Going Under (28 page)

“Will you get off of her, please?” I asked
pleasantly. “Her father is pissed off ready to come over here with
a loaded shotgun. She wasn’t supposed to come here tonight. Now
either get off of her and let me take her home, or get your balls
blown off a little later when Mel’s dad gets here. Your
choice.”

Tim slunk off his obviously drugged date and
sat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, trying to
pull Melanie up in a sitting position.

“Nothing,” Tim mumbled.

“Melanie? How much did you have to drink?” I
asked.

She smiled stupidly. “My name’s
Melanie.”

“I know,” I replied. “Now put your arm
around my neck. We’re gonna help you out of here.”

“Where am I?” she asked, flopping her arm
over my shoulder.

“A very bad place,” I said, and shot Tim a
nasty look.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

I wasn’t planning on saying anything to him,
but I couldn’t hold my tongue.

“She’s obviously drunk or whatever. Why were
you on top of her?”

“Fuck you. Like you’ve never made out
drunk?” he asked. He was defensive, jaw clenched, ready to do
damage. I knew it was time to leave.

“Come on, Melanie,” I said, and Gretchen
helped me walk her out of the bedroom.

We made it all the way to my car before the
shaking started. Gretchen saw and took the car keys.

“I’ll drive,” she said.

I sat in the back with Melanie trying to
comfort her, but I was a mess myself. Total fear. I’d never felt it
before. I realized I was functioning on pure adrenaline the entire
time I helped Melanie out of the house, and now it was gone,
leaving panic and dread in its wake.

“You’re okay, Brooke,” Gretchen said in the
rearview mirror. “Keep it together, and tell me where Melanie
lives. Do
not
faint on me.”

I had come prepared. I recorded Melanie’s
and Taylor’s addresses on my cell phone in case I needed to take
them home and they were too drunk or drugged out to tell me where
they lived. I didn’t actually think it would come to this. What if
I had gone to the wrong room? What if I had burst in too late? What
if the door was locked?

My body shuddered violently.

“Brooke! You are fine,” Gretchen said.
“Breathe in and tell me the address.”

Right. The address. I was clumsy pulling out
my cell phone, and I punched about ten wrong buttons before pulling
up my notes.

“Twenty-six fifty West Moreland Avenue,” I
said.

“Of course I have no idea where the hell
that is,” Gretchen mumbled, and pulled over. She punched the
address in her GPS then pulled back out onto the road.

Melanie’s house wasn’t far away, but it gave
me enough time to compose myself and get the shaking under control.
Both Gretchen and I walked her to the front door and rang the
bell.

Melanie’s mother answered, gasping when she
took stock of her daughter.

“Mommy!” Melanie said. “I love you so much,
Mommy!”

“What is this?” Melanie’s mom whispered.

“Mrs. uh . . .”

“Graham,” she said, moving aside to let us
in.

“Mrs. G, we were at the same party as your
daughter,” Gretchen said. “We don’t know Melanie, but we saw that
she was pretty wasted and thought we better take her home.”

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Graham said. “Oh my
God
.” And then Mrs. Graham lost it completely, bursting into
a fit of tears while Gretchen and I stared at one another.

“Okay,” I said. “First thing is getting
Melanie some water and food. Go see what’s in the kitchen.”

Gretchen nodded. We sat Melanie on the
couch, and Gretchen disappeared.

“Mrs. Graham, is your husband here?” I
asked. Mrs. Graham was slumped in an armchair bawling
uncontrollably.

“Things like this don’t happen in our
family!” she wailed.

“Mrs. Graham, where’s your husband?”

“We attend Mass every Sunday. Melanie is an
honors student!”

“Mrs. Graham! Where is Mr. Graham?” I
demanded.

“He’s on a business trip,” she cried.

“Of course he is,” I muttered. I now felt
responsible for taking care of a drugged-out daughter and her
emotionally distraught mother.

Gretchen—thank God for Gretchen!—made a
sandwich for Melanie and a cup of tea for her mother. I wondered
what the hell took her so long, but I was so happy for the tea as
it appeared to settle Mrs. Graham’s nerves.

“Girls, I’m sorry,” she said, hand shaking,
rattling the teacup. I told her not to apologize but that we
couldn’t stay all night. I was close to missing curfew, and Dad had
already extended it tonight until 12:30 because he was delirious
about his date. I couldn’t push it.

Gretchen tried to feed Melanie, who was more
interested in kissing the sandwich than eating it.

“I love you, sandwich,” she said. “You’re my
favorite sandwich.”

“Melanie, do you know what you drank? What
you took?” I asked.

“I drank a cup of looooove,” she said. “Can
I have more?”

What? I was no drug expert, never caring to
do anything myself. I smoked weed once but hated the stench of it.
I didn’t really get high either. I just sat like a fat toad on a
log gobbling up any food that flew by me. I decided weed would do
nothing but make me overweight and stupid, so I never touched it
again. But Gretchen knew about drugs. She went through a stint of
moderate drug use in tenth grade before she finally found better
friends. Weed, acid, cocaine. You name it. She stayed away from
meth, though. She understood all about the picking and didn’t want
to ruin her pretty little face.

“What’s she on?” I asked Gretchen. I didn’t
care if her mother heard.

“Ecstasy,” Gretchen replied. “She’s in love
with everything. Total ecstasy, and a large amount, I think.”

“Like, take-her-to-the-hospital amount?”

Melanie promptly threw up all over the
couch, and Mrs. Graham jumped from her chair.

“Yes,” Mrs. Graham said. “Like,
take-her-to-the-hospital amount.”

All of a sudden she was in control. Mother
mode. What the hell was in that tea? She took a deep breath and
wiped her face.

“Girls, I want you to follow behind me until
we get there,” she said. “Then you can go home. I know it’s late. I
just want to be sure I have some help just in case. If you need me
to explain to your parents why you were late getting home, I
will.”

“No!” we said in unison.

“It’ll be fine,” I said.

I helped Mrs. Graham lift Melanie off the
couch. She threw up all over the floor, and I panicked.

“Does this happen with ecstasy?” I asked
Gretchen.

“I think that’s from the alcohol,” Gretchen
said, opening the front door for us.

Neither Gretchen nor I said a word as we
followed Mrs. Graham to the ER. I was terrified. I never saw
someone so drugged and drunk out of her mind. I felt naïve in that
moment, and I was ashamed of it. I can’t explain why. There’s
nothing wrong with being naïve. There’s nothing wrong with having
abstained from drug use. Still, I felt helpless, having to rely on
Gretchen for information.
I
wanted the information.
I
wanted control. I was lost without it.

I followed the tail lights around the bend
to the hospital entrance thinking I would kill Tim—murder him in
cold blood—if anything happened to Melanie.

Seventeen

Terry caught me as I made my way through the
back door at work.

“News?” he asked.

“About?” I said, tying my apron around my
waist.

“Don’t make me spell it out for you,
Wright,” Terry replied.

“Ohhh,
that
news. Well,”—I smacked my
gum a little louder and leaned in close—“we plan on doing it
tonight. He’s totally dreamy, and I think I’m in love.” I winked at
him, and he huffed.

“Please keep your too-young-to-be-having-sex
life to yourself,” Terry said, “and tell me what’s going on.”

“Why do you care?” I asked, walking over to
the order station to sign in.

“Do I have to state the obvious?” Terry
replied, following me.

I lowered my voice. “I’ve already got one
dad. I don’t need another. And everything’s fine. I haven’t tried
to get myself molested, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Terry breathed a sigh of relief.

“I have, however, discovered another
rapist,” I continued. “And I know he’s taking a girl to the movies
tonight.”

“What’s he gonna do in the movies?”

“It’s not what he’ll do inside the theatre
that I’m worried about,” I said. “I plan on stopping it before it
starts. I was already successful once. At a party last week.”

“Wright . . .”

“Hey, if I didn’t burst through that door,
she would have been raped,” I said.

Terry’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“Yeah, that’s right. She was high on
ecstasy, we think.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Gretchen and me.”

“So now she’s playing crusader, too?”

“Strength in numbers.”

“Is the girl all right?” Terry asked.

“Yes, thank God. I waved to her at school
today, and she looked at me like she had no idea who I was.
Apparently she remembers nothing from that night. Just as well.
She’d probably be more messed up if she did.”

Terry sighed. “I told you to be careful. You
think these guys won’t catch on to what you’re doing? Have you
thought about consequences?”

“Nope. But they should. Once I collect all
my data, they and their little slut club are history.”

“Taking it to the streets, huh?” Terry
asked.

“You better believe it,” and I left the
kitchen to greet my first customer.

***

Every girl goes to the bathroom right before
a movie. We’re conditioned or something. I knew to expect Ashley
between nine and 9:20. The movie she was seeing with Tim started at
9:30. I wasn’t worried at all about the time they spent in the
theatre. I didn’t think he was that bold. But I was very worried
about his plans for her after the show, and I thought I could scare
her into ditching him and getting a cab home. I even brought cab
fare for her in case she had no money.

I hovered over the sink pretending to fix my
make-up. The mirror gave me a perfect view of girls coming and
going without me having to turn around and check. And just like
that, as I had expected, Ashley strolled through the door at 9:18.
I let her use the bathroom before I said anything. She was washing
her hands two sinks down from me when I spoke.

“You don’t know me from Adam,” I said to
her. She reached for a paper towel. “But that guy you’re with is
bad news.”

“Huh?”

“That guy you’re with is—”

“No no,” she interrupted. “What you said
before. What does that mean?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That thing you said about Adam. Does Adam
like me?” she asked, her face flushing a rosy pink.

Dear God.

“I mean. He’s never said it, but I’ve been
giving him all the signs. You think he likes me?”

Who was she talking about?

“It’s an expression,” I said. “It’s just an
expression meaning you don’t know me at all.”

“Oh.” Her face fell.

“But Adam might like you,” I said. “And he’d
be a lot better than the jackass you’re on a date with right
now.”

“How do you know I’m on a date with Tim?”
she asked.

“I saw you, and I’m telling you, Ashley, the
guy is bad bad news,” I said.

“Wait. How do you know my name?”

Shit. I was always doing that. Think
quickly, Brooke.

“Didn’t you know you were popular? Like,
everyone knows your name,” I said.

“They do?” Her eyes went wide in a dreamy
kind of disbelief.

I felt awful.

“Sure. Now listen to me. I want you to get
in a cab and go home,” I said.

“What?”

“Ditch him, Ashley.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . because Tim is seeing a whole
lot of other girls. Not just you. He wouldn’t be faithful to you
for two seconds,” I said.

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she replied.
“I plan on dropping him the second Adam looks my way.”

I stared at her.

“Okay, Ashley? It’s not just about Tim being
unfaithful. He’s a bad guy. He does bad things to girls,” I
said.

She looked intrigued. “Like bondage kind of
stuff?” she asked. She leaned in close and whispered, “That’s okay
with me. I’m kind of into it.”

What the
fuck
?

“No, Ashley,” I whispered back. “Like rape
kind of stuff.”

She jumped back, eyes going wide again, but
this time not in a dreamy state of disbelief. This time she was
scared. I shouldn’t have said it. I mean, technically it wasn’t
slanderous because it was true, but I didn’t want this airhead
spreading it all over school.

“I think,” I said quickly. “Listen, I think
he’s done it.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Not important. What’s important is that I
don’t want anything to happen to you. So go home. Don’t talk to him
over the phone or at school. Don’t mention me. Don’t say anything.
Okay?” I knew it was wishful thinking, but I had to try.

She nodded.

“Ashley? I’m serious. When he calls you, do
not answer. When you see him Monday—because it’s inevitable, you
will see him Monday—tell him you can’t talk to him anymore. Don’t
say why. Just do it. And then walk away. Understand?”

She nodded again.

“I’m gonna call you a cab,” I said. “Here’s
money.”

She took it without speaking.

“Are you okay?” I asked, dialing the number
for City Star Cabs.

“He was going to rape me?” she
whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re
safe now, okay?” I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulder as I
spoke to the dispatcher.