“Long time no see.”
“I’ve been busy,” Cara said, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Yeah, I heard,” said Randy. “Your old man kicked. Too bad.”
Cara didn’t know how to respond and an uncomfortable silence settled between them.
“So, you want to get stoned or what?”
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
“Got any money?”
Cara already knew she didn’t have money with her, but she checked her pockets anyway, just for show. “Uh, no, sorry, I didn’t bring anything with me. It was kind of last minute . . .” Her voice trailed off. Cara cleared her throat. “Can you comp me some pot, just a couple joints? I can pay you tomorrow.”
Randy blinked at her. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ve got some new stuff. You can try it first, be my guinea pig. It’s my treat.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” Cara agreed, before Randy could change his mind.
“Climb in.” He turned his back to her, disappearing toward the front.
Cara crawled onto the dirty mattress, closing the door behind her.
Randy pulled out a hash pipe. Cara didn’t normally smoke hashish, but at this point, she would have smoked, ingested or even injected anything to slow the pounding of her heart.
She watched Randy remove the foil wrapping from a small chunk of dark, slightly oily hash. He stuffed it into the bowl of the pipe. He handed the pipe to Cara, holding a cigarette lighter to the bowl as she inhaled deeply. Cara smoked three bowls, so intent upon distancing herself from her own fear the fact that Randy didn’t participate escaped her notice.
A welcome silence descended. From a great distance, she saw the hash pipe drop from her open hand. She felt her head fall forward onto her chest, and then, nothing.
When she opened her eyes, Randy’s face loomed above hers. She didn’t understand why his features appeared so distorted and she couldn’t remember why he was there. Why on earth was Randy Johnson in her bedroom? At that moment, she felt a hand between her legs. Was Mr. Walker lying on top of her, in her bed? Who was it, Randy or Mr. Walker?
It looked like Randy, but Randy would never be in her bedroom. Mr. Walker knew how to get into her room.
“No,” she muttered, fumbling with the groping hands.
Cara made a weak attempt to shove him off, but he was heavier than she was, stronger than she was and for some reason, she didn’t seem to have control of her extremities.
“C’mon, Cara, c’mon . . .”
She shook her head, thrashing from side to side now. She somehow managed to clench her legs together. Judging by the sound of his voice, Mr. Walker was angry. He would to hurt her, she knew it. He was going to hurt her and then he would rape her. She felt him pull at her clothing. Her shirt ripped.
“Stop,” she cried out, the word thick and oddly slurred. “Stop it. Get off me.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, bitch!” His fist connected with the side of her face and Cara flipped onto her side, stunned.
She tried to gather her wits, but doing anything, even thinking in a complete sentence, was like slogging through quicksand. She didn’t want to be raped again. Oh God, she didn’t want to go through it again.
Someone grabbed her shoulders, jerked her head forward. Cara remembered where she was. It was Randy on top of her, not Mr. Walker. He flipped her onto her back and tore at the waistband of her jeans. Cara felt them unsnap. One of his hands held the waistband, the other tugged at the zipper.
“No!” she screamed, clawing at Randy’s eyes, raking her nails over his cheek and jaw.
Randy yelped and let go for an instant, long enough for Cara to kick free of him and lunge for the door to the van. He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her backward. He straddled her, sitting on her chest, slapping her over and over until she felt like she would either throw up or pass out. Finally he sat back, panting.
“You stupid fucking bitch.” He pressed a hand against his bleeding cheek. “You think you’re too good for me? I know what you are. Everybody knows what you are, a fucking slut. You’re a fucking slut.” He slid off her and kicked her in the ribs.
“Get out!” Randy yelled. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back.”
Gasping for breath, Cara crawled to the door. She managed to open it and drag herself out, falling headfirst into the dead grass beside the van. She didn’t know if she could stand, but she had no choice. She needed to get as far away from Randy as possible. Cara lurched to her feet and stumbled down the drive. The direction of home was vague, but her body turned left, running on autopilot.
Maybe she’d get hit by a car, she thought. Maybe she would be very lucky and get hit by a car.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Damn I need this.”
James left the med center in Iowa City as soon as he’d finished afternoon rounds. The week had been intense, but fortunately the drive was easy and it gave him time to unwind. The weather held up too. Iowa was between winter storms. A couple days with Debbie would do him some good. He felt like he deserved a little rest and relaxation. Debbie was very adept at providing it.
The two had an easy, uncomplicated relationship. They had fun together. No demands. No distractions. James couldn’t afford any distractions right now, not in his first year of residency. Debbie didn’t even know he was coming. He’d decided at the last minute and he figured she’d be at work. Since she’d given him a key to her place James assumed she wouldn’t mind. If she was busy, he’d kick around for a day or two, maybe do some cooking, watch a little basketball. Spend some quality time in bed with her when she got home.
It was late by the time James hit the city limits. He sped down the main street, hoping the cops were busy elsewhere and made a sharp right turn, heading onto the winding road that led to Debbie’s place. His sports car chewed up the pavement. He was no more than a couple blocks from Debbie’s house when, from out of nowhere, a ghostly figure darted in front of his car.
“Jesus Christ!” He slammed on his brakes, swerving to avoid it. What the hell?
James pulled his car to the side of the road. The adrenalin rush had his heart pounding. He was pretty sure a woman had just flung herself in his path. He ran back to where he’d seen her, hoping to God he hadn’t hit her.
At first he was in such a panic he couldn’t focus on anything. Then he saw her stumbling along the side of the road. Before he could reach her, she fell to the pavement. James ran to her side.
“Damn.”
The young woman was half-naked. James ripped off his jacket and dropped to his knees beside her, wrapping it around her bare torso. Her skin felt ice cold beneath his hands.
“Did I hurt you? Are you hurt? Did I hit you?”
The girl looked up at him. He sucked in a sharp breath. The woman was Cara Franklin. Shit. She stared at him, eyes blank, face stark beneath the pale winter moon.
“Cara, it’s me, James. James Mackie. It’s me.”
Cara closed her eyes and slumped against him. Without another word, James wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, holding her close to his chest as he ran with her to his car. There wasn’t time to call an ambulance and he doubted anyone would open their door to him this time of night. He reached down and flipped open the back door, positioning Cara on the bench seat. Before he let her go, he laid his cheek over her mouth to see if she was still breathing. He could feel some air movement, but her respirations were shallow. He had to get her to the hospital. He was pretty certain he hadn’t hit her, but it was clear she was suffering from hypothermia and under the dim glow of the car’s interior light, he could see she’d been beaten. Her face and chest were bruised, and she had an especially nasty purple welt on the left side of her jaw. She was dressed in only a pair of faded denim jeans. The zipper had been ripped apart, exposing pink silk panties beneath. She was barefoot and her feet were dead white.
Dear God, James didn’t even want to think about what had happened to her. He just wanted to get her somewhere
safe, somewhere she could receive the care she needed.
Tires screeching, James turned his car around and raced to the hospital. He pulled up directly in front of the emergency room entrance. He reached into the backseat for Cara, where she lay still as stone. He pulled her limp body towards him. James ran for all he was worth straight into the ER.
With a yell for help, James flew through the double doors, the girl flopping in his arms like a rag doll. Cara’s lips and extremities had turned blue and her skin was as white as alabaster. Her pulse was weak, her respirations shallow. James knew she was heading for a cardiac arrest from hypothermia. They couldn’t even get a blood pressure on her. It took fifteen excruciating minutes for her body to warm up enough to get an IV started.
James breathed a sigh of relief when Cara’s vital signs began to improve, but she didn’t arouse like he would expect. She remained lethargic, her speech rambling and incoherent. James overheard the ER doc put in a call to a neurologist and he listened to him order a chest x-ray, a skull series and some stat labs and a toxicology screen.
A nurse put a hand on James’ arm. “You’ll need to step outside, Dr. Mack.”
James nodded. He assumed they intended to see if Cara had been raped, she just didn’t want to say that out loud.
“The police are waiting to talk to you,” she said. “But you’d better move your car first because we have an ambulance on the way.”
James rose from his chair, running a tired hand through his hair. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. He didn’t have privileges at this hospital anymore. All he could do was answer questions and wait like everyone who brought a loved one into the ER had to wait. It was agony. He felt out of control, and that was a damned uncomfortable feeling.
In a fog, James made his way back out the double doors. He moved his car, parking it in the patient lot and then returned to the desk. The ward clerk pointed out an empty exam room where two police officers waited. James didn’t know what he could tell them. He had a lot more questions than he had answers.
The officers took down all his personal information and then they asked him to tell them his version of events. He complied, giving them the approximate location of the spot where Cara had run in front of his car.
“How do you know Cara Franklin?”
“I’ve known the family for several years,” he replied.
“What brings you to town so late at night, Dr. Mackie?”
James bristled at the suggestion that he might have something to do with Cara’s condition. “I have a few days off and I planned to surprise my girlfriend. If you want to check with her, she’s probably working upstairs in the psych ward right now. She’s a nurse.” James crossed his arms. “Someone needs to call Cara’s mother. I would have done that myself, but I don’t have her phone number.”
One of the officers indicated he would go by her house to check in with her mother and break the news.
“I plan to stick around here until a family member arrives,” James said.
Leaving the officers, he headed toward Cara’s cubicle. The police officers trailed after him. He knew they wanted to talk to the ER doc, to see what he’d learned. For some reason that thought pissed James off no end. Cara shouldn’t have to go through something like this again. He didn’t want her problems to become police business, but he reminded himself where that sentiment had gotten her in the past.
“Hey,” James called into the curtained cubicle. “Can I come back in?”
One of the nurses stuck her head out. “Yes, we’re done.”
James didn’t want to ask the question, but he did anyway. “Was she . . .”
James breathed a sigh of relief when the nurse shook her head.
He pushed the curtain aside, pulled up a chair and sat near the head of the gurney. Cara’s eyes were still closed, but he could follow the regular rise and fall of her chest. IV fluids were flowing in and he was relieved to see that color had returned to her cheeks.
He asked the ER doctor, “Has she been able to answer questions?”
“Not really. She mumbled a name I think, but I couldn’t catch it.”
“You think she has a concussion?”
“Either that or she’s overdosed on something. I didn’t see any needle marks. We’ll know more when the toxicology screen comes back, but as you know, it’ll take a couple days.”
“Are you going to admit her?”
“Yes, I think I’ll admit her overnight for observation. I want to make sure she wakes up.” The doctor waved an arm in Cara’s direction. “Nothing like frying your brain on a Saturday night.”
“I don’t think that’s what happened.” James tried hard to keep the anger out of his voice. “Look at the bruises on her face, on her chest. Consider her state of undress. Everything indicates she was attacked.”
“Probably.” The man shrugged. “But how do we know? Chances are she was at a party, got stoned and hooked up with the wrong person. Maybe things just went a little too far.”
“Are you implying this is her fault?” James asked.
“No, I’m just saying it happens.” The ER doctor glanced at James. “Look Mack, I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying it happens.” He left the cubicle to speak with the police officers.
“Fucking asshole,” James muttered under his breath and he felt better.
Abruptly Cara stirred to life, thrashing about on the gurney. She threw her hands in front of her face as if fending off an attacker.
“Cara, Cara,” James repeated in a low voice, leaning close to her ear. “Cara, it’s me, it’s James Mackie. I’m right here. Right here beside you.”
Cara moaned in response.
“Open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me.”
She complied with difficulty. Her eyes were swollen and red, the blood vessels burst. He was convinced now that he was right. She’d been attacked.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the emergency room.”
“Why . . . ? Why am I in the emergency room?”
“Do you remember, Cara? Do you remember how I found you? Can you remember anything?”
∗ ∗ ∗
Bleary-eyed, Cara looked around the small cubicle. She tried to focus on James’ face. James had found her? Where had he found her? Where had she been?
Out of the blue, Cara remembered his face, his eyes staring into hers.
She’d been cold, so cold. He’d wrapped her in something and picked her up. Why? Why did James wrap her up . . . ?
Oh god, Randy. He’d attacked her. What had he given her? He must have put something in the hash. Cara tried to remember what he’d said to her. He’s said something about some new stuff and wanting her to be his guinea pig. What an idiot. She was a stupid idiot. Yeah, she was Randy’s guinea pig, all right. Cara closed her eyes, feeling hot tears squeeze slide down her temples and into her hair.
“Go away, James. Go away.”
“I’m not leaving, Cara. Not until you tell me what happened.”
Tears still flowing, Cara opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “I’m stupid,” she said. “That’s what happened. I’m stupid. Haven’t you figured that out by now? I’m a complete and utter fool. Go away James. Leave me alone.”
“Look, the police are already here. They know you were beaten up and the doctor did a rape exam. Now either I go get them and you tell them the truth or you tell me and I take care of it for you. Those are your choices.”
Cara looked at him, not quite believing his words.
“I’m serious, Cara. I understand why you’d hesitate to talk to the police, but goddamn it, tell me. I’ll deal with it. I’ll take care of it. I’ll keep my mouth shut unless you say otherwise.”
“But it was my fault, James, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. I knew better. I knew what he was capable of.”
Abruptly, her stomach lurched and she bolted upright. James grabbed for an emesis basin, supporting her as sh
e retched violently despite the fact that her stomach was empty. A nurse poked her head through the curtains.
“Everything all right in here?”
“Might need a little anti-emetic,” James said.
“No,” Cara waved her off. “Nothing, please, no more drugs.”
“Are you sure? Let me go get the doctor.”
“No,” said Cara, “Not yet. Give me a minute. Just give me a minute. Please.”
The nurse grimaced. “I should get the doctor.”
“No, I’m okay,” Cara replied. “Just give me a minute or two and then you can go get him.”
“Two minutes,” the nurse said. “That’s all you get.”
Cara needed James’ help to lie back down. She was drenched with sweat, feeling as sick as she’d ever felt in her entire life. She knew she had to tell James. If she didn’t, Randy would do this to someone else, some young high school girl.
“He gave me something, some kind of drug. I don’t know what it was. I thought I was smoking some hash. That’s all, just some hash. But I passed out and when I woke up he was on top of me.”
∗ ∗ ∗
James listened in silence, his fury mounting, as Cara’s story spilled out. He was anxious to know who this ‘he’ was she talked about, but he needed to let her tell the story at her own pace.
“I tried to fight him off, I tried, but he was too strong for me. I remember that I couldn’t seem to move. He hit me, here.” Her finger grazed the purple bruise on her jaw. “Then I scratched him across the face and he sat, oh god, he sat on my chest and started slapping me. I think after that he threw me out of the van. I don’t remember anything else until I saw your face.”
James looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“No.” She shook her head. “He tried but he didn’t. I swear he didn’t.”
“Who did this, Cara? Who is he?”
Cara began to sob. “He’s a drug dealer. His name is Randy. Randy Johnson.”
“Where does he live?”
“He lives on Valley Lane, at the very end of the street. He lives in his old Volkswagen van. It’s parked on the side of the house, under the apple tree. James, promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
Come Back To Me Page 8
