“What the hell are you doing, man? Hannah’s not here,” he protested, struggling to regain his balance.
Kate was hot on his heels as Curt stormed into the living room.
“Hannah?” Curt called, quickly surveying his surroundings. A bunch of red cups still sat on tables and other surfaces, but the room was otherwise empty.
“I’m telling you, she’s not here-”
“Mike called us, dumbass,” Kate said, rolling her eyes. “Stop pretending like she wasn’t here.”
The revelation that Curt and Kate already knew Hannah had been there froze Greg for a second, but he quickly recovered. “Okay, she was here. Wasn’t feeling so great, so I took her home,” he explained, trying to get in front of Curt who’d swept through the dining room and kitchen.
Curt eyed the staircase; Greg blocked his way. Without a second thought, Curt shoved him aside.
“You can’t just go anywhere you want in my house,” Greg protested, again lagging behind his intruders.
Curt followed the only light that was on, right through an open door and into Greg’s bedroom. He stopped short once he laid eyes on Greg’s bed.
“Hannah!”
The innocent church girl lay on the bed, unconscious and stripped down to her underwear, her legs and arms spread. Her clothes were crumpled on the floor. Curt rushed to her side and knelt at the bed. His fingers pressed the artery in her arm, allowing him to feel the blood circulating her body.
“She’s breathing!”
Kate now stood beside Curt, tending to Hannah. Greg was inside the room a few steps, to the left of the door. Confident that Hannah was okay now, Curt rose to his feet and stalked toward Greg, his head lowered.
“I can explain,” Greg said, raising his arms in the air.
Curt pinned him against the wall. “What did you do to her?”
“I just put a little a GHB in her drink, that was all.”
“Did you rape her?” Curt demanded, his face turning crimson.
The adrenaline surged through Curt as he pressed his forearm into Greg’s throat. While Curt interrogated Greg, Kate dashed out of the room.
“No, of course not,” Greg insisted as if that action existed light years away from what he’d done.
“But you took off her clothes.”
“I just wanted to take a few pictures of her, put them on social media. Humiliate the religious people a little. That’s it.”
Curt shook his head, his left hand balled into a fist. “Are you out of your mind? You drugged her and sexually assaulted her!”
“I told you I didn’t rape her!” Greg said, his voice becoming desperate.
“What do you think this is, jackass?” Kate said, who reemerged into the room holding a folded up towel. “You drugged her, took off her clothes, and took pictures of her. That is sexual assault!”
Curt turned toward his friend, who draped the towel over Hannah to cover her nakedness.
“Also, I called the cops,” Kate said.
“Why would you do that?” Greg demanded, his eyes bulging.
“Uh, we just covered that. You can’t go around drugging girls and taking off their clothes,” Kate said.
“They crossed the line,” Greg stammered. “They crossed the line with all of his. So I crossed the line, too.”
He pushed against Curt, creating some distance between the two. Now freed, Greg sprinted out of the room and down the stairs. But he wasn’t their greatest concern right now. Curt walked back over to Hannah.
“What should we do? Bring her to the hospital?” he asked.
“Well, I already called the cops. I think she’s okay. I mean she’s breathing okay. The paramedics are on their way, too. But we should probably call her father.”
Curt sighed. She was right. Caleb Wilson was going to freak out.
“Why don’t you go,” Kate offered. “You’re already in their crosshairs. They might think you did this.”
“No.” He shook his head, vehemently. “I’m not going to leave you here alone. Besides, Greg might come back.”
Kate nodded. “I’m going to get a plastic bag for her clothes.”
“You should leave them, here,” Curt said, a darker thought shadowing his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because maybe Greg lied to us. Maybe he did rape her.”
That thought killed Curt. If Greg had done that…Curt didn’t even know he’d do.
Kate’s expression turned to granite as she realized the potential veracity of Curt’s words. He gazed down at the unconscious blonde. There was something deceptively peaceful about the way she looked. But the situation was anything but tranquil. And when the Wilsons arrived, hopefully not with Jake Ankiel in tow, things might devolve even further.
The Wilsons arrived before the police. Their initial reactions—conveyed by frantic expressions and caustic words—were predictably hostile.
“What have you done with my daughter?” the elder Wilson demanded as he exploded into the house, his son a step behind him.
Even if neither Wilson had known Curt and Kate, the circumstances were suspicious: Hannah mostly naked and unconscious in a bed. But the Wilsons did know Curt and Kate. An atheist and lesbian respectively, the two represented two of the most dreaded figures in the pantheon of Christian enemies, a mere step below Satan himself.
“She’s right up here,” Curt said, leading the way up the stairs.
Kate lingered in the living room, perhaps to avoid too much contact with the Wilsons.
“She was like this when we found her,” he added, more of an explanation of the current situation than a deflection of potential blame. “She seems to be breathing normally.”
“Hannah!” her father exclaimed when they reached her current resting place. Caleb Wilson pushed past Curt. He instantly tried to lift his daughter, though the slightly out of shape man struggled to do so.
“The paramedics are on their way,” Kate said.
“We’re taking her home,” Caleb Wilson insisted without facing either one of them.
“Do you want help?” Curt offered, poised to lend his muscle.
Caleb Wilson halted his effort and whirled toward Curt. “Stay away from my daughter! I don’t know which of you is more likely to molest her.” His eyes shifted from Curt to Kate, who had joined them upstairs.
Normally, Kate would have lashed back against the insinuation that gay people indiscriminately molested people. Under the circumstances, she let it go.
“Samuel, please carry your sister.”
Hannah’s wiry brother stepped over to the bed. He lifted her, which caused the towel to fall off. Caleb Wilson quickly recovered it from the floor and draped it over his daughter. Samuel groaned as he gathered Hannah in his arms. Her solid athletic frame meant she was no waif. Curt worried about the slender Samuel carrying her down the stairs but dared not intervene. Fortunately, Samuel proved able to transport Hannah to the first floor. Too preoccupied with Hannah now, the Wilsons ignored Curt and Kate as they exited the house.
Kate exhaled once they were gone. “Well, that part’s over now,” she murmured.
The night, however, wasn’t. The police appeared shortly after the Wilsons cleared out. Two officers in their late twenties or early thirties took statements from Curt and Kate. They oscillated between acting like the story was completely made up, suggesting Curt and Kate were actually the perpetrators of whatever happened, and treating them like honest witnesses. In the end, Curt and Kate dispensed what information they had—including Greg’s admission of drugging Hannah, Mike’s contact information, and Hannah’s current whereabouts.
“I did a research project on GHB,” Kate said after the officers left, promising to follow up on the situation. “It leaves your system pretty quickly.”
Curt nodded, understanding Kate’s implication full well. Any case against Greg would be hard to prove—impossible if Hannah didn’t cooperate. If she could even remember what happened to begin with. Caleb Wilson might not be t
oo keen on having his daughter involved in such an invasive investigation. Deep down, Curt wondered if that was the reason Caleb Wilson brought her home instead of taking her to the hospital. Or, the reverend might turn the situation on Curt and Kate and try to implicate them.
“I guess I’ll drive you home,” Curt offered, wishing he could do more for Hannah. But her fate was out of his hands now.
“Can’t. My books are still at your house.”
“Oh, right.”
The two drove toward his house in silence. Kate’s thoughts remained opaque. Mostly, Curt hoped Hannah was okay and didn’t suffer any lasting trauma from the evening. That seemed unlikely. A few times, Curt considered the various ways this situation would play out. No matter what the case, though, he doubted he’d ever be able to see Hannah again. And that thought saddened him greatly.
36
Knock, Knock
Back at his house, Curt and Kate did their best to unwind after their stressful experience. Sitting around the kitchen table, Curt unloaded the entire situation on his mom, who listened thoughtfully, adding little in the way of commentary. After Curt finished, she leaned back in the slatted wooden chair and crossed her arms.
“Should something like this ever happen again, please tell me in the beginning. After you’ve alerted the proper authorities, of course,” she said, her voice even but serious.
“Did we do something wrong?” Curt asked, suddenly afraid their decisions had made the situation worse.
She smiled at the two of them. “I think you both did well. It was good that you informed her family, even though that must have been tremendously challenging. It would have been good to have an adult present, though I don’t think the Wilsons would have looked at me any differently than they did you.”
The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation. Elizabeth McDonald glanced at the clock on the oven. It was now past ten o’clock.
“Seems a little late for a visitor,” she said, her voice suspicious.
“I’ll go check.” Curt rose from his seat and moved swiftly into the living room. Looking through the peephole, he saw Jake Ankiel standing on the other side. Curt’s heart thumped within his chest. This couldn’t be good.
“Hi. Is there something I can help you with?” Curt asked through the door.
“It’s me, Jake. I need to know what happened to Hannah tonight. I just want to talk. Please.” He sounded absolutely miserable.
Curt glanced behind him, where Kate and his mother now stood on the threshold between the kitchen and living room.
“This is the same guy who beat you up,” Kate reminded him, as if he could have forgotten.
Curt shrugged. “What’s he going to do? Beat me up, again?”
“Can we talk?” Jake repeated. “I won’t be able to sleep until I know what happened.”
Jake cared about Hannah. Curt could respect that. The guy’s mind was probably going wild with worry. Besides, things in Beaumont threatened to spiral out of control if this negative feedback loop continued. To make peace, someone needed to take a risk, to make himself vulnerable. Turning Jake away would also be a perceived admission of guilt; Curt had nothing to hide.
“I’m letting him in,” Curt announced.
Kate retreated a few steps toward the kitchen. Curt unlocked the wooden door and opened it. But as soon as he opened the glass storm door, Jake burst into the room, the force of his weight propelling Curt to the ground. Jake planted his knee on Curt’s chest and drew a handgun from his jacket.
“Mom, Kate, run!” Curt yelled, swiveling his head toward their location.
His mom yanked Kate away from the opening and swung the kitchen door shut behind them. Jake barely paid attention to them, smacking Curt in the face with his free hand.
“What did you do to her?” he demanded in a guttural tone.
“Jake, I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me,” Curt insisted, closing his eyes. Between the pressure of Jake’s knee against his lungs and the gun pointed toward him, Curt could barely breathe.
“This kind of thing never happened until you showed up in her life.” Jake shook Curt by the shoulders. “She was a good girl. Satan must have deceived her. That’s the only reason she could’ve chosen you instead of me.”
“Hannah and I aren’t together. And I did not rape her.”
Curt struggled to think. In this position, with the full weight of Jake bearing down on him, plus the threat of being shot, Curt couldn’t have fought back if he wanted to. The best play here seemed to be calming Jake down—if that was even possible.
“Don’t do this, Jake. You don’t have to do it.”
Beads of sweat raced down Jake’s forehead. “Yes, I do. Someone needs to pay for what was stolen from her.”
Jake lifted his knee off Curt and rose to his feet. “Get up!” he ordered, motioning with his gun for Curt to stand.
Slowly, Curt got on his feet. He held his hands at his side and motioned toward the floor.
“Think about this, Jake. What would Jesus want you to do here?”
Jake’s eyes went even wilder. “You don’t get to say his name, atheist! But I know how to make you believe there’s a God.” He cocked his gun. Curt swallowed hard.
The door to the kitchen flew open. A gunshot reverberated through the room. Or were there two shots? Maybe the second sound was an echo? With the sound came pain. A burning, spreading pain.
37
Bang, Bang
Hannah’s eyes slowly opened. The first thing she saw was her father, a look of relief plastered on his face as he hovered over her.
“Where am I?” she asked, her head still groggy.
“You’re home, sweetie.”
As her eyes grew acclimated to her surroundings, Hannah recognized the gentle pink colors of her walls and her brother Samuel, who brooded in the corner of the room.
“What happened?” she asked.
Her father raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
Samuel stepped forward from the corner. “Your atheist friend drugged you.”
Atheist friend? “Curt? Drugged me?”
Samuel nodded.
Lines formed in Hannah’s brow as memories began trickling back into her consciousness. “No. Curt couldn’t have. He wasn’t there.”
Samuel knelt by her bed. “Yes, he was. He was at the house when we picked you up. You were almost naked, Hannah. Someone took advantage of you!”
His acerbic tone generated further unrest in her soul. What had happened to her? She strained to remember what had brought her to this miserable moment.
“Easy, Samuel,” her father warned. “Don’t trouble her now with things we can’t control.”
“He’ll be sorry when Jake gets a hold of him,” Samuel muttered, returning to the corner as if he was on timeout.
“Jake knows?” Hannah struggled to sit up.
Her father put a hand on her shoulder. “You need to rest now, sweetheart.”
She resisted his restraint. “How long have I been out?”
“About an hour, here. I don’t know how long you were out before that,” her father replied.
The memories became a bit clearer. “Curt wasn’t there. He was supposed to be, that’s what Greg kept-” Greg. The picture crystallized. “It was Greg. He gave me something to drink. Then I started feeling funny.”
“Who’s Greg?” asked her father.
She whipped her head toward Samuel. “You have to call Jake and tell him it wasn’t Curt.”
Samuel didn’t move. “Hannah, you should just let-”
“Call him NOW!” Hannah said, raising her voice as much as possible under the circumstances.
The forcefulness of her tone must have surprised Samuel because he pulled out his phone and dialed Jake’s number. Hannah waited anxiously as Samuel paced the room. Their father watched in stunned silence.
“He’s not picking up,” Samuel said at last.
Hannah s
hifted toward the edge of the bed.
“Hannah, what are you doing?” Caleb Wilson asked, rising to block her exit.
“I want to make sure Curt is alright. Jake already attacked him once, and that was over something much less serious. Who knows what he’ll do this time?”
“Hannah, you need to rest. You’re still under the effects-”
Her eyes burned at him. “Dad, take me there now. You have to. Curt is innocent. And I want to make sure he’s okay.”
Her father sighed but eventually relented. Hannah rarely acted with such willfulness, save for the pitcher’s mound.
“Fine, we’ll go. But just a quick check to make sure everything is okay, and then you have to go right back to bed, okay?”
Hannah agreed to his terms. Five minutes later, they were in the Wilsons’ late-model Ford Fusion. The ride across town to Curt’s house seemed agonizingly long.
Those moments in the car gave Hannah her first chance to process what her father must have endured when he’d found her unconscious. A wave of compassion swept over her.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have gone there tonight. I only wanted to represent Christ to them. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”
Tears welled in her father’s eyes. “For a second, I thought I lost you. Like I lost your mother. And I didn’t know if I could keep on living if that happened.” The tears slipped down his cheek. She hadn’t seen him cry in years, not since her mother passed.
She clutched his free hand. “I’m still here, Daddy.”
He nodded. “Thank God. Thank God.”
The emotion threatened to overwhelm his words. She held his hand for the remainder of the ride, which also settled her nerves, as Hannah feared what they’d find at Curt’s house. Her last call with Jake had frightened her.
Those fears only amplified when they arrived and saw Jake’s black Dodge charger parked next to the house.
“Oh, no!” Hannah said. She bolted out of the car before her father could even come to a complete stop.
Across the Western Sky Page 19
