J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

Without waiting for a response, she pulled a tablet from her shoulder bag and waved her hand over it. The tablet chimed and a green light started flashing across its top.

“May I have your identity, please?” she asked sweetly. Again, not waiting for Jen to answer, she brought the tablet down to Jen’s hand, causing it to chime again as it recorded her identity code.

“Ah, excellent. Jennifer Lynn Bradford-Costa, born January 24, 1993?” Gloria read as she looked up questioningly at Jennifer. Jen nodded and replied, “Yes.”

“Good, now the doctor told me that your co-worker found you and brought you into the clinic…”

“Clinic?” Jen interrupted. “I’m at work?”

“Mister… ah, Hamilton found you in the parking lot and carried you in when he got off shift this morning.”

“Hamilton?”

“Joseph Hamilton, the security guard,” Gloria explained, trying to continue with the session script that was flashing on her tablet.

“Joe?” An image of the security guard closing the door to the clinic behind him flashed across Jen’s mind.

“You’re pretty badly beaten up,” Gloria patted Jen’s hand. “Let’s talk about your husband.”

“Mark?”

“Ms. Bradford-Costa, I know how hard it is to talk about something so personal, but we know that most violence like this comes from those closest to the victim.”

“No!” Jen said forcefully, ignoring the pain that washed across her middle. “It wasn’t Mark!”

“An accident, then? Someone hit you with their car?”

“Someone grabbed me. They hit me, and they… they…” Jen let the words fall from her bruised lips, then whispered, “They raped me.”

“They?”

“There was more than one of them. I didn’t see them, but one of them swore at me in Spanish when I hit him.”

Gloria’s expression changed from mildly gentle to studiously neutral at Jennifer’s words. “Spanish?”

“Yes!” Jen said, her voice becoming hoarse. “Ask Joe. He saw it happen!”

“Mister Hamilton?”

“Yes!”

“So, you’re accusing members of an oppressed community of attacking you, and a member of another community of failing to help you, even though he’s the one who brought you here for help?” The investigator’s lips drew into a thin, red line of waxy lipstick as she considered the woman lying on the gurney next to her.

Their conversation was cut off as the door behind Gloria slid open and Ramon swept into the room. He nodded nervously to the woman in the brown suit, but then smiled radiantly at Jennifer.

“Jen, querida ! You’re awake!” he said in his ever-cheerful tone. He and Jennifer had worked together for her first year at the clinic before Ramon was promoted to supervise the night shift.

“Hey, darlin’!” Jen said tiredly. Her accent came out as she spoke with her friend. “You’re still here?”

“Well, somebody’s gotta keep this place running while they bandage you up!” He quickly took Jennifer’s vitals and noted them on the tablet he carried on a chain attached to his waist. Gloria watched their interaction while she tapped something out on her own computer.

“Now, you relax for a bit,” Ramon gently touched her arm with the tips of his soft fingers. “I’ll be back when the doctor’s done with your discharge paperwork.”

Jen nodded painfully as Ramon closed the door behind him. Her neck ached as she turned to face the social worker again.

Gloria regarded her coolly for a moment, then shook her head. “I should have known.”

“Known what?” Jen asked. Her throat had dried out, but she could not move her arm to reach for the cup, and the social worker made no move to retrieve it for her.

“Typical.” Gloria sniffed dismissively and stepped closer to Jen. “White woman accuses a brown man of attacking her.”

Jen tried to swallow, but the feeling of crushed glass at the back of her throat prevented it. “There are cameras everywhere out there!” she croaked. “They’ll show you I’m telling the truth!”

Gloria bit her lower lip and shook her head.

“Environmental Services had to disconnect the power to those appliances to conserve energy. There’s no record of anything so far from the building,” she replied.

“But I…”

The social worker ignored Jennifer. She picked up her tablet and selected something with the tip of her manicured finger.

“It may seem inconvenient to the outsider, but now that I know what you did, it all makes sense,” she said in an icy tone. “I’ve read the doctor’s report from last night, and there’s nothing about sexual assault in it.”

“But…”

“And I’ve spoken to Mister Hamilton. He says that he found you and brought you here, and he didn’t say a word about seeing anyone else in the parking lot last night.”

“I…”

“And I’ve listened to your racist hysterics long enough!” Gloria shouted, slamming her pale hand down on the table next to the gurney. She glared at Jennifer as she raised her tablet to eye level so that she could see both it and Jennifer. “I know what you are!”

Jen could only gape at her in shock as the social worker began to read.

“Jennifer Lynn Bradford-Costa, born January 24, 1993, in Birmingham, Alabama.” Gloria worked a derisive twang into her voice as she read those last words.

“Resident of Cali since 1997. Graduate of Cal State Sacramento in 2017, with a bachelor’s degree in nursing.” She looked up from her pad and gave Jennifer a saccharine smile. “How nice.”

Jennifer could only stare at her in silence as the social worker continued.

“Married to Mark Junipero Costa, Cali native from Fresno, in 2019. He works in the Cali Ministry of Technology here in Sacramento. No children.” She looked up from the tablet and tilted her head questioningly.

Jennifer nodded slightly, feeling the tendons in her neck protest at the movement.

“No criminal history, although you’ve been warned by the CHP for speeding a few times. Oh, and there haven’t been any serious health issues reported to CalHealth, although there is a note here that you resisted implantation of your identity chip last year.”

She looked up and smiled coldly at Jen. “Sounds wonderful. But now we get to who the real Jennifer is, don’t we?” Her mouth turned up cruelly as she started reading again. “You didn’t take part in the Resistance prior to separation from the United States. In fact, according to this, you actively argued against it, both with your co-workers and on social media.”

“I’m not political,” Jen protested. “I only…”

“Neither you, nor your husband, have turned in any documents linking you to the government of the United States, even though we know you honeymooned in Japan, so you must have a passport.”

“But…”

“You maintain regular contact with counter-progressive elements, both here and in the United States, and have repeatedly expressed a desire to rejoin your parents back in good old Alabama.” Again, she forced a derisive twang into the words.

“What does that have to do with me being raped?” Jen cried out. She could feel hot tears running down the side of her face. Gloria ignored her question and looked over the green blinking light of her tablet to glare at Jennifer.

“And now you accuse members of our community of not only sexually assaulting you, but also accuse the oppressed worker who helped you of ignoring your so-called assault!” Gloria hissed as she lay her tablet on the end of the gurney.

“Yes,” Jennifer sobbed. Pain stabbed through the center of her head as she screamed the rest of her answer, “They raped me!” More tears streaked her bruised cheeks.

The social workers’ lip curled back on her too-white teeth as she shook her head in disgust.