Page 4 of Drawn Together

I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around it.

“The police would like to speak with you. There are two officers outside. They’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

My father left the room and came back with the two officers. I sat up, nervous, as they started asking me questions. My father kept his eyes on me the entire time. I had never seen him so worried in my life.

“I don’t remember anything,” I said, feeling my mouth go dry and my palms begin to sweat. “All I remember is the moment they grabbed me…”

“You didn’t regain consciousness at any point?” one of the officers asked.

I shook my head, racking my brain, but nothing.

“Anything you might be able to tell us would be a big help, Miss Cortés.”

I looked nervously to my father, and then at the nurse. “I’m sorry…” I said in a trembling voice.

My father took a step toward me, staring straight into my eyes. “Is there any possibility that they did anything to you?”

My lip began to quiver, and I bit it, trying to control the terror coursing through my body. I didn’t want to think about that possibility, horrified at knowing I’d lost all sense of what was going on around me, that I could’ve been in the hands of murderers or rapists… Anything could’ve happened.

“Answer.”

I looked up from the bed and met my father’s gaze, frightened. “I don’t remember anything…” I said again, hating the fact that I had no idea what might’ve happened to me.

“I want you to give her a complete examination right now. Whatever you’ve done before, I want it done again.”

The police looked at my father, and then at me. They seemed uncomfortable, as if the notion that someone might’ve sexually assaulted me scared them as much as it did me.

“I’ll leave my card—anything you remember, as insignificant as it might seem, don’t hesitate to call and notify us down at the station,” one of the officers asked.

I nodded without speaking, fearing that my voice might break if I tried.

Once the officers left, the nurse asked me if I thought I could walk, clearly taking my father’s request seriously. Standing without any pain, I felt somewhat relieved. If I had been sexually assaulted, I would surely feel something, as minimal as it might be, but that wasn’t the case. I followed the nurse to a gynecological examination table, where she asked me to putmy feet in the stirrups. I made an effort not to cry, wishing this nightmare would end.

“We need to check for traces of… any bodily fluid. There were no exterior signs that would indicate sexual assault, but before we proceed, we need to make sure you’re okay with this. Even if your father insists, you’re over the legal age, so the consent must come from you.…” the doctor explained kindly as she examined me.

I understood that my father would want to double-check. It was important for me, as well, to rule out the things I imagined could have happened to me.

“The examination did not reveal any visible physical injuries or foreign DNA,” she assured me. “We got your bloodwork back and the results of the HIV test.”

AIDS? I opened my eyes wide in terror, but the doctor smiled reassuringly.

“Not AIDS, HIV. But don’t worry, we just had to check, it’s standard procedure. I know this was a scary, horrible experience, but you’re perfectly fine. You can rest easy now.”

I nodded, and after a while, a nurse brought me clothes so that I could change out of the hospital gown. I wanted to go home and forget any of this had ever happened.

Once discharged, Peter Vertes, my father’s driver, was waiting for us outside the hospital to take us home. My father rode up front in the passenger’s seat, talking on the phone the whole way as I tried to process the fact that, just three days ago, my biggest concern had been a microeconomics exam.

I couldn’t help but glance around nervously when I stepped out of the car and walked up the stairs to the huge white mansion where I’d grown up. Lupita, who had practically raised me from the time I was a baby, came out to greet me with tears in her eyes. She hugged me tightly, and I returned the embrace, holding back my own tears.

“Miss Marfil!” she said, wiping her face with her apron. “You have no idea how worried about you we all were.”

“I’m fine, Lupita; I’m home now,” I said, trying to put her mind at ease but equally happy to find myself safe inside those walls.

“I’ll make you something warm for dinner, okay? You go take a shower, baby.”

My father had disappeared down the hallway, cell phone glued to his ear, wearing a face that said he wasn’t to be interrupted. I was grateful that he was trying so hard to find out why the hell someone had kidnapped me without asking for anything in exchange.

As I stood under the shower, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over yet. Something told me that the kidnapping had merely been a warning to my father. But to warn him of what? It was no secret that my father had a lot of money, which was why it made no sense that they hadn’t asked for ransom. Why else would someone kidnap the daughter of Alejandro Cortés?