’s going on? I just woke up.” She looked down at herself, eyes bleary. Sure enough, she was covered in paint. A tingle of awareness started in the back of her mind, but it couldn’t penetrate the migraine fog. “I need to pee.” Without waiting for him, she headed toward the bathroom.
Gordon was talking to Ethan as she closed the bathroom door. With a sigh of relief, she sank onto the toilet, barely managing to get her underwear down first.
“She’s acting like she’s been drugged,” she heard him say from right outside. “You’d better get over here. I’m going to try and get some caffeine into her.”
Stacy thought that sounded like an excellent idea. She finished using the bathroom. Getting her panties back up over her hips presented a bit of a challenge, but she managed it.
“Stacy? Are you okay?”
“Yep. Head still hurts,” she said as she washed her hands. “I need to take something for that.”
“No! Don’t take anything,” Gordon said. “Let me in.”
Annoyed, she opened the door, almost losing her balance in the process. “Do you know what my head feels like? It’s a migraine.” She enunciated carefully. “Migraine. Ow.”
He stopped her as she was reaching for the medicine cabinet. “Sweetheart, I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything. Not yet. Let’s get you some caffeine and see if that helps.”
“Nothing?”
“Not yet. Come on. I’ll get you a Coke.” He led her down the hall to the living room and eased her down onto the couch. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” She grabbed a pillow and pressed it to her stomach, using it to brace herself upright. “I swear, my head weighs a ton. How is that possible?”
Gordon was back very soon with the cold Coke, and the sound of it popping open shot through her head.
“Drink this.” He sat on the coffee table in front of her, helping her hold the can.
“My hands don’t seem to be working today. Think it’s the migraine?”
“It’s something. We’ll find out what soon.”
The cold cola felt good going down, and she moaned with pleasure. When she started to list to the side, Gordon sat beside her, holding her up.
“Thanks. I’m a little tipsy, I believe.” With his assistance, she finished the soft drink. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead, a long, loud belch came out. The sound made her giggle, and she snuggled in under Gordon’s arm. There was something very unreal about the entire situation, and it made her giggle even more. Pain aside, she figured she had to be dreaming.
“You’re so sexy,” she told him. “I’d never tell you that in the real world, but I’m safe here. Beth gave me condoms. Do you know how good you smell?”
Gordon sucked in a breath. “I swear I’m going to kill whoever did this. You are going to be so embarrassed when you sober up. I’m sorry, Stacy.”
“Sorry for what?” She tipped her head back so that she could see him, but the movement made her dizzy. “Whoa, that’s unpleasant.”
Another knock sounded, and the front door opened.
“Gordon? Stacy?” Ethan called.
Gordon pulled a throw off the back of the couch and draped it over her bare legs. “We’re in here. She’s in bad shape.”
“This is one weird dream,” Stacy told Ethan when he appeared in the living room doorway. “And I’m not cold. Why are you covering me up?” She pushed back the cover, but Gordon rearranged it. After a brief tug-of-war, she gave up.
“Son of a bitch.” Hands on his hips, Ethan shared the look that Gordon had had when she’d opened the door. Stacy told him as much.
“Dining room and kitchen are a mess,” Gordon said. “When I can get her to stand up, you’ll see that she’s covered in the paint, too. It’s all over her sheets, but there’s none on the floor between her room and here.”
“I can stand up.” She demonstrated, needing three tries to get up off the couch.
Ethan cursed again as the throw fell to the floor. “We need to get her to the hospital.”
Stacy frowned. “Get who to the hospital? Is Beth here? Is she in labor?”
Gordon spoke from beside her. “No, sweetheart. We need to get you to the hospital. You’ve been drugged.”
“Sweetheart. I like that.” Stacy thought she smiled up at him, but her face was numb and she couldn’t tell. “But this is my dream, and I don’t want to go to the hospital. Still can’t figure out why you’re here, though,” she told Ethan. “Beth gave me condoms.”
The startled look on his face made her giggle again.
“Do you think you can get her dressed?” Ethan asked.
“I’ll try. Come on,” Gordon said. “Let’s go to your bedroom and find some clothes.”
“You’re supposed to undress me, not dress me,” Stacy chided. “Are you sure you were married?”
“I’d like two minutes alone with whoever’s doing this,” Ethan said as Gordon helped her down the hall.
“Take a number. Listen, can you call your father-in-law, see if he can pull some strings for us? I don’t want her to have to wait in the ER waiting room, not like this.”
“Sure.”
Gordon guided her to the padded bench at the foot of the bed. “Can you sit up by yourself?”
“What a silly question. Of course I can.”
He smoothed her hair off her forehead, muttering under his breath about punishment fitting the crime. “I’m going to get you a pair of pants and some clean clothes. We’ll put the pants on now, but we’ll need some clean clothes for later.”
Stacy fell silent as she watched him go into the closet. The headache was still pounding behind her eyes, but it wasn’t as bad. Her head was also clearing, and by the time Gordon returned, clothes in hand, a horrible realization was dawning. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away clumsily. She stared at her hand, stained with red paint, and thought she was going to be sick. “Gordon?”
He was beside her in an instant. “Yes?”
“This isn’t a dream, is it?”
He shook his head, green eyes full of regret. “No. It isn’t.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Two hours later, Stacy was almost sober. Everything since the night before, including the morning, was a blur. She remembered saying some things to Gordon and Ethan, but not exactly what. She had the feeling the memories were going to be humiliating when and if she did recall them.
Thanks to Beth’s father, who was a doctor, the emergency room had been ready and waiting for them when they got to the hospital. Dr. Hudson himself had been there and had guided them in through the doctors’ private entrance.
Gordon stayed with her the whole time, except during the sexual assault exam. Given how high she’d been, they weren’t taking any chances. The exam was humiliating, and it brought back memories Stacy
wasn’t equipped to deal with in her drugged state. Thank God, it had been negative.
“Jason’s almost finished processing the house,” Gordon told her as she dressed. He was standing on the other side of the privacy curtain, only an arm’s distance away. “Chloe’s okay. We’ll go get her when we leave here.”
“How bad is it?”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds. “It’s going to take a little work to clean up.”
“That bad, then. Okay.” She moved the curtain aside, and Gordon looked her over.
“Ready?”
“Yes, please. I’d like to get out of here.”
“That can be arranged. Wyatt was here earlier, and once he was sure you were okay, he went back to the department to start making calls.”
Ethan met them at the door with his car. Almost before she knew it, they were pulling up in her driveway. She’d ridden in the back, and Gordon had to open her door for her.
“You ready for this?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Yes. I want to see it, and I need to get cleaned up. Get this paint off me.” She had declined the shower at the hospital.
Jason came out onto the porch as they went up the front walk. The smile the easy-going detective was known for was absent, and concern filled its place. “Hey. How are you?”
Stacy managed a tense smile. “Sobering up. Thanks for being here.”
He waved away the words. “Don’t mention it. Do you want to walk through first, see everything? Then we can go over what I’ve found. Oh, I put Chloe in the guest room with food and water, just to keep her out of the way while I processed things.”
“Okay.” With her arms wrapped around her to still the trembling that had started when she approached the front door, she stepped over the threshold into the house. Gordon followed her, but Ethan and Jason stayed outside, giving them privacy. As soon as she reached the living room door, she saw the paint to her right. The dining room looked like a bad scene from a slasher movie. The bright red paint Stacy wore was splashed all over the furniture, the walls, and even the light fixture.
“Oh, no. Not my table and sideboard,” she moaned, hurrying into the room. “I worked so hard to refinish those.”
“It looks like the paint is latex.” Gordon rubbed his finger across one of the splotches. “Once it dries fully, you should be able to get it off the furniture fairly easily. Everything else, not so much.”
Stacy didn’t speak and just went on into the kitchen. “Good God, how much paint did they use? Two gallons? Three?” A used paint roller and tray lay in the middle of the floor; paint was spilled all around it. From the looks of things, the perpetrator had used the tools to paint as much of the room as possible, starting with the ceiling.
“It could have been much worse. This could have happened after we got all the new stuff in here,” Gordon said.
“I know. But it’s bad enough.” Looking around the room, she felt old and defeated. “Where else is it?”
“The only other place I saw was on the sheets on your bed.”
They went back into the hall. Ethan and Jason had stepped inside and were waiting for them.
“Is it okay to let Chloe out?”
“Yes. But she does have a little paint on her,” Jason warned. “Not much, and I checked her over very closely, but she’s not a monochromatic cat at the moment.”
Stacy opened the door to the guest room, but didn’t see Chloe. She called her, and she meowed softly from under the bed. Looking wary, Chloe came out from underneath the bed. Sure enough, one white paw was now tinged pink. The sight devastated Stacy, and she sat down on the floor, pulling the cat into her arms.
“My poor baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” She held Chloe close, not caring if the men saw. “Where was she?”
“Hiding under your bed,” Jason said. “She’s a smart cat.”
“Very smart.” Stacy didn’t look up. “What all did you find?”
“Well, given that your bag of cans was still blocking the front door, I think they came in through the kitchen. You told Ethan the paint was from the garage, right?”
“Yes. I was planning on using it in the living room.”
“I checked out there, and nothing seemed out of place. You’ll need to confirm that for me when you feel up to it.” When she nodded, he continued. “The damage seems to be contained to the dining room and kitchen, with a few splotches of paint between here and there. I’m afraid your bedclothes are all evidence, though. I went ahead and stripped the bed down.”
“I figured as much.” She sighed. “Have you found any sign of what they used to drug me?”
“No. You don’t remember taking anything?”
Stacy cringed. “Not exactly, but I think I might know how they did it.” When Chloe started struggling to get down, she let her go and stood. “Come with me.”
Leading the men to the china cabinet in the dining room, she directed Jason to one of its drawers. With gloved hands, he opened it and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“I’ve been smoking a couple of these every night before bedtime. That’s the last thing I remember from last night—going to the bedroom after I smoked. I almost didn’t go out because it was raining.” Stacy could tell the men were surprised, and she fought to not squirm under the weight of her own guilt.
“How long have you been smoking?” Ethan asked.
“Since the wreck. I figured smoking was better than eating pain pills like they were candy.”
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.” Ethan was a recovering alcoholic, so Stacy knew he understood the desperation that had sent her back to tobacco.
“So you think these are drugged?” Jason held up the half-empty pack.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. After Gordon left, I got ready for bed and then went outside. I got water from the tap, and I didn’t ingest anything else.”
Ethan frowned. “Walk us through last night one more time.”
She went to the front door, and the men followed her. With her hands on her hips, she closed her eyes and thought back to the night before.
“I’m still a little foggy, so bear with me. Gordon left, and I locked the door.” She demonstrated, then leaned up against the wood for a moment. She didn’t need to tell them, she didn’t think, that she’d done a happy dance down the hall once the door was closed. “Then I went downstairs and grabbed these cans. I checked all the windows down there and came back up.” She rattled the plastic bag full of empty soda cans for emphasis. The clanging noise made her wince. “I played around with that a little, making sure the bag was far enough away from the door that it would knock over if someone opened it.”
“What about the windows?” Jason asked.
“I checked to make sure they were locked. I worry less about someone getting in through them, since I’ve got some vicious plants outside—roses, holly bushes, yucca plants. It’s a very effective, subtle way of protecting a house. Anyone who tries to come in through the windows is going to have an unpleasant surprise.”
Ethan nodded.
“After that, I scooped the litter box, made sure Chloe had food and water, and talked to Gordon. I got the water while we were talking.” She led them to the bathroom, but the glass she’d used was gone. She turned to Jason. “Did you already bag the glass?”
“Yes. And your toothbrush, toothpaste. Sorry.”
“It’s part of it. Don’t worry.”
“What cosmetics did you use last night?” Gordon asked. “Face cream, lotion?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. At least, nothing that I can remember.”
“When did you change clothes?”
They started back down the hall.
“Um… I don’t know. We hung up, and I went for the smoke.” She walked them through that process and out onto the back porch. “I like to stand here, in this corner. That’s odd.”
“What?” All three men moved to the rail beside her to see where she was pointing, where two cigarett
e butts were lying on the ground.
“I usually field-strip my butts and throw them away inside.”
Jason went down the steps and used an evidence bag to collect the butts. He read off the brand. “That’s the same kind you gave me. This is good. We should be able to get some nice evidence from this.”
She frowned. “Are you taking everything up to the state police?”
“That’s the plan. Wyatt brought me up to date this morning on what’s been going on.”
“Good.” She looked out over the backyard. “You know, I was out here the other night, and thought I heard something rustling around back there, but I didn’t see anything. I figured it was an animal.”
“Could you tell where from, exactly?” Ethan asked.
“No. Just in the back.”
“We’ll take a look out there in a few minutes,” Jason said. “Let’s finish walking through your night first. You remember coming out here. Do you remember smoking?”
She closed her eyes again. “You know, I don’t. I thought I did, but… I remember feeling guilty because I know I don’t need to be smoking.” She looked down when fingers lightly touched the back of her hand. Gordon left his hand over hers for a moment before moving it back.
“That’s the last thing I remember,” she said quietly. “I don’t remember smoking, going back in, changing into my sleep shirt. Nothing until this morning, when Gordon woke me up.”
“So if the cigarettes are fry,” Ethan mused, referring to the process of spiking cigarettes with drugs like Rohypnol or ketamine, “I wonder what all was in them. The drugs we hear about don’t have that much of an afterlife, I didn’t think. Not enough to carry into this morning.”
“No, they wouldn’t have. The doctor thought I might have been given something else, as well, once I was knocked out. I’ve got a tiny spot on the back of my arm that looks like it could be a pinprick.” She rubbed the spot on her arm. Her shirt was long sleeved, so she couldn’t show them.
Ethan’s face hardened. “Somebody has a lot to answer for. I’m looking forward to telling them in person.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Gordon said.