Blast From The Past 3 (2 page)

“What time is it?” I asked, rolling over in what I thought was my bed. The sunlight coming in through the window was much brighter than it should be at any hour I was used to waking up at, and it made my skin feel uncomfortably warm against the blue flannel sheets.

Wait a minute
, I thought to myself, touching the fabric,
I don’t own any blue flannel sheets
.

I shot straight up and sat at full attention, staring around the bright, modern room. I knew exactly where I was—in Tommy’s bed, in Tommy’s apartment—but I had no idea how I ended up there.

Well, of course, I knew how I’d ended up at Tommy’s apartment the evening before, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how I’d ended up in his bed. To the best of my recollection, I’d only had five bottles of beer, and, at this stage in my life, I was well equipped to handle much, much more.

Five beers over the course of a few hours wasn’t enough to knock me out cold or wipe my memory clean—but, somehow, they had… Or,
had
they?

I’d been socially drinking for over a decade, and had had my share of benders and crazy nights out. But I was never one to pass out or black out so completely, and it didn’t seem likely that this type of pattern would happen so late in life, and not with so little booze.

But this was the
second
time in just a few days that something like this had happened to me—and,
both
times it happened when I was with Tommy. I didn’t like how things were adding up.

My stomach started to churn, and I felt an uneasiness all over my body. I looked down at my tummy as it made a strange noise, and I was slightly comforted when I saw that, at least this time, I was still wearing my own clothes.

All of a sudden, I realized that the churning and uneasiness I felt wasn’t just because of the thoughts I was having, but also because my body was rebelling against the “poison,” as Tommy had referenced it, I’d put inside it. I jumped off the bed and ran straight to the bathroom, thankful that I knew where it was.

Instantly, I fell to my knees and let loose in front of the toilet, filling the bowl with a nasty, food-speckled fluid. Tommy must have heard the commotion, and he came running in.

“You really can’t handle your booze,” he said with a bit of chuckle. He leaned against the doorframe, and I looked up at him with a look that was meant to slay him.

He probably thought that “if looks could kill” look came from my anger or disappointment at his sarcasm, but, really, it came from somewhere else. I’d vomited all over my dress when I drank with him the other evening, and now I was on my knees worshipping the porcelain god after another night of drinking with him. Again, I didn’t like how things were adding up.

Five beers isn’t enough to make anyone hurl, unless you chug them consecutively over a very short period of time. But, like I said, I’d stretched
my
drinks across a few hours.

With Tommy still watching from the doorway, I stood up, went to the sink, washed my hands and face, and rinsed my mouth out. “I have to go,” I said, reaching for the hand towel beside the sink.

“Trish, come on,” Tommy said, walking toward me. “I was just kidding. Don’t get mad… I’m sorry I said that.”

I wanted to tell Tommy what I was thinking, but, of course, I knew better.

“I know,” I said, stepping back from Tommy as he went to touch me. “I’m not mad about that. I just really don’t feel well, and would rather sleep it off at home.”

“Okay,” Tommy replied. He looked both disappointed and confused by my words. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stick around for a bit longer? Maybe you should try to get your sense back before you try and drive home.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I just want to go back to my place, get a shower, put on some clean clothes, and bury myself in my bed for a few hours.”

Tommy seemed to finally get the picture I was drawing, and he stepped aside to let me exit the bathroom. I went to the living room, collected my bag, and headed toward the door.

“Hold on,” Tommy said, following me at a rapid pace.

I turned just as I got to the door. He was standing right behind me, very close to me, and I could smell the coffee on his breath and feel it burn me.

“You think I’m gonna just let you walk out like this?” he asked. I felt goosebumps erupt from every pore in my skin, and a big lump formed in my throat. I was terrified.

Tommy leaned closer toward me with a devilish grin on his face. I seriously considered hitting him over the head with my purse or kicking him in the nuts—maybe both.

“You’re not getting out of here without giving me a hug,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me. I felt an incredible sense of relief, and, even though I didn’t want
any
type of physical contact with Tommy, I savored the hug, because it was a better move than what I’d been thinking.

I half-heartedly (or less) hugged Tommy back, and forced myself to get back into character. “Thanks for everything last night,” I said, nearly choking on my words. “It was nice to sit down and talk with a friend, and all the chit-chat really distracted me and kept my mind off of my problems.”

“Anything for you, Trish,” Tommy said, squeezing me tighter. “I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

I smiled at Tommy as I pulled away from the obligatory hug. “Text me later, when you get a chance,” he said, unlocking the door for me and turning the knob.

“I will,” I said, not sure whether or not I meant it. “Thanks again.” I walked out of the door and waited until I heard the door shut, and then I started jogging toward the lobby.

Once I was outside, I reached into my purse and removed my cell phone. I checked my notifications and saw that I had
a lot
of them. I had a total of five texts (all from Julie) and twenty-six missed calls. Four of the calls were from Julie, from earlier that morning, and the other twenty-two were from an “Unknown” number, with missed calls starting late last night and continuing up until just a few minutes before I left Tommy’s apartment.

The “Unknown” number was obviously J.R. trying to call me, and since I had no way of getting back to him without a known number, I lamented the fact that I’d have to wait for
him
to call me back.
Good God, this situation is all too familiar…

I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait for J.R. to call back, but I knew I couldn’t remain idle. I hopped in my car and started making my way home. I really didn’t feel like myself, so I made sure that I paid careful attention to the road, the traffic lights, and the other cars around me.

I was so focused on driving well that I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone started vibrating beside me. My first thought was whether or not Tommy had heard it vibrating in my purse any one of the thirty-one times it’d shaken while I was at his apartment—but I tossed that thought aside and grabbed my phone. If it was J.R., I didn’t want to miss his call because I was wasting my time considering a question I couldn’t answer.

Indeed, the call was from an “Unknown” number, and, indeed, I heard J.R.’s voice when I answered.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied. I then went on to tell him about my morning… and my suspicions.

“I’ll be at your place as soon as I can,” J.R. told me after I told him my story.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you then.” I hung up the phone and refocused my attention on driving. I was only a few minutes from home, but it felt like it’d take forever to get there.

“Rohypnol,” the dark-skinned man said, bowing his head and shaking it.

“Rohypnol?” I repeated. He looked up at me and nodded.

I guess one of the many advantages of being a billionaire is having your own staff on call at any hour, including your own personal physician. When I got back to my apartment, I had just enough time to shower and change clothes before J.R. appeared at my door with another person, who, at first, was just a stranger.

But, it turns out, that stranger was a doctor, and J.R. had brought him to my place to confirm, or quash, our suspicions. I’d passed out, blacked out, and vomited
twice
whilst with Tommy, and, since that wasn’t like me, both J.R. and I were concerned that something else was going on—and the doctor had just proved there was.

He’d asked me to pee in a cup, and, luckily, I had enough urine in me to do so without making him wait around for my bladder. Only a few minutes after I’d pissed in the cup (and on my hand), the strip on the side of the cup changed colors, and the doctor examined it and delivered the news.

“Isn’t that the ‘date rape’ drug?” I asked, seconds after asking my first question.

“Yes,” the doctor replied.

I looked at J.R., and J.R. looked at me.

“Would you like a more thorough examination?” the doctor asked. “We can go back to my office, and I can check to see if you’ve been violated or run a rape kit.”

I appreciated the man’s thoroughness, but I knew that a “more thorough examination” or “rape kit” was not necessary. Sure, he’d discover some signs of sex, penetration, semen, or whatever else he was looking for—but those signs would be the aftereffects of the sex I’d willingly had with J.R. before running off to Tommy’s apartment, not any indication of what happened after I got there.

Plus, I understood my body well enough and could tell that nothing sexual had happened with Tommy—and I knew that sex wasn’t what he was after. I didn’t know
why
he’d drugged me, but I was certain it wasn’t so that he could fuck me.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, looking at J.R. again, then bowing my own head.

J.R.’s face was red with anger. “How does Rohypnol work?” he asked the doctor.

“Well,” the dark-skinned man began, “it depends on the dose that’s administered and whether or not any other drugs, such as alcohol, are in a person’s system. This urine test just determines the presence of the chemical, not the amount of it. But, given what you’ve told me—and considering how she appears upon precursory examination—I’d say she was given a relatively small dose, which would basically calm and relax her for a while, making her more pliable to her predator’s advances. As she continued to consume more alcohol, the drugs interacted, and the ultimate effect was that she was rendered unconscious.”

“What do you mean by ‘pliable?’” I asked, stepping into their conversation about me.

“Forgive me for being blunt,” the doctor replied. “But, by ‘pliable,’ I mean that you’d be ‘easy’—it would be easy for your predator to have his way with you.”

“I’m not concerned about sex here,” I said, being just as blunt, if not more blunt. I was still trying to figure out
why
Tommy would’ve drugged me, or, at least, why he would have chosen the date rape drug to do so.

“When the drug first starts taking effect,” the doctor went on, “it’s just mildly disorienting, but not unlike other types of drunks or highs. Essentially, it dulls your nervous system, which also effects your behavior and responses. Let’s just say it lowers your inhibitions and defenses.

“For example, imagine that you’re afraid of heights. With a small amount of Rohypnol in your system, it wouldn’t take much to convince you to go skydiving.”

The doctor’s example was a little extreme, but it was effective. I was starting to understand what he meant, and starting to understand why Tommy might have drugged me.

“Would I have been alert?” I asked. “If someone asked me questions, would I have been able to answer them?”

“For the most part, yes,” the doctor answered. “Your speech might have been slurred or a little chaotic, but you would have been able to respond—and your responses would have been unrestrained.”

“So, it’s kind of like truth serum?” J.R. asked.

“Not exactly,” the doctor replied. “But, yes, it can have similar effects.”

J.R. and I looked at each other again, and our eyes did more talking.

“Thanks, doc,” J.R. said. His face was still red, but he seemed a little calmer.

“Anything else?” the doctor inquired.

“No,” J.R. replied. “That’s it… And, please, remember, this visit is off the record. Bill me for it directly, but don’t mention what went on here to
anyone
.”

“Of course,” the doctor replied as he began collecting his belongings and preparing to leave. I realized then that I’d never even learned his name—nor had he learned mine.

As the doctor zipped up his bag, J.R. walked over, shook his hand, and thanked him, then walked him to the door. They exchanged a few more words that I couldn’t hear over the thoughts running through my head, and, a moment later, the doctor left.

After the coast was clear, J.R. rushed over to me and hugged me.

“What the hell’s going on here?” I asked, moved to tears.

“I don’t know,” J.R. responded. “But I do know one thing… Tommy is dangerous, and I don’t want you around him. If he’s capable of getting his hands on a drug like that and capable of drugging you, who knows what else he’s capable of… I don’t want to find out, and I don’t want you to put yourself in further jeopardy. Whatever his involvement is in this whole mess, it’s not worth sacrificing your safety—or your life—to discover it.”

The tears flowed from my eyes to J.R.’s shoulder, and I knew that what he was saying was right. But, still, Tommy was a crucial piece of the puzzle I was trying to solve, and the fact that he’d done what he’d done meant something. I didn’t know what it meant, but it meant
something
, and I was going to figure out what that something was, no matter what.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll stay away from him.”

J.R. tightened his hold on me and kissed me on the crown of my head a few times. His embrace felt wonderful and reassuring—and it made me feel bad about the lie I’d just told him.