Pulling Me Under

by Rebecca Berto

  “Stay here,” I say. It’s such a silly thing to tell her. Where else is she going to go? Going to do? Plus, she’s already back asleep.

  As a kid, I went to the hospital when I had debilitating stomach cramps. My father told me he could do nothing but rub my shoulder and tell me I’d be okay for two hours, while we waited to be seen. I can’t remember anything but the pain and the pattern in the linoleum flooring.

  I’m wondering if it’s worth uprooting my daughter and ruining this party to put her through the same agonizing wait when Nancy opens the door and we almost bump heads.

  “Oh!” She presses a hand to her chest and gasps. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Sorry.”

  She looks at me, quizzing, figuring out what I’m thinking. “Why are you here? I thought . . . ”

  “I wanted to check on Ella. Like I said.” The image of Cooper and my daughter makes my fists ball up. “Something isn’t right.”

  “I—I was going to get my phone. To text you.” Nancy hangs her head down, flicking her hair.

  “It’s all fine.” Really, it’s not, but an idea has come to mind, and it’s going to have to be good enough.

  “Well, you get your toosh out there now. People are wondering where you are. I’ll look after Ella.”

  I love the idea of Nancy looking after Ella while I hunt Cooper down to interrogate and then kill him, but I can’t leave my baby girl. I have to see if she gets worse. Ask if she remembers swallowing anything.

  “I can’t. I need to watch her. She’s so lethargic, I’m worried she had some sleeping pills or something. She’s never this tired this early at a party.”

  “Kates.” Nancy shakes her head and clamps her hands on my shoulders. “I’m warning you. Stop worrying and get back out there. I’ll call your Mom to do it herself. I know she’s guaranteed to make you listen.”

  I have no choice. I mean, I do, but Mom will make a huge scene and then I’ll ruin any chance I had of hunting down Coop to find out what he did to my daughter, then kill him for raping me and drugging my daughter and threatening Brent. It’s now or never.

  “Fine.” I look at Ella, whose faint snores drone when she breathes. “Don’t leave her.”

  I can’t make the same mistake I did with Paul, dismissing a small headache as nothing that turned out to be a critical warning sign. In my mind, I push away the anger, focusing on strategy. Took me a while to figure it out through my recovery, but I did eventually. Even when things are shit, the only thing I can do to is find a way past the issue. Right now, I can do that.

  “Dial that NURSE-ON-CALL service to see what the nurses recommend. If things still don’t seem right, take her to the hospital regardless of what they say.”

  “Okay, but look at you. Imagine when she’s sixteen. If she does half the things you did with Paul, you may just have a stroke.” Nancy kisses my cheek and thrusts me out the door. “Go back. I won’t leave her.”

  “One thing: did you see where Cooper went, that guy who came in with Brent?”

  “Ah.” Nancy nods. “Quick one. Darted in and out. No idea where he got to, though.”

  She smiles as the bedroom door closes on me, her inside with Ella.

  Do it. Just leave. Ella’s life depends on it.

  I’m about to curse myself for being so dramatic, until I realize it’s true. I can’t stand all these secrets, not knowing what’s wrong with Ella, or what he has done to me. I can’t risk going backward. The “what ifs”, my guilt, my worries—they all fucked me over last time.

  Cooper’s going to pay for what he’s done to my family.

  In the master bedroom, my bag is splayed on Liam’s bed. I collect the contents dispersed across his comforter, which in my rush with Nancy to get back to my own party I’ve left out.

  And there are Liam’s keys on his bedside table.

  The four-cylinder, turbo diesel engine of Liam’s Volkswagen stirs, then winds down to a purr after a moment.

  My first attempt at reversing starts with a jerk and ends with a jolt. I flick off my red heels, pull on my cotton tie-ups, and try again. The red heels sparkle at me as they roll on the passenger side floor, the stale but new smell from them circling me.

  I’m not sure if I can face Cooper yet. My hands tremble in response, and my stomach twists in agreement. But what choice do I have? I’m not waiting around until Ella stops responding, and the doctors begin their tests. She may not have that much time.

  What the hell is wrong with Liam, bringing Cooper in like that?

  Breathe. Maybe he gave her nighttime cold tablets. They’ve made me sleepy before. And they have natural ingredients. Right? Maybe the dose was too high for Ella.

  Yeah, right. As if I’d be better believing the safe option when dealing with a druggie.

  My reconciliation days ended when Cooper marched in on my party with the audacity to pretend he had the rights to do as he pleased. I’ll do what I have to do. I certainly won’t feel remorse.

  I roll to a stop at an intersection. Cars zoom left and right. I don’t have time to wait for bloody traffic. I need to make a choice now.

  An idea pops into mind. Tim. Liam and Brent are out of the question, and Tim’s the only one else I know. Sort of.

  I dart my concentration between the road and my phone. The whole time I repeat Tim’s name over, rendering the other contacts in my phonebook insignificant until he finally peaks through the bottom of the screen.

  I rap impatiently on the steering wheel. It seems to take forever to connect when I need it to hurry. A few rings pass before the buzz dies and some shuffles replace it.

  “Tim speaking,” a slow, cautious voice answers.

  “Hi, it’s Katie. I know this will seem weird but I need to see Cooper urgently. Do you have his address?” I hear my voice utter each deliberate word. Why does everything have to tick over so slowly? I have already pre-empted his possible responses and how I’ll retaliate against his reservations.

  “Um, sorry. Who is this?”

  “Katie, Kates, Brent’s friend. I had lunch at your house a while ago . . . ”

  He hums before the delayed recognition sweeps through.

  “Kates,” he says, dragging on the s at the end of my name, in a happy tone.

  “So, do you know it?” I say, a little too fast. “Please.”

  “Is everything cool? You seem—”

  “Fine,” I say, clenching my teeth to stop anything else slipping out. Perhaps the hostility in my voice isn’t enough to hint that I don’t have time for chitchat.

  “Sorry if I’m not making any sense, I know I sound rude but this is an emergency.”

  Tim’s voice falters before he clears his throat. “Is he hurt?”

  “No, Cooper is fine.” I make my voice relax. As my mind ticks over at twice the speed of the words rolling out of my mouth, I realize frantic isn’t getting me anywhere. I need to sound rational. Tim isn’t going to give out his mate’s address to a crazy woman.

  “Thanks, I appreciate your help,” I say, slower than before.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Eleven. Daintree Close.” He spells out the words meticulously. “Get off at the last exit on the freeway and follow the main road down.” The suburb is new, so he describes where it is in place next to the surroundings. “There are a couple more turns after that, but nothing difficult.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  In any other case, I wouldn’t have trusted my hopeless memory with such few words, but these ones stick like a carved inscription. There is no time to jot down the address and carefully pin it to the dashboard. My tongue aches already from the repetition of his address. If only I had a . . . there it is.

  I make thinking sounds so Tim knows
I’m still here, just busy.

  Inserted snugly above the radio is a six-inch flat screen. I enter in the address with one finger, the other hand still on the wheel.

  “I’ve been thinking. I have questions,” I say.

  “And I’m guessing I have the answers you need? Or at least the ones you think I have.”

  I type eleven into the navigator, as I stop at a red light. “I’m hoping it’s the former.”

  Tim mumbles to himself, probably digesting my randomness. “I can try.”

  “Does Cooper deal drugs?” There. Spoken.

  He coughs violently, as if choking. “Excuse me?”

  This really isn’t the time. I look to my left. A woman, straight hair, skin smooth like glass, applies mascara. I fidget some more.

  “Hm,” Tim says, “I don’t think I should answer that.”

  “So you can help me then.”

  My hope begins to rise, tricking my foot into giving the accelerator a push.

  “He’s my mate.” I won’t tell you.

  “I’m worried about him.”

  The lights flash green, and I leave mascara woman and my inhibitions behind. Suddenly, I feel confident about doing this. I have every right to question Cooper.

  “In some ways, I’ve always been worried about him. Marco too, but that was only in college. Marco’s grown up. As in, I’m pretty sure he only takes drugs occasionally and when offered to him.” Tim pauses and shuffles something while the power of the Volkswagen straps me back against the seat.

  “Cooper . . . ” I say.

  “Yes.” He shuffles again, sighs. “To be honest, he says he’s a sales rep for a medium-sized company. Hasn’t ever shared details. I think he’s in advertising. It’s a mystery though.”

  “Tim,” I say. One-year-ago-me would have felt guilty about making up lies like this, but not this me, not the mother of a child on the brink of illness, coma or death. “He came past Liam Dayle’s place earlier. It was for my birthday party. His pupils were dilated. He was jittery. He went on about his ten different ways to start a car.”

  I turn onto the freeway. Navigator Lady warns me at fifty-meter intervals in case I happen to forget how annoying her voice is. Tim, the one I want to hear, is silent. I pray he hasn’t cut off the line. I focus on controlling my grip on the wheel.

  “Yeah, he can be scattered,” Tim says. His voice is bland, tasteless.

  I need to grab his attention. “Do you have children, Tim?”

  “Who told you? Dina and I promised we wouldn’t say anything until three months.”

  “No one. No one told me. She’s pregnant?”

  “Oh.” His voice floods with the knowledge of his mistake, then embarrassment. “We’re just worried, is all. You know what they say . . . ”

  “Yes. All sorts of problems. And it doesn’t stop once the baby is born.”

  “Um, may I ask why we went from an urgent issue regarding Coop to children?”

  “Because Coop has done something to my child.”

  There’s a gasp on the end of the line. Tim has always been nice to me. For no reason. But I’m so angry he deserves to wonder in silence, to let the horrible imaginings of his mind eat away at him like acid as he wonders what his friend has done to a little girl.

  “Is she okay?”

  “See, I haven’t been up front with you. I didn’t remember my party because Coop raped me and I only know that because I remembered the night recently after seeking help, therapy, which helped me to piece together what I was unsure of back when I saw you.”

  “Shit. Are you okay? I would have listened. I’m so sorry,” he says.

  “Was I meant to come right out with it between the glass of iced water, the roast, or the house tour?” Fuck, that was bitchy. I can’t erase my blip, so I think of another strategy.

  “We would have listened. We would have . . . ” And Tim’s voice trails off, perhaps thinking about the reason why a woman wouldn’t or couldn’t talk about a party where she woke up without her memory in someone else’s bed.

  Navigator Lady does a good job of warning me of the decreasing intervals of the road as I drive. The radio is off, and only the whir of the heater makes a sound besides the sounds of a little boy coming from Tim.

  “Ella’s at a party at the moment. You wanna know what she’s doing? Sleeping. She barely responds to shakes, voices or anything. Her eyes took ages to focus, though her pupils aren’t dilated. It was as if she hadn’t slept for days. Everyone is playing it off, but it’s too much coincidence.”

  “I, um,” Tim says, “hope she’s okay.”

  “She would be if Coop hadn’t have snuck in and given her something to make her that way.”

  “Oh.”

  On the end of the line, there’s a mumble, two staggered attempts to speak, and then. “Oh!”

  “So, I’ll ask you again, and don’t tell me your friends aren’t ‘like that’.”

  Tim is silent, waiting, breathing heavily.

  “What drugs is Coop dealing, and what does he have access to?”

  “He used to deal coke. Now it’s ice. Personally, I think he varies between marijuana and coke.”

  I do the math, combine the events that have unfolded. When I’m done, my heart feels as though it’s plummeted to the balls of my feet, and my body is an empty casing. Dread boils up and pools at my throat. I cough until I can breathe again.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I say.

  It doesn’t. She wasn’t showing any signs of drug inducement. I was counting on something . . . else. Something that would be the fitting puzzle piece I could slot into place.

  In Tim’s background, there’s a shriek. Dina. Definitely.

  “Um, if you happen to speak to Dina, don’t tell her about the pregnancy. She’s a jealous and emotional wreck. Typical pregnancy checklist.”

  Something isn’t adding up. “Tim . . . ”

  Tim speaks suddenly, his voice wavering like the finger of a musical conductor. “I have to g—go.” He hangs up. No sooner has he finished his sentence, than the line is dead.

  I can only think of one reason Tim would need to go. That’s if he suspected Dina would have heard any talk about drugs. Now why’s that? Maybe she’d suspect the father of her child was dodgy like Coop? Or maybe Tim didn’t want to get involved for another reason.

  Navigator Lady says I’m five minutes away from my destination, and it hits me: maybe I won’t be coming back from Coop’s. But I have to try to find out the truth for my daughter anyway.

  The next fifteen minutes of cruising up the freeway leaves room for a mudslide of simple considerations I overlooked previously when I had the chance to stop. I repeat what I know.

  Like, when I rushed over here, I sort of forgot that I’d be putting myself in a dangerous position. Being a mom does a number to your self-preservation. I was wrapped up in Ella, Ella, Ella.

  The kilometers have turned into single digits, and now I count them on one hand. I gulp, and it sounds as if I’ve over-imitated the sound, rather than actually trying to swallow. Anxiety is fattening the lining of my windpipe. Suffocating, clean, calming air.

  What’s Ella doing? Is she okay? Maybe I should go back. Oh my God, I have a few kilometers left. How long will it take to drive back? Will I make it? Oh, stop it. Who’s the ridiculous one now?

  I turn my blinker on, ready to turn into a side street. Go back. Brent’s arched back replays in my mind. As I veer off the main road, Cooper’s fist is hard into his spine. At over six foot and with arms three times the size of mine, I’m still struggling to believe what I saw.

  As I wait for a sedan to pass, I think of that text from Cooper to Brent. Ella is fkn calm now I gave her . . . What? What did that druggie give my daughter? As if it’s not enough
he’s blackmailing Brent. He’s stuffed up the lives of my family.

  As the sedan shrinks into the distance, I spin the wheel back in the direction I was going.

  If I don’t go and Ella’s condition worsens, how much time will I have until something happens?

  What am I thinking? If something’s going to happen, it would have shown up already, wouldn’t it?

  “Nancy,” I say, answering my phone. I hadn’t heard it ring until that moment.

  She sighs. “Kates. Where are you? I’m gonna—”

  “Yeah, I’ll kill myself. Save you the trauma. How’s Ella?”

  “Ah . . . ” Nancy says. I imagine her looking over Ella, leaning in to examine her chest, mouth, face. “Asleep.”

  I rattle my brain for symptoms if he gave her drugs or sleeping pills. “No vomiting, slurred speech, um, anything else?”

  “Kates, what are you doing?”

  “Why won’t you answer my question?”

  “Because you’re loony. Aren’t you listening to me? I said she’s asleep.”

  I crush my fist against my forehead. I am losing it. Okay, calm. “Right.”

  “Uh, I’m grabbing my charger. My phone is dying.” At that moment I gasp. It’s not just something I told Nancy to occupy her thoughts. This is karma for me. My phone could really be dying. I haven’t checked.

  “Whatever. I don’t believe you. I’ll give you fifteen minutes before I tell your mom. And you know what happens when Rochelle knows. She thinks you’re here with me fixing up your hair and make-up. That was a hard lie to stretch.”

  “Thanks, Nance.”

  “Yep! Coming,” Nance says. “They’re calling me.” She growls. “I hate lying. Make it ten minutes.”

  We hang up and I promise to be there in nine minutes. Keep her hopeful.

  • • •

  Just as I pass the side street I should have turned around at earlier, my phone rings again. My heart shudders in my chest, feeling as though the shock splits my bones into splinters. Nance would only call back if something were wrong. Urgh, why can’t luck be on my side?