He was visibly fit and strong and determined to hurt me, which showed the attack wasn’t random but carefully plotted. Yet, he didn’t seem to be confident in his ability to carry out his game plan. His motions were rash and his gestures agitated. He looked around every so often, which proved that he hadn’t secured the perimeter before he decided to assault me.
I opened my mouth and bit my teeth into the flesh of his forearm as I would have into a piece of meat, keen on drawing blood. My attacker howled, a frightening sound echoing in the parking lot, then he slapped me hard, sending me once more face down to the ground in one pile of aching bones.
“You nosy cow,” he snarled and aimed at me once more, striking me so hard that my teeth clinked together and my temples throbbed. His voice sounded distorted, but there was something familiar about it.
Then he hit me again with a fury that could only be fueled by frustration. My head bumped against the ground, and merciful darkness swallowed me just as I felt the repulsive fingers of my attacker leave my body. It was dark, warm, and painless, and I couldn’t help but succumb deeper to the mind-altering sleep claiming me.
WHEN I WAS CAPABLE of feeling again, I sensed warm hands encasing my shoulders. The sensation was not unpleasant, but it made me tense and struggle against it nonetheless.
A sound of protest and panic left my throat as my eyes flew open. Blinding lights stabbed me violently, and the pain was so abrupt and searing that I felt its sharp edge making cuts in my brain.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay, young lady,” someone soothed in a carefully low voice.
I blinked several times before my eyes adjusted to the light and focused on a chubby cinnamon-haired woman, watching me through her rimless glasses with a kind smile. Her green eyes shimmered with sympathy as she stroked a thread of hair away from my clammy forehead.
“Can I do anything for you?” she asked. She must have been a doctor.
“Water—” I croaked. My mouth was parched, and my throat stung.
I attempted to move, but my bones immediately protested. My back ached as if a chainsaw was cutting every nerve in my spine, and my legs throbbed incessantly. The choked noise that spilled from my mouth sounded pained and alien to my own ears. And the sense of apprehension expanding in my chest rendered me cold and oversensitive.
“It would be wise to take it easy, young lady,” the woman instructed, her kind face slipping, replaced by a stern expression that didn’t allow any comments. “I’m Doctor Stephens. You were brought unconscious to George Washington University Hospital three hours ago.”
Doctor Stephens took a cup of water from a nearby tray and placed a pink straw to my lips, smiling gently as I sucked on it and nearly choked. When I finished, my thirst wasn’t anywhere close to being appeased, but I assumed that was due to the medicine I had been given. Before I could move again, the doctor’s hand pressed carefully, yet steadfastly on my shoulder, halting my motions.
It was in that instant that the nagging apprehension exploded into full-blown terror. My jaw stiffened, my hands balled into fists, my chest ached with fear, and my body shivered almost uncontrollably. Through the turmoil of my panicky emotions, I managed a curt nod.
I remembered. I remembered the painful collision with a car, the fear, and the growing pain as I was hurled to my knees, my attacker’s stale breath as he immobilized and beat me. But most of all, I remembered how I had despised the feeling of being so defenseless, so dependent on another’s man will.
“You have been bruised up a little, but nothing that will not heal. We patched you up and gave you some painkillers. You’ve been sleeping for a couple of hours and might still feel groggy, but otherwise, there’s no cause for worry.”
“Can I ask you a favor, doctor?”
“Certainly. How can I help you?”
“I need to make a call,” I muttered, stressing every word even as my voice broke and my treacherous eyes mirrored my turbulence.
A tingling filled my nostrils right before the corner of my eyes began to sting. I wasn’t exactly sure why I started crying, but tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. I was scared, lonely, and so emotionally tested that I simply needed to let it all out. What I didn’t expect, though, was the irrepressible trembling that threatened to take hold of me altogether.
Doctor Stephens hesitated, my display of emotion momentarily staggering her before she schooled her sympathetic expression in a neutral one and produced from the right pocket of her smock a gray device. She pushed the phone in my trembling hand and offered me another small smile as if she could empathize with what I was going through.
Her kindness rendered me all the more emotional. I was about to ask her if she could offer me a moment of privacy when hushed voices drifted from the corridor. The doctor glanced at the closed door, sighed, then looked back at me.
I stiffened. I knew the procedure. I knew I had to talk to the police, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“You might want to talk to them first. They have been waiting.”
“I need this first, please.”
I clasped the phone to my chest, my eyes pleading. I needed to make that phone call. I needed to hear that soothing voice at the end of the line. Doctor Stephens eventually nodded and walked silently to the door.
“Of course. I’ll hold them off for a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
I imagined that as soon as the doctor walked out the door I would connect the call, but roughly ten minutes later, I was still lying there with the phone clasped to my chest and my tears trickling down my face. I was numb, and that meant I wasn’t nearly close to purging the chaos inside me.
“Marcus?”
He answered after the first ring, not giving me the opportunity to get used to the idea that I was finally truly calling him. I couldn’t convince myself to sound calm. I couldn’t train my emotions into impassivity. I felt like a wreck, and I showed it.
“Charlotte,” Marcus spoke, his voice thickly loaded with emotions of his own as if he wasn’t exactly alright either.
That was my undoing. Tears came pouring like the rain outside, and my body trembled wildly under the thin hospital sheet. I didn’t cry elegantly—I never did. I cried until I couldn’t breathe properly. I cried until I choked for breath and my chest heaved violently with unsuppressed sobs. I clamped a hand over my mouth in a poor attempt to hold back the sobbing, but if anything, I cried all the harder.
“I—I—can’t—” But no coherent words passed my lips.
“Charlotte,” he repeated, almost growling. “Please, sugar, don’t do this to me. I’m going crazy. I can hardly handle it as it is.”
“You know—you know,” I gasped. “How?”
In the haze of ice-cold fears and fire-burning tears, I wondered if Marcus knew more than I did. Somehow, sometime, he had been notified of my accident in detail. I wanted to ask him how he had found out or who had let him know, but I lacked the energy. It was strenuous enough trying to rein in my emotions.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m coming to you, sugar. Wait for me.” He sounded strained, so much that he almost seemed too cool to bear which foolishly made me cry some more.
“Marcus—” I sighed.
Those three words were just there, about to spill like a cleansing out of my mouth. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to hear him say those words back to me. I wanted the comfort they would give me and yet...
“I know,” he stopped me, sounding clipped and tense as if he struggled to control himself. “I know. Wait for me, sweet Charlotte.”
After he hung up, I remained listening to nothing in particular, trying to uproot the somber feelings that soared in my heart. Doctor Stephens reappeared sometimes later asking me if I was ready to talk to the two police officers waiting by my door. I wasn’t, especially not now when the one I had sought comfort in had seemed so odd and aloof. Resigning myself, I nodded and watched Agent Ella Foreman and Agent Richard Coulter walk resolutely to my bed, follo
wed by—Vincent Cole.
My eyes widened, and I was quite certain that my mouth was hanging open. The somber, always composed Vincent Cole looked away and blushed while I kept studying him, doing little to disguise my shock. After a few awkward moments, he sidestepped the police officers and perched on the edge of my bed as if we were alone.
“I found you in the parking lot, Charlotte. You gave me a terrible scare. I thought—”
His jaw clenched so hard that I wondered why he didn’t wince in pain. He looked more troubled than a simple work colleague should. In fact, I had never seen him looking so disheveled.
He wore no tie and no suit jacket. His white shirt was crumpled and hanging out of his pants. His hair was a mess sticking in all directions, and his eyes looked awfully tired. Running a hand over his face, he continued tersely.
“I called the ambulance, but I had to stay back at the hotel—” Cole’s eyes wandered to the two agents, who promptly stepped in, a mask of considerate detachment on their faces.
“Did you see your attacker, Ms. Burton? Could you describe him?” Agent Foreman eyed me patiently, delivering the usual questions for such cases. Perhaps she foresaw my answer before I voiced it out loud.
Cole raised an eyebrow and looked breathless like something vital depended on my answer.
“No. He wore a balaclava, but he is muscular and of average height. I bit his forearm hard, so he should have a mark there for a couple of days. There’s not much else I can help you with, I’m sorry.”
Agent Foreman exchanged a secretly knowing look with the two men, instantly putting me on the defensive. Neither of them seemed surprised by my description. If anything, they looked nearly relieved.
“We found a man of your description lying unconscious a few feet away from you. Did you, by any chance, put down your attacker before you lost consciousness?” Agent Coulter asked, hopefulness and skepticism equal in his voice.
I just shook my head, stunned. The last thing I remembered was the aggressiveness of his blows as they connected incessantly with my flesh. In fact, the concept of inflicting any harm on the man who had reduced me to a bruised aching mess was so ridiculous that I would have burst out laughing if I hadn’t been so shocked.
“You were found in front of an abandoned car. It looked like you had been hit, which your physician has already confirmed. Can you confirm that as well?”
“Yes.”
“Is this the plate of the car?”
Agent Coulter pulled a letter-sized image in my hands with the license plate of a car. It seemed familiar, but my thoughts were too mixed-up to be certain of anything.
“Yes, I think so.”
“You think? You are not sure?” Agent Foreman asked, arching a brow.
I hated when police officers treated victims as if they were too traumatized or flooded by painkillers to know what they were saying. I had to bite my lip harshly to stop from snapping.
“She was hit by a car and put in a hospital bed. Do you think her worry was to catch the license number?” Vincent Cole snapped in my stead. I glanced at him, deadpan, and wondered once more why he looked so unkempt and utterly upset.
“The car was not abandoned. The man who assaulted me was driving it,” I supplied, although I supposed they had already intuited that.
Agent Foreman nodded silently while Agent Coulter wrote something down in the notebook he was carrying. They watched me with secretly knowing eyes that immediately unsettled me.
Vincent’s cool, ashen expression didn’t give anything away either. In those moments of not knowing, while my fears grew, and my heart pounded from impossibly fast to achingly slow, I missed Marcus and the safe comfort of his embrace the most.
“That is not all, is it?”
I hated how my voice trembled. I hated that I was alone in a hospital bed, and I hated that I had been put in such a position. I couldn’t help but think that if my father hadn’t forced me to accept Jack’s case, I might have never been here.
“Do you have any suspicions who might want to harm you and why, Ms. Burton?”
“No.”
“Have you ever used drugs or been involved with people who used or dealt drugs?”
“What kind of question is that?” I finally snapped, glaring at Ms. Foreman who at least looked sheepish and blushed profusely. My integrity was not something I was willing to have questioned. “No, of course not. I have medical records that can confirm that.”
“We are not trying to insult you. We are trying to gather all the facts.”
“I don’t understand—”
Agent Coulter pressed another picture in my hands, watching for my reaction like a hawk. I stared dumbfounded at the image of a half-full syringe lying forgotten on the pavement. My eyes traveled slowly from the picture I was holding to each of my visitors, silently demanding explanations. But as I returned my attention to that eerie image, realization dawned abruptly, and my heart tightened.
“We found this next to your body,” Agent Coulter finally spoke. “It’s been already tested. It is evident your attacker meant to inject you with an overdose.”
“Are you sure you have no idea who it might be?”
I did have an idea, but I couldn’t confess it to the two officers and make an accusation that concerned Mayor Stewart. Nobody would have believed me without concrete proof, so I chose to play the oblivious card.
“I do have an idea about who assaulted me. It was a man, wearing a balaclava. I already told you that. Have you not arrested him?” I sounded harsh and impatient, momentarily startling all three of my visitors.
“The man found unconscious in the parking lot has already been arrested,” Agent Foreman confirmed coolly, her thick brows furrowing. “We need you to personally identify him before we can move forward with the investigation. We know that you didn’t see his face, but something might catch your attention, which can help our investigation.”
I nodded, although I was far from willing or able to identify a man who, faceless as he had been, would most likely haunt my nightmares.
When the door swung open and Doctor Stephens strolled inside, I was so relieved to see her that I audibly sighed and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to hide beneath the hospital sheets.
“Officers, if I may check on my patient now.”
The two detectives left after quickly saying their goodbyes. Half of my tension eased once they departed, but my emotional state didn’t completely abate. If anything, I felt even more vulnerable now that I was aware of the sordid details of my assault.
“Charlotte,” Vincent Cole said. My eyes opened and focused warily on his massive body, hesitating in the entryway. “I hope you don’t mind that I called your intern—Marcus King.”
Cole fidgeted with his hands as I looked at him in astonishment. He cleared his throat, making me snap out of my shock, and nod thankfully. The man was intuitive, and my relationship with Marcus was due at some point to cease being a secret. At the moment, I was too shattered to care about the consequences.
It was late evening when I eventually convinced Doctor Stephens that I was ready to be discharged and that I was going to call her if my condition worsened. My body still hurt so badly that breathing was difficult at times, yet it didn’t hurt badly enough to convince me to spend the night in a hospital bed.
To my sheer irritation, the head nurse, a stubborn, severe-looking woman, insisted she drive me outside the hospital gates in an ugly, uncomfortable wheelchair. I stood as soon as the fresh air bathed my face, earning her disapproving scowl and an exasperated roll of her eyes. The darkness made me feel edgier and all the more impatient to get to safety.
“May I escort you to the hotel, Charlotte?”
I was jolted so violently by the unexpected voice coming from right behind me that I struggled to tame the wild beating of my heart.
“Don’t do that,” I hissed, unable to stop myself.
Vincent Cole stood from the bench where he had been sitting, crushing a half-smoked
cigarette under his black shoe. He didn’t look any more rested than he had a few hours ago, which made me feel all the more regretful for my reaction and wonder why he felt the need to look after me.
“I apologize,” he sighed. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I’m—I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was wrong with Cole, then a thought crossed my mind.
At the time of my attack, the aggressor had seemed taller, but what if fear had influenced my capacity to discern such details? What if my attacker looked tall only because I had been desperate and on my knees? What if Cole had never found me unconscious but rendered me so himself?
I stumbled on purpose, and his arm shot around my waist.
“Thank you,” I muttered and gripped his forearm for support, exactly where I had bitten my attacker.
Cole flinched and removed his arm from my grasp.
I froze.
I didn’t know whether he felt the temperature dropping or noticed my dramatic change of disposition. I stepped back and pulled my hand around my throat, rubbing absently at the flesh. My mouth was dry, and my palms were turning clammy.
“I think I will catch a cab. Thank you.”
I could swear Cole looked relieved.
“If that’s what you want,” he agreed but stepped closer, blocking my way.
I prepared to scream. A sob left my lips when he buried his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket. I expected him to retrieve a weapon when instead, he pulled out my shattered phone.
“I thought you’d want it back,” he said and handed it to me.
I couldn’t bring myself to talk. I nodded stiffly, took the damaged phone and went closer to the cab waiting at the curb.
“Charlotte?” Cole pressed on. “I took the liberty of buying you a new one. It’s on the mayor’s tab.”
He winked, but I remained impassive. I slid into the cab before giving Cole the satisfaction of collapsing. In the back seat of the car, I leaned my forehead against the cold window, appreciating the quiet as much as I despised it. It comforted me, but it also offered me too much time to think—to torment myself.
Darkside Love Affair Page 42
