Vincent Zandri - The remains

“Something bad has happened to Robyn,” I explained. “I have to go.”

“You get your stuff together,” Michael said. “I’ll wait for you out in the truck.”

He took me by surprise. There had been a time in our lives when no emergency, big or small, would have kept him from his daily word quota. As he gathered his jacket and beret and headed out the front door to his pickup, I had to ask myself, who is this man?

Acting on instinct, I picked up Franny’s ‘Smell’ painting from up off the floor, tucked it under my arm, and exited the apartment by way of the back door.

The Albany Medical Center ICU was brightly lit. It was filled with doctors and nurses competing for floor space with the portable gurneys, monitors, hand carts, wheeled IV units, desks, counters and chairs.

The nurse at the counter pointed Michael and I in Robyn’s direction. Like all the beds in the unit, hers was hidden behind a sea blue curtain. From beneath the curtain I could make out June’s sneaker-covered feet, and the tattered cuffs on her gray slacks. The feet were planted stone still and unnaturally on the vinyl tiled floor. A gauze bandage had been tossed on the floor not two or three inches from her feet. The bandage was stained with blood.

My heart was pounding so fast I was having trouble keeping my balance. Michael took hold of my arm. I reached out for the curtain. But I wasn’t sure if I possessed the strength to pull it aside.

“Rebecca,” Michael whispered.

“It’s okay.” I swallowed. I slid back the curtain.

Her face was swelled and bruised, her eyes puffed up and closed shut; her lips bruised and blistered. I didn’t dare look for any missing teeth.

Robyn’s beautiful face.

It came as a relief that she’d been sedated. What in God’s name would I say to her? What could I say?

A clear plastic tube had been run up her left nostril. Her left arm and hand were positioned atop the bed beside her, palm up. An intravenous line was needled into her vein. Hooked to the hospital bed’s plastic railing, a translucent plastic bag collected the catheter drippings.

Robyn’s mother hadn’t shifted her gaze from her daughter’s face when I pulled back the curtain. But somehow, she knew it was me.

Michael slid his hand down from my arm to my hand. He held it tight, his warmth doing nothing to quell the coldness in my palm. Together we stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the bed.

“She called me just before she left,” June said, her words meant for me, but her eyes still locked on Robyn’s. “It must have been her third blind date in a row.” She shook her head bitterly. “I warned her, told her she was seeing too many men; too many strangers; that it would all catch up with her one day.”

I recalled Robyn bragging about a stockbroker. But now I knew she’d been lying. That she’d been seeing more men than just the stockbroker. That she’d been playing with Match. com like it was some kind of game that didn’t involve real people; real strangers.

The tall, brown-haired, middle-aged woman sniffled, fighting back the tears as best she could. But I knew it had to be a losing battle. She inhaled and set her right hand on Robyn’s forehead, running trembling fingers down through dirty blonde hair.

Set beside the bed was a vital functions monitor. There was the steady, mechanical up-and-down green line that represented Robyn’s heart rate. It reminded me of the one that had been attached to Molly before she died.

“Early this morning,” June went on, “I was woken up by a phone call. It was the police. They’d responded to a 9-1-1 coming from the Cocoa Motel near the airport. They found my Robyn curled up on the motel room floor. She was beaten, bleeding, half unconscious… my poor Robyn.” She paused, hesitating, crying. “Two of her ribs are broken, plus one finger on her right hand. A clump of hair was pulled out of her head.” She choked on the next words. “What kind of animal does something like this, Rebecca?”

I knew full well what kind of animal did that. Why was it so hard to believe in a benevolent God but so easy to believe in the presence of real evil? Robyn was the reason; the evil things that had been done to her.

“What about the police?” I said. “Do they have any clue who could have done this?”

Michael squeezed my hand, as if I’d just asked June if the cops suspected Whalen.

She dried her eyes, turned slowly around to face Michael and me.

“Robyn was able to give a decent description before they sedated her.”

“Cops get a name?” Michael pressed.

“It’s a young man, posing as a salesman on a business trip. Makes contact over an online dating service like that computer “Match” thing, arranges a date, flies into town, wines and dines, gets the date to bed. Then he does something like this.”

She turned back to her daughter and ran an open hand over her body as if to better demonstrate her point.

“The police establish any kind of trail, June?” Michael continued probing. “Any kind of a lead on his whereabouts?”

“He’s already flown out. He’s operating under so many aliases they don’t know where to start.” Biting her lip, she looked over my shoulder at Michael. “Albany Police claim that it’s an FBI problem now. That they’ll get to him soon enough.”

“I know they will,” I whispered. But I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Soon enough…

June tried to plant a semblance of a smile on her face.

“The police said that it took some guts for Robyn to cooperate the way she did, especially with that animal still out there; that the reason this man is able to get away with so many attacks is that most of his victims are too ashamed to come forward, approach the police.”

“Or too scared.” I deduced, feeling a boulder-sized lump in my throat. Once more my eyes caught the monitor; the thin, never stopping up-and-down green line.

June stood up straight.

“Rebecca,” she said, “can I talk with you privately?”

Michael let go of my hand.

“I’ll go get some coffee,” he offered, stepping around the curtain.

After a few weighted seconds I could see that June was crying again. I went to her, put my arm around her, my eyes peeled on the ever still Robyn.

“What is it?”

“My baby,” she whispered. “My Robyn. She didn’t use protection. Rather, he…”

I knew what she was trying to say. It hit me like a sledge hammer to the stomach.

“They retrieved seminal fluid during an internal,” she explained, before bursting into tears.

Just what was Robyn thinking?

I couldn’t help but think that she had been sleeping with lots of men while using nothing to prevent pregnancy or worse, contracting some horrible STD. But then, what if this creep forced it on her before she had the chance to even speak of protection?

“Have the doctor’s run any further tests?” I begged.

At first, June said nothing. Then she set her cold wet hand on mine.

“Robyn is six weeks pregnant.”

At my urging we drove from the Albany Medical Center in the direction of the South Pearl Street precinct. We might have been riding in silence but my thoughts screamed at me. My mind kept shifting from the horror of Robyn’s rape to the shock of her pregnancy. Was it possible that she had no idea about it? I’d never before been pregnant. But I did know that by the time six weeks went by you had to be suspecting something. Your body went through changes. Your inner voice spoke to you. I could only wonder just who the father was? The stockbroker? Or someone she met weeks before him? I wasn’t entirely sure of the timeline or the course of events in Robyn’s dangerous love life.