Jeanne Stein: The Becoming

I look over at David, too, but his expression is so solemn and sad it makes me all the more afraid. “David is right about the family thing,” I say quietly. “Now tell me what the hell happened."

I pull my eyes away from David and wait for the doctor to continue.

"You were sexually assaulted, Anna.” His voice is matter-of-fact, controlled. Now his eyes never leave my face. “You've suffered considerable trauma to the lower part of your body. Your arms are badly bruised. You've lost a lot of blood from a cut on your neck. The police think whoever did this may have tried to slash your throat. Luckily, he botched the job, but you required a transfusion. Do you want me to go on?"

My fingers are on the bandage at the side of my neck. Someone tried to rape me and cut my throat? How could there be more? I realize Dr. Avery is waiting. Numbly, I nod. “Go on."

He nods once, too, those unblinking eyes holding me captive. “Because there was evidence of penetration, we had to run pregnancy tests. They were negative. However, there are other tests that will take longer to process. We'll screen for sexually transmitted diseases, hepatitis...” A brief hesitation. “HIV."

He runs through the laundry list of horrors in a detached, mechanical way. When his voice drops away, so do his eyes, releasing me from their hold.

There must be a mistake. I sneak a look at David's face. The truth is stamped there in stark relief. “I can't remember it,” I whisper.

“Maybe that's a good thing."

David and Dr. Avery exchange a look. Then the doctor picks up a chart from the foot of the bed and moves toward the door. “I'll give you two a few minutes,” he says.

David watches until the door closes behind him. “Anna,” he says softly, “I'm so sorry."

I press the palms of my hands against my eyes, mindful now of why I'm here, but still unable to call up the how. “Tell me what happened."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

Will I ever be? “Yes."

David perches himself carefully on the edge of the bed. He picks up my left hand again and strokes it gently. “I'll tell you what I know."

David's voice is uncharacteristically hesitant as he begins. “I screwed up, Anna,” he says. “I should have recognized that Donaldson was on something in the bar. He was jumpy and unfocused, but he wasn't drinking. When he found out who I was, he seemed really interested in coming with me. We got outside, and out of the blue, he starts running. At first I thought he must have figured out why I was after him. But he never said anything, he just took off."

His voice drops, waiting, I suppose, for me to give some indication that any of this makes sense. It doesn't. I shake my head and wave a hand at him to go on.

David rubs a hand over his eyes. “I yelled at him to stop. You were at the car. He ran right at you and you stopped him. That's when he found out we were from Reese. He offered us money to let him go. Before we could cuff him, he took off again. The little shit can really run. I got him cornered, though, between two cars. He turned on me, and I swear to God, Anna, he started growling and snarling like a wild dog. I figured this guy is really whacked. He came at me. It was like a blur. He slammed into me, and I lost my balance and went down, hit my knee against a bumper. I hit my head on something, too, I guess, because the next thing I remember, I wake up and it's quiet and I have the worst headache I've ever had in my life."

He stops again and color flushes his face. “Stupid thing to say. A headache seems pretty lame compared to what—"

I hold up a hand, impatient, irritated. “Stop it, David. You were hurt, too. You couldn't help what happened to me. Just tell me what you remember next."

David pushes himself off the bed and starts pacing. “It was so dark in that lot. I figured it had to be after two, because it was quiet and most of the cars were gone. I called out to you, but there was no answer. Just about the time I got my legs back under me, I heard shouting. The bartender and some of the staff found you on their way out. Evidently, they scared Donaldson off. They said they saw a man running away, but he moved too fast for them to make an ID. They called for help."

He's stopped his pacing and is watching me now, waiting for a reaction. Trouble is, I don't know how to react. I can see the bruises, feel the pain and watch the blood flow through the tube attached to the back of my hand. But I don't remember. It's as if I'm hearing about something terrible that happened to someone close to me. Revulsion is there, and anger, but it's not personal. At least, not yet.

I do suddenly remember what David said earlier. “This happened twenty-four hours ago. You told me I've been sedated because of something that happened in the ambulance. What did I do?"

The beginnings of a smile tweak the corners of David's mouth before he stops it and his expression grows still and serious again.

“You gave the paramedics quite a turn. You were unconscious until those ambulance doors shut and then you went ballistic. You started right in swinging, almost broke the jaw of one of the attendants. I had to help them subdue you. You were really out of it, ranting about wild animals and being bitten. Dr. Avery says it was a reaction to the neck wound and the viciousness of Donaldson's attack, but he didn't want to take the chance that it might happen again. He kept you well sedated until he could bring you out of it gradually. Like he did this morning."

This morning. A wave of weariness washes over me and I close my eyes. I feel David shift at my side and look up to find him bending close, his face a marble effigy of concern. I try to smile but the muscles of my own face are frozen. The best I can do is grimace, which makes the muscles along David's jaw clench even tighter in distress. He grabs my hand again and squeezes.

"Anna, what's wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor back?"

"Probably.” I glance down. “I may need him to set the bones you're breaking in my hand."

He releases the death grip. “Sorry."

I've known my partner a long time and we've found ourselves in some tough situations, but I've never seen him scared before. It's disconcerting, especially since I know I should be feeling worse than he does.

Why don't I?

Is it just the memory loss? Am I in shock?

I draw a deep breath, hold it, and then blow it out. “David, it's all right. I'm going to be just fine. You've spoken to the police, haven't you? What did they say? Did they catch up with Donaldson?"

He shakes his head and pulls at the neck brace in irritation. “No. Donaldson is still on the loose. But they'll get him, and when they do, he won't be able to deny he attacked you. They got blood and hair samples from the car. Tissue samples from under your fingernails."

I get a flash of a lab technician somewhere opening a box with my name on it and withdrawing sealed envelopes with swabs and scrapings. Proof of what Donaldson did to me. Then I drag myself back to listen as David drones on.

"Seminal fluid, vaginal secretions—” David suddenly seems to realize what he's describing evidence of a rape—and he stops short.

“Anyway,” he says after a long moment. “As soon as you feel up to it, they'll want your statement."

"And with any luck,” a voice from the doorway interjects, “you will be able to give that statement very soon now."

Dr. Avery is back in the room. He joins David at my bedside. I notice for the first time the tiny laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and the touches of humor around his mouth as he smiles down at me.

A smile that warms me.

"Your blood work is just about finished, Anna,” he says. “If you feel up to it, I see no reason why you can't be released early this evening.” He looks at David. “I assume you'll be able to take her home?"