‘Did he tell you where he was staying?’
‘No. We didn’t get to talk that much.’
‘But he gave you something to drink and then what?’
‘I was getting a little sick and he was …’
‘Getting too fresh with you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, grateful for the abstract description.
‘So you did what?’
‘I ran away from him, but I left my shoes so I had to go back when he wasn’t there, and then I hurried to the road, and Wayne and Tommy picked me up.’
‘So it’s safe to say our Marlon Brando was dissatisfied?’
Victoria looked at her, not knowing how to react or what to say. ‘I guess.’
‘How many friends were with him?’
‘A few – three, I think.’
‘You said your friend Mindy disappeared. Did she go off with one of them?’
‘I think so.’
She nodded and wrote on her clipboard. ‘Did you notice if this Spike or one of his friends followed you back to town?’
‘No.’
‘OK, let’s get back to what happened. You got out of the truck, put on your clothes, went through an alley and were on the shortcut in the woods. How long before you realized you weren’t alone?’
‘A while.’
‘The man who found you is Warren Miller. You were close to his house when he found you. About how long do you think it took for you to get there?’
‘I don’t know. Ten minutes the most, I guess.’
‘Do you know Mr Miller?’
‘Yes. Everybody knows everybody in Sandburg.’
‘Did you hear someone behind you first or in front of you?’
‘I don’t remember. I heard something on my left, but then it stopped.’
‘Did you hear voices?’
‘No.’
‘Even when you were attacked?’
‘No.’
A nurse entered to check her pulse, blood pressure and temperature. She examined some of her bruises. While she did, Lieutenant Marcus stood and went to the doorway. She kept her back to her as if she was unable to watch or thought it was improper to do so.
Victoria noticed how wide her shoulders were and how thick her neck was for a woman. She didn’t like her hair. It was cut too sharply behind her head. The uniform she wore looked a size or so too large. It was as if she had to wear a man’s uniform because there were none made for women. The pistol on her right side looked awkward, the handle leaning too far away from her body.
When the nurse walked out, Lieutenant Marcus returned to her seat.
‘OK. We’re coming to the hard part,’ she said. It was the first thing she said that indicated she was asking questions that could upset Victoria. Even so, she didn’t seem that sensitive about it. It was a matter-of-fact statement. ‘But you have to try to do your best. There were no witnesses. You’re it,’ she added, as though Victoria had been chosen and not been a victim.
Later when she began her therapy with Dr Thornton, the psychologist would tell her that policewoman did more harm than good in the manner in which she pursued the gruesome details. ‘It’s like scraping at a wound before there’s even a scab.’
Victoria came to believe her psychologist was probably right. Lieutenant Marcus pursued each detail like someone trying to squeeze the last drop of juice from an already squeezed orange.
‘Go on,’ she said, ‘tell me how it happened to the best of your recollection.’
She stared at her. She thought she had told someone all of it, but maybe that was a dream. She felt a little trembling in her body.
‘Someone grabbed you from behind,’ Lieutenant Marcus began, impatient.
Slowly, as if she was looking out from behind a protective wall, Victoria started her description. ‘There was a sack dropped over me first and then the rope was tightened around me like a lasso.’
‘You didn’t raise your arms as soon as you sensed a sack being dropped over you?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Was someone holding your arms so you couldn’t keep it off?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Did you feel someone grab your wrists?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Was someone standing in front of you, too?’
‘I don’t think so. Maybe. Yes.’
‘When the sack was brought down, did you try to get it off?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that was when the rope was tied around your arms. You said like a lasso?’
‘That’s what it felt like.’
‘And then?’
‘I started to scream and something was tied around my face.’
‘Around your mouth?’
‘Yes.’
‘No one was talking?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Think harder. Can you remember a voice, a word?’
‘No.’
Lieutenant Marcus shook her head and wrote on her clipboard. ‘OK, so then what?’
‘I was pulled backwards and fell on my back. Something was sticking out of the ground. The doctor said maybe a rock. It hurt a lot.’
‘Could you tell how many were there?’
‘No.’
‘But two, for sure?’
‘I guess.’
‘Go on.’
‘Someone was undoing the buttons of my shorts. I tried to kick him, but someone grabbed my ankles and then they took off the shorts and the bottom of my bathing suit,’ she said. She was talking about it now as if it had happened to someone else.
‘When they were undoing your shorts, no one spoke?’
‘No.’
‘No sounds, no laughter, not even grunts?’
Did she think they were cavemen? Maybe they were. ‘I don’t remember any,’ Victoria said.
‘So describe what happened next.’
She started and then she stopped when she realized she was crying. The nurse was back in the doorway.
‘Maybe that’s enough for now,’ the nurse said, stepping forward.
‘Wait, one more minute,’ Lieutenant Marcus commanded. ‘Did you lose consciousness?’
‘I guess.’
‘The next thing you remember was Mr Miller turning you over?’
‘I think so.’
‘I do think …’ the nurse began.
‘OK, OK. I’ll come back to talk to you – here in the hospital, if you’re in much longer, and then when you’re home, Victoria. Try to remember more. Every detail is important.’
She stood up. Where was the promise to get them? The vow to bring justice or even a simple ‘Feel better’.
Victoria watched her leave.
The nurse fixed her blanket. ‘Maybe take a little nap,’ she said. ‘Doctor Bloom will be here later.’
Victoria closed her eyes reluctantly.
Everyone is afraid of darkness after a terrible thing happens to them. Demons can’t live in the sunlight. She heard herself sniffling. Adults could and do have nightmares, of course, but they usually don’t wake up crying for their mothers or fathers. She felt thrown back to that. Her life was suddenly going in reverse.
She dozed off, and when she opened her eyes this time, she saw Jena standing there, looking out of the window. She groaned as she turned around and Jena turned to her. She looked almost as miserable as Victoria felt.
‘I was sick or I would have come to see you sooner,’ she said. ‘And I got into trouble.’
Victoria boosted herself up on her elbows and sat back. ‘Everybody knows about me, I guess.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Jena said. She went around the bed and sat on the chair Lieutenant Marcus had used. ‘Everyone’s been calling me. My father’s so mad he won’t talk to me. Toby didn’t want to take me back to the village. She was afraid I would throw up in her car. I got a ride back with Denise Littlefield and her boyfriend, Mark Wheeler. Denise’s family lives near us. I mean, we’re not really friends, but she saw me a
nd had Mark stop. I don’t know what happened. I mean, why I drank so much.’
Victoria stared at her in disbelief. Why was she talking about herself so much? She wasn’t in the hospital; she hadn’t been attacked. Apparently, Jena saw what she was thinking.
‘I mean, nothing compares with what happened to you. What did the police say?’
‘They’re investigating,’ Victoria said.
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘No.’
‘Not a clue?’
‘No.’
Jena nodded. Then she narrowed her eyes and leaned toward her. ‘It was one of those city boys for sure.’
‘I don’t know, Jena. It happened so fast.’
‘How? I mean, how could anyone do that to you and you not know who it was?’
As quickly as she could, Victoria summarized what she had told Lieutenant Marcus.
‘Did it hurt?’ Jena asked, grimacing.
‘Are you kidding, Jena? I was attacked. Look where I am!’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. How could any boy enjoy that anyway?’ she asked. Victoria sensed that she was asking her seriously. It was as if she had suddenly become some kind of expert when it came to sexual intercourse. ‘I mean, how hard can their thing be?’
‘I wasn’t exactly taking notes, Jena. I told you. I passed out.’
‘And they still did it? How many times? Do the doctors know?’
‘No one told me and I didn’t ask.’
Jena embraced herself as though the questions had stripped away her clothes and she was hiding her breasts from someone standing on the other side of the hospital bed.
‘My mother wondered if you needed stitches down there. She didn’t say it to me. I heard her say it to my father.’
‘I don’t have any stitches. At least, I don’t think I do,’ Victoria said.
‘You’d feel it, wouldn’t you?’
‘I guess.’
‘Did they tear off your top too?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Mindy’s in trouble, too,’ Jena said. ‘Her parents found out we all went to the lake and were drinking. I heard more kids are being questioned and more are getting into trouble.’
‘And blaming it on me?’
‘No,’ Jena said, but Victoria could see she wasn’t being totally honest. ‘How could they blame it on you?’ she added. ‘You didn’t rape yourself.’
‘You told them that?’
‘Some of them get me so mad.’
Victoria turned away and looked out the window.
‘When you’re raped, you don’t get a sexual feeling, do you?’ Jena asked.
Victoria turned on her quickly. ‘Someone said I did?’
‘No, I’m just asking.’
‘Why? Are you planning on getting raped, too?’
‘No, silly,’ Jena said, smiling. She shifted her eyes and pursed her lips.
She was obviously relieved when a moment later Victoria’s parents entered. ‘Oh, hi, Mr and Mrs Myers,’ Jena said, standing quickly.
Victoria’s mother stared at her in amazement. Jena sounded as though nothing was wrong, as though they were meeting anywhere but in a hospital in which Victoria Myers was recuperating from a violent sexual attack.
‘I didn’t have a chance to get some flowers or candy,’ Jena continued, obviously thinking that was what brought on Helen Myers’ disapproving look.
‘I don’t think either of those would do much to detract from the situation, Jena. Have you spoken with the police?’
‘Just Mr Siegler,’ Jena said. ‘I didn’t know anything,’ she added quickly. ‘I wish I did. Honest.’
‘I think your mother is waiting for you in the lobby,’ Helen Myers said in a dismissive tone.
Jena nodded. ‘I hope you get better quickly,’ she told Victoria and then headed out.
‘That girl’s elevator doesn’t go to the top floor,’ her mother said as soon as Jena was gone.
‘She’s a very good student, Mom,’ Victoria said.
‘It will surely surprise many people to hear me say it,’ her mother continued, taking the seat, ‘but it takes more than just good grades to make you a complete person, especially an adult.’
‘She means well,’ her father said, stepping up and kissing Victoria on the forehead. He brushed away some strands of hair and smiled. ‘How ya doin’, Vick?’
‘I feel like I’m in a daze. A state policewoman was here.’
‘Yes, we saw her earlier,’ he said.
She looked at her mother who seemed to be looking right through her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to the lake without telling you or asking your permission.’
Her mother raised her eyes toward the ceiling.
And then Victoria saw the tears streaming down her cheeks and felt herself weaken.
In moments, they were all crying.
SEVEN
After Bart had driven off, she entered the house on feet of smoke as if she was a child who had violated her curfew and paused like one anticipating the hysterical sound of an alarm going off. However, it was as quiet as a cemetery. Neither the television nor the stereo was on, but lights spilled a stream of pale yellow illumination out of the living room and over the dark gray Berber carpet in the hallway.
She closed the door softly, listening for her mother’s or father’s voice. She expected her mother would be stepping out to greet her with her standard set of questions, questions designed to determine how close to normal she really was. A real date was a good test. Did they talk much? Was she able to enjoy her dinner or was she too nervous to eat? Was he polite, which was code for did he bring up the Incident? It would be almost as if she was reading off a script Dr Thornton had provided.
One of the reasons Victoria avoided coming home when she was at college was the feeling that she was constantly on stage here, moving from one set piece to another. She knew her paranoia was most likely exaggerated, but she couldn’t help feeling as if all conversations paused and everyone’s attention, just like an audience’s in a theater, was turned toward her the moment she had made an appearance.
Her mother didn’t emerge so she walked to the living room and paused in the doorway. Only her father was there, reading a book. He was dressed in his blue robe and pajamas, with his slippers at the side of the recliner her mother had bought him two Christmases ago. It was licorice-black expanded plastic fabric with a tufted back and had a rich and elegant wood trim rubbed to a mellow walnut finish, with padded arms and a hidden footrest. The footrest was up and he was reclined, looking very comfortable. He was in it so often that it bore the imprint of his body. Neither Victoria nor her mother would ever sit in it. Her mother kidded him, calling it his throne. He did look royal when he sat with the back upright and his arms on the sides, a man holding court.
He looked up when he realized she was standing in the doorway looking at him. He closed his book and pulled back the footrest, sitting up in the chair.
‘Hey, how was yer date, Vick?’ he asked. To her it sounded like Did the patient live or die? His face was braced for bad news.
‘It was nice, Dad,’ she said. He widened his eyes, now hungry for the good details. ‘The Dantes were happy to see us and the food was very good. I had lasagna. Mr Dante came to our table to talk to us and then treated us to his tiramisu.’
‘Crowded?’
‘Yes, very busy. I didn’t speak to anyone else,’ she added, knowing he was wondering how other local people had greeted her.
‘Sounds like a very nice dinner. We haven’t been there for a spell, but after ya left, yer mother dropped a hint as gently as the bomb on Hiroshima.’
She smiled. For as long as she could remember, she and her father had fun talking about her mother. He was never really critical, no matter what she had said or done, and her mother knew they shared the satire. Victoria believed – hoped – that she secretly enjoyed the attention.
‘Afterward, Bart took me t
o see this new Corvette someone had ordered. It’s a beautiful car,’ she added. She decided not to mention John Stonefield’s surprise appearance.
She hated how she sounded – like a little girl making a report. But then maybe daughters always sound like little girls to their fathers.
He smiled by tucking in the right side of his mouth. ‘In ma time a young man would ask a young woman up ta his apartment ta see his new work of art.’
She was surprised at how casually her father referred to a man’s apartment. Was he fishing to see if Bart had tried to get her to his? There I go again, she thought, smearing the paranoia around like peanut butter.
‘He thinks of the Corvette as his new art, I guess.’
‘That’s fer sure. I don’t know him that well, but he seems ta have grown inta a very nice young fella.’
She knew he was fishing for more. If the date ended outside their home, it was a failure. Promises about calling soon were just another way to say it didn’t work.
‘He’s asked to take me out on his boat on Echo Lake tomorrow for a picnic.’
‘Oh, that’ll be nice. I haven’t been on that lake fer years.’ He thought a moment, changing his smile to a gentler one, a smile of reminiscence. ‘I usta take yer mother rowin’ when I was first courtin’ her. The year before you were born, I took her ta Oxford, England, and we rowed on the Thames. I mean, I rowed while she recited Shakespearean sonnets. She usta read poetry ta me before we went ta sleep, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yeah. She coulda been on the radio, don’t ya think? She has such a strong voice, perfect enunciation. When she wants ta, she can be very … dramatic. Maybe I’ll get her ta recite Browning’s sonnet forty-three fer us one night.’
‘Mom?’
‘I know it doesn’t seem possible, Vick, but we were young lovers once and she was more romantic than I was. I’d be talkin’ P and L statements and the economy, and she would tell me great love stories, myths and otherwise. I think I became her project. She was determined ta put some Casanova in me. The truth was I’d have changed species ta win her. Ya know that sonnet – Browning’s forty-three?’
‘It’s practically in every high school English literature textbook, Dad. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”’
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