Excuse me, Dad, there’s an urgent call for you from 1-800-DENIAL.
“Rick, honey, I think it’s pretty clear that Abby fell for it, for reasons that none of us can understand,” Mom says. “Which is why we need to see her and talk to her.”
She turns to me, like she suddenly remembers I’m here.
“Lily, go pack an overnight bag, just in case. I don’t know how long this will take us. Rick, I’ll go pack one for us. I want to be ready to go as soon as Elaine gets here. Abby needs us.”
I head up to my bedroom to pack, thinking, Don’t I need you, too?
PART III
CHAPTER 28
ABBY DECEMBER 10
This morning when I woke up in yet another grungy motel room, Luke was already dressed and sitting in the chair by the window.
“Come on, lazybones,” he said. “Let’s get moving. Just get dressed. You don’t have time to take a shower.”
There was no kissing or cuddling like there had been the previous mornings. Or any of the other stuff. I can’t say I minded that. But it worried me because he seemed kind of, I don’t know, distant. Like my dad gets when he’s thinking about work.
I jumped out of bed, grabbing a towel to wrap around myself. Not that the towels in that place covered very much. That’s one thing I’ve learned about cheap motels. The bath towels are the size of the washcloths in the kinds of hotels Dad takes us to.
Another thing I learned is that you don’t want to walk on the carpet in bare feet. I bet if Billy and I did one of our petri dish swabs in this place, it would grow all kinds of scary stuff.
Don’t think about Billy. Don’t think about home. Keep this in a box totally separate from everything else.
I grab my jeans and shirt from the floor and get a clean pair of panties from my backpack. I’m running out of clean clothes and wonder about asking Luke if we can stop at a Laundromat. Or maybe he’ll buy me some new clothes. Didn’t he say “Only the best for my girl”?
Is this crappy motel with the ugly, orange polyester bedspread and brown shag carpet punctuated with cigarette holes his idea of the best?
We go to a drive-thru McDonald’s for breakfast. Luke pulls his hat brim way down over his forehead, like he does whenever we’re somewhere with people around. I order a Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit and a milk, and he gets an Egg McMuffin and a large coffee. When he pulls out his wallet to pay, he says, “I’m gettin’ low on cash. Do you have any?”
Guess I’m not going shopping for new clothes.
I dig into my backpack and hand him twenty dollars from my babysitting money. He keeps the change after he pays.
Luke’s moody and distant all morning as we hit the highway heading north. I keep asking him what’s the matter and he snaps, “Nothing.” I stare out the window at the barren trees, wondering what’s changed and why I’m in the car with him when he doesn’t even want to talk to me. I can’t help myself from thinking about home and I suddenly miss Mom and Dad so bad it hurts. I want to be back in my own room, sleeping in my own bed. I want everything to be just like it was before.
But it’s never going to be like it was before. Not since that first night in the motel room.
“Tell me how much you want it, baby.” His hot breath, panting in my ear.
A tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek to the corner of my mouth. Luke glances over before I can wipe it away.
“Don’t tell me you’re bawling again, Abby. Maybe I should just put you on a bus and send you back to Mommy and Daddy.”
That just makes me cry harder. My parents are probably beyond mad about me taking off with Luke, and now Luke doesn’t even seem to like me.
“D-don’t you l-love m-me anym-more?”
He sighs heavily and pulls the car over to the side of the road.
“Of course I do, baby,” he says, putting his arm around me. “You’re my girl. Right?”
“R-right,” I say, sniffling.
“So are we done with the tears?”
I swallow hard and take a deep breath, making a big effort to stop crying. I don’t want him to be mad at me anymore. “Okay.”
“Right. Let’s get back on the road. I want to try to make it to Canada by nightfall.”
When Luke sees the police lights and hears the sirens, he swears. Then he turns to me and says, “Abby, they’re going to tell you we’re wrong and this is wrong, but remember, I love you. You’re my girl. Whatever you do, don’t you forget that.”
I start crying again then, uncontrollably.
“I won’t, Luke. I promise.”
Luke is forced to pull over. State troopers surround our car with guns drawn. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before and I’m scared to death. One of them approaches Luke’s window. Luke rolls it down. The trooper asks Luke if he’s Edmund J. Schmidt of 282 Tudor Street, South Boston, Massachusetts. I wait for Luke to tell him that this is a case of mistaken identity and this is all a big mistake, that his name is Luke Redmond. But he just nods, and before I know what’s happening, the trooper points his gun at Luke and yells at him to get out of the car and put his hands up.
“Luke, what’s going on? Why don’t you tell them your real name?” I cry as he opens the car door. He ignores me.
The policeman practically throws him against the car, frisks him, and slaps on handcuffs.
I open my door and get out to tell them they’ve made a mistake, but one of the troopers puts his hand on my shoulder and asks me if I’m Abigail Johnston of Huntingville, Connecticut.
“Yes, I am, but —”
“Don’t worry, honey,” he says. “You’re safe now.”
I don’t have time to tell him that I was safe before, that Luke would never do anything to hurt me, because I see them leading him away to a police car, his hands cuffed behind his back, a policeman on either side of him, each grabbing his arm roughly.
“DON’T HURT HIM!” I shout, tears streaming down my face.
Luke turns and looks back at me over his shoulder with the saddest smile. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again, and it feels like my heart is breaking.
The police take me to the station, where they put me in a room that has bars on the window, cold plastic chairs, and a table. A female police officer, Officer Domuracki, gets me a cup of hot chocolate. I wrap my hands around the Styrofoam cup. The warmth is the only thing anchoring me to reality. It feels like this is all happening to someone else.
“Your parents are on their way,” she says. “But it’ll take them a while to get up here from Connecticut.”
The thought of my parents coming comforts and terrifies me at the same time.
Officer Domuracki sits with me for a while trying to make small talk, to get me to tell her about myself, about my family, about what happened. But the only person I want to talk to right now is Luke, and no one will tell me where he is or what’s happening to him or what’s going to happen to him. Finally, she gives up and leaves me in the room with some boring magazines.
I’m half asleep with my head on the cold Formica of the table when I hear my father’s voice.
“Abby! Thank heavens you’re safe!”
I raise my head and he and Mom are standing in the doorway — Mom has tears streaming down her face. I get up and run to them and they both envelop me tightly in their arms, so tightly I can barely breathe.
“We were so worried, Abby,” Mom sobs. “You have no idea….”
My father’s shoulders are shaking. I look up at his face and feel gut-punched to see he’s crying, too. I’ve never in my whole life seen my father cry, ever. Seriously. Dad doesn’t do tears.
If I wanted to teach them a lesson like Luke said, then it looks as if they are well and truly schooled.
“Where’s Lily?” I ask.
“She’s with the Wilsons,” Mom says. “Faith sends her love. If it weren’t for Faith, we might not have found you.”
“That’s right,” Dad says. “Faith is a real hero. She helped the FBI figure out th
e password to your ChezTeen account so we could track that son of a bitch down.”
Son of a bitch? I realize Dad must mean Luke.
I guess Luke was right. He knew people wouldn’t understand about us.
“Daddy, you’ve got it wrong. Luke’s not …”
“Don’t talk to me about that monster, Abby,” Dad says, stiffening, as he takes his arms from around my shoulders. “And his name isn’t even Luke. It’s —”
“I think it’s best if we save that conversation for later,” says a woman in a dark pantsuit.
She introduces herself to me.
“Hi, Abby. I’m Agent Saunders of the FBI.”
Her handshake is firm, her fingers cool. I wonder if she’s ever, like, shot someone.
“Abby, it’s important that we get you to the hospital, now that your parents are here.”
“The hospital? What for? I’m fine. Honest. There’s nothing the matter with me. Look at me.”
Agent Saunders does look at me. She looks me straight in the eye.
“We need to take you to the hospital, Abby, so that a specially trained nurse can do what’s called a forensic exam. She’ll take evidence that can be used in the event of a trial.”
Evidence? A trial?
I can’t meet her gaze. I look at the wall above her right shoulder.
“He didn’t hurt me. Luke loves me.”
His hand gripping my hair so hard it felt like it would come out by the roots. “Tell me you want it, baby. Tell me you want it right now.”
“Are you insane?” my father explodes. “How can you think that monster loves you?”
His anger flows over me like hot volcanic lava, and I stand there paralyzed. Separate. It only works when I keep them separate. And now the two worlds are colliding in one huge painful explosion that makes me want to crawl inside my own skin and hide.
Agent Saunders exchanges glances with Officer Domuracki, and the policewoman goes over to Dad and quietly suggests that maybe he should accompany her out of the room for a while to calm down, because him shouting at me isn’t in my best interest right now.
“I’m her father. I have every right to be here,” I hear Dad say in an angry undertone.
I just stare out the barred window and let the voices flow around me while I picture the sad smile on Luke’s face as the policemen led him away in handcuffs. Where is he now? What are they going to do to him? Does he still love me? Is this all my fault?
“Abby,” Agent Saunders says, bringing me reluctantly back into the room. Dad’s no longer here. It’s just the FBI agent, Mom, and me. Mom’s face is pale and pinched with worry. “This might not seem important now, but later on, you might feel differently. We have to harvest whatever evidence we can while it’s available. Did you shower this morning?”
Why does she care about that? Do I smell or something?
“No. I didn’t have time. Luke said he wanted to get on the road.”
“That’s good. How about we head over to the hospital now and get this over with, so that you and your parents can head home?”
“But —”
“Abby,” Mom says. She takes my hand, gingerly, like she’s almost afraid to touch me. “I know this is … unpleasant … but you have to do it.”
I continue staring out the window and try to crawl a little deeper inside my skin.
“Whatever.”
I’m picturing Luke’s smile as I lie here on the hospital bed in a stupid paper gown. Agent Saunders keeps trying to get me to talk about him, but I don’t want to talk to her. She doesn’t believe what I say anyway. I told her that Luke didn’t hurt me, that he loves me, but she and Mom say I have to have this stupid exam anyway because it’s “standard procedure.”
So I just stare at the fluorescent light overhead as I wait for the SANE nurse to come and do whatever it is she’s going to do to me. SANE, that’s a joke. It stands for Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner, but SANE is about the last thing I feel right now. I had to take everything off. Everything.
Mom is sitting on a chair beside the bed. Every so often she strokes my hair but then she drops her hand like she’s afraid I’m going to give her the cooties.
There’s a knock on the door, and it opens. A pretty Asian woman in a white coat comes in accompanied by the nurse in pink scrubs, the one who made me wear this stupid paper gown “opening to the front, please.”
“Hello, Abigail. I’m Nurse Wong. I’ll be performing the rape exam.”
“But Luke didn’t rape me — he …”
“Just lie back, Abby, and put your feet in these stirrups. Relax if you can. I’ll try to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
I can’t believe this is happening to me. I stare up at the fluorescent light overhead, trying to pretend this isn’t me, not my body, not my pubic hair that’s being combed. Not my inner thigh that’s being photographed because there’s a bruise high up on one of them near my privates. Not my left breast that’s being photographed because Luke left a huge hickey on it, or my right shoulder where there’s a bite mark.
“I’m sorry, Abby, this will be a little cold,” Nurse Wong says, picking up this metal contraption and moving between my legs.
Ow, that hurts! “Relax, sweet girl, and take it. Take it all. I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby girl. Damn, you’re tight. I’m gonna give it to you harder, baby. Oh, yeah, that’s so good.”
“Please, Abby, you need to keep your knees open. I know this is uncomfortable, but it’ll be over more quickly if you can just take a deep breath and try to relax,” the nurse says.
My eyes are closed, but I feel my mother’s hand grab mine and squeeze it tightly. I cling to hers until the nurse takes the cold metal thing out of me and covers me with the paper gown again.
When I open my eyes, there are tears streaming down my mother’s face.
“Stop bawling, Abby, and look like you enjoy it, for chrissake!” His fingers on my chin turn my face toward the camera.
My own eyes are dry.
They won’t even let me have my underpants back when it’s over. The nurse picks them up with tweezers and puts them in a plastic bag for “evidence.” They give me these stupid paper panties to put on. Mom says they’re the same kind they give you in the hospital after you have a baby. Oh, yeah, speaking of which, I have to take a pregnancy test, too. And get tested for sexually transmitted diseases. When I’m dressed (with my paper panties, which are really uncomfortable) the nurse talks to Mom and me about how in a few weeks time I should get tested for HIV. Just in case.
I pretend to sleep on the five-hour car ride home so I don’t have to talk to anyone. But I keep thinking about what Dad said. That Luke’s name isn’t really Luke.
“Are you Edmund J. Schmidt, of 282 Tudor Street, South Boston, Massachusetts?”
Why didn’t Luke tell them the truth? Why didn’t he say no?
The foundations of my life are crumbling and I’m about to be buried under the wreckage. My head spins, just like when I was in the motel room that first night, drunk on vodka and cranberry juice, until I finally fall asleep for real in the backseat, exhausted.
CHAPTER 29
ABBY DECEMBER 11 10:30 A.M.
The FBI lady, Agent Saunders, is sitting across from me in our living room. There’s also another lady from the FBI, Maura, a “victim support specialist,” who says she’s there to help me. Because, apparently, I’m a victim. Mom is next to me, holding my hand. Dad’s hovering by the door, like he half wants to be here but half doesn’t, in case he hears something about his little Abby that will upset him.
It’s too late, Daddy. I’m not your little Abby anymore.
I reach down inside for the ice-cold numbness that I feel whenever I think of Luke and pull it over me like a security blanket. Numbness is what I want more than anything right now. I just wish everyone would leave me alone so I could stare at a blank wall and not think or talk about anything.
“Abby, I need you to tell me everything you can about Edm
und J. Schmidt,” Agent Saunders says.
“I would if I knew who the hell you were talking about.”
“You know damn well who it is!” Dad exclaims from the doorway. He looks at me like I’m some kind of alien from the planet Filth. Which is kind of how I feel when I’m around him.
“Edmund J. Schmidt is the actual identity of the man known to you as Luke Redmond,” Agent Saunders says.
“But —”
“He’s thirty-two years old, from South Boston, Massachusetts. Lives with his parents: Joseph, an auto mechanic, and his mother, Anna, a retired secretary.”
“Are you Edmund J. Schmidt of 282 Tudor Street, South Boston, Massachusetts?” the state trooper had asked. And Luke never told them anything different.
“No. You’ve got the wrong person. Luke’s twenty-seven and he’s from New Jersey. Toms River.”
“What were you thinking running away with a man more than twice your age, Abby?” my father bursts out. I disgust him. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make him proud, but by going off with Luke, I blew it. Forever.
Maura gets up and talks quietly to Dad, but I think I get the gist of it. Basically, she’s telling him to get lost because it will be easier for me without him there. Maybe she is there to support me, even if I’m not really a victim.
Dad opens his mouth to argue but when he looks at Mom for help she mouths, “Go.” He heaves a sigh and splits, leaving just us girls for this merry little inquisition.
After he’s gone, Agent Saunders pulls a piece of paper out of her file and hands it to me.
“We had this faxed to us from Boston. Do you recognize this man?”
It’s a photocopy of a Massachusetts driver’s license belonging to Edmund Joseph Schmidt. And although I don’t want to admit it, the guy in the picture looks exactly like Luke.
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“We obtained a warrant to search the Schmidt house, and took the computer used by Edmund Schmidt as evidence. Our experts are going over it right now. The IP address corresponded to some of the communications that you received on your computer.”
I don’t say anything. I’m trying to take in the fact that Luke isn’t Luke. That Luke is Edmund. But I know one thing. No matter who he is, he loves me. I’m still his special girl, the one he loves more than anyone.
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