by Nesly Clerge
Alone in my room, I gently rubbed my abdomen and said, “You’ll be looked after better than I was, Caitlin. I’ll never subject you to a life like mine. We’ll live in a clean home, in a nice neighborhood, where our sheets are washed twice a week, perhaps more often, and in a top-of-the-line washing machine. You’ll have the best food money can buy. Peanut butter and bologna will never be your sustenance out of necessity. I’ll be financially set, so you’ll attend the best schools, wear clothes from department stores and boutiques, and never need to lock your bedroom door at night.”
I continued my one-sided conversation until Jenni returned.
“If how you look is any indication,” Jenni said, “you must be feeling better.”
I beamed a smile at her. “I am.”
She plunked her books onto her desk. “Leave it to you to cover your embarrassment about dropping a tube by pretending you’re still ill. I have news for you—you’re human. Like the rest of us. So get over yourself.”
I laughed and lay back down.
Hours later, Jenni said, “If you don’t stop that damn humming, I’m going to throttle you.”
Mama had never sung to me, at least, not that I could recall. It would be different for Caitlin. But I’d have to learn lullabies, rather than limiting my efforts to humming my own awkward compositions.
Hand draped over my growing spiral daughter, I drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER 42
Realizing I likely needed assistance with my decision to be a mother, and being basically on my own, I revealed my condition to Patricia, which was a good move on my part, though I left out the grotesque details of how I got into my condition. Nor did she or others at WAM pry.
After the next meeting, she introduced me to some of the top members, including physicists, research scientists, an anthropologist, and several physicians, one of whom—Agatha Simpson—became my OB/GYN. Women from every profession rallied around me. The biggest surprise was when I learned WAM had a laboratory, restricted to certain members qualified to use it. I hid my disappointment, when I asked Patricia how soon I could see it and when I could use it, and she responded, “Perhaps one day. We’ll see.”
It was after nine in the evening, and we sat companionably on the plush sofa in her tastefully appointed office, something we’d done every night for the last week since I’d revealed my impending blessed event, as she’d called it. I accepted a cup of tea from her and said, “I’m amazed at the level of intensity about this organization these professional women have.”
“They’re devoted to our revolution.”
That was new information. “What revolution?”
Patricia smiled and winked. “I hope that in our lifetime—and if I have anything to do with it, it will be—women will rule the world. We’re preparing for that day.”
I grinned. “I like the sound of that.”
“Here’s something else you may like. There’s no point in your continuing to volunteer your services here.”
My smile faded. “You can’t mean … I thought you—”
“What I’m trying to say is that starting retroactively, you’ll be paid for your services, which I hope you’ll continue up to your delivery and long after. Considering your field of study, you’ll fit right in, that is, unless you decide to enter a different field once you’re legally an M.D. However, any lab time will have to wait until after you’ve stopped breastfeeding, which I hope you’ll do. We’ll find something engaging for you to do until then. No exposure to chemicals for you and the little one.”
“You’re thinking far ahead, further than I have.”
Patricia carefully placed her cup into her saucer. “What I never say during my introduction, and only a select few know, is that my pregnancy wasn’t just complicated, it ended my ability to have another child. So you see, my interest in you and your child is personally motivated. I may be presuming when I shouldn’t, but I already consider myself auntie to your little one.”
I beamed at her. “I’m delighted you feel that way. Caitlin will grow up surrounded by the best-of-the-best women. What mother could ask more?”
“Good. That’s settled. Are the crackers and tea helping the morning sickness?”
“Yes. Although, my roommate thinks I’ve developed a weird eating habit.”
“She hasn’t guessed?”
“As the saying goes, not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“Agatha told me you’re around seven weeks.”
I nodded, beamed, and patted my abdomen.
“More than likely, you have a while before you begin to show. When that happens, the pretense will be over.”
“I’ll deal with it then. The longer I can go without enduring my roommate’s comments the better.”
Patricia stood and stretched. “Time to go home and for you to get some rest.”
We walked together to our cars. Patricia kissed me on the cheek and said, “Auntie Patricia. I love the sound of that.”
Wearing a silly grin, I got into my car and cranked the engine. It would be a while before Caitlin called me Mommy.
I loved the sound of that.
CHAPTER 43
The dorm parking lot was full, which I should have expected, considering the time. I drove around in the lot for several minutes, hoping someone would pull out, but no one did. That meant finding a place on one of the nearby streets. It had happened before, especially now that I was staying later at WAM, and would require finding a space possibly as far as a few streets over. That was fine with me. The walk would be good for me and for Caitlin.
I found a spot three streets away, locked my car, and started on my trek, all the while talking in my mind to what was, I hoped, my developing daughter.
A tall, reed-thin man turned the corner and came toward me on the sidewalk. I pressed my purse into my side and looked straight ahead.
When he was two feet away, he said, “How’s it goin’?”
I nodded but said nothing and kept walking.
“What? You too stuck up to say hi?”
I increased my speed.
“Bitch, I’m talking to you.”
My quickened steps sped to a jog and I hurried around the corner. I paused, looked back, and saw I was alone. He’d obviously gone into one of the houses or maybe one of the parked cars. I slowed my steps, patted my abdomen, and said, “Caitlin, I’ll have a great deal to explain to you one day.”
In the event my path crossed with another man who had an attitude, I drew my keyring from my pocket and placed two keys between my fingers. I muttered to myself about the audacity of the man to spoil a beautiful evening such as this one. Well, he could forget it. No way would I allow him to control my mood.
A gorgeous, thick-trunked oak tree I loved was coming up on the right. Moonlight kissed the leaves, bathing them in a blue-white shimmer. I’d take Caitlin to gardens and museums and zoos. We’d explore the world, using all our senses, and I’d experience everything fresh and new and pristine through her innocent eyes and budding awareness.
As I started to pass the tree, I entertained myself with these and other musings about all we’d see and do together.
And is why I didn’t see or hear him leap at me from behind the tree. My keys flew from my hand. His hand, smelling of nicotine and urine, clamped over my mouth as he dragged me to the side of the house. He may have been thin but he was all muscle.
No lights were on in the house, which meant the occupants were asleep or away. Still, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I’d scream like a banshee and get someone’s attention.
The moment he loosened his grip, I bit his hand and opened my mouth to yell. He anticipated me, spun me around, and sent his fist into my solar plexus. Gasping for air, I staggered back and collapsed to the ground.
“Snotty college bitch. You and all the others who think you’re too good for me.”
He unzipped his pants and started toward me. I froze, just as I had each time Buster had come into my room.
A light went on in a window in the house next door. This was my chance. I opened my mouth again to scream. He straddled me and slammed his fist into my jaw. Hard.
Hard enough to cause me to lose consciousness.
“Observe due measure, for right timing is in all things the most important factor.” So said the Greek poet Hesiod.
That quote came to me as I lay dazed on the ground. I came fully back to consciousness and opened my eyes, spotted the full moon above me and to the right in the ebony sky, and felt tears stream into and around my ears. I was alone, naked from the waist down, though my breasts were exposed.
Pain radiated in my face and chest. And lower.
I pulled my torn shirt together in the front—my bra had been ripped in half. I let it dangle where it was, rolled over and got onto my hands and knees.
In the ambient light from the lit window next door, I spotted a dark lump to my right and crawled to where my jeans lay crumpled in a patch of dirt and thought, Grass never grows in shade.
My panties were a yard or so away. I slid my underwear on followed by my jeans. Where my shoes were was anyone’s guess. I located my purse at the base of the oak tree and checked inside. My assailant hadn’t robbed me. Not of money, that is. I stepped on something hard—my keys.
I staggered to the front door of the house where the light had come on at whatever time that had been—I had no watch and no sense of how long I’d been unconscious. The house had one of those two-door set-ups—a screen door and a regular one. I pressed the yellow-illuminated doorbell button. When no one came, I pressed the button until the porch light clicked on.
An older man’s voice called out, “Who is it?”
“My name is Katherine. I’ve been attacked and I need help.”
He opened the front door, leaving the screen door latched. His eyes raked over me. He frowned and said, “I’ll call the police.”
“No!”
He gave me a quizzical look. “Young lady, you need an ambulance.”
“I need you to call a friend for me. Please.” I gave him Patricia’s name and number. “Ask her to get here as quickly as she can.”
“Want to wait inside while I call and till she gets here? Maybe clean up some?”
“No. Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit on your steps.”
“I don’t mind.”
He left the regular door open, I suppose to keep an eye on me through the screen door. I took a seat on the top step, doubled over and with my hands on my abdomen.
And pleaded silently for Patricia to hurry as the cramps grew worse and the pain in my back more severe.
Stay with me, Caitlin. Please, baby girl, stay with me.
CHAPTER 44
In what seemed an eternity later, a car pulled up curbside. Agatha Simpson, my WAM OB/GYN, threw open the passenger-side door of Patricia’s car and flew to where I sat weeping and moaning.
“Oh, my dear. This assault was as bad as the caller indicated, wasn’t it?”
I nodded and continued to cry, only now, loudly.
The old man came to the screen door. “She needs a doctor.”
Agatha looked at him and said, “As it happens, I am her doctor. Thank you for contacting us.” She turned back to me. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
She wrapped her arm around my waist and helped me to my feet. “Oh no.”
I looked at where her eyes were aimed. My blood had stained the top step and the one below it. Agatha clutched me to her as we went down the steps and into the back seat. She slid in next to me. “Patricia, we need to get Katherine to a hospital, stat.”
“No,” I said. “You have a fully equipped facility at headquarters.”
“If you insist. But I have to warn you that you may be miscarrying.”
“I was raped. I don’t want anyone but you two to know. Let’s go. Now.”
Patricia put the car in gear and started forward at speed. She glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You need to file a police report so they can catch and prosecute the bastard who did this.”
I doubled over in pain. When I could breathe again I said, “No police. Just get me to headquarters.”
Patricia glanced at me again in the mirror. “You’re not going to let the bastard get away with this, are you?”
I met her reflected eyes. “No. But he’ll have to wait.”
***
A summary of what followed the few days after the attack is enough, or at least, all the detail I care to give. Agatha contacted Dean Broward to tell him I would be out a few to several days for medical reasons, and refused to give specifics when he asked. She performed a dilation and curettace, in common lingo, a D&C, to clean the remaining placental tissue from my womb. I received several pints of blood and I.V. fluids, and remained in a facility bed for forty-eight hours.
Once I was strong enough, emotionally as well as physically, we buried Caitlin on the grounds, in a small ornamental chest Patricia picked out. We planted a California laurel sapling atop her tiny grave. Patricia assured me the young tree could grow to a height of sixty feet.
“A family tree of sorts,” I said as I patted soil into place at its base, which she, Agatha, and I watered with our tears and water from the watering can we’d brought with us.
As for people at Stanford, I told Jenni and any fellow student who asked, that the reason for my absence was personal and to mind their business. I told Dean Broward it was female problems, which caused him to drop the topic. I presume he got word to my instructors because none of them inquired, merely said it was good to have me back.
One evening a week later, I sat in Patricia’s office with her and Agatha, each of us sipping tea in silence.
Patricia placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table. “It’s time, Katherine.”
“For what?”
“What are we going to do about the man who did this? I can’t stand the idea of him getting away with what he did to you and God knows how many other women.”
“I have a plan,” I said. Both women sat straighter and waited. “I want to hire a private detective, a female for obvious reasons.”
Agatha and Patricia looked at each other. Agatha said, “One of our local members happens to be a P.I.”
“Good. How do I contact her?”
Patricia went to her phone, keyed in several numbers, and said, “Is it convenient for you to come to my office now? Perfect. See you in a few.” She returned to her seat. “It won’t take long for her to get here.”
I leaned forward. “She’s that close by?”
Again, Patricia and Agatha looked at each other. Agatha smiled. “Her office is here. We—meaning us and some of our members—tend to need her services fairly often.”
There was a knock at the door, which was then opened by a petite woman with blue-green eyes and flaming red hair cut in a bob.
Patricia smiled at her. “Close the door, please.”
She did and walked over to where we sat, altering her gaze between Patricia and me. “What’s up?”
Patricia said, “Connie Hunter, this is Katherine Barnes.”
Connie strode to where I sat, extended her hand, which I stood to shake.
“Katherine was raped about a week ago.”
Connie faced Patricia. “Sonofabitch.”
“Which caused her to miscarry.”
Connie looked at me. “Son of a friggin’ bitch!”
My eyes met hers and I said, “For all intents and purposes, he murdered my daughter.”
She pulled me into a bear hug, let me go almost as quickly, and plopped onto the sofa next to me. “Let me guess. The police aren’t getting anywhere.”
Agatha leaned forward. “We didn’t involve the police. It was Katherine’s preference.”
Connie fixed her eyes on me. “Why not?”
“I prefer to handle this in-house, so to speak.”
Connie grinned and slapped me on the thigh. “A woman after my own heart. Okay, where’d it ha
ppen?”
“On Stewart Street. However, I first saw him on Arthur Street. Are you familiar with the area?”
“No place in this town I haven’t driven through, walked the streets of, or even crawled in the dirt on my belly. Give me details.”
I did, from first seeing him to the last thing I remembered.
“What’s he look like?”
“Tall. I’d say six feet, maybe an inch or so taller. Sharp features. Late twenties or early thirties at most. Reed-thin but muscular. He was strong.”
“Maybe. Could’ve been an adrenaline rush or some other chemical in his system. Keep going.”
“His hair on the sides and back was short and dark. Longer on top and dyed white or platinum blond.”
“Anything else?”
“He wore an earring in his left lobe. A small silver sword. It dangled, about an inch in total length, from lobe to point.”
Connie sat forward. “Here’s my take. He lives in the area. Possibly on Arthur. If not there, not far.”
“I wondered the same,” I said.
She nodded and gave me a quick smile. “I give myself a ninety-percent chance of being right about that. He knew the area too well. Knew how to cut through yards to get to that tree pretty damn fast and in the dark. The other option is that he’s a repeat rapist, and that’s one of his preferred areas. But even the police would have found him if that were the case. Someone would’ve reported his ass. I go with the first option.” She fixed her gaze on me. “Something must have triggered him.”
“He didn’t like my not speaking to him when spoken to.”
“Nah. Too easy. Not that his why matters.” She nodded. “That street, and immediate area, is the go-to for me.”
Patricia nodded. “It’s a start.”
Connie leaped up. “Which is what I’m going to do now. I keep my Jeep packed and ready for spontaneous surveillance.”
“Would you like me to go with you,” I asked.
“Nah. I surveil better alone. It may take a few days for me to locate him. Then I want to track his habits. What do you want me to do once I find him?”