Rewriting the Ending

by H P Tune

  She didn’t get a chance to decide, feeling a rough and calloused hand wrap around her mouth and a tight arm grip her around the middle. She managed only a muffled cry and a slight struggle before she was pulled down the side of a closed shop. She couldn’t understand a single one of the range of harsh words spoken into her ear, but the tone of the coarse voice was clear enough, as was the intentions of the large body controlling her struggling limbs.

  She arched her back and tried to shake her head to rid herself of the palm pressed over her mouth, failing as her face met the corner of the building, bricks tearing at the skin over her cheekbone. A wave of nausea spread through her as she was turned and forced back, shoulders and head taking the brunt of the force. A knee connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over, crying out as the hand dropped from her face to her neck.

  The bag across her body was being forcibly tugged, caught around her as the man tried in clear desperation to tear it from her. She fell towards the ground, and, again, she found his knee connecting with her ribs and stomach as he crushed on top of her. He pulled so hard on her bag that the strap tore, but not before the cotton material ripped across her neck, burning the soft skin.

  “Just take it, please.” If the man understood what she was saying, he didn’t acknowledge it. He stared at her, one hand lingering at her neck, then pulled her up a few inches off the ground. When he slammed her back down, the grey light from the street front dulled and her vision tunnelled, slowly fading to black as she lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER 7

  Blinking, Juliet tried to orientate herself as her surroundings slowly came into focus. She groaned and tried to move, elbow grating along the cement. A sharp pain pierced her side and wrapped around her abdomen. She slumped backwards, her head cushioned where she had expected to meet the hard ground.

  A gentle hand gripped her shoulder, and she looked up: a middle-aged man talked at her, voice slow and gentle, though she couldn’t make out any words. Realisation dawned upon her. She wasn’t in America. She was in Belgium, and she was supposed to be walking back to her apartment. A flash crossed her vision—the tall, strong male ripping the bag from across her body. She whimpered again, and her eyes drifted to a woman standing a few steps away, cell phone to her ear. She murmured a few soft words at Juliet.

  “Engels…” Juliet whispered, bringing a hand up to tap her cheek and forehead. “Engels.”

  The woman, dressed elegantly in long black slacks and a thick red coat, muttered something to the man and crouched down to Juliet. “English, you speak English?”

  “Yes,” Juliet said, bringing blood tinged fingertips in front of her eyes. She tried again to move.

  “Lie there, I’ve called an ambulance.”

  “My bag?”

  The man coughed and repositioned the rolled-up coat under Juliet’s head, dabbing at her forehead with the sleeve. “He ran off with it,” he said, throwing a hand back over his shoulder to indicate towards the street. “Don’t try to move.”

  “Thanks,” Juliet said. “I think I’m okay.”

  “The ambulance will be here soon, they’ll take you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think I need…” She tried to tug her legs up, but her hip flexing sent another sharp pain across her stomach.

  “You need the hospital.” The woman scooped her long, dark hair to fall over one shoulder and sat down next to Juliet, a soothing hand resting on her forearm. “What’s your name?”

  “Juliet.”

  “You need the hospital. Is there someone we can call?”

  “No, thank you. I’m here…” She moaned again. “I’m here on my own.”

  The woman’s soft fingers wrapped around Juliet’s forearm and squeezed gently. “We’ll wait with you until the ambulance arrives, you’ll be fine.”

  Tears burned her eyes as Juliet gave an awkward nod. She closed them. Her entire body hurt.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Juliet was sitting up on a gurney with its back raised and with a pillow behind her head. She had been treated exceptionally well, from the kind strangers that had found her and called the paramedics to the hospital staff that went out of their way to communicate with her in English and calm her. Being in an emergency room in a country where she didn’t speak the language was frightening. It made Juliet wonder for the first time what it would be like to be a foreigner back home in this situation. They would probably just call in an interpreter for a few minutes and get frustrated that their visitor couldn’t speak English.

  Juliet couldn’t praise the staff enough.

  As she had been patiently told a number of times, the scans of her head were clear, no bleeding of the brain or skull fractures. Her eye socket and mandible were heavily bruised, but not broken, and the two lacerations on her face had required only a few stitches.

  Her ribs were the most damaged, with multiple fractures, and she was lucky to not have had one of those ribs puncture her lung. Scans did show some bruising and a small laceration to her liver, but thankfully it required only conservative management. They were insisting on keeping her overnight, and if Juliet was honest, she was in no rush to leave the safety and warmth of the hospital.

  She was moved to a short stay ward, an area for observation for patients not being admitted to the hospital. It was quieter than the emergency department, and she was fortunate to get her own room. Juliet deduced that her insurance must have been more than adequate. Again, they made sure she had a nurse whose English-speaking skills probably surpassed many in the States.

  “How are you feeling, Juliet?” The scrub-clad nurse graced her with a genuine grin.

  “I’m okay, thank you.” Juliet offered the young woman a smile in return.

  “Do you need some pain relief?”

  Juliet shook her head.

  “All right, then. I’m just going to get some water, see if we can’t clean some of this blood off you. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, please. Umm, can you tell me what time it is?”

  “Mmm.” She looked at her watch. “It’s two thirty in the morning.”

  Juliet’s eyes widened. “Oh, I had no idea.”

  “Do you need to make some calls? I can arrange a phone if you need to contact someone back home.”

  Again, she shook her head, tensing her shoulders and relaxing them. She was starting to feel stiff and uncomfortable, quite in pain, probably from a combination of the analgesia and lack of movement. “Did I have a cell phone when I came in?” she asked, aware that her clothes had been quickly removed and replaced with a thin gown on her arrival. Only her plain cotton panties remained on.

  Squatting to the floor, the nurse reached under her bed and beneath her rolled up jeans and jacket. As she rose, she handed Juliet her phone that had been hiding underneath the clothes. “That’s all you had on you.”

  “Yeah, my bag got taken.”

  “Police were here earlier. They’ll come back tomorrow and take you back to your apartment. Your keys were in your bag, right?”

  “Yeah, keys and wallet. Nothing else really, everything else I left back in my apartment.”

  “Passport?”

  “Ah, in my backpack in the closet, thankfully. It’s such a hassle to get a new one.”

  “Well, if you need to make some calls, just let me know and I’ll step out.”

  “It’s a little late to be phoning at this hour.”

  “People don’t mind being woken for things like this, I assure you. I’ve never once had someone get upset for being woken to come in.”

  Juliet smiled. “She’s in Scotland, can’t exactly come in; it would just worry her. I’ll message her at a better hour.”

  “Okay.” She smiled, hands on her hips. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, see if we can’t make that hair of yours blonde again.”

  Sighing, Juliet pulled the sheets higher until they reached over her chest and tucked under her armpits. She pulled a few strands of hair away from her head. She hadn’t glan
ced in a mirror yet, but she assumed she was quite the sight, bloody and bruised. The bruising would only get worse too. They had mentioned that the stuff on her face wouldn’t fade for a week or so and that her ribs would take just under two months to fully heal. She should be able to move more freely in a few weeks though, cough without agony in a couple.

  She should have stayed home and worked on her book; what had she been thinking?

  Returning with a round green bowl, a number of wash cloths, and a packet of wipes, the nurse placed it all on the meal tray table and wheeled it closer to Juliet’s bedside. She sat gently on the edge of her bed and surveyed her face. “Pretty bad, huh?” Juliet asked.

  “It’ll look better once I’ve finished.”

  Juliet offered a sad smile. “You’ve all been amazing to me, really lovely. I can’t really complain.”

  “Will your friend from Scotland come over? Look after you for a bit?”

  Shrugging, Juliet pondered the question. “I don’t know, maybe. We don’t know each other that well, but she was planning a trip over here soon. Maybe she can bring it forward, I’m not sure. It’s not so bad. I can look after myself.”

  “You’re probably looking forward to some sleep.”

  “Kind of, I don’t know if I can sleep, but I’m tired—exhausted, actually.”

  “It’s been a big night.”

  “Yeah, big night.”

  She allowed the nurse to finish cleaning her up in silence. “Thank you,” she said when the tugging on her hair ceased and the nurse moved away from her bed.

  “It’ll do until you can shower. You feeling all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The doctor has written up something to help you sleep, would you like it?”

  Juliet considered it briefly. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She could probably manage for a few hours, and figured she would wake up sore enough without the added fatigue from a sedative.

  “All right. Well, you’re due for some more pain medication, so that should help a little. It’s important you get some rest, Juliet.”

  When the woman returned, Juliet took the two white capsule-shaped tablets offered to her with water. “Thank you,” she murmured, for what felt like the one hundredth time that evening.

  “Rest. It’s nurse’s orders.”

  Juliet smiled and obliged her by closing her eyes, waiting until the door was closed before opening them again. She sighed heavily and grazed her fingers over her face and through her hair. There was just a small amount of artificial light coming through the glass window on the door to her room. Despite her efforts to push the evening’s events out of her mind, her eyes continued to close, and she replayed the moment a rough hand had appeared from nowhere and covered her mouth. She felt the involuntary push of her legs as she was dragged from the sidewalk.

  She forced her eyes open and looked around the room, feeling how her heart rate had raised. Sleep would be a nice reprieve from the horrific memories that seemed intent on preoccupying her every thought.

  Forcing her mind to concentrate, Juliet focussed on the phone call she’d had with Mia, the sob that had half caught in Mia’s throat, and the way she had tearfully laughed. If she could trick herself into concentrating on Mia for a few moments, perhaps sleep would find her.

  And aided by the slow absorption of the pills, she did slip into sleep. Slowly and sporadically, back and forth from being fully awake, but eventually she dozed.

  She didn’t wake up until a blood pressure cuff started swelling on her upper arm and a peg-like device was placed on her index finger. She blinked twice in quick succession as a tall older female in the same familiar green scrubs smiled at her.

  “Just taking vitals,” she said, chart held against her hip as she jotted some readings into the small squares on a form. “How are you feeling?”

  “Umm, fine, I think.” Juliet felt sleepy, confused. “Ah, what time is it?”

  “It’s ten in the morning. We held off for as long as we could.”

  “That’s okay. That’s fine.” Juliet rushed to appease, because not only had she slept, but she had slept for longer than she would usually.

  “You take your time,” the woman said. “The doctor will be around later on. I expect he will discharge you. The police and your insurance company have already been on the phone.” Juliet nodded, placing a hand on the mattress by her hip and trying to slide herself up the bed. “I’ll put the back up a little, is that better?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Can I have a shower at all?”

  “Of course, don’t rush up, just wait a few minutes. I’ll get you some soap and a toothbrush, a towel. Were your clothes cut off? We have some supplies to get you home if you need another top or sweatshirt.”

  Juliet shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Reaching underneath the bed, she pulled out the ball of rolled-up clothes and placed them onto Juliet’s lap. She went about untangling them. The jeans were still okay, and the top was fine. The jacket she had been wearing was splattered with blood.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get you something warm. It’s cold out there today.”

  Nodding absentmindedly, Juliet waited silently until the nurse returned with a sweatshirt, towel, and a few toiletries. With Juliet’s hand on the nurse’s arm, Juliet allowed her to slowly guide her off the bed, her grip still firm.

  “I’m okay,” Juliet said.

  “Nice and slowly. I’ll show you to the bathroom. Don’t be too enthusiastic with the washing, all right?”

  Left alone in the bathroom, Juliet used the toilet first, gasping as she tried to lower herself smoothly onto the seat. Every muscle pulled with the effort, and her ribs seemed to emanate waves of pain with every twist that was slightly outside a straight position. Nausea swept through her with the exertion.

  When she finally stood in front of the mirror above the basin, she slowly untied the gown and let it fall to the floor. She wasn’t sure if she had convinced herself that it would be worse, but she didn’t react to the image that stared back at her. She just worked her way methodically from her face and down to her hips, the rest of her body hidden from the reflection. Her face was swollen and mostly red. The bruising would appear shortly, and the stitches were just visible behind the clear sticky plasters that covered them. The side of her chest was a dull red, and there were dots of blue that signalled the first signs of bruising. Her neck was splattered with specks and lines from where her bag had been torn from her.

  Turning back to the shower in the corner of the room, she turned the water on and let it wash over her chest and stomach down to her legs. It stung in places as the warm water met exposed skin lacerations. She would never complain about a shaving cut again. It took her almost ten minutes, but she managed to work some shampoo unevenly through her hair.

  By the time she left the bathroom in jeans, a top from the night before, and an oversized sweater, she at least felt slightly more human. And she was moving a little easier too, not quite as afraid of every turn and flex; she could manage the pain. When she returned to her room, a breakfast tray with food sat on the wheeled table and her phone next to it had a message from Mia.

  Hey, so how did the night end up? You didn’t end up going out with them did you?

  She took a sip of juice. The liquid felt good in her mouth, and her stomach didn’t jolt at the sudden intrusion. There was an unknown but agreeable flavour of marmalade spread over her toast.

  Turns out not so great. I’m in a hospital.(!!!)

  Her phone rang instantaneously, and she debated whether or not to answer it. As she stared at the silent ringing, the option was taken out of her hands as the call ended. A text followed seconds later.

  What happened? Are you okay? Can you talk?

  Juliet was halfway through typing a reply when her phone rang again; she answered it this time. “Hey,” she said softly, too exhausted to manage much of a façade.

  “Juliet? What happened?”

  “I’m all right, Mia, don�
��t stress out.” She tried to swallow the emotion in her voice. She had underappreciated the value of a familiar voice. Mia was emanating a stressed tone, though, whereas Juliet had been calm and controlled when Mia had phoned her upset.

  “Were you in a car accident? Are you hurt?” Mia asked. “I thought you were heading home after we messaged last night?”

  “Not exactly. I’m okay. I was just walking home and got mugged. Some guy took my bag.”

  Mia gasped. “What?”

  “I know. Fucked, right?”

  “Are you really okay? I mean, you’re in the hospital. Of course you’re not actually okay.” Juliet could hear Mia’s pacing through the phone, the hasty steps that she was taking and the slight breathlessness.

  “Ah, I’m a little beat up. I’ll survive.”

  “Juliet, can you not do that?” Mia huffed out an impatient-sounding breath. “I’m worried, and you’re being all vague.”

  Juliet sighed, trying to blink away the tears before they threatened to fall. “I’ve got some bruises, a few stitches in my face and head.” She hesitated, throat tingling with a slight burn, and her voice caught as she tried to elaborate. “A couple of fractured ribs. I kind of look like I’ve gone a few rounds.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears gathered on her lower lashes.

  There was a long exhalation from the other end of the line. “Sweetie,” Mia murmured softly.

  Juliet clenched her teeth, a precarious hold on control. “You’ll make me cry,” she managed to say, with even a slight scoff mixed in.

  “You want me to come?”

  Shaking her head, Juliet took a moment to respond. “No, no, not right now. I have to see the police and get back to my apartment. I might need your help to sort out replacement cards and stuff, though, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course, whatever I can do. There’s a fax and Internet and everything here. I can phone places and pretend to be you. You’ll need some money to tide you over. I can get some sent to the manager of your block or to the local bank. But we can sort that later. You sure you’re all right to be discharged?”