The Becoming asc-1

by Jeanne C. Stein

“Maybe that's a good thing."

  David and Dr. Avery exchange a look. Then the doctor picks up a chart from the foot of the bed and moves toward the door. “I'll give you two a few minutes,” he says.

  David watches until the door closes behind him. “Anna,” he says softly, “I'm so sorry."

  I press the palms of my hands against my eyes, mindful now of why I'm here, but still unable to call up the how. “Tell me what happened."

  "Are you sure you're ready?"

  Will I ever be? “Yes."

  David perches himself carefully on the edge of the bed. He picks up my left hand again and strokes it gently. “I'll tell you what I know."

  Chapter Three

  David's voice is uncharacteristically hesitant as he begins. “I screwed up, Anna,” he says. “I should have recognized that Donaldson was on something in the bar. He was jumpy and unfocused, but he wasn't drinking. When he found out who I was, he seemed really interested in coming with me. We got outside, and out of the blue, he starts running. At first I thought he must have figured out why I was after him. But he never said anything, he just took off."

  His voice drops, waiting, I suppose, for me to give some indication that any of this makes sense. It doesn't. I shake my head and wave a hand at him to go on.

  David rubs a hand over his eyes. “I yelled at him to stop. You were at the car. He ran right at you and you stopped him. That's when he found out we were from Reese. He offered us money to let him go. Before we could cuff him, he took off again. The little shit can really run. I got him cornered, though, between two cars. He turned on me, and I swear to God, Anna, he started growling and snarling like a wild dog. I figured this guy is really whacked. He came at me. It was like a blur. He slammed into me, and I lost my balance and went down, hit my knee against a bumper. I hit my head on something, too, I guess, because the next thing I remember, I wake up and it's quiet and I have the worst headache I've ever had in my life."

  He stops again and color flushes his face. “Stupid thing to say. A headache seems pretty lame compared to what—"

  I hold up a hand, impatient, irritated. “Stop it, David. You were hurt, too. You couldn't help what happened to me. Just tell me what you remember next."

  David pushes himself off the bed and starts pacing. “It was so dark in that lot. I figured it had to be after two, because it was quiet and most of the cars were gone. I called out to you, but there was no answer. Just about the time I got my legs back under me, I heard shouting. The bartender and some of the staff found you on their way out. Evidently, they scared Donaldson off. They said they saw a man running away, but he moved too fast for them to make an ID. They called for help."

  He's stopped his pacing and is watching me now, waiting for a reaction. Trouble is, I don't know how to react. I can see the bruises, feel the pain and watch the blood flow through the tube attached to the back of my hand. But I don't remember. It's as if I'm hearing about something terrible that happened to someone close to me. Revulsion is there, and anger, but it's not personal. At least, not yet.

  I do suddenly remember what David said earlier. “This happened twenty-four hours ago. You told me I've been sedated because of something that happened in the ambulance. What did I do?"

  The beginnings of a smile tweak the corners of David's mouth before he stops it and his expression grows still and serious again.

  “You gave the paramedics quite a turn. You were unconscious until those ambulance doors shut and then you went ballistic. You started right in swinging, almost broke the jaw of one of the attendants. I had to help them subdue you. You were really out of it, ranting about wild animals and being bitten. Dr. Avery says it was a reaction to the neck wound and the viciousness of Donaldson's attack, but he didn't want to take the chance that it might happen again. He kept you well sedated until he could bring you out of it gradually. Like he did this morning."

  This morning. A wave of weariness washes over me and I close my eyes. I feel David shift at my side and look up to find him bending close, his face a marble effigy of concern. I try to smile but the muscles of my own face are frozen. The best I can do is grimace, which makes the muscles along David's jaw clench even tighter in distress. He grabs my hand again and squeezes.

  "Anna, what's wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor back?"

  "Probably.” I glance down. “I may need him to set the bones you're breaking in my hand."

  He releases the death grip. “Sorry."

  I've known my partner a long time and we've found ourselves in some tough situations, but I've never seen him scared before. It's disconcerting, especially since I know I should be feeling worse than he does.

  Why don't I?

  Is it just the memory loss? Am I in shock?

  I draw a deep breath, hold it, and then blow it out. “David, it's all right. I'm going to be just fine. You've spoken to the police, haven't you? What did they say? Did they catch up with Donaldson?"

  He shakes his head and pulls at the neck brace in irritation. “No. Donaldson is still on the loose. But they'll get him, and when they do, he won't be able to deny he attacked you. They got blood and hair samples from the car. Tissue samples from under your fingernails."

  I get a flash of a lab technician somewhere opening a box with my name on it and withdrawing sealed envelopes with swabs and scrapings. Proof of what Donaldson did to me. Then I drag myself back to listen as David drones on.

  "Seminal fluid, vaginal secretions—” David suddenly seems to realize what he's describing evidence of a rape—and he stops short.

  “Anyway,” he says after a long moment. “As soon as you feel up to it, they'll want your statement."

  "And with any luck,” a voice from the doorway interjects, “you will be able to give that statement very soon now."

  Dr. Avery is back in the room. He joins David at my bedside. I notice for the first time the tiny laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and the touches of humor around his mouth as he smiles down at me.

  A smile that warms me.

  "Your blood work is just about finished, Anna,” he says. “If you feel up to it, I see no reason why you can't be released early this evening.” He looks at David. “I assume you'll be able to take her home?"

  David's eyes widen. “Take her home? It's too soon. She hasn't spoken to a counselor. And didn't you say she lost a lot of blood?

  She can't be strong enough yet."

  The doctor ignores David and crosses to the other side of the bed where he begins the process of unhooking the various tubes feeding into my veins. There are two, one with a clear liquid attached to my arm, and the second, the blood line on the back of my hand. There's a brief stinging sensation as he withdraws that needle and presses a compress against the wound, gesturing for me to hold it in place.

  I move my fingers over his and he lets go.

  "Anna should be feeling stronger now,” he says, his competent, sure fingers at my wrist. His eyes study the stainless steel Rolex on his own as he takes my pulse. “You are, aren't you?"

  I am. The realization hits with an unpredictable consequence. I find myself smiling—a real smile—at the doctor. He smiles back and nods.

  But David is obviously not convinced. “It's too soon,” he insists again. “She doesn't have her memory back yet. What if everything that Donaldson did to her comes back when she's alone? That can't be good."

  Dr. Avery seems to consider his words. “You may be right,” he says. “Anna, how do you feel about being alone? If you're concerned, maybe you could stay with family for a few days?"

  "Family?” It's not even a consideration, though I don't say that. “No. My folks left yesterday for Europe. Besides, I can take care of myself."

  "Not yet, you can't,” David says.

  His persistence is beginning to grate. “David, if Dr. Avery thinks I'm all right on my own, what's the problem?"

  "I just don't like it. Max is gone—"

  The mention of my boyfriend's nam
e brings me up short. I haven't thought of Max since “it” happened. I'm not ready to think about him now.

  I look over at Dr. Avery. “There may be someone else,” I say. “I have a good friend."

  David glares at me. He knows who I'm thinking of. “Not Michael."

  "Why not?"

  He's looking at me as if I'm crazy for even considering it. But I have my reasons for thinking of Michael, reasons I'm going to share with David—when we're alone. Right now, I shake my head. “David, who else is there? If you don't want me to be alone, it's got to be Michael."

  "No,” he insists. “It doesn't have to be Michael. You could stay with me."

  I actually laugh out loud. “Oh. That's a good idea. Your girlfriend will be thrilled. Gloria hates me already. If I stay with you, you'll have to taste my food and stay up all night to be sure she doesn't stab me in my sleep."

  His expression shifts from concern to indignation. “Gloria does not hate you. Why do you say things like that?"

  But before I can reply, Dr. Avery has stepped between us, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn't mean to start something here,” he says to David with a spark of impatience. “It's really up to Anna whether she wants to be alone or not. And if she doesn't, I think she's perfectly capable of choosing who she'd be most comfortable with."

  I look at Dr. Avery, a little surprised at the way he's sticking up for me. But I also see how this is affecting David. Dr. Avery's strident tone causes David to bristle. I can see by the set of his jaw and the little vein starting to pulse in his forehead that's he's close to telling Dr. Avery exactly what he can do with his opinions.

  I raise myself up off the pillow. “Okay guys, can we take a step back here?"

  The length of a heartbeat passes before the two men break eye contact and swivel toward me.

  "David, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But Gloria will not want me in your house—” He raises a hand to protest, but I know what he's going to say and I cut him off. “It doesn't matter the reason. She resents the fact that I'm in your life at all. You know that's true. If it weren't for me, she thinks you'd be living in LA, where all the action is."

  I see Dr. Avery casting an inquisitive look toward David and I jump in before David has a chance to speak. “Gloria is a big time model. You ever see a Victoria's Secret commercial on TV? Then you've seen Gloria."

  He looks impressed. Most men do. It's very irritating.

  "So. Right.” It comes out a little shriller than I intend. I draw in a breath, blow it out. “Anyway, Michael has been my best friend since grade school. He can take care of me better than anyone."

  David opens his mouth, but Dr. Avery cuts in first. “It's settled then. Anna, I want you to try standing up now. I'll send a nurse in to help you shower. We'll keep you here long enough to make sure you can get around, and then you can call your friend."

  A virulent combination of anger, revulsion and disbelief flashes across David's face. “I don't believe this."

  His tone is deceptively quiet. It's a bad sign. “Thank you, Dr. Avery,” I say, waving him out of the room. “Let me just talk to David a minute before you send in that nurse."

  David's fury emanates from him like shock waves. Fortunately, Dr. Avery seems to sense it and beats a hasty retreat.

  When the door has closed behind him, I push myself to the edge of the bed. “Want to help me up?"

  My voice snaps David's attention from Dr. Avery to me. The expression drops from his face like a mask to be replaced by one just as unsettling. He gives me a bleak, tight-lipped smile. “I'm sorry, Anna,” he says. “I just don't see what Michael could do for you that I can't. And I resent like hell that bastard Avery taking a position on something that's none of his business. He doesn't know you. Or Michael."

  As he talks, David is helping me off the bed. Once I'm standing, I let his comments go while I take inventory. I feel surprisingly strong. I'm a little sore but my legs hold and I'm able to let go of David's steadying arm.

  David frowns. “You sure you're okay?"

  I take the two steps over to a sink against the wall of my room and look into the mirror.

  That's when it starts coming back.

  Chapter Four

  Donaldson is on top of me, holding my arms at my side. Are you awake? I want you awake. It's no fun otherwise.

  I hear the voice from inside my head. I think it's a trick, that I'm dreaming or still unconscious.

  But the voice comes again.

  Come on, Anna. I know you can hear me. We've had an unintentional exchange of bodily fluids. My bad. But you won't have to endure this long. Open your eyes. Look at me.

  I don't want to. I try to keep them closed, actually squeeze them tight with all my strength, but my eyes open anyway. I turn my head to avoid looking at Donaldson, but steel fingers take my chin and force my face upward.

  That's a good girl. No, don't try to fight. You can't fight me. Just look into my eyes. Do you like what you see?

  Yellow eyes, slit like a cat's, stare down.

  And something else. A snarling mouth with tiny, pointed teeth.

  I start to scream, struggle again to break free.

  Donaldson just laughs. His hands are everywhere—on my breasts, between my legs, tearing open the collar of my blouse, exposing my neck.

  I do the only thing I can. I bite him again and again, feel the skin on his cheek and neck tear, taste the copper of his blood in my mouth.

  It doesn't seem to faze him. He bunches up my skirt, opens his pants and pushes against me. His mouth is hot on my neck, his teeth pinch and tear and finally break through.

  Everything changes.

  His hardness electrifies me. I feel a thrill of arousal.

  No.

  I don't want this.

  "Yes, you do,” he answers as if I've spoken it aloud.

  Then he's inside me, filling me, driving me to the brink.

  A moan escapes my lips. I arch up to meet him, using my legs around his waist to lock him to me, using my hands to clasp his head tight against my neck. I lap and suck hungrily at the blood dripping from his cheek. My body vibrates with liquid fire.

  I don't want it to stop. Any of it. I can't get enough.

  Chapter Five

  "Anna?"

  David's voice from far away.

  "Anna? What's wrong. You're white as a sheet."

  His words are distorted, as if he's speaking underwater. His hand is on my shoulder, guiding me back to the bed.

  "I knew it was too soon for you to be up. That damned Avery. What kind of sadistic quack is he? I'm going to get a new doctor in here to see you right now."

  His diatribe continues well past the minute it takes me to drag myself back from the ... What? Nightmare? Vision?

  Memory?

  It seemed very real. And it strengthened one terrible, nagging suspicion growing in the back of my mind. Was it really rape? And if it was, why am I not feeling what I should be?

  What the hell happened in that car?

  I find myself at the edge of the bed, looking up at David. Confusion and concern shadow his features. He's trying to urge me to lay back down. I don't want to. I shake off his hand, gently.

  "It's all right.” God, how many times have I said that today? “I guess I got up too quickly. I felt a little faint, that's all.” His expression shifts to disbelief. “Please, David, I need to get out of here. I'll be fine with Michael."

  "Michael again?” A muscle flicks angrily at his jaw. “Jesus, Anna, how can he help you through this better than I? I don't care how long you've known him. I was with you when it happened. I feel responsible. You're my partner.” His voice drops in despair. “I should have been watching your back, not out cold in some damned parking lot. This is my fault."

  There it is. Guilt. He thinks he could have prevented what happened. “I don't blame you for what happened, David. We've been in dangerous situations before. We're in a dangerous business. I accepted the risk when I
took the job. We were both hurt last night, not just me. And we're both going to recover."

  "Maybe,” he says softly. “But my injuries are just physical. What he did to you is more than that. He violated you, for God's sake.

  Can you ever really recover from something like that?"

  Something like what? I'm sick with the notion that I might have been more of a willing participant than a victim. Not something I can say out loud.

  When I don't respond, David continues. “Let me at least try to make it up to you. Stay with me. Or I'll come stay at your house.

  No Gloria to give us grief."

  He's changing tactics. His tone is light, teasing. Maybe it's time to ease his mind. I've taken a seat at the edge of the bed and I pat the place next to me. He sinks down, carefully, the neck brace restricting his movements. “You don't think Michael is the right person to see me through this and I know why. It has nothing to do with Michael and everything to do with you. You're feeling guilty."

  He opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “I'm going to tell you a secret about Michael. When we were in college, some frat boys waited for him outside a bar. They beat the crap out of him and left him for dead for no other reason than he was gay. I took care of him. He does understand about violation, I think better than you. You've always been big and intimidating. I doubt anyone ever tried jumping you, did they?"

  His face colors slightly.

  "Well,” I add, “except for Donaldson, of course. And we both agree that was a fluke. You tripped or something, right?"

  He doesn't agree or disagree, but he doesn't argue with me, either.

  I take that as a good sign. “And as for Dr. Avery, I'm getting out of here today. You don't need to go ruffle any more feathers by demanding I have a new doctor. Besides, I like him. He's cute."

  It works. David actually smiles a real smile. “God,” he says. “You're a piece of work."

  I put my arms around him and hug, carefully, mindful of the brace. “When is this thing coming off?” I ask him, drumming gentle fingers against the stiff collar.