was dark. All she knows is that he was clean-shaven. She thinks he was wearing jeans, because she, um, she felt them on her legs. That's it. And after the bastard left, then Kara panicked."
"What do you mean?"
The towel was twisted again. "I mean she did the wrong thing, that's what I mean. She should have called the cops, she should have called me. Instead she panicked and took a shower and washed the sheets and then came here, and she destroyed the evidence, she destroyed practically every piece of evidence left behind there."
She started sobbing again, lowered her head into her hands.
"Stupid girl," she sobbed. "She should have known better, knowing me. Stupid girl."
I put my arm around her and let her cry for a while. Across from us the woman was still sleeping, and the little girl was now awake, staring at the two of us with the utter innocence and sense of wonderment of a child. I hoped that she would grow up fine and healthy and would never remember this winter night.
After about another ten minutes, a doctor came through the door, clipboard in her hand. She looked to be in her late forties, with short red hair, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. A stethoscope hung around her neck and her nametag said her name was Morse. She reached out and held Diane's hand and sat down next to her.
"You're Diane, right?" Dr. Morse said. "Kara's asking for you. If you want, you can see her in a couple of minutes."
"How is she doing?" Diane asked, her voice trembling.
The doctor nodded. "Physically, she's doing all right, as best as we can expect. She's very scared, about a lot of things, and I think one of the things she's scared about is how you're going to react, If you will still love her, whether you're going to blame her for what happened. That's what she's talking about."
"Jesus Christ --- Diane started, and Dr. Morse held up a hand and said, "I'm not saying she's being rational. She's not. She's been through a very traumatic experience and she's acting human, that's all. Now. She needs to see you, and then a decision has to be made as to whether this will be reported to the police. It's up to her, Diane."
She nodded glumly. "You don't have to tell me that. I know."
The doctor looked at her clipboard. "We've collected what evidence we have, and the rape kit will go to the Newburyport Police Department, if she decides to report it. If not, it will go to the state crime lab for six months." She looked up. "It's her choice. We won't force her. Our primary goal is to take care of her."
Diane rubbed her hands through her hair. "Please. Can I see her again?"
"Certainly." The doctor stood up and I got up with Diane, wondering what I should do, when Diane grabbed my hand and said, "Walk in there with me. Please."
I squeezed back and followed her through the door. Before us was an area of doors and curtains, and I saw a drunk man sitting up on a stretcher, holding a white towel to his bloody head. He had a full mustache, a two- or three-day growth of beard, and no shirt. Blood had matted on his chest hair and he said over and over again, "Pow. The bastard hit from nowhere. Pow. Jus' like that. The bastard hit from nowhere." A female nurse was next to him, talking in a soothing tone.
We came to a room with a large wooden door, and Dr. Morse knocked on the door and led Diane in. I hung back, not sure what to do, and my feet and hands seemed too large. The door was open and I noticed a shivering woman on an examining table, her head propped up by some pillows, and my first thought was, They've taken us to the wrong room. Who's this woman with the scared eyes, the tangled hair? Then Diane choked back a sob and moved into the room, and I realized just how terribly wrong I was. Kara Miles, Diane's best friend and lover, looked at us with bruised and battered eyes. Her right cheek was puffy and her bottom lip was swollen and split open, and there were scratches along her neck. A sheet was up about her bare shoulders, and a
"What do you mean?"
The towel was twisted again. "I mean she did the wrong thing, that's what I mean. She should have called the cops, she should have called me. Instead she panicked and took a shower and washed the sheets and then came here, and she destroyed the evidence, she destroyed practically every piece of evidence left behind there."
She started sobbing again, lowered her head into her hands.
"Stupid girl," she sobbed. "She should have known better, knowing me. Stupid girl."
I put my arm around her and let her cry for a while. Across from us the woman was still sleeping, and the little girl was now awake, staring at the two of us with the utter innocence and sense of wonderment of a child. I hoped that she would grow up fine and healthy and would never remember this winter night.
After about another ten minutes, a doctor came through the door, clipboard in her hand. She looked to be in her late forties, with short red hair, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. A stethoscope hung around her neck and her nametag said her name was Morse. She reached out and held Diane's hand and sat down next to her.
"You're Diane, right?" Dr. Morse said. "Kara's asking for you. If you want, you can see her in a couple of minutes."
"How is she doing?" Diane asked, her voice trembling.
The doctor nodded. "Physically, she's doing all right, as best as we can expect. She's very scared, about a lot of things, and I think one of the things she's scared about is how you're going to react, If you will still love her, whether you're going to blame her for what happened. That's what she's talking about."
"Jesus Christ --- Diane started, and Dr. Morse held up a hand and said, "I'm not saying she's being rational. She's not. She's been through a very traumatic experience and she's acting human, that's all. Now. She needs to see you, and then a decision has to be made as to whether this will be reported to the police. It's up to her, Diane."
She nodded glumly. "You don't have to tell me that. I know."
The doctor looked at her clipboard. "We've collected what evidence we have, and the rape kit will go to the Newburyport Police Department, if she decides to report it. If not, it will go to the state crime lab for six months." She looked up. "It's her choice. We won't force her. Our primary goal is to take care of her."
Diane rubbed her hands through her hair. "Please. Can I see her again?"
"Certainly." The doctor stood up and I got up with Diane, wondering what I should do, when Diane grabbed my hand and said, "Walk in there with me. Please."
I squeezed back and followed her through the door. Before us was an area of doors and curtains, and I saw a drunk man sitting up on a stretcher, holding a white towel to his bloody head. He had a full mustache, a two- or three-day growth of beard, and no shirt. Blood had matted on his chest hair and he said over and over again, "Pow. The bastard hit from nowhere. Pow. Jus' like that. The bastard hit from nowhere." A female nurse was next to him, talking in a soothing tone.
We came to a room with a large wooden door, and Dr. Morse knocked on the door and led Diane in. I hung back, not sure what to do, and my feet and hands seemed too large. The door was open and I noticed a shivering woman on an examining table, her head propped up by some pillows, and my first thought was, They've taken us to the wrong room. Who's this woman with the scared eyes, the tangled hair? Then Diane choked back a sob and moved into the room, and I realized just how terribly wrong I was. Kara Miles, Diane's best friend and lover, looked at us with bruised and battered eyes. Her right cheek was puffy and her bottom lip was swollen and split open, and there were scratches along her neck. A sheet was up about her bare shoulders, and a
Similar Books
Sliding Void
Stephen Hunt
Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II
Sean Williams
Man On The Run
Charles Williams
Thunder in the Blood
Graham Hurley
The Hindi-Bindi Club
Monica Pradhan
Riverkeep
Martin Stewart
Absolution - The First Book Of The Vampire Immortalis Trilogy
Elizabeth Mitchell
TITAN
Kate Stewart
Trouble In Triplicate
Rex Stout