The Atonement Child (3 page)

“There’s a disturbance at the park on Henderson Avenue, Frank. How close are you?”

“Ten blocks. I’m on my way.” Putting the speaker back, he swung the squad car in a sharp U-turn and hit his flashing red lights. Few cars were on the road at this time of night, so he didn’t use his siren. No use waking people up if it wasn’t necessary.

As he barreled down Sixteenth, he saw a white station wagon heading west. The red taillights glowed as the car pulled to the side of the road in obedience to the law. Frank never passed it. He made a sharp left onto Henderson Avenue.

Coming to a smooth stop by the park, he grabbed his heavy flashlight, made a quick call to Purdy, and got out. He surveyed the park as he came around his squad car. His heart quickened, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

Something was wrong. He was sure of it.

Adrenaline pumping, Frank glanced around and saw lights on in three houses near the park. A woman came out to stand on the front porch of one.

“Over there!” She came down the front steps in her bathrobe. “Over there near the activity center! Please hurry. Someone’s been hurt.”

“Go on back in your house, ma’am. We’ll take care of it.” Another squad car pulled up, and Frank saw Greg Townsend get out.

The woman fled up her steps and banged the screen door behind her, but she remained silhouetted in the doorway watching, her arms hugged around herself to ward off the cold.

Greg reached Frank. “See anything?”

“No, but it doesn’t feel right. Take the path over there, and I’ll come in from this side.”

“Gotcha.”

Frank knew every inch of this park like it was his own backyard. He brought his three small children here to play every Saturday afternoon so his wife could have a few hours’ respite.

There was enough light from the park lamps that he didn’t need to use the flashlight, but he kept it in his left hand anyway, his right over his gun. He saw evidence of a struggle in the snow near the sidewalk that ran the length of Henderson to the NLC campus. A little further in, he found a backpack. Just beyond it was a torn parka. He walked along the edge of the pathway cautiously, eyes sweeping, ears trained for any sound out of the ordinary.

As he neared the activity center, he heard a rustling sound in the bushes nearby. Something was scrambling frantically away, like an animal clambering for a hiding place.

Instinctively he removed the loop from his gun and pulled it free of his holster. “Police! Come out onto the walkway where we can see you.” He moved slightly, away from the light, so he wouldn’t make himself an easy target.

The rustling stopped, and he heard another sound, soft and broken. A woman sobbing.

Oh, God. Oh, God, no. Not here. Not where I bring my kids every week.

Holstering his gun, Frank went to the bushes and drew some branches back. Training his flashlight, he saw a girl huddled beneath the canopy of leaves. Flinching back, she covered her face with her arm. Her blonde hair was tangled and damp from the snow. Frank noticed the ripped waitress uniform, the bleeding scratches on her shoulder, the fresh bloodstains on her skirt.

Anger filled him. “Easy,” he said gently. Lowering the light so it wasn’t straight on her, he hunkered down. She cowered from him. “I’m Sergeant Lawson, miss. I’m here to help you.” He kept talking quietly, trying to give her a sense of safety.

She raised her head after a few minutes, her blue eyes wide and dilated. Her lower lip was split and bleeding, her right eye swollen from a blow. Drawing her knees up, she sat on the dirty snow and then, covering her head with her arms, she cried.

Compassion filled Frank, along with a sick rage. Whoever had done this should pay.

Greg approached from the other side of the park, his footsteps crunching in the hard snow. The girl’s head came up again, eyes wide and frightened. He could see the pulse hammering in her throat.

“It’s all right,” he said, sensitive to her fear. He straightened and stood aside so she could see Greg. “This is Officer Townsend, miss. He was just checking the area to see if anyone’s still around.” He looked at Greg.

Greg shook his head and looked past him to the young girl huddled in the covering of bushes. “Rape?”

“I’m afraid so. Better call an ambulance.”

“No,” the girl said brokenly, covering her face again. “No, please don’t.” Her shoulders began to shake violently.

“You need medical assistance.”

“I want to go home.”

“You’re going to be all right,” he said firmly, hunkering down again, keeping his voice calm and low. “I’m not going to leave you alone.” He glanced up at Greg. “Tell them no sirens, and lights only when they need them.”

“Done,” Greg said tightly and strode off toward the west side of the park, where they had left the squad cars.

“Come on out, ma’am. You’re safe.”

She moved, scooting a little bit closer and then stopping. Sinking back, she started to cry again, her body bent over, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rocked herself slowly, head down.

A lump lodged in Frank’s throat. She didn’t look more than eighteen. “Was it someone you knew?” He wished he didn’t have to ask questions, but every minute counted if they were going to arrest her attacker.

She shook her head slowly.

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know,” she stammered. “I never saw his face.” She tried to get up and uttered a gasp of pain. Frank reached out, but she drew back sharply, clearly not wanting to be touched. She sank down again, weeping.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

“I want to help you. I have to know your name to do it.”

“Dynah Carey. I live in the dorm. My roommate’s expecting me. Her name’s Janet, Janet Wells. It’s only two blocks. Can I go home now? Please?”

“Not yet. You need to go to the hospital first, Miss Carey. Just stay put. We’ll get help for you.” He hoped the ambulance crew had a woman with them.

They didn’t. Two men arrived with a gurney. The older man spoke with the girl and coaxed her out of her hiding place. Frank stood close by, watching the paramedic support the shivering girl as she lay down upon the gurney. They wrapped her in warm blankets, snapped the belts around her, and wheeled her along the park pathway to Henderson Avenue. She said nothing and kept her eyes tightly closed.

Frank’s mouth tightened when he saw the ambulance lights flashing. The woman who had called in the report was outside on her porch again. So were others all up and down the street. Windows were illuminated in half a dozen houses, faces peering through the curtains. Some, bolder in their curiosity, came out onto their lawns to watch what was going on. He had hoped to save the girl further embarrassment.

She was loaded quickly into the ambulance. One of the men went inside with her and closed the doors behind him. The other took the driver’s seat. They pulled away from the curb and were on their way to the hospital before Frank had reached his squad car.

Greg was waiting for him. “We patrolled the other side of the park but didn’t see anyone. No cars parked along this street or on the other side. Did she give you a description?”

“She said she never saw his face. I’ll talk to her more as soon as the doctor’s examined her.”

Dynah couldn’t stop shaking. She asked the nurse if she could shower but was told she would have to wait until after the doctor had seen her. The nurse helped her undress and don a white hospital gown. Shivering, Dynah watched the nurse put her torn, stained waitress uniform, undergarments, and shredded nylons into a large plastic bag. Her muddy snow boots were placed in another. Both bags were given to someone waiting outside the door.

Dynah’s teeth chattered, but her chill had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, which was kept at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. The shaking, the terrible cold, came from inside her. Even the blanket the nurse put around her did nothing to ward off the chill.

“I’ll get you another blanket, Miss Carey,” the nurse said and went out.

Dynah almost protested, afraid to be alone. Clutching the blanket, she sat on the edge of the examining table, wondering what she was going to wear home. The silence increased her anxiety. She wanted desperately to wash. She yearned to stand beneath a scalding spray, so she could soap and scrub every inch of her body and wash away what had happened.

Would she ever be cleansed of it? Could she wash the horror from her mind and heart? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images in her mind away. She was safe now. Or was she? Her eyes flew open. She’d thought she was safe before, but that had been an illusion, ripped away. Sitting on the examining table in the short, backless gown, she felt naked and as vulnerable as she had been in the park. Sick with fear, she looked from one end of the cubicle to the other for some avenue of escape. She wanted to go home. Home to her parents. Home to the house on Ocean Avenue. But what would her parents say? Perhaps locked in her dorm room, she would feel safer.

Someone rapped on the door, and she jumped. A doctor entered, the nurse who had taken her clothes just behind him. “I’m Dr. Kennon, Miss Carey. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said without thinking. Wasn’t that what she always said in a doctor’s office? She grimaced, her eyes tearing up, and he winced. When she spoke again, she hardly recognized her own voice. “Could I take a shower, please? I want to take a shower.”

“In a little while.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small recorder. Depressing the button, he set it on the counter to his right. “Now, let’s take a look at that eye first.” As he gently tested the bruised flesh and flashed a small light into her pupil, he told her he was recording the examination in order to help the police apprehend her attacker. He asked her if she was experiencing any dizziness. Some, she said. She was nauseated.

“Lie down, please.”

The nurse assisted her, speaking softly, encouraging her to follow the doctor’s instructions. Dynah trembled even more violently as he examined her scrapes and asked more questions. As she answered, she relived the nightmare in the park, seeing it from every angle. Some of the questions the doctor asked made her blush with embarrassment and pale in shame: Was she on birth control? When was her last menses? He wanted details about what had happened to her, details she was loath to remember, let alone speak aloud.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Everything you’re telling us will help the police.”

And who would help
her
?

God, where were You?

When the doctor told her to scoot her bottom to the end of the table and put her feet in the stirrups, she didn’t understand. The nurse, sensitive to her anguish, tried to explain as delicately as possible.

“The doctor needs to make sure you’re not injured internally, Miss Carey. And he’ll be able to collect a specimen. For evidence.”

“Evidence?” she said.

The doctor explained; revulsion filled her.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Why do I have to go through this? Haven’t I gone through enough already?

“I’m going to be sick.” She sat up quickly. The nurse held a small basin for her and stroked her back, murmuring words of sympathy. The doctor went out to give her a few minutes to recompose herself. After a while, the nurse calmed her down enough to continue, and the doctor came back.

The nurse’s eyes were filled with compassion. “It’ll be over soon, dear. Hold my hand. Squeeze if you want to.”

Dynah clutched it tightly, her body tense.

“Breathe, Miss Carey. That’s it. Try to relax.”

The doctor explained everything he was doing to her and why, but it didn’t help. The physical examination was extensive, intrusive, and painful. When he finished, he apologized and then told the nurse to cut her fingernails. More evidence. The clippings were put in another small plastic bag and labeled for the police lab. The nurse took pictures of the abrasions on her shoulder and right hip, the bruises on her thighs, her throat, and her battered face.

Spirit crushed, Dynah fell silent.

Dr. Kennon looked at her sadly and said again that he was sorry.

“You can sit up now,” the nurse said gently.

“I’ll have admissions get all the paperwork going,” Dr. Kennon said, turning toward the door.

“No!” Dynah said, heart jumping. “I want to go home!”

“I understand your feelings, but—!”

“No, you don’t! How could you?” For all his assurances of wanting to make sure she was all right, she felt degraded and reduced to just a recorded voice that would be turned over to the policeman waiting outside the door. “You don’t understand!” She covered her face and cried.

“I’d like to keep you here overnight, for observation.”

“No.” It was all she could choke out.

“We would start you immediately on estrogen therapy.”

She raised her head. “Estrogen—? Why?”

“In case conception has taken place.”

Dynah felt all the warmth drain from her. She stared at him in horror as full comprehension struck. “I might . . . I might be pregnant?”

“The chances of that are extremely small, but it’s better to take precautions.”