Faye Kellerman: The Ritual Bath

“It was stupid for her to go there, Marge. She knew I hadn’t written him off as a suspect.” He pounded the wheel. “Fuck!”

“Take it easy, Pete,” Marge said, thinking he was due for some vacation time. “He’s walked her home safely before. There’s no reason to think that this time is going to be any different.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me concentrate on my driving.”

He was angry at himself. He should have told Sarah right away to send Zvi down to the mikvah, to wait there until he arrived. He shouldn’t have left it as an afterthought. If only Sarah hadn’t hung up. If only she hadn’t left the phone off the hook. If only he could have gotten through to someone. He floored the accelerator until the car was pushing ninety-five, rattling like a diamondback. A bump on the freeway and they were hamburger. But Marge didn’t say a thing.

Rina mopped up the last bit of water off the floor and turned off the heat. The mikvah had needed a good cleaning, and she was glad she’d decided to come.

Ruthie Zipperstein had begged her. The family car had been in the shop for a week, and she was three days past her mikvah date. Her husband, Yisroel, hadn’t been able to scrounge up an auto to take her to the other mikvah, and they were going nuts. So Ruthie had asked if she couldn’t surreptitiously help them out. Rina had agreed, provided that Yisroel would walk her home. But in the early afternoon he’d tripped and twisted his ankle. On doctor’s orders, he was forced to keep off the foot for twenty-four hours.

Rina was about to call the whole thing off until it hit her. She was being terrorized by a ghoul who not only threatened her physical safety, but held her spiritually imprisoned. She was sick of it all-sick of looking over her shoulder, of compulsively and repeatedly checking the locks on her doors and bolts on her windows, of the paranoia that was crippling her daily existence. The invisible shackles of fear had to be broken.

But she had common sense, so she worked out a feasible compromise. She’d have Peter walk them home.

He wasn’t in the first time she’d called, and she didn’t leave a message, figuring she’d just call back later. Then she began to think: Remember how it was when Yitzchak died? How dependent you were on him? How he always had taken care of everything? How you felt you’d never be able to function without him? Do you want to feel that way again? If you do, just keep running to Peter every time there’s a crisis. He’ll take care of you, too. And once again, you’ll sink back into being a helpless Hannah-the way you were as a daughter, the way you were as a wife .

Time to use your own resources.

She had called Steve Gilbert. He wasn’t home, so she had left a message on his answering machine and then called Matt. He had been nice enough to agree.

She was proud of the way she’d taken care of her own business. It was important that she break her dependence on Peter. Now she was here without his help, and that was a psychological and spiritual victory. No longer would she allow the rapist to hold her hostage. There was only one Hashem-Hakodosh Boruch Hu -and He alone was omnipotent. She would put her trust in Him, where it always should have been, and let Ruthie perform the mitzvah of mikvah. After all, wasn’t it perverse to deny a mitzvah when the very fate of one’s existence was solely in the hands of the Almighty?

She rinsed out the mop and smiled. The routine was coming back, returning order to her life. She checked her watch and flicked off the lights. Matt should be back from walking Ruthie home any minute.

She went into the reception area and dusted the table tops for the third time. Her cleaning was mindless, and she knew it. The place was as sterile as an operating room. Triumphantly, she put down the dust rag and sat down to wait for Matt.

But the silence had become eerie-palpable. She tried not to think about it. The room was sweltering because she hadn’t bothered to turn on the air conditioner. Sudden anxiety flowed through her veins and nervous energy propelled her upright. Her hands had taken on a slight tremble, her legs felt weak.

She hoped Matt would be back soon.

Opening the linen closet, she began compulsively to rearrange the towels, then stopped. She had ten minutes to go before ten. At least she’d left Peter’s number with Sarah. If worst came to worst, she’d just turn out the lights and wait for him in the dark.

Finally, there were footsteps and a gentle rap at the door.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s Matt, Rina.”

She unbolted the lock and let him in.

“I was getting a little worried,” she told him.

Hawthorne smiled.

“I ran into one of the kids on the way back here. You know these boys. Once they start talking sports, there’s no stopping them. Sorry I’m late. Are you all done?”

“I’m waiting for the timer to go off in the dryer. Do you mind staying an extra minute?”

“No. Not at all.” Hawthorne glanced around. “So this is the inner sanctum. I’ve always wanted to sneak inside a convent.”

Rina smiled uneasily.

“I could see where this would be an easy target for a rapist,” he said more to himself than to her.

The hell with the towels.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“What about the towels?”

“I just remembered that Sarah Adler is expecting me momentarily. If I don’t get there soon, she’s been instructed to call the police.”

Hawthorne looked perturbed.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Just in case, Matt. It was for your protection as well as mine-”

“I don’t need protection.”

“I’m sure you don’t-”

“You do trust me, Rina, don’t you?”

“Of course!” she exclaimed, too adamantly. “Why would I have called you if I didn’t trust you implicitly?”

Hawthorne’s eye began to spasm. He ran his hands through his mop of thick curls and looked at her.

“We’d better go,” he said coldly.

She turned off the lights and locked the door behind them.

“I’m kind of offended,” he said when they were outside.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Jesus. First, that redheaded giant gets on my case, and now you’re giving me spooky looks. Do I look like a rapist?”

She stared at him, feeling suddenly light-headed.

“Matthew, please understand what I’ve been going through. I meant no offense to you at all.”

The man’s eye twitched again, then he lowered his head.

“It just burns me, Rina, that this creep has all the women here suspecting everything in pants. But I guess it’s natural. It must be tough to be a woman, huh?”

She nodded and walked a couple of steps.

“Wait a second,” Hawthorne said, bending over.

“What is it?” Rina asked nervously.

“I dropped my watch. Damn it, the wrist band keeps coming loose.”

Hawthorne hunted around in the dark.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“Nah, found it.” He stood up, brushed specks of dirt from the digital face, and put the timepiece to his ear.

“It’s still working.”

“That’s good,” Rina answered, starting to get shaky. She walked a couple of more steps, then felt a firm tug on her arm. Instinctively, she yanked away.

“Take it easy, Rina,” Matt said softly. “I didn’t mean anything. I think I heard something.”

Her heart was pounding, and she listened carefully.

“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered rapidly.

“Yeah, well I know I heard something,” he said firmly.

“What do you want to do?” She forced out the words.

“I don’t know…Uh, wait here. I’ll see if I can’t scare whatever it is off.”

“Matt, I don’t know.”