DEFILED
By
Margaret Buffano
DO NOT PLANT TWO KINDS OF SEED IN YOUR VINEYARD;
IF YOU DO, NOT ONLY THE CROPS YOU PLANT
BUT ALSO THE FRUIT OF THE VINEYARD WILL BE DEFILED.
—DEUTERONOMY 22:9 (NIV)
CHAPTER ONE
My Guy
She walks for what feels like miles in darkness. She came in late to work, which forced her to park at the far back in the newly paved area. Working late, leaving late, as she’s done many times before. Lights and security cameras are not installed yet. Finally, she comes on her parked car. She reaches for the door handle. Before she can open it, a dark figure comes up from behind, grabs her, and throws her to the ground on her back. He crashes down on top of her and pins her down with his full weight. She frantically struggles, but it is useless.
She strains her eyes to see through the darkness. His form, his shape is that of a man, but a flash of light shows he is not what she expected. His face is deformed – no, distorted – hideous, that of a demon. His eyes glow yellow like a mad dog. His hands, callous leathery claws, tear at her clothes. He pounds her with his fists, in the face and side of her head. The first few hits hurt like being struck by a cannonball and then numbness takes over. The sound of his fist hitting her is like a faraway pillow fight. Blow after blow till all the strength to fight back leaves her. She tastes blood in her mouth; it’s wet and salty.
He begins to howl and curse in a strange, unknown language – like someone speaking backwards, like a wild animal possessed.
She flops about like a rag doll under him. His body stiffens and shakes for a moment. It is over. There is no warmth, just ice-cold inhumanity. He punches her once more into darkness.
***
She comes to, having no idea how many hours passed. Not knowing where she is, fear takes hold of her. She raises her hands and feels bandages on her face and begins to cry. It’s not a dream – not a nightmare – it is real. Remembering what happened, she calls out for a nurse.
“I need a pregnancy test,” she pleads.
The nurses in the room, standing at her bedside look at her like she’s crazy.
“Ain’t gonna do you no good, honey; it’s just too soon,” says one of the nursing staff, trying to calm her down. But when her demands became louder, her arms waving franticly, they decide to sedate her again.
The steel-metal point of the syringe feels like a red-hot poker plunging into Helen’s arm. The drug works fast. Her entire body drifts away. The two heavyset nurses holding her down gently float off her. Voices fade away, echo, and then are soon gone.
“It was the only way,” says the head nurse.
“A pregnancy test …” whispers Helen with what feels like the last breath of air in her lungs. She can’t say anymore. Even her lips feel heavy and numb.
This drug is stronger than the first. There’s a buzzing in her ears. She closes her eyes, and waves of dancing electrical pulsations appear behind her eyelids. The buzzing grows louder – the waves brighter and brighter. Then, as if unseen hands pull out some cosmic plug, the waves disappear, and the buzzing stops. Unconscious and drugged, still she can find no peace. Visions of horror play over in her head.
***
When Helen opens her eyes again, it is morning. Daylight floods the hospital room. It’s a single room. The shades are down, and still the daylight pours into the room. The brightness hurts her eyes – she becomes aware of pain in different parts of her body. Sensing the presence of someone else in the room, she turns her head slightly. Sitting next to her is a thin, white-haired, middle-aged woman, smiling calmly.
“How are you feeling?” asks the woman.
Helen doesn’t reply; somehow, she can’t.
“Would you like some water?” the woman asks.
Helen blinks and shakes her head.
“My name is Dr. Angela Mitchell…but you can just call me Angela. I’m a psychiatrist with Rape Recovery here at the hospital. You do remember what happened to you last night?”
Helen nods and bursts into tears.
“Here, drink this,” Angela says, holding a glass of water to Helen’s lips. She takes a few sips. Angela places the glass on the nightstand.
“If you don’t feel up to this …”
“How am I?” Helen asks.
Angela’s smile melts away, and she places her hand on Helen’s. A somber look comes over her face.
“There are no broken bones, but you have three cracked ribs, a fractured collar bone…of course, burses, cuts and scratches.”
“I don’t mean that; I mean…how am I? Am I pregnant?”
“There is no such thing as an accurate, immediate pregnancy test. It takes a few days.”
“But I thought nowadays…?”
“There are tests, but they are questionable at such an early stage. To be honest, you’re understandably upset right now. A false positive would be an unnecessary stress for you. I’ll have a blood and urine sample taken and have tests run as soon as I believe it’s possible to get a true reading.” Dr. Mitchell looks curiously at Helen. “They told me you were persistent about asking for a pregnancy test last night. I agree, it is a concern, but tell me why it is your first concern?”
Helen sighs ever so gently. “Because…bones mend, bruises heal, and in time, we forget even the harshest of memories. It’s all temporary. If I’ve contracted a deadly disease, it only means I become ill and die. And I couldn’t care less. But if I were to become pregnant because of what happened last night, it will haunt me every minute of every day for the rest of my life.”
“And do you believe yourself to be pregnant?”
“My husband and I tried for a baby for years. It would just be my luck to become pregnant by that animal…to carry the child of that monster!”
Angela assures her the likelihood she is pregnant is slim and unlikely, but the worried look on Helen’s face remains.
“The hospital contacted your husband. Word is he’s in en route from Montreal and will arrive soon.”
“Does he know? I mean, does he know everything?”
“Helen, your husband loves you. There’s nothing to fear or be upset about.”
That means Richard knows. Helen feels shame. Why does she feel shame for something beyond her control? She doesn’t understand, but she feels it nonetheless. If love conquers all, what does she have to fear? Yet still fear fills her.
“You know, Helen, at some point, you have to speak to the police.”
“Oh, no, not now – it’s too soon. Please!”
No matter how she dreads speaking about what happened, she knows in her heart each moment she doesn’t talk to the police is perhaps another mile he is farther from justice.
Helen changes her mind, “No, wait, I’m sorry; I’ll talk to the police. But if I do, I want you with me. I couldn’t take the police right now, alone.”
“And you won’t have to. I’ll be here,” Angela says reassuringly.
Angela sits forward in her chair and places her hand once more on Helen’s.
“Your parents are here.”
“My parents…?”
A chill runs up Helen’s spine. She knows it will be a scene. She can just picture it: her excessively dramatic mother crying and carrying on, shifting everyone’s attention to her – it happened many times before. She holds no reason why this time things would be any different. Her father always tries to be a tower of strength by not showing any real emotion or expressing himself – the exact opposite of her mother. It will be a scene, and she does not feel up to it. But for whatever reason, she cannot decline. She agrees to see her parents.
“My poor baby!” cries Mrs. Russell, her arms flying about and tears running down her face. Running to the edge of
the bed, she tosses herself onto her daughter, kissing her.
Mrs. Russell is a middle-aged woman, short, big boned, and big breasted. Her heavily hair-sprayed hair is firm as rock and is the same color as her daughter’s, only no longer natural. It comes in a bottle. But her jewelry is real.
Mr. Russell stands firmly at the foot of the bed. He is a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair – more salt than pepper. Unlike his wife, he walks every day and plays eight holes of golf three times a week to keep his weight down.
“Mrs. Russell,” smiles Angela, “we mustn’t get her too excited…she’s been through a lot.”
“Yes, of course…I’m sorry,” says Mrs. Russell. She sits up and wipes tears from her eyes – her gestures large, grand, and overdone, like some forgotten silent film star. “Oh, darling, tell mother how you feel!”
“I’m okay, Mom…really.”
Just one look at her – the bandages, the bruises – it is impossible to believe it true. Helen is beautiful and has always been beautiful, though she learned early not to rely on looks only. Looks can be deceiving. She was a lovely child. In high school, she was a cheerleader and voted class queen at the prom. In college, she was top in her class and sought out by every available young male. Now, Helen is a successful woman – tall, slender, blond, and sexy – yet not looking or feeling so at the moment.
There is a long and uncomfortable moment of silence before her father speaks up.
“Richard called us last night from Canada when he was waiting in the airport. …He told us what happened. We got here as soon as we heard. He just called us again; he should be here any minute.” A look of true sorrow comes over her father. “I’m so sorry, Princess, I feel…so helpless.” His voice begins to crack.
Helen thinks, Richard told them what happened? How much information does Richard know, and how much did he tell my parents? Again, the sharp pain of guilt washes over her.
Not wanting to be outdone by her own husband, her mother lets out a bursting howl, her arms fly toward the ceiling, and again she comes crashing down on her daughter.
Angela places her hands gently on Mrs. Russell’s shoulders, trying to lift her up. “We need to let Helen rest now,” says Angela. “You can come back later.”
“Yes, of course,” says Mrs. Russell, lifting herself off the bed, wiping her eyes once more. Then she reaches out and places her hand on her husband’s shoulder for support for the long, unbearable journey to the door.
“If there’s anything we can do, if there’s anything you need, Princess…all you need to do is ask,” says Mr. Russell.
“Would you drop by the house and feed Chelsea?” Helen asks. “The poor cat’s probably half starved.”
“Consider it done.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll take care of everything. You just get well,” says Mrs. Russell, gearing up for her grand exit. “And remember…your parents love you!” Her arms go up again as she boo-hoos herself out of the room, seemingly leaving stage right – Garbo style.
Angela turns to Helen before leaving also. “Try to get some rest. Don’t worry; I’ll wake you when your husband gets here.”
***
Richard jumps out of the taxi, nearly forgetting to pay the cabby. Physically, he is the perfect match for Helen. He’s tall, slender, with dark hair and chiseled good-looks. He’s kept his tight, firm body that he had in college on the wrestling team, but now plays tennis and handball.
Once inside the hospital lobby, his first impulse is to head for the elevators. There he spies his in-laws.
“Tom! Delores!”
“Oh, Richard!” cries Mrs. Russell, falling into his arms.
Richard holds his mother-in-law and looks to his father-in-law for answers.
“Tom, how is she?”
Mr. Russell stands dumbfounded, unsure of what to say.
“Tom!” Richard speaks louder and more firmly, “How is she? Is she all right?”
There is a choke in Tom’s voice. “She’s bad, Richard. She got beat-up bad. They expect a full recovery, but you’ll need to brace yourself. She’s all bandaged up, and the parts that aren’t, are black and blue.”
Delores sobs harder into Richard’s shoulder.
“But the doctors say there’s nothing too serious. I mean, she’s going to be okay, thank God. We’ve been here hours since we got word. We promised her we’d see to some things at the house, but if you need us to stay…”
“Besides being beaten, did he…?” Richard asks with a worried look on his face.
Tom doesn’t answer. He looks away from Richard. The gesture tells Richard the full story.
Feeling awkward, Tom repeats, “Do you need us to stay?”
“No, it’s all right. What room is she in?”
“Seventh floor…room 716.” Tom places his hands on his wife’s shoulders, gently guiding her from Richard. “Come, Delores. We promised Helen we’d feed the cat.”
***
On the seventh floor, Richard flies out of the elevator as if shot out of a cannon – there is a frantic and bewildered look in his eyes. He walks past the information desk and down the hall. One of the nurses gets hold of him and escorts him back to the front desk. “Please, sir, we can’t let people just wander about, you do understand? Now, how can I help you?”
He speaks in short puffs of breath, “Helen Haywood…I’m her husband!”
“It’ll be just a minute. You can wait over there if you like.” She smiles and points to a small row of chairs off to one side of the elevators.
Richard remains in front of the desk and paces. Hospitals always make him feel uneasy. The antiseptic smell turns his stomach. He keeps looking at the overhead clock.
“Please, sir, if you could step to one side? It’ll be just a minute,” repeats the nurse.
“‘Just a minute’,” Richard thinks out loud. “That’s what you said twenty minutes ago!” It hasn’t been twenty minutes; it just feels like it.
He is just about to ignore the warning and go looking for Helen on his own when Angela turns the corner, walks to Richard, and holds out her hand to him.
“You must be Richard.”
“Is she all right?”
Angela takes his hand and smiles sympathetically. “Richard, listen to me, this is important. Try to calm down. Helen is fine; she’s going to be just fine. She’s bruised and swollen, but she’ll be just fine. What I’m most concerned with right now is her mental health. She’s been through an ordeal When you see her, I’m sure there will be some strong emotion…that’s understandable…but I need you to be strong and not carry on, for Helen’s sake. You understand?”
Richard fills his lungs with as much air as he can and breathes out slowly through tight lips. “Yes, I understand.”
“She’s probably sleeping…you need to go in alone. Are you ready?”
Richard breaths out again and then nods.
***
At her bedside, Richard looks down at his wife – she is asleep. Bandages and tape cover most of her face. A feeling of rage comes over him. He remembers Angela’s words of warning just moments before. He braces himself and swears not to do or say anything to upset her. He reaches out and gently caresses her forehead. She coos like a dove under his touch. Her eyes open. At first, she smiles, but when reality returns to her, a sorrowful look takes her.
“Helen, sweetheart, it’s me…Richard. I’m here, baby. Everything is going to be all right, I promise.”
As their eyes met, he realizes there is nothing more to say – no words can express it. He reads in her eyes the love she holds for him, the relief she feels now he has arrived. But also he sees the deep sorrow she is feeling, a sorrow like none he ever knew possible – especially in his Helen.
She, too, is without words; her eyes burn from the salt of so many dried tears. The pain of her body she now forgets, while the unbearable ache in her heart swells. She is proud of him, how he calmly shows his concern for her. She knows inside he must be an explosion
of anger. For a moment, she feels sorrier for him than for herself.
He lies down next to her on the bed and holds her close. “I’m here, baby. It’s going to be all right; I promise.”
***
Lieutenants Goebel and Benson stand in the doorway of Angela’s office.
“Knock, knock,” says Goebel.
Angela looks up and smiles, “Rick, Jim…what can I do for you boys?”
The two men enter.
“Don’t be so heartless, Angela,” Goebel says. “You know we’ve been waiting here for hours.”
“Have a heart,” Benson adds. “How about giving us thirty minutes with Mrs. Helen Haywood? Till now, I’d say we’ve been cooperative…perfect gentlemen, but enough is enough, Angela. We need to talk to her, and now.”
“Her husband just arrived. Give them some time together, and then you can see her.”
“Did she say anything…anything that could be helpful?” Benson asks.
“No.” Angela folds her hands on top of the desk. “And I haven’t pressed her about it, either.”
“Did your people get us a good swab when she came in? We’d like to get some DNA on this scumbag.”
“I’m afraid not. He was rough on her…ripped much of her inner tissue, and there was a lot of bleeding. We couldn’t get a good sample for a reading…sorry. By the way, I think it best you know she wants me in the room during the questioning.”
“That’s fine with us,” Goebel replies. “Is there anything we need to know before we talk to her?”
“Yes, she has a deep fear she might become pregnant from the rape…so don’t mention it.”
“Is she?” Benson asks. “Is she pregnant?”
“It’s too soon to tell, but there’s always that possibility.”
***
There’s a knock at the door. Richard jumps from the bed and stands at attention. Public displays of affection always embarrass him – Helen knew that about him, even before they married. She accepts it, for he shows his true feelings in so many other ways.
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