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Downstairs, I ignore the sympathetic glances the staff gives me. I’m sure they know what happened, or at least the gist. I never thought in a million years that I would be that person. The one people look at, thinking,oh, that’s sad.
The police station is busy, reminding me of a TV show. I tell a woman who I’m there to see, and she ushers me down a hallway to an office with a messy desk. An older man works on a computer and doesn’t notice I’m there until I clear my throat.
“You must be Ms. Perrault. I’m Detective Morris.”
I shake his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Please, have a seat.”
I brush some crumbs from the weathered leather chair before sitting. He rummages through a pile of folders on his desk, finally finding mine. It’s crazy to think that this is all I am to him—a folder in a never-ending stack. Are they all sexual assaults? The thought has me shifting in my seat.
“I understand an occurrence happened last night,” he says after skimming the file. “And that you left the hospital without speaking to an officer.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Nothing like that. We just like to speak to the victim while the incident is fresh in their minds.”
Two words stand out, making me feel dizzy.Victimandincident. That’s what last night boils down to. There was an incident and now I’m a victim.
He pulls out a tape recorder. “I’m going to record your statement. Once Mr. Weigner is brought in, we’ll get his statement, too.”
It hits me just then. I didn’t even know Al’s last name. My breath solidifies in my throat, and I fear I’m going to have a panic attack. Detective Morris doesn’t seem to notice, and presses play.
“Now, Ms. Perrault, can you tell me what happened last night?”
Al’s threats replay in my head, but I shove them aside and tell the detective everything that happened. I even mention Al’s parting words, saying that I’m worried he’ll come after me when he finds out that I’m at the police station. The detective waits until I’m finished before asking questions. Do I think I was drugged? Did the hospital take a blood sample? How long have I known Al? Was it a date or did he follow me? None of his questions leave me feeling like it’s my fault, or like I did something wrong.
In fact, he surprises me by saying, “We’re going to get the bastard, Ms. Perrault. You can count on it.”
My eyes water, and he hands me a tissue.
“Thank you.” My voice trembles. “I live in Wichita, Kansas. Am I allowed to leave, or do I need to stay in the state until you find him?”
The thought makes me sick, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Al pays.
“I have your number and address on file, so you’re free to return to your home state. If I need anything else, I’ll be in contact.”
We shake hands again, and I leave, feeling a bit lighter. Outside, I look at my phone. I was only in there for an hour. It felt longer, but it feels like it wasn’t long enough to cover everything that had happened. What if I forgot to tell him something? Will it be too late to tell him? Does it even matter?
I’m deep in thought when my phone dings.
Jasmine
Lunch is still at one. Hope to see you there.
She sends the address, too. Going to lunch seems strange. How can I do something so normal when I feel so different? Will she bring up what happened? Will Jafar be there? There are so many reasons I should say no, but I end up texting her, saying I’ll be there.
I’m too wound up to go back to the hotel, so I walk around Manhattan, getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the city. My mother always loved coming to Manhattan. We lived in Brooklyn back then until my father thought we needed a bigger house. I wonder how my life would have ended up if we hadn’t moved. Would my mom still have overdosed on pills? Would my dad have remarried right away? Would I have been sent away to boarding school where I met Jasmine?
I’m left with more questions than answers as I make my way to the restaurant. It’s trendy, but I won’t be out of place in jeans. Jasmine sits at a table. I’m relieved to see Jafar isn’t there, but my relief is short-lived when Dru sits at the table. I was really hoping on one-on-one time with Jasmine.
I take the empty chair, trying not to wince. I hurt everywhere.
Dru says, “You look like crap today, Ellie. No wonder you’re wearing sunglasses. Mother would be appalled if she saw you right now.”
I guess our camaraderie from last night is gone. Heck, she might not even remember how much fun we were having. A thought crosses my mind. Was she drugged, too? Is that why she and Richard were nice to me? Anything is possible, I suppose.
I remove my sunglasses, and Dru’s eyes widen, but she says nothing.
