by M. E. Carter
“We’re going to have to check her out, sir.”
“Be careful,” I demand, the overprotectiveness kicking in again. “I don’t know if she’s bleeding anywhere, but she has a pulse, and she’s breathing.” As they begin to move the shirt to get a better look at her injuries, I look over at my boss, who is watching the scene unfold. “Paul, don’t look at her.”
“What?”
“I said don’t look at her,” I growl. “She’s already had too many people see her like this.”
He nods in understanding and holds my gaze as they work on her. I can see some of it in my peripheral vision, but I refuse to look directly, out of respect for her privacy. She has very little right now. Several minutes go by before the EMT finally says, “It’s okay, sir. She’s covered again.”
That’s when Paul breaks eye contact with me, and we look back down at her. It’s clear she took the time to get all dressed up to come here, and now she’s lying in a back alley, behind a dumpster because some guy treated her like trash.
My stomach rolls at the thought of her getting ready for a night out with her friends, only to end up like this. I swallow back the bile. I will not let myself lose control until I know she’s being taken care of.
“She’s ready to be transported now,” the EMT says, but I don’t move. I can’t. He puts his hand on my arm and continues. “You’ve done a really good job, young man.”
I nod, but I’m not really hearing his words. Suddenly a gurney is rolled next to us, and before I know it, they’re strapping her on to take her away. I refuse to leave her side, though. Not until she’s safely on that ambulance.
As we come around the side of the dumpster through the back of the alley, I’m glad to see a police officer has already taped off the entrance, keeping people from taking any pictures. I know I don’t want to end up on social media for this. I’m sure she doesn’t either.
I walk to the back of the ambulance and as the medics load the gurney, I turn to them. “Where are you taking her?”
“To Memorial Hospital. It’s the closest one. I’m sure the officers will give you more information since you’re a witness to the crime.”
“Sir?” A woman is suddenly standing next to me. I didn’t hear her come up, but my mind kind of feels like it’s in a fog now that I don’t have adrenaline coursing through me. “Sir, we really need to check you out.”
I look at her feeling confused. Why would she need to check me out? I’m not the one who was attacked.
“Sir, your hands.”
I look down, and that’s when the pain finally registers in my knuckles. They’re red and raw and streaked with blood, the skin broken open.
“Oh yeah,” I say, “I forgot. I caught the guy.”
“You did?” Suddenly, she seems very interested in what I have to say, and just as fast, I seem to have lost my ability to put together coherent sentences easily.
“Yeah, um, he tried to run, and I tackled him to the ground, and I guess we threw a few punches. I think I broke his nose.”
“Is he still here? Do you know who he is?”
“No. She…the girl…she was moaning, and I thought she was bleeding out, and I was afraid she was going to die. I got up to help her, and he ran away.”
She pats my arm and flashes me an empathetic grin. “You did the right thing. You may have saved her life.”
I nod, but I’m still feeling stunned, my thoughts swirling a hundred miles an hour though I’m only halfway comprehending anything.
She guides me over to the back of another ambulance, and as she’s disinfecting my hands, an officer comes up and asks me questions about what I’ve seen. In the course of the conversation, he convinces me to give him my blood-stained shirt. Something about it being evidence. Paul must see what’s going on because before I know it, he’s handing me a clean logoed shirt.
“Jax,” he says, “take the rest of the night off. Don’t come in tomorrow or the rest of the weekend.”
“But, you’ll be short-staffed.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he says. “You know I can fill in anywhere. You’ve had a rough night. You need a break.”
“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly. “I guess call me when you put out the new schedule for next week.”
“I will, man. And thanks for what you did tonight. You’re a real hero in my eyes.”
Hero. I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like a real ass for letting that motherfucker go.
A picture of the girl flashes through my brain again, taking me by surprise, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to get rid of the image, so I don’t clench my fist and make it harder for the lady next to me to clean my hands. But she looked small and fragile and vulnerable. Is she someone’s sister? Is she someone’s girlfriend? Is her boyfriend somewhere in the club, looking for her right now? Are her friends? Who is looking out for her?
Once I’m deemed medically sound, I hop out of the ambulance, patting my pockets to make sure my keys are still in there. Crossing the parking lot quickly, I keep my eyes down, avoiding any questions I don’t want to answer. Instead, I jump in my car and drive. There’s only one place I want to be.
Chapter Six
Annika
The light is bright, and my eyes aren’t open yet. Is it really that late in the day? Did Lauren forget to close the curtains? Or am I really, really hung over?
“Are you awake? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”
What? Why would Lauren ask me if I know where I am? Am I somewhere I’m not supposed to be?
“Can you tell me your name?”
Why would Lauren be asking my name?
I try to open my eyes, but the light is just too bright, so I close them again. Maybe if I get a little more sleep, my brain will stop hurting.
“You’re okay. You’re not going to die.”
That’s nice, is the last thing I think before I drift off again.
* * *
The light is still so bright. How much did I drink last night?
“My name is Stacy, and you’re at the hospital. Can you tell me your name?”
Stacy? Who is Stacy? Where’s Lauren? Why am I at the hospital?
I try desperately to pry open my eyes, so I can figure out what the hell is going on, but they aren’t cooperating. It’s making me anxious, as anxious as I can be while still groggy, but I keep trying.
“Can you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”
Well that’s good do know. I didn’t think I wasn’t going to be fine until now. But I’m still confused as to why I’m at the hospital, and who the hell is Stacy?
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Annika,” I croak out, turning my head to the sound of the voice. “My name is Annika.”
I can’t figure out what’s going on, but I know my throat feels dry.
“Annika, my name is Stacy, and I’m your nurse. Do you hurt anywhere?”
Do I? I don’t know the answer to that. But as soon as she asks, I take a mental assessment of my body.
“My head.” I reach up and touch my forehead. My arm feels kind of floaty as it reaches my aching head.
“Good. That’s to be expected. Anywhere else you can feel?”
“Um…my arm,” I realize. “My arm really hurts.”
“This arm right here?” I feel a poke.
“Ow. Yeah.”
“You have a really nasty gash over there, but we’ve already taken care of it, and it’s already on the mend. Is there anywhere else?”
I think on it but don’t feel anything. “No. Just my head. My arm.” My eyes slowly peel open, and sure enough, that’s not Lauren. I assume it’s the woman who keeps calling herself Stacy. She has curly blonde hair and a nice smile. I immediately want to like her, but I’m still confused.
“There you are,” she says. “Nice to see you awake. I’m going to try sitting you up a bit to help the groggy feeling.”
“Okay.” The bed moves slowly, making me queasy. I push the f
eeling aside because I want some answers. “What happened?”
I think I say that out loud. In fact, I’m pretty sure I say it out loud, but she doesn’t answer me. Maybe she’s ignoring me. Or maybe it’s because the door opens, and a doctor comes walking in.
“Hey, she’s awake!” he exclaims.
Why is everyone happy I’m awake? Was I not supposed to be? Have I been in a coma, or something?
“My name is Dr. Thompson. I’m going to take a quick look at you, but Stacy is going to stay right here with us.” The doctor comes over and puts his fingers on my wrist to take my pulse. When he reaches over to put the stethoscope on my chest, I flinch. My heart beat picks up, and my breathing gets more labored.
That was weird. Why did I react like that?
“It’s okay,” Stacy reassures me gently. “I’m standing right here. He’s just listening to your lungs to make sure they’re clear.”
Dr. Thompson encourages me to lean forward, listening to the back of my chest as well. Then he pulls out a penlight and flashes it in my eyes, making me look this way and that.
“You’re looking pretty good. Once we started flushing your system, you woke up quickly. It’s only been a couple hours.”
A couple hours? What in the hell happened?
The door opens again before I can ask the question and another woman walks in. It’s like everyone in this hospital was put on alert the second I opened my eyes. But this woman isn’t wearing scrubs like everyone else. She’s wearing jeans and carrying a clipboard. A loose bun is at the nape of her neck.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s about 2:30 in the morning,” someone says, but I’m not sure who.
This whole situation feels weird.
“What happened anyway?” This time I make sure to ask out loud.
Dr. Thompson leans up against a counter across the room while Stacy keeps pushing buttons on machines and typing stuff into a computer. The woman with the clipboard pulls up a chair next to me and begins speaking. Maybe I’ll finally get some answers now.
“My name is Pippa, and I’m a social worker at the hospital.”
I just look at her. Why is a social working talking to me?
“We had a hard time figuring out who you were because you didn’t have any identification on you.”
I think for a second, wondering where my credit card and phone went. The fuzziness is fading away a little, but there are still so many unanswered questions. “My name’s Annika. Annika Leander.”
“Okay, Annika. Do you remember why you’re here?”
I try to think back, but everything is really unclear. All I remember is feeling sick while sitting at the bar.
“No, I don’t. I don’t remember. Was I in a car accident? I wasn’t drinking and driving, was I? I never do that.”
She pats my arm. “No, you weren’t drinking and driving. You don’t have to worry. You’re not in any trouble.”
She’s trying to reassure me, but something about the entire situation feels wrong. From the way no one will look me in the eye, to the number of times I’ve asked questions without getting an answer. It dawns on me, I never asked about Lauren. Suddenly, I’m feeling panicked.
“What about Lauren? Is Lauren okay?” I try to lean forward, but Pippa puts her arm back on me, encouraging me to lie back down.
“We haven’t seen Lauren. But we haven’t had any other women your age come in, so I’m assuming she’s fine.”
“Oh. Okay, good.” I relax a little knowing my roommate is okay. But that still doesn’t answer the big question. “What happened?” I ask for at least the third time.
Dr. Thompson crosses his arms and legs. “Annika, when you were brought in you were unconscious. We ran a battery of tests, including blood tests to see what you ingested. Your blood alcohol content was only .002. That’s well below the legal limits.”
I shrug. “Well yeah. I think I only had one drink. And I didn’t even drink it all.”
“That’s kind of what we figured,” he continues. “What we did find, though, is high levels of GHB.”
GHB. My mind scrambles. Why does that sound familiar. I know I’ve heard it before.
Suddenly, it hits me, and I feel my breathing pick up again.
“The date rape drug?”
Dr. Thompson clears his throat. “Typically, that’s what it’s known as, yes. Do you have any idea how it may have gotten in your system?”
“I…no…I…” My heart is pounding as I scan through my memories. What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?
“It’s okay.” Pippa pats my arm. “We’ll get there. Let’s start from the beginning. Who were you with last night?”
“I went to a club. My roommate Lauren likes to go dancing, and I didn’t want to go but she finally convinced me. I went because her friend Kiersten is in town. The three of us went to this place that they like—Ambrosia. Just us girls.” I know I’m babbling, but all my thoughts are spinning.
“Did you meet anyone there? Or maybe become friends with anyone?”
“No. I didn’t really talk to anyone. I sat at the bar. Well, there was this one guy…” It hits me and I stop. I never leave my drink unattended. Ever. I have been warned about that my entire life. I preach it to Lauren all the time. You can’t trust anyone.
But I did put my drink down last night. I was standing right next to it, and I thought I had my eye on it. But I didn’t. I turned my back when I bent over to wipe my leg off. I only took my eyes off it for a second, but a second was all it took.
My eyes widen, and I look at Stacy and Pippa, and I try to look at Dr. Thompson, but I can’t hold his gaze for some odd reason. It feels safer to focus on Pippa.
“There was this guy,” I whisper.
Pippa leans closer. “Do you remember anything about him?”
“Someone spilled a drink down the back of my leg. I went to the bar to clean it off. He started talking to me.”
“Did he say his name?”
“Yeah, he said his name was Ron. I didn’t really pay that much attention to him. I wasn’t interested. That’s when I began feeling sick.”
Pippa starts writing frantically on her clipboard.
“Do you know what time this was?” Dr. Thompson asks.
I shake my head. “I wasn’t paying attention to the clock. We got there about 9:30. Maybe an hour after that.”
Pippa nods her head. “Okay, do you remember anything else about what happened when you were talking to Ron?”
“Not really. It wasn’t much of a conversation. Just me saying I was there with my girlfriends and wasn’t looking for a hookup. But then my head started hurting, and I felt like I was going to be sick. I tried to get outside for some air.”
“And then what happened?”
“I don’t know. I guess Ron saw me getting sick and offered to help me. I don’t remember anything else.”
I blink several times, looking at Pippa with horror on my face. Oh god, what happened to me? What happened to me?
It takes a few seconds before I’m brave enough, but I finally voice it.
“What happened to me?”
Pippa takes a deep breath and puts her clipboard down, folding her hands and placing them on the bed next to me.
“An employee of the club was taking the trash out to the alley when he found you behind the dumpster.”
“Behind the dumpster?”
“There was a man on top of you, and he was assaulting you.”
Stacy grabs my hand when my breathing gets heavy. I keep hanging on to her hand for dear life. I’ve never met her before, but I’m grateful she lets me squeeze as hard as I can without saying a word.
“Okay,” I finally say when I feel more under control. “And then what?”
“The employee chased the man off and called the police. That’s how you ended up here.”
All of a sudden, a memory hits me. It’s fuzzy, but it’s of a man holding me saying “It’s okay. You’re safe now.�
��
“Oh god,” I say out loud, “Ohgodohgodohgod.”
My throat feels like it’s closing up, the walls caving in. Stacy immediately puts an oxygen mask over my face when I can’t seem to control my breathing, and Pippa keeps talking to me quietly.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to remember everything. We don’t know many more details than that. But the police have already interviewed the witness and have gotten some DNA evidence from the man who helped you.”
I barely register what she’s saying. All I can hear is some of the words Stacy said to me when I was waking up. “Do you hurt anywhere else? Do you feel any pain anywhere else?” Those words are taking on a whole new meaning, and I begin assessing my body again. My head, still hurting. My arm, still hurting. Nothing else seems to really hurt.
Until I shift my body to get more comfortable. That’s when I feel it.
There’s a pain, a soreness between my legs. I don’t remember how it got there.
And that’s when I begin to cry.
Chapter Seven
Jaxon
I’ve been sitting here for hours in this waiting room. Just hoping to find out any information.
I know I’m not actually privy to anything about the girl, but I can’t seem to leave her here on her own. No one has come in frantically looking for someone who meets her description. And that pisses me off. Does anyone know she’s missing? Where are her friends? Where is her boyfriend? Where is her family?
Why has no one come for her?
I can’t leave. Even if she doesn’t know I’m here, I can’t leave her by herself. I won’t.
Waiting, though, means lots of time to think. And the thoughts running through my brain are not one I’d wish on anyone.
Self-doubt tries to take over. Why didn’t I do more? Why didn’t I get there a few seconds earlier? Why didn’t I notice something was happening? Could I have stopped it?
