Silent Key

by Erin Leland Tuttle

  Chapter Eleven: Bright Coming Morn

  No sooner had I gotten off the phone with Dr. Lane, assuring him I was going to be okay, and promising to go visit him as soon as I was released, that the door creaked open.

  Reagan peeked in and hesitated. "Foster?"

  "It's me. Come in."

  As she closed the door behind her, her pace quickened and before I knew it she was at my side.

  "Foster. My God. What the hell happened?"

  I patted an empty space of bed beside me. "Sit down. It’s been a long night."

  I told Reagan an edited story of the wreck, of the deaf couple, only leaving out one detail: Jacob McGammon. Reagan didn't speak the entire time, only watched my face. When I finished she took a deep breath. 

  "Thank Jesus you're alive, Foster. I could have lost you. What is with you and accidents this year?"

  "I was wearing my seat belt,” I said. “Buckle up for safety …”

  “Did you call Aaron?” she asked, ignoring me.

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t even call my own family, Reagan.”

  “Oh. Well, I mean, I thought he’d want to know …”

  “I don’t tell him everything,” I said.

  There was a moment of silence and, because I had known my friend for so long, I could read every second of her pause like an open book.

  “You told him, didn’t you?”

  “I thought you’d want me to.”

  I pushed the button on the side of my bed, making me sit up straighter. It moved so slow that, in another situation, it might have been comical.

  “You had no right, Reagan …”

  “Why didn’t you call your family? I don’t understand you lately …”

  “It’s my life and I let whomever I want in my business …”

  “I’m just trying to help you, Foster …”

  We spoke over each other, rolling counter arguments until the nurse walked in. By then, my bed had reached a full sitting position.

  “I just need to take your vitals,” she chirped, wheeling equipment in with her. Eyeing Reagan, she added, “You sure have had your share of visitors today, haven’t you?”

  “It seems that way, yes,” I said, shooting Reagan a look to let her know that our argument wasn’t finished.

  As the nurse exited, she announced that the doctor would be in later to speak with me. “You might want to get some rest,” she added.

  “I’m not leaving,” Reagan said after the nurse exited.

  “Good,” I said, “Because I’ve got another bone to pick with you.”

  “God,” Reagan moaned. “Even when you’re bed-ridden you’re a hard ass …”

  “Why did you tell Aaron about my encounter with Jacob McGammon outside of the library?”

  Reagan’s face froze. "What? What do you mean?"

  "I heard you," said. "I heard you and Aaron outside of our dorm talking."

  "I … I just felt like he should know,” she stuttered, shaken by the change of topic. You guys were dating …”

  “Aaron told Jacob.”

  “I didn’t think he would. I mean, I know he thinks highly of him but …”

  “Reagan,” I said slowly, “Please understand that there are things you don’t know, things that are going on with me right now. I don’t think you truly can grasp what kind of man Jacob McGammon is …”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I hate when you get like this …”

  “… and you’re about ready to go to Sweden with him. Do you even know what he is capable of?

  “I do know!” Reagan blurted.

  "What?" I stopped.

  Reagan stood, her face turned pale, and walked to the bottom of my bed, putting distance between us.

  "I didn't get the call from the hospital last night because we were all out together."

  "Who? Who was out together?"

  "Me, Aaron, Stephania, a few others.”

  “McGammon?”

  “Yes.”

  "Where?"

  "A bar downtown. The Dirty Dog. Aaron called me around 9:30 to say that Jacob—McGammon—had asked us all to meet there. He said he had some new news about our trip.”

  “McGammon didn’t call you?”

  “No, Aaron did. He said we could meet there to talk.”

  "And drink," I croaked, fearful as to where this story was headed. 

  "Aaron didn't say anything about drinking. But, I mean, we were meeting at a bar. There is this room in the back big enough for a meeting like this …” Reagan trailed off and walked over the window to open the blinds. Sunlight streamed into the room. "I figured you were out doing your thing. I left right away and headed downtown.”

  “You guys had just met hours before.”

  “I know. But he said he had exciting news …”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Just go on.”

  I waited as Reagan ran her hands through her wavy hair. It was a good two minutes before she continued. 

  "McGammon was already there when I arrived. I didn't see him at first. It was dark and the lights were blinking and there was fog. You know that fog machine they have there? Well, I made my way through the dancing, grinding people and, as I reached the back of the bar where the pool tables are, something caught my eye."

  Reagan swallowed.

  "I wasn't sure it was him. It was dark. But in the hallway by the bathrooms, I saw movement. There was a man. He was wearing a white button-down shirt. He was pressed up against the wall so hard that I didn't see the girl at first. Then he stepped back and her head flung back, revealing his hand around her throat. She was a blonde, wearing a short pink dress. She let out a sound, something like a laugh, but not quite. He pushed her toward the wall again and threw himself against her so violently that, even above the music, I heard her head hit the wall. That's when I walked away. I found a table and sat down."

  "And then?" I asked, my breath shallow. 

  "Then the others began to arrive. Aaron came first. Stephania and the others showed up a few minutes later."

  "And McGammon?"

  "He got there later. He came in the front door. He must have gone out the back and walked around to the front again. I saw his red hair over the crowd before I saw anything else. The crowd parted and there he was, moving toward us, wearing a very white, very pressed, button-down shirt. And I knew."

  I know that look, I thought and remembered him hiking up his jeans and turning his head ever-so-slightly in my direction in the dark ravine. My stomach lurched.

  "Foster?" Reagan asked, moving again toward me. "Are you going to throw up?"

  "No," I said. "Go on."

  "Are you ... "

  "Yes. I'm sure. Please go on."

  "Okay," she said, moving back toward the window. "Well. I knew. I knew that it was him in the back hallway. And not just because of what you have told me, about the way he is. The problem was, from the moment he met my gaze as he moved through the crowd, I knew that he knew as well. He knew that I had seen him."

  "Yes," I said, understanding.

  "He slid into the booth beside me, although I was on the end and there really wasn't enough room. Everyone laughed."

  "Reagan ... "

  "Let me finish. Please." She began to pace again. "McGammon ordered a few pitchers of beer. We all began to drink. They didn’t even ask for our IDs. Jacob talked about the trip and his new ideas for our performance. Honestly, they were really good. But the entire time, he … he had his hand on my leg under the table."

  "Reagan ... " I started again but she continued talking.

  "But it wasn't just that. He was squeezing my leg. First just gently, playfully. Then a bit stronger. At one point I shifted and he pressed his fingers in so deep that I felt tears in my eyes."

  “Let me see,” I said softly and, hesitantly, she hiked up the left leg of her shorts. 

  I gasped, seeing the yellow imprint of fingers. "Reagan, what did you do? Did you say anything to anyone? Aaron? Anyon
e?"

  Reagan turned to look out the window. "I was tipsy," she said. "I thought maybe I was just imagining it. Plus, I don't know ..."

  "You liked it?"

  Reagan quickly turned, her face turning crimson. "Foster, how dare you! Of all people …"

  "It’s not your fault," I said, cutting her off. "I'm so sorry, Rea Rea."

  With her shoulders slumped, she came back over to the bed and sat down. "I thought you were going to be so mad at me. I saw him with that girl in the hallway, then I let him touch my leg. I didn't tell anyone." A tear fell down her cheek. "And in the meantime, you needed me. You needed me and I was doing ... that."

  I pulled her in for a hug. She didn’t resist. "He did it on purpose,” I breathed.

  “What?” Reagan asked. “What did you say?”

  “He’s a manipulator. He knew you would tell me. It’s all part of his game.”

  "Foster," she cried into my chest. "I’m so sorry. I’ve been a horrible friend.”

  “No. Never. Besides, you’re here now. But,” I added, “there is one thing you can do.”

  “What?” she asked, leaning back to look at me. “Anything.”

  “Will you go down to the lobby and get me a Schweppes?” For a moment she just looked at me, startled, then relaxed when I smiled. “Seriously. I’m parched.”

  “A Schweppes,” she repeated and leaned in to kiss my forehead before heading to the door. “I’ll be right back, Foster.”

  As I watched her walk out the door, my smile faded. Looking down, I picked up the phone and began to dial the number Vicki had scribbled on my hand.