Lisa Unger - Fragile

“I got in touch with him because I didn’t know who else to ask. I cared about Rick too much to ask him to help me.” She cast Maggie a sheepish look. “I know I hurt him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not about that right now, Charlene,” Maggie said. She gave the girl a smile. “Right now, it’s about helping you sort out what happened to you, so you can deal with it and move on in a healthy way. Your relationship with Rick is your business. Okay?”

Charlene sighed, as if releasing some tension she’d been holding. “Okay. Thanks.”

She sat for a second, looked down at her nails. Then she went on.

“I fell asleep in the car. I was so tired. I’d already been sick to my stomach by the side of the road. When I woke up, it was so dark. And we weren’t on the highway anymore. I didn’t know where we were.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked out the window. “Is Rick here?”

“No. He’s at the hospital with his grandmother.”

Charlene leaned forward and picked up a crystal lotus flower that sat on the end table. She held it to the light and watched the rainbow flecks that hit the far wall. She turned it back and forth so that they danced over the shelves of books, the wall of family pictures and Ricky’s crayon drawings, the wood door that led to the waiting area.

“He said he wanted to show me something,” she said, still turning the piece in her hand. “I was really afraid all of a sudden. No one knew where I was, and I realized that I didn’t really know that much about Marshall. But I decided to pretend like I was curious, to play it off. I figured I’d wait and watch for an opportunity to run if things got weird.”

Maggie noticed that the delicate features of her face looked strained and pale, her eyes shining. She gave the girl the respect of silence.

“It’s fuzzy.” Charlene put the lotus flower down, rubbed the back of her head. “He hit me from behind, I think. The doctor said I have a concussion, that my memory might be murky for a while, maybe always about this. But I think he hit me from behind with something. The next thing I remember was being on the filthy, smelly boat. I woke up in the dark, tied and gagged.”

Maggie went to get a box of tissues from her desk and handed it to Charlene, who had abandoned her tough façade and started to cry.

“Sometimes he would just sit there, staring at me.”

More silence. Maggie heard her computer ping, announcing the arrival of an e-mail.

“He never touched me,” Charlene said. She paused to wipe her eyes and nose. “I mean, after he hit me and tied me up. He just wanted to talk about the stuff I told you, and whether he was a good person or a bad person, and how did we know those kinds of things. But he didn’t want me to answer him. He only took the tape off once to give me some water, and that time he wanted me to sing.

“Then he’d leave me down there for long stretches. He never brought me food.”

She put her head in her hands, and her shoulders started to shake.

Maggie abandoned her professionalism and joined Charlene on the couch, took her thin form into her arms and held her while she sobbed.

“I felt so scared.” The words came out in a kind of wail into Maggie’s shoulder. Charlene was healthier than Maggie would have imagined. She had a good handle on her emotions, was not afraid to let them out. “I never knew if he’d come back or I’d just die down there.”

“I know, kiddo. You’re going to be okay,” Maggie said. She found herself rocking a little. When Charlene pulled away after a bit and her sobbing subsided, Maggie patted her on the leg and returned to her chair.

“Then his father found us,” she said. She let go of a grim little laugh. “I thought I was saved.”

“What happened?”

“He raped me,” she said. She said it flatly, matter-of-fact. “Twice. And you know what was weird? He hardly said anything. He came one night, right after Marshall left me. He must have followed Marshall out to the lake and been waiting, listening.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said. She knew she was dangerously close to crossing the line between personal and professional. She realized that she should have referred Charlene to a colleague, that she cared too much to be her doctor.

“The only thing he said was, ‘I fucked your mother, too. But you’re a sweeter piece of ass.’” Charlene began to sob in earnest.

Maggie felt a wave of anger and sadness so intense she might have channeled it directly from Charlene. But she tried to keep her composure and gave a careful nod. “Do you want to talk about how you felt while this was happening?”

Charlene looked at her; there was something injured and confused on her face.

“I don’t know. Grossed out, I guess. He was so frightening, so cold. I was freaked out that he had this connection to my mother I didn’t know about. I don’t know. It was like it was happening somewhere else, to someone else. I felt so disconnected from it. It hurt. But it hurt someone else.”

Charlene shifted on the couch, folded her legs beneath her.

“There were rats down there. They were everywhere, scurrying on the dock, on the boat. I was afraid they would crawl on me, bite me. But they stayed away.”

The mention of rats got Maggie thinking about the attic at her mother’s house. She tamped back another sick swell of fear and anger. She’d deal with all that later. She could help Charlene. She couldn’t help Sarah.

“The second time he raped me, Marshall was there.”

Maggie thought about Marshall’s phone call, tried to figure out the timing. He’d already had Charlene. Where had he been calling from? She didn’t suppose it mattered now.

“Marshall was there when his father walked in. I remember hearing something just before. A loud bang. But I was so out of it by then, just numb. Starving, so thirsty, in pain-but in this really distant way.”

She was starting to get a glassy look. Maggie got up and took a small plastic bottle of water from the little fridge she had by the coffeemaker. She opened the lid, and Charlene took the bottle from her, drank nearly half of it in one gulp, as though she were still dying of thirst.

“He said something like, ‘Let me show you what they’re good for, Son.’ But then Marshall had a gun. I saw it, but his father didn’t. He was already… at me. I didn’t even have the strength to fight.

“Then Marshall started firing. God, I never knew how loud gunfire was. It was awful. I don’t know how he didn’t hit something, but his father ran past him. Marshall turned to fire at him again, but the old man was there instead. Marshall shot his grandfather. Got him right in the chest. I remember that Marshall started wailing and wailing. And then he just walked off.”

She shook her head at the memory, as if she were trying to knock the pieces into place. “It’s like it all happened on a show I saw, a bad picture.”

“Just take your time with it. The mind distances itself from horror. It’s a survival mechanism.”

Charlene took another long sip of water.

“The next thing I remember is Mr. Cooper. He was hurt, too. But he saved me. I always thought he hated me.”

Maggie smiled. “He never hated you. He’s-he’s a difficult man to understand sometimes.”

“Well,” she said. “Tell him thanks for me.”

“I will. Or you can tell him yourself.”

Then, “What’s going to happen to Marshall?”

Maggie shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

She knew he’d face charges: kidnapping, manslaughter, illegal firearms possession-these were all on the table. He needed a lawyer, that much was certain. She didn’t know if he’d be charged as an adult or a minor. Maggie was certain that her evaluation of his condition would have some impact.