The Confession (6 page)

Amy turned to Alec, who was staring at me from where he'd frozen in place against the wall.

“Alec, why don't you go find Ben? He's probably just getting here.”

My dad was here.

“Don't tell him anything,” I demanded. I couldn't look at Alec. I couldn't look at any of them. “Nothing happened. I don't want him panicking for no reason.”

Alec left silently.

The nurse said she needed to do some more tests. I knew what a rape kit was. I'd been introduced to them in my days as a social worker. Like an annual exam, but they were looking for signs of forced entry. They would give me a shot for possible exposure to hepatitis. They would see if I had HIV. There was a discussion of the morning after pill.

She could have the doctor do it right then. I wouldn't even have to be inconvenienced by going to another room.

“I haven't been raped.” I looked at Amy. “I know you think I'm crazy, but I would know.”

“Let's just get this over with then, okay?” Her voice shook.

“I'm serious,” I said. “That isn't what happened.”

“All right.” She squeezed my hand, and damn her all to hell, she started to cry.

I
sank down to the floor of the narrow tile shower, gripping my knees to my chest. The IV line twisted around my wrist, a constant reminder that I was tethered here, unable to leave. That my body was too weak to work on its own.

That someone had done this to me.

I'd agreed to the test just to prove them wrong. I took the shot, and did a blood test and mouth swab for HIV. I lay back in my bed while a female doctor came in and gave me her best pity smile. Amy held my hand the whole time, but I felt like I was the one holding her hand, because she was the one who was scared.

I hadn't been scared.

I'd been humiliated.

Alec had known this would happen before I'd woken up. He'd known the drugs were in my system. That's why he wouldn't touch me. He probably thought I would fall apart. Or maybe he thought I was damaged. The idea of either made me sick.

The doctor had frowned when she was finished, and asked me for the second time if I remembered anything from the last couple of days.

“You may,”
she'd said when I told her no.
“They might just be images, like how you remember a dream. I'd encourage you to call the police if that happens.”

I closed my eyes as tightly as I could. I let the shudders work through me, wishing I had something to hold me down besides this IV line.

I willed myself to remember. I tried to focus on anything after the fund-raiser, but it was like those days didn't even exist.

What had happened to me?

“There's no sign that you've been assaulted. I'd say you may have gotten really lucky here, Ms. Rossi.”

Lucky. I sure as hell didn't feel lucky.

I hugged my knees so hard my arms started to shake.

I hadn't been hurt. That was all that mattered.

“Whoever gave you this drug may have gotten scared, or changed his mind. That might be why he left you so far away from where you started.”
Her frown had irritated me. It was like she'd wanted to tell me bad news. I told myself it was just because the situation confused her.

Welcome to the club.

“When can I leave?”
I'd asked.

A couple of days. She wanted to keep me for observation. My fluids were low, and there were still traces of the drug left in my system.

She wanted me to talk to a psychiatrist.

“You've been through quite an ordeal, Ms. Rossi. You may have questions you want to talk to someone about.”

Oh, I had questions. Questions like who the hell had drugged me and why.

My mind turned to Alec and the trial, and I couldn't help wondering if this was all related to Maxim Stein. It wouldn't be the first time someone had threatened us to keep me quiet.

Those were questions for later. For now, I could only focus on the present.

I was okay.

I hadn't been hurt.

The relief seeped through me, but it felt like poison. I crawled to my knees, leaned over the toilet, and threw up.

The knock came less than two minutes later.

“I got you some soup,” Amy said. “And orange Jell-O. Yum, right?”

The door didn't lock. When I was silent, she pushed in, and without a word, helped me up and into the bed. I felt weak now, no longer driven by anger or pride. I was hollowed out, too tired even to hold my head up.

She crawled onto the foot of the hospital bed and sat cross-legged, the tray of food between us.

“I'm sorry I didn't go to the fund-raiser,” she said. She looked up and blinked rapidly, eyes watery. Amy wasn't much of a crier; I hated seeing her so torn up.

“It's not your fault.” My voice was raw.

She scoffed pitifully, as if this was a joke. What happened wasn't her fault, and I needed the subject changed ASAP.

“Did you know Alec and Janelle were . . . a thing?” Dating? Together? I didn't know.

She peeled back the cover on the broth, refusing to look up.

“I didn't know how to tell you,” she said. “It was different with him. I knew it wouldn't be as easy as us eating brownies and throwing a pity party. It was going to wreck you, and I . . .”

She covered her mouth with her hands. “That's why you went to that bar, isn't it? Alec said the bartender saw you there drinking alone before you hooked up with someone.”

“I didn't hook up with anyone,” I said, wondering if this bartender had seen who had taken me. “I don't even remember going.”

Amy handed me the spoon. The idea of eating made me even more ill, but my growling stomach disagreed.

“It was in the news,” she said. “The woman he's seeing was the FBI agent working his case. She got demoted or something when their affair went public a month or so ago.”

I couldn't help but feel a little validation at that, but it still felt like a betrayal. If Alec had to date someone, I wished it was someone that one, I didn't know, and two, wasn't such a ball-busting bitch.

I leaned forward, and Amy propped a pillow behind my back. “Is it too late to try brownie therapy?”

“Never.” She picked at her fingernails.

“I have so many questions.”

“I'm sure.”

“Does anyone have any idea who did this?” I tapped the tray with my spoon, not totally sure I was ready to try eating yet.

Amy shook her head.

“You're dad's been raising hell with the local PD trying to figure it out, and Alec's using his resources at the FBI.”

“You mean Janelle, his girlfriend.”

She nudged the tray in my direction. So they were together.

“Whoever thought orange Jell-O was a good idea?” she said. “It tastes like cough syrup. Twenty bucks for an Advil, but they can't spring an extra fourteen cents for strawberry or cherry.”

I looked across the bed at my best friend, sitting there like she had ten years ago when our biggest concerns involved boys and parties. I hoped in ten years she was still sitting there. I hoped in fifty years I could still count on her to be the one holding my hand and crying the tears I couldn't cry.

I leaned over the tray and hugged her. “I love you, Amy.”

She sighed and squeezed me as tightly as she could. The soup sloshed up against my knees, probably soaking the sheets.

“I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

She sat back. “Anything you want.” Her eyes darted from side to side. “Want me to take a hit out on the girlfriend?”

I smirked. “She carries a gun.”

“Well, I carry sharp scissors, so she can kiss my skinny ass.”

I laughed, and it felt like ice chipping away inside of me. I tried a sip of the broth. The second it touched my tongue, my stomach started grumbling for more.

“Can you hold off my dad for a while?” The momentary lightness was doused in shame. “I know he's probably freaking out but I just . . .” I bit down on my lower lip, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I can't see him right now.”

I was sure by now he knew that they'd found roofies in my system. Alec had probably told him they'd done an exam to see if I'd been raped, as well.

I was his little girl, and I wasn't ready to see the way he looked at me now.

My mind shifted to Alec, and where he was. He probably didn't know that I was okay. I wanted him to know, for some reason, but the thought of facing him, too, seemed overwhelming.

Amy gave a sober nod. “Sure. I'll tell him visiting hours are over.”

“Okay.”

She took a deep breath. “Which probably means I should go, too, otherwise he'll never believe me.”

“Yeah.”

I didn't want her to leave, but I was getting sleepy again. I didn't understand why. I'd slept for three days. I should have been more awake. Must have been the drugs in my system.

“I'll be back tomorrow with real food,” she said.

“Corndogs and Hamburger Helper?” My eyelids were getting heavy.

“Watch it,” she said, pointing a finger at me.

One more hug, and I was alone.

*   *   *

For the first time in three days, I dreamed.

I was lying in the back of a car, my cheek pressed against the smooth, cool leather of the seat. Fuzzy images, just flashes, nothing I could hold on to. Nothing that should have been terrifying.

I woke up screaming.

My arm was tangled in wires. From behind my head came the beep of the heart rate monitor. I gasped for air.

“Anna, it's all right.” I blinked, but the room was dark, and I could barely focus.

“It's all right, I'm here.”

Alec.
His voice wrapped around me like a soft blanket. His hands found my shoulders and slid down my arms. The touch was soothing, and I gripped his forearm with both hands, using him as an anchor.

“Anna?” A nurse in pink scrubs raced into the room. She moved directly to the side table and flipped on a light. I turned away, blinking, while my eyes adjusted, and found my forehead pressed against Alec's hard stomach.

I didn't move.

“Tell me what's wrong,” said the nurse. “Are you in pain?” She sounded younger than the one from earlier. There must have been a shift change.

I focused on the warm feel of Alec's chest against my cheek, and the place right below his elbow where my hands gripped his forearm. His skin turned white around the indentation of my thumb, but I couldn't seem to let him go.

“B-bad dream,” I said. “I'm fine.”

The beeping of the heart rate monitor gradually began to slow. The IV was gone—I remembered the other nurse had taken it out before she'd left.

“Let me give you something to help you sleep,” she said. “A mild sedative.”

“No!” I didn't mean to shout. The beeping accelerated. “No drugs.”

“We're okay.” One of Alec's hands moved to my hair, smoothing it down my back. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of that simple caress.

We're okay,
he'd said. Not
she's okay
. Right then I would have given anything for that to be true.

A moment later the light went out, and the nurse's shoes squeaked away.

As soon as the door closed, I became aware that Alec and I were alone. The last time we'd been alone together had been at the safe house, when we'd made love half the night. I didn't know why I was thinking of that now.

I meant to ask what he was doing here, but I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that he could have been somewhere else. I could have asked if he knew more about what had happened to me, too, but I knew it would just make him go cold. Maybe it was pathetic of me, but I wanted him close, just for a few more seconds. Reality could wait.

“I can't let go of your arm,” I said.

“I don't mind,” he said. But he stopped stroking my hair, and gradually began to ease back.

“Not yet,” I whispered.

He stilled.

I nuzzled closer against his chest, listening as his heart sped up to match the monitor. Just a thin layer of fabric between my cheek and his skin, not enough to hide the heat of his body, but enough of a barrier to remind me he wasn't mine. He barely moved; I was fairly sure he wasn't even breathing.

Even in this sterile place he felt like home.

“Do you ever miss me?” I asked. The question came out before I thought about it. Some things were easier to say in the dark.

I could feel him swallow.

“It's the worst at nighttime,” I confessed. “I can barely sleep.”

He stepped back, and the weight of my words crushed me down into the thin, crinkly mattress. Finally my grip on his arm slid away, though my hands stayed half-closed, unable to forget the shape of him.

“Thank you for looking for me,” I said.

He made a sound like a sob. Or a choke. Or both.

I heard the slide of the heavy, tablecloth-covered chair as he pulled it closer to the bed, then the click of a button. The beeping silenced, and he felt his way to my wrist to remove the monitor. I glanced up at him, but he was cloaked in darkness.

Then one strong arm slid behind my shoulders, and the other slipped beneath my knees. I felt his breath move my hair as he leaned down, spreading warmth like a wildfire across my body despite the chasteness of his touch. As if I weighed nothing, he lifted me, and lowered into the chair, cradling me in his lap with my head against his shoulder. His hold on me was tight, like he knew I needed it, and I pretended he needed it, too.

“You don't have to be afraid tonight,” he murmured.

“I'm not afraid.”

“No one's going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

He moved the blanket over my body, and though it kept me warm, I wished I could feel more of his skin. I became aware of the places we did touch: my forehead against his neck, my bare feet tucked between the arm of the chair and his outer thigh. It would have been easy to tilt my head back and kiss him. But his arms tightened, and all the pieces of me that were stretched too thin began to rip apart.

The tears tumbled down, dampening his shirt.

“Please don't go,” I whispered.

“I'm right here,” he said. “I've got you.”