“It means that I’m going to do my job. There’s an APB out for the little geek across the street. He may have attacked a cop. So we’ve got him for assaulting a police officer. You’ve got him on tape breaking into the house and there’s no other weird shit on the tape that would render it inadmissible. I don’t need to know how he’s doing this shit. I’m curious but it don’t really matter as far as I’m concerned. All I need to do is do my job and bring him in and keep you two safe. This is just another stalker case to me.”
Torres took another handful of Doritos and then crumpled up the bag. For a moment Sarah was afraid he was going to toss the empty bag on the floor. Even with the house reeking of curdled blood and decay she still felt protective of her home. This had been her dream home. She and Josh had upgraded everything they could from the stainless-steel Whirlpool refrigerator to the matching stainless-steel KitchenAid convection oven, microwave, and even the dishwasher. The faux cherrywood blinds were all upgrades as well. But the stained concrete floor was the centerpiece of the house. Josh had ripped out all the carpeting on the first floor himself and then brought in a friend to stain the floor a golden tan and then seal it. It was gorgeous and unique. Despite what she’d said earlier about abandoning the house, Sarah felt a queasiness inside at the thought of leaving it all behind.
Detective Torres smiled wanly, then placed the crumpled bag into his pocket.
“So where are we taking them?” Torres asked.
“To one of those extended-vacation hotels on Tropicana.”
“Those places are shitholes,” Josh said.
“No. These are pretty nice. They’re new and they have a kitchen and a laundry in their rooms. They’re like studio apartments. They even have one-, two-, and three-bedroom suites. Besides, you won’t be staying there long,” Detective Lassiter said.
“What if we stayed at the hotel where I work? I’m sure they’d give us a decent rate. They’re practically giving rooms away now that the economy is in the toilet.”
“Because if Dale McCarthy is still stalking the two of you, and we have every reason to believe that he is, then the hotel where you work would be the first place he would check.”
“Then how about the Bellagio?” Sarah asked.
“You’re joking right?” Torres said.
“Of course I’m joking. Unless you can swing it.”
Detective Lassiter laughed.
“Yeah, we’ll see what we can do. But in the meantime you need to get packed.”
Sarah and Josh walked upstairs together. Sarah looked around her house when she got to the top of the stairs.
“I know I’m supposed to hate this place now, with all that’s happened here. It does creep me out. I almost feel like the house is haunted now. Every time I look at those spots on the carpet I keep thinking about the nightmares in my head that turned out not to be nightmares and the things that were on that tape. I get nauseous just thinking about it and I feel my heart race and I want to scream. But I’d rather get rid of the carpet and throw out the mattress and paint the walls a different color than just leave. I just can’t imagine leaving this house. This is our home, Josh. How can
we let this monster chase us out of our home? How could we let a few terrible, horrible memories replace years of good memories? Besides, our credit is so fucked up we’ll never be able to buy a new house and the president is supposed to be doing something to stop the foreclosures. We need to fight for our home, Josh. We need to fight Dale. We need to fight anyone who tries to force us out of our home.”
Sarah looked at Josh and could see the indecision on his face. There was pain in his expression. Sarah could see him wrestling with the idea of staying. He had been relieved when the detectives had suggested they leave the house and Sarah had agreed. Now that she was having second thoughts about leaving, Sarah could see all the tension winding its way back into his muscles. She knew Josh wanted to forget everything that had happened in this house and she couldn’t blame him. What had happened to him threatened his entire identity, his whole sense of self. He didn’t want to be around anything that would remind him of that humiliation, and this house was the single biggest reminder. She couldn’t blame him if he wanted to burn it to the ground and piss on the ashes. But she also couldn’t allow it. She had to fight for her home.
“Okay, baby. We’ll make it work somehow. We’ll figure something out.”
They walked into the bedroom and that overpowering smell made Sarah’s stomach churn. The odor of death and decay had gotten worse since the night before. There was a fly in the room. Sarah didn’t know how it had gotten in but she knew that it was just a matter of time now before the bed would be full of maggots. Josh pinched his nose and turned to look at her with a grimace on his face.
“You sure you still want to live here?”
“We need to get rid of that mattress. It will be okay. This is our home.”
“Okay. If you’re sure, then I’m sure.”
They pulled two suitcases out of the closet and began to pack. Sarah threw in her running shoes and some workout gear along with four changes of clothes. She didn’t know how long they would be at the hotel but if it was longer than four days, then she’d have to come back and get more clothes. She looked at Josh’s ice skates tucked in the corner and his hockey jersey hanging above it. She had been upset at not being able to run and here Josh hadn’t been on the ice in over two weeks and he hadn’t said a word. Sarah looked over at Josh and felt a pang of guilt. When all of this was over she had to make sure to give him more time for himself. Brawling with some bartender on the ice was just the sort of thing Josh needed to restore his manhood. Though murdering Dale with his bare hands would have probably been more effective. Sarah really hoped that could be arranged.
Sarah, her husband, and Detective Harry Malcovich sat in the waiting room of the hospital. Waiting for someone to swab their orifices for traces of semen and check them for tearing and bruising. Sarah studied Harry’s face. He looked more than embarrassed. He looked enraged.
One by one they were called into the room to see the nurse. Detective Lassiter was there, along with a rape crisis counselor. They walked Sarah into the examination room. Sarah disrobed and the detective helped her into her hospital gown.
The nurse busied herself preparing the rape kit while Trina Lassiter and the counselor tried their best to keep Sarah calm and relaxed. Sarah did not feel anxious at all. She felt numb. This was her second rape kit in a matter of days and she had no idea how many times Dale had actually raped her. At least three times that she knew about and probably closer to five or more. Sarah wondered if the numbness she was feeling was what sex slaves felt like after being raped by one john after another, day after day after day. Thinking about herself in terms of a sex slave made her feel even worse.
“My name is Karen Burns. I’m going to give you my card so we can talk later. Right now I’m just here to answer any questions you might have and to help the
detective and the nurse guide you through this process. I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal but we are here to help.”
The rape counselor was a young blonde woman in her twenties who looked like she was fresh out of college and dressed very conservatively in a plain white shirt and a long blue skirt that came almost to her ankles. Her hair was pulled back in a bun. Sarah guessed that the woman was probably Mormon. There were a lot of Mormons who worked in the hospitals in Las Vegas for some reason. Most of them were volunteers but an almost equal number were health-care professionals.
The counselor spoke calmly to Sarah, explaining everything that was about to happen. Sarah wondered if this woman had ever been raped. She doubted it but it wouldn’t have surprised her either. There had to be some reason a woman like her went into a profession like this.
“Just relax. The nurse needs to take a couple samples from your rectum and your uterus. It might be a little uncomfortable but it will be over quickly. Detective Lassiter and I will be right here holding your hands.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Sarah said, borrowing a phrase from Harry. “I was just here last week.”
“Oh,” the counselor said and looked over at Detective Lassiter. She looked back over at Sarah with a different, somewhat less sympathetic expression on her face.
“She’s not a prostitute, Counselor. She’s just had one very tough week,” the detective offered by way of an explanation.
The woman was clearly confused and more than a
little shocked. Sarah supposed it was shocking. But given everything else she’d seen in the last couple of days, being raped more than once in less than a week no longer felt quite so shocking, though no less degrading and humiliating. She felt no less violated than she had the first time she was here. The only difference was that now she knew what they were going to do and what they would find and she’d had time to prepare herself mentally for it. She was not going to allow herself to break down in tears again, though now would have probably been the appropriate time to do so and she certainly felt like crying, like screaming, and punching the walls. She just didn’t know if she’d ever be able to pull herself back together again if she allowed herself to fall apart now. The counselor was still looking at Sarah skeptically and somewhat judgmentally. Sarah could see all the questions on the woman’s face. She felt like telling the young counselor that she’d been murdered perhaps half a dozen times as well.
“How many rape victims do you see in here every day?”
“It’s hard to say. We see a lot of prostitutes and victims of domestic violence who we would classify as date rapes. Often, those are even more violent than the assaults from strangers. But on average I see about two or three a day.”
“Two or three a day?”
The woman nodded.
“And I’m just one counselor.”
Sarah didn’t know why she found that so surprising. Rape was one of those things she had never thought much about until she’d woken up screaming a week ago. Sarah wondered why the counselor was even there
and where she’d been last week when it was just Detective Lassiter and the nurse.
“Aren’t you a rape counselor, Trina?” Sarah asked the detective.
“I’m a victims’ advocate. It’s slightly different. A lot less training.”
“So where was the counselor last week?”
“NASCAR was in town last week along with about a hundred thousand fans. It was a busy week for rape counselors.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, as if it should have been common knowledge that the incidents of rapes increased during sporting events. Sarah supposed that it should have been obvious. But that was just not ordinarily something you thought about.
The nurse busied herself lubing her rubbergloved fingers so that she could slide them more easily into Sarah’s vagina to get the sample. Detective Lassiter sprayed her with something she called luminol and scanned her with a UV light. There were glowing splotches all over Sarah’s breasts. She didn’t bother to ask what the splotches were. She was pretty certain she knew.
After the nurse had finished taking her swabs and Trina was done photographing every square inch of her, Sarah wiped herself with wet disposable towels that reminded her of baby wipes, then dressed and walked out into the waiting room. She met her husband’s eyes as he was called into the room. He was a wreck. She reached out for his hand and squeezed it. Then she pulled him close and kissed him.
“I love you, Josh.”
“I-I love you too,” Josh stammered back. He looked so frightened that it was breaking Sarah’s heart. As big
as he was she still felt like it was her job to protect him. He was fragile in so many ways.
Sarah felt terrible for her husband. She could think of very few worse things that could happen to a man like Josh than being raped by another man. She wished she could have gone into the exam room with him but knew that would have been too humiliating for him. His pride would have never allowed it. She hoped they would find nothing, for the sake of his sanity. She hoped he hadn’t been violated again.
Detective Harry Malcovich was sitting with Detective Torres. They were watching TV and Torres was flicking the strap on his gun holster on and off as if he were just itching to pull his weapon. Sarah came and sat with them. She could tell that Harry was dealing with the whole thing no better than Josh was. He looked up at her and manufactured a smile for her. It looked every bit as artificial as it was. His eyes were haunted, swimming with dark shadows.
“Did everything go okay? You okay?” he asked.
Sarah shrugged.
“As good as I can be I guess.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah. This will all be over soon. If this wasn’t personal before, it damn sure is now. And if they find that that sick fuck touched me anywhere I’m going to hurt him as much as I possibly can before I blow his fucking head off. Fuck prison and fuck this badge. If they want it they can have it but I’m going to kill that pervert. You can bet on that.”
“And don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Detective Torres said. “This weird-ass case is taking up too much of my damn time. I’m starting to dream about that little motherfucker myself.”
“What kind of dreams?” Sarah asked, showing more interest than she’d intended.
“Not
those
kind of dreams. No offense to either of you but ain’t nobody raping me no time soon. Just thinking about it makes me want to eat my pistol.”
“Will you shut the hell up you insensitive son of a bitch. Sarah has been raped and she doesn’t need you sitting there talking about how you’d kill yourself if it happened to you. I don’t need that shit either. I don’t know what that twisted nutcase might have done to me. I don’t even want to think about it until and unless I have to. So, just be quiet would you? Thank you.”
Harry leaned his head back, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
“Ay, look Harry, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Skip it. I know you didn’t mean it, you ignorant bastard. Just watch it. I won’t launch a complaint against you for that kind of shit but someone else might. Sarah is a victim of something no one should ever have to go through and it’s our job to try to make her feel safer, not to make her even more depressed.”