Are You in the House Alone? (11 page)

“Don’t you worry, Angie. I’m here to protect you. You too, Missy.” I whispered to keep from waking them. I don’t know how long I sat on Angie’s bed, looking back and forth from her to Missy. And then I knew I wasn’t going to make it through the evening.

I ran out of the room, down the stairs, and began rummaging in the drawer of the telephone table. The scrap of paper with the Previously Marrieds Club number was at the bottom. I lifted the receiver, and tried to dial, hoping I could page Mrs. Montgomery. My finger skipped out of the dial, and I started over. The chimes on the front door rang then. I heard a scuffling sound outside, someone wiping his feet on the welcome mat.

“Steve!”
I dropped the phone and ran across to the front door. The chain lock jammed, then loosened, then jammed again. Then it fell free, and I threw the door open.

But it wasn’t Steve. No, the time was all wrong. It couldn’t have been Steve.

I know now how stupid it was to throw that door open. But it already seemed to be past midnight. Steve might have come back from Norwalk. When I saw Phil Lawver instead, I was only a little surprised.

He was standing under the light with the collar of his suede jacket turned up all around. “Oh hi, Gail,” he said in his usual drawl. “Listen, is Alison here?”

“No, is she supposed to be?”

“Well, that’s just it,” he said. “I don’t know. I can’t figure out where she is, and I don’t like her roaming around after dark. Anything could happen. Can I use your phone to call and see if she’s home?”

I pointed out the phone to him and walked into the living room, thinking that at least the phone couldn’t ring for the next minute or so. I was standing on the hearth rug, checking the time on the mantel clock—it was nearly midnight—when I heard the voice again.

The same shrill sexless voice, ringing like a bell. But it was there in the room with me.

“ARE YOU IN THE HOUSE ALONE?”

It ended in a kind of giggle.

I whirled around, and Phil was standing in the archway. His hands were stuck in the back pockets of his cords, and he’d dropped his jacket on the floor. He was the picture of coolness, and grinning, which was a rare thing for him.

“Had you fooled, didn’t I, Gail? The sound was probably even weirder over the phone. Wasn’t it weirder?”

“Oh, no, Phil. Has it been you, all along? That’s . . . cra—”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you. Checking you out pretty close. The phone calls just to keep in touch. And the notes. It was a lot of trouble, actually, for a cheap little—but then I guess you know what I think about you. And the hanky-panky out at the lake with Steve. That was fairly disgusting too. You’ve taken up a lot of my time, more than you’re worth, actually. Something ought to be done about girls like you, Gail. As my mother would say, you tend to lower the tone.”

“Phil, look, I think you’ve got a problem, and—”

“Don’t use the psychological approach with me, Gail. You’re more the physical type anyway, aren’t you?”

Phil Lawver was moving toward me, edging across the room as he talked, gliding around the coffee table. And there wasn’t any place for me to go, if I could have moved. I still couldn’t quite absorb it. He looked so much the way he always looked. The face crisply chiseled, the panther grace of his movements. I don’t think we’d ever really had anything to say to each other, never been in the same room alone. Till now. And he was getting closer. And it didn’t matter that I knew who he was.

“Do you?”

“What—what did you say?”

“You’re not paying attention, Gail. I said, you don’t save it all for Pastorini, do you? Be a shame if you did. He’s not worth it. He’s nothing. He doesn’t exist.”

“Phil, listen. Tell me one thing. Have you been drinking?”

“Why, no, Gail. Not a drop. I planned all along to be sober for this evening, and I am. I always knew it would be an evening, a quiet one. I’ve been very patient in my planning. I’ve been very patient with you.”

He was nearer than I knew when he lunged at me, hooking his ankle around mine. I fell flat on my back in front of the fire screen. Then he dropped down and pinned both my wrists above my head with his hands. “I’m in very good shape, Gail. It comes from clean living, which you wouldn’t know anything about. So if you struggle much, you might wish you hadn’t. Of course, if struggling turns you on, go right ahead. But I can’t be responsible. I can’t be responsible for anything.”

He pushed his face against the side of my head and whispered into my ear, “And don’t worry. I don’t want you to do anything you haven’t already done. Just look at it this way, Gail. You’ve had more experience in certain matters than I have. And this is your chance to share it.”

A voice from somewhere in my subconscious sounded then, telling me to jam my knee into his groin. I made a feeble attempt, with his full weight tense and flat against me. “Ah, no, Gail, you don’t want to try anything like that. Nothing rough. Just think of me as Pastorini. He doesn’t go in for the rough stuff, does he? Let’s both enjoy this, why not? You’ve already lost what you’ve got to lose.”

My mind was starting to withdraw from his words just as the tone of them began to get syrupy. I thought of the
kids upstairs and how screaming would scare them. I tried to remember what time it was. I thought about dying, but that was just a momentary blackness. “Alison . . . so pure . . . not like you . . . but you . . . want me? Don’t you? I could have any girl I looked at, but . . .”

My back arched when he grabbed the front of my shirt and ripped it. The buttons rattled down on the tiles in front of the fire screen. “First of all, let’s get rid of this.” He grabbed the green heart that was lying against my throat and jerked it off the chain, throwing it over his shoulder.

Both my hands were free in the moment he took to pull his sweater off over his head. But I was afraid to try and dig my nails into his face.
Go for the eyes
, that subconscious voice said again. But he’d have caught my arm before I could raise it. And anyway, I was too terrified. This was the worst, and it was happening. All his promises were coming true, and my silence had been helping him all along.

“I figured you wouldn’t have a bra on, Gail. Alison . . . Alison . . . she always has a bra on, I think. But you’re a far cry from Alison, aren’t you?”

I guess I should have kept talking, trying to make him hear. But I couldn’t think of the right words. And I knew he was long past any reasoning I could think of. He pulled my Levi’s down. I felt the floor freezing cold under me. And while he fumbled with his own belt, my hand brushed the base of the stand that held the fireplace tools, the little brass shovel and the broom and the poker.

I made a grab for it, and it fell over, crashing on the tiles. Phil flattened himself on me, and I could feel his body slick with sweat. He slammed his forearm against my throat. But without being able to see anything except
for the madness in his eyes, I felt for the handle on the poker, and my hand closed over it. “Lie still, Gail,” he said in a soft, dreamy voice, “or I’ll have to hurt you more than I’m planning to.”

I had one chance to bring the poker up and hit him in the side of the head.
I hope I kill him.
I brought it up, but it only grazed his shoulder. He was up in a sudden crouch, and I remembered the lightning moves he made on the squash court. He twisted the poker out of my hand, looked down at me, surprised, even shocked, and said, “You . . . you . . . were going to—to try . . .” The last thing I remember is the poker in Phil’s hand and the way the muscle rippled in his naked shoulder when he brought his arm back in a sportsmanlike backhand just before he swung it down at my temple.

I thought I heard a man crying first. It could have been days later. A light glared somewhere overhead, hurting my eyes. There were screens all around, separating me from a lot of rubber-soled footsteps. The place had a hospital smell. A plastic tube was sticking into my hand and snaking off somewhere. It didn’t hurt, but it looked like it ought to.

Someone was standing beside the table, holding my other hand. I thought I should say something to him. “
You’re
not crying, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” He was in a white coat like a doctor and had a rumpled, late-night face.

“What’s that tube in my hand for?”

“It’s just what we call a ‘keep-open’ I.V. in case we need to give you fluids—a standard procedure. I expect you have a headache, don’t you?”

“How did you know that?”

“Somebody hit you just over your right eyebrow, and
you’re getting a nice black eye from it. We’ve already taken skull X rays and have had to put a few stitches in. Do you feel like talking? If you do, I’ll know you’re really awake.”

Then I knew I was awake, and it wasn’t a dream. I even remembered what happened, up to a point. I even knew what I didn’t remember. “Am I in Oldfield Hospital?”

“Yes. I’m the emergency room physician. I know Dr. Cathcart takes care of your family, but I’d like to look after you if you don’t mind. And I’ll be having another doctor see you.”

“I guess that’s all right. How did I get here?”

“Well, I didn’t admit you, but there are several people in the waiting room outside. I expect your parents brought you in.”

“Oh no,” I said. I tried to shake my head, but there seemed to be a heavy stone lying on my forehead, just above my right eye. “I was at Mrs. Montgomery’s, babysitting, and I opened the door, and he came in.”

There was a space between the tall white screens, and somebody stepped in. It occurred to me then that except for some kind of extra-short hospital gown, I felt naked under the sheet. The emergency room doctor—What was his name? Had we been introduced? Dr. X, I presume—Dr. X laid my hand down gently on the edge of the table and said something quietly to the man who’d come in. Something to do with the fact that I was lucid.

Voices mumbled, and the light over the table was dazzling. I couldn’t think about anything but my head, which felt too heavy to lift, and I wondered if this hospital dispensed aspirin.

“Is it still night?” I said, but Dr. X was gone, and the other man was standing there instead.

“Yes,” he said, “just after one. Don’t you know me, Gail? We’ve met before.” There was an image floating before my good eye. I did know who he was. I just couldn’t place him. “Dr. Reynolds. I’m a gynecologist, and I saw you before—at Planned Parenthood.”

“Oh. Yes. You’re the one with—”

“With what?”

“Cold hands.”

He smiled then. “Poor circulation. I have to give you an examination, Gail. And I need to ask you some questions as part of it. Do you feel like answering?”

“Yes.” I already felt like a lab specimen with the miraculous gift of speech. I seemed more lucid than I was. This was the moment I’d been waiting for all along. The it’s-over moment when everybody comes rushing expertly to my side to . . . do whatever experts do to solve all problems. But I hadn’t meant anything like this. Not this Marcus Welby scene. Still, I was calm. Even then maybe I knew I seemed too calm.

A nurse was standing behind Dr. Reynolds. I thought she was Mrs. Danko from
The Rookies.
She never said anything, but Dr. Reynolds was talking. “This is all strictly routine, but it may be a little uncomfortable. Afterward, though, you’ll have a good night’s sleep.”

“At home?”

“No, here. For several days, I expect.”

Mrs. Danko, or whoever she was, put my feet into the stirrups at either side of the table and pulled the sheet up until it was a green tent balancing on my knees. She took my hand then, the one without the tube in it. “Now, Gail,” Dr. Reynolds said, “you’ve had a pelvic examination before. Do you know why you’re going to have another one now?”

I didn’t want to answer, but he waited. “Yes. Because I’ve . . . been raped.”

“This examination is to determine if you’ve had recent intercourse, and if you’ve suffered any damage. I’m going to have to insert a speculum.” Something metal flashed in his hands. “I’ve had it in warm water so it’s not cold, but you may feel some discomfort, probably more than during the exam I gave you last spring.”

He began then, and I understood why the nurse was there beside me. I was clinging to her. Waves of almost-pain began. I tried not to make a sound, though when I tensed and shut my eye tight, my head began to roar and pound. “Okay, Gail, try to relax. I’m going to check your cervical lumen for traces of sperm. The lumen is the entrance to your uterus. I have to take a smear and place it on a slide to look at under the microscope. Now I’m looking at your posterior fornix. That’s a small pouch under the entrance of the uterus which I also have to check for secretions and sperm.”

After that, I could feel the speculum being removed, and I heard Dr. Reynolds snap on rubber gloves. “Now, Gail, the worst is over. This will be much easier.”

Only it wasn’t. It didn’t take very long though, or didn’t seem to. I was numb anyway, wanting to feel nothing. The nurse moved away and dealt with the glass slides. There was the rattling of a metal table on wheels. “There now,” Dr. Reynolds said, “you haven’t sustained any injuries.”

“Haven’t I?”

“I mean there was no tearing. Now I want to ask you some questions. They’re about your recent medical history. I prescribed birth control pills for you about six months ago, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“When was your last period?”

“It was . . . I’m not too clear about time.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“It was probably about two weeks ago.”

“Was it a normal period for you?”

“Yes.”

“And the period before that?”

“They’re always the same now that I’m on the pill.”

“Do you take your pills regularly?”

“Yes, most of the time.”

“Are you sure you’ve taken the pill every day since your last period?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Most of the time then?”

“Yes. Mostly out of habit.”

“Then you’ll be all right. Go on and take the pill until your cycle is complete. I’ll see that you get them while you’re here in the hospital. You aren’t going to get pregnant.”