Another Night Alone
They kept me in the hospital the rest of the day. I got tired of listening to the machines after a while and tried to rest, but whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was the man in a ski mask on top of me. I wanted to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come.
Shawn stopped by with a change of clothes and her condolences.
"The police blocked off the apartment as a crime scene," she said. "I'm staying with Brian. Can I call someone up for you?"
"Like who?" I asked her. Shawn was pretty much the only person I knew in New York, except John, of course. "I'll think of something."
She smoothed my sheets out around me. It was very maternal, a characteristic I never would really have associated with her. "I'm so sorry this happened. Do you have any idea who did it?"
I shook my head. I couldn't imagine how this could have happened: I didn't know anyone in this city. "They're going to investigate all the leads they can find."
There was a long pause. She got up from my bedside and gathered up her purse and coat. "Is John working on this case?"
"How did you know?"
"Because you're not worried." Shawn came over to me and rubbed my arm. "Call me if you think of anything I can do."
I managed to find a place to sleep that night, with a girl from one of my classes. She gave me her own bedroom to sleep in, which I told her was unnecessary. It was a little creepy, that whole room to myself in a place I'd never been in before. So many thoughts kept running through my head, so many images and words and new things to think about - things I couldn't even rightly admit to myself.
Quarter after ten, my cell phone rang: my hands trembling with trepidation, I picked it up. I didn't recognize the number, but it was an NYC area code. Who in hell would be calling me this late at night? If he had been able to get in my apartment, was it possible he had my phone number, too?
"Hello?" I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"Cara, it's me."
"John?"
He continued talking to me as if he hadn't heard the question. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, and tell you that we're working on the case."
"Why are you calling me at 10:15?"
"I'm still at the office. You weren't in bed already, were you?" Frustrating man. "Yeah. We're going downtown to talk to . that guy you were out with last night. Do you think you could stop by the squadroom tomorrow afternoon? We have some more questions for you."
"Sure," I said, wondering who would be doing the interview.
"How are you doing?" he asked again, after a moment.
"I'm . I'm okay, I suppose. How am I supposed to feel?"
I knew how hard this kind of thing was for him: heart-to-hearts aren't really his forte. "Pretty crappy for a while. Depressed, maybe. But, honey -" he stopped and corrected himself. "Cara, you'll get over it. Did you take the pills they gave you at the hospital?"
"Yes," I lied. No sense making him worry about me. "I'm gonna turn in, okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "We'll see you tomorrow."
So I lay down, trying not to think about last night. I had left the lights on, and that helped. But I couldn't forgive John for calling me up, for putting his voice in my head. I made myself fall asleep, pretending that I could still feel my hand in his, or his touch on my forehead moving a stray piece of hair, and when I woke up in a horrible, screaming nightmare, all I could think was that there was no one there to comfort me.
They kept me in the hospital the rest of the day. I got tired of listening to the machines after a while and tried to rest, but whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was the man in a ski mask on top of me. I wanted to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come.
Shawn stopped by with a change of clothes and her condolences.
"The police blocked off the apartment as a crime scene," she said. "I'm staying with Brian. Can I call someone up for you?"
"Like who?" I asked her. Shawn was pretty much the only person I knew in New York, except John, of course. "I'll think of something."
She smoothed my sheets out around me. It was very maternal, a characteristic I never would really have associated with her. "I'm so sorry this happened. Do you have any idea who did it?"
I shook my head. I couldn't imagine how this could have happened: I didn't know anyone in this city. "They're going to investigate all the leads they can find."
There was a long pause. She got up from my bedside and gathered up her purse and coat. "Is John working on this case?"
"How did you know?"
"Because you're not worried." Shawn came over to me and rubbed my arm. "Call me if you think of anything I can do."
I managed to find a place to sleep that night, with a girl from one of my classes. She gave me her own bedroom to sleep in, which I told her was unnecessary. It was a little creepy, that whole room to myself in a place I'd never been in before. So many thoughts kept running through my head, so many images and words and new things to think about - things I couldn't even rightly admit to myself.
Quarter after ten, my cell phone rang: my hands trembling with trepidation, I picked it up. I didn't recognize the number, but it was an NYC area code. Who in hell would be calling me this late at night? If he had been able to get in my apartment, was it possible he had my phone number, too?
"Hello?" I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"Cara, it's me."
"John?"
He continued talking to me as if he hadn't heard the question. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, and tell you that we're working on the case."
"Why are you calling me at 10:15?"
"I'm still at the office. You weren't in bed already, were you?" Frustrating man. "Yeah. We're going downtown to talk to . that guy you were out with last night. Do you think you could stop by the squadroom tomorrow afternoon? We have some more questions for you."
"Sure," I said, wondering who would be doing the interview.
"How are you doing?" he asked again, after a moment.
"I'm . I'm okay, I suppose. How am I supposed to feel?"
I knew how hard this kind of thing was for him: heart-to-hearts aren't really his forte. "Pretty crappy for a while. Depressed, maybe. But, honey -" he stopped and corrected himself. "Cara, you'll get over it. Did you take the pills they gave you at the hospital?"
"Yes," I lied. No sense making him worry about me. "I'm gonna turn in, okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "We'll see you tomorrow."
So I lay down, trying not to think about last night. I had left the lights on, and that helped. But I couldn't forgive John for calling me up, for putting his voice in my head. I made myself fall asleep, pretending that I could still feel my hand in his, or his touch on my forehead moving a stray piece of hair, and when I woke up in a horrible, screaming nightmare, all I could think was that there was no one there to comfort me.