WARNING: There's still a ways to go. Still dark, very angsty for the next 3 days or so. Then things will begin to improve, I promise!
DO NOT READ if angst, sexual acts or bad language upset you.
Babe, and there will be Morelli-bashing.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money. Characters belong to Janet Evanovich. Song lyrics belong to Linkin Park.
oOo
Part III—With You
Now I'm trapped in this memory
And I'm left in the wake of the mistake, slow to react
So even though you're close to me
You're still so distant
And I can't bring you back
It's true the way I feel
Was promised by your face
The sound of your voice
Painted on my memories
Even if you're not with me
I'm with you.
—Linkin Park (Hybrid Theory)
Chapter 26
The same day—Wednesday, July 2
"Babe." I had to clear the hoarseness from my throat, wondering if she recognized me. She was obviously on something, functioning, but hazy.
She swayed over to me, reaching for my belt. "I'll make it really good for you, honey. And if I do, you can show me how much you liked it by giving me a nice tip. So just tell me what you want and Star will make you burst."
"Babe, wait," I said, grabbing both her wrists in one hand to stop her from undoing my pants. I cupped my other hand under her chin and tipped her face up, forcing her to meet my eyes, studying that face that was once as familiar to me as my own reflection but now belonged to a complete stranger.
Confusion clouded the blueness of her eyes and wrinkled her brow as she looked at me.
"Ranger?" she asked in a high, childlike voice, blinking and trying to focus on my face. "Is that you? You look so different… Your hair…"
My heart was breaking in two, the joy and the pain warring for control. "I'm taking you home, Babe," I said.
I scooped her up into my arms and started for the door, but she shrieked, "No!" and began to struggle, frantic to get away from me, twisting her body and pounding on my chest with her fists. "No," she wailed again.
I stopped and set her back on her feet, taking hold of her shoulder with one hand and using the other under her chin again to make her look at me. "Babe, I don't think you understand. I'm taking you home. You're finished here, for good. Nobody's going to hurt you anymore."
"I can't go," she whimpered, shrinking from me, pulling away from my hands. She shuffled backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed and she sank down on it. "I can't leave this room. I tried once, but it hurt so bad I thought I was going to die. It still hurts."
She used both hands to point to her ankles. The right ankle had a metal tracker on it, the kind that the police use for keeping people under house arrest. The other ankle was a mass of angry red burns, partially scabbed and oozing.
"I'll get someone to come take it off, Babe." I whipped out my phone and punched in Raptor's speed dial.
"Boss?" came Raptor's voice.
"I found her." The relief of those words passing my lips made my knees weak, and I took a long step that allowed me to sit down on the bed next to Stephanie. I put my arm around her and held her close to my side as I continued.
"She's in a brothel at the corner of 20th and 3rd Avenue, red doors, room six. She's wearing some kind of ankle device that will burn her if she leaves the room. I need a key for it. You'll need to bring someone that has master keys for law enforcement locks." I could pick most locks, but this kind was unpickable.
After I disconnected, I looked at Stephanie. She was twig thin, probably less than a hundred pounds, skeletal on her five-foot-seven frame. Needle marks marred her left forearm.
"Do you have any normal clothes, Babe? Someone will be here soon to take that thing off you so you can come home."
She gave me befuddled look, but got up and moved to the low dresser in the corner. "I've got some stuff I wear when I'm not working."
She pulled out a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt and brought them over to the bed, handing them to me. "Are these okay?" she asked.
"They're fine, Babe. Do you have any underwear?"
She shook her head.
"That's okay. Can you get dressed?"
Standing in front of me she dropped the robe off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. She appeared to have no modesty standing naked in front of me, so I used the opportunity to look her over.
Her skin was dry and scaly. The scars of the cigarette burns were puckered red circles on her upper arms. The whip marks on the front of her had faded to pale pink and weren't going to leave permanent scars.
"Turn around, Babe, so I can see your back."
The lashes on her back had been harder, and more frequent, and some of them would scar. But they were mostly healed and looked clean.
"Okay, Stephanie, you can get dressed now."
She turned back to face me and just stood there, dazed, so I handed her the shorts. "Here, put these on."
She complied, buttoning and zipping them. They were several sizes too large, on the verge of sliding down off her bony hips.
"Now this," I coached, handing her the t-shirt.
She pushed her head through the neck hole, but then seemed to forget what she was doing, standing there with the shirt hanging around her neck, arms at her sides. I was gentle as I guided first one arm and then the other into the sleeves and pulled the shirt down to cover her.
"Come here, Babe. It won't be too long before we have you out of here." I pulled her sideways onto my lap and she cuddled up against my chest. She was so light it was like holding a child.
Time passed, my mind blank, my heart content just to have her in my arms. I should have been planning how to protect her once we got back to Trenton, but I couldn't think. I could only feel.
Suddenly the bell beside the door blasted loud and long. Stephanie jumped up.
"You have to go now. Your time is up," she said, looking a little more alert than when I'd arrived.
"I'll be right back," I said, rising and walking toward the door.
"Wait, you forgot my tip."
"I'm coming back," I told her.
"No, no, no!" She sounded panic-stricken. "My tip first. I need it for my medicine." Tears filled her eyes, and anguish filled my heart.
"Okay, Babe, here's your tip. But I'll be right back." She grabbed the hundred dollar bill I offered and stuffed it in the top drawer of the dresser.
I went down the stairs to the lobby and handed the buxom woman three hundred dollars. I was succinct. "I've decided to stay for the afternoon." And I walked back up the stairs.
When I re-entered the room Stephanie was sitting on the bed, her arms around her bent knees. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw me. "You came back," she sniffled.
"I'll always come back, Babe," I told her as I sat next to her and pulled her onto my lap, holding her tight against my chest.
While we sat there together waiting for Raptor her tears faded away and she dozed off, her head tucked under my chin.
I said a silent prayer of thanks to God.
Stephanie had been gone sixty-one days when I finally found her.
oOo
Chapter 27
By the time I carried her up the stairs to my apartment Stephanie was beginning to twitch and was blinking watery eyes.
"It's time for my medicine," she whined. "I need to go back to my room. My money is there and Cinnamon will get me my shot."
I sat down on the couch and held her in my lap. "Babe, the doctor will be here in a minute. Just try to hold on."
She yawned, sniffled, and then shivered, goose bumps breaking out on her arms. "I'm cold, and my stomach hurts." She yawned again. "I need my medicine. Time for a little horsey ride."
There was a tap on the door and Raptor showed in a short, round middle-aged man carrying a black medical bag. "This is Dr. Kenneth Perry. Ken, Ranger Manoso, CEO of RangeMan. And Stephanie Plum."
I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Dr. Perry, Stephanie was kidnapped and has been held captive for two months. She was forced into prostitution and is addicted to drugs, I'm not sure exactly what, but I suspect heroin. She needs immediate evaluation and treatment."
The doctor pulled a stethoscope out of his bag, stuck it in his ears and placed the end on Stephanie's chest. She pushed it away and started an irritated whining.
"No, get that thing off me. Don't touch me. It hurts. I'm cold and my stomach hurts. I don't feel good and I need my medicine."
"Can you give her something to ease the symptoms?" I asked.
"Not until we find out what she's been taking," Dr. Perry answered. "She needs to be admitted so she can be evaluated and treated. Do you have any preference as to where?"
I stood up, easily lifting Stephanie with me and stood over him, feeling the need to assert myself. "The best. Money is no object. Stephanie gets the best treatment and the best specialists available."
"Oceanview, then," the doctor mused, almost to himself. He looked up at me. "Best private treatment clinic in Florida. Do you want me to call an ambulance to transport her there?"
"No, I'll take her myself."
He pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled on it. "Here," he said, tearing off the sheet and handing it to me. "I'll call them right now and tell them you're coming. You'd better move it. She's going to get more and more uncomfortable."
Without another word I turned, still carrying Stephanie, and walked out the door and down the stairs to the garage, Raptor striding ahead to drive us to the clinic.
oOo
I sat alone in the small private waiting room, stolid on the outside but falling apart inside. Every time the door opened I could hear Stephanie's voice, screaming, shouting, sobbing, railing at the doctors, bitching at the nurses, sometimes whimpering, sometimes wailing. Every snippet of sound cut deeper into my soul.
Oh, Babe, I thought to myself, heartsick. What have I done to you?
It had been almost six hours since I'd found her, and probably eight or more since her last fix. She was in serious withdrawal. As soon as the last of the bloodwork came back the doctors assured me they'd work out a treatment plan to get her detoxed.
In the meantime she was suffering and there was nothing I could do about it.
Finally the door opened to blessed silence and Dr. Gupta, the detox specialist, came in. I started to stand, but he waved me back into my chair and collapsed onto the couch opposite.
"Ms. Plum is under sedation." His voice was light and musical, with a pronounced Indian accent. "Her blood tests showed a physical dependency on heroin, and hair follicle testing shows sustained use. She must have begun using heroin almost immediately after her abduction."
I interrupted. "It was forced on her. She didn't take it voluntarily."
"Yes, sir, I understand. But however her use began, her body needs it and our job is to first overcome the physical addiction, and then treat the emotional repercussions."
"What treatment do you recommend?"
"In addition to the heroin addiction, Ms. Plum's blood tests showed traces of several other drugs, including alcohol, marijuana, rohypnol and strychnine. Her heartbeat is irregular, and care must be taken to avoid permanent heart damage."
I nodded that I understood.
"There are several options for treatment. For Ms. Plum's specific case we recommend the use of oxezapam to ease the anxiety, clonidine for potential hypertension from the withdrawal, baclofen for the restless leg symptoms, and loperamide for diarrhea. The detoxification process will take from four to seven days."
"What about rapid detox? I've read that it can be done in less than twenty-four hours under anesthesia."
"There are serious risks associated with that method, and because of Ms. Plum's heart arrhythmia I would strongly oppose the idea of anesthesia. In addition, the drugs used to break the addiction could further damage her heart."
"You don't recommend methodone?"
"The use of methodone or buprenophone, which you might know as Suboxone, involves replacing the addiction to heroin with an addiction to another drug. It is our policy to eliminate all drugs from our patients' systems, so that Ms. Plum will leave here completely free of physical addiction."
I nodded. Gupta was supposed to be one of the foremost drug treatment specialists in the South, and I would accept his recommendation.
"Can I see her?"
"Ms. Plum is sedated and sleeping right now. You may look in on her for a moment, but then I ask that you go home and do not return until the detoxification process is complete. While we do our best to make our patients comfortable, there will be periods of discomfort and we find that having family members present at those times can impede the patient's recovery. We will call you when Ms. Plum is sufficiently recovered to be allowed visitors."
I sat beside Stephanie's bed for a half hour, holding her hand and watching over her. In spite of the drugged sleep she was shivering and her legs were jerking. My heart ached for her, and I wasn't sure I could ever forgive myself for what she'd suffered. Because of my selfishness in wanting to be near her she had undergone two months of pure hell, with more to come as the heroin was starved out of her system.
Eventually a nurse came in and told me my time was up and they'd call me when she was allowed to have visitors. Trying hard to keep my shoulders from slumping I trudged out to the lobby, where Raptor waited to drive me home.
Once in the car I pulled out my phone to begin notifying people about Stephanie. First the call I dreaded the most. Morelli.
He finally answered, just as my hopes were raised for the reprieve of voicemail. "What the fuck do you want, Manoso?"
"I found Stephanie. She's alive…"
oOo
Chapter 28
Five days later—Monday, July 7
I'd thought of nothing else for five days. But I found myself reluctant to walk through the doors of the clinic.
Don't be an asshole, I told myself. Stephanie needs you and you're going to be here for her.
I'd called Barbara Foster, the FBI shrink, the day after I found Stephanie, wanting to ask her some questions about what to expect after detox. We talked for over an hour that day and again each day since.
She couldn't predict how Stephanie would feel, but she'd given me possibilities, prepared me for the worst and the best.
I squared my shoulders and walked into the lobby. The receptionist made a phone call and directed me to visitation room three. I plodded down the long hallway, my steps dragging, the hum of Stephanie's nearness increasing the closer I got to room three.
She was standing there, back to the door, staring out the window at the flower garden and sloping lawns toward the sliver of ocean visible in the distance.
She was still painfully thin, the loose gray sweats she wore doing little to hide it. Her blonde-streaked hair was carefully arranged in loose curls and was beginning to get some of its shine back.
I didn't want to startle her, so I closed the door with an audible click and allowed my footfalls to sound as I crossed the room to stand next to her.
After an eternity she turned toward me, her face pinched and drawn, her shoulders set and tense.
"Ranger," she said coldly.
"Babe." I reached for her, needing her in my arms to know that she was real, not a dream or some figment of my deluded imagination.
"No. Don't touch me." She shrank away and gave me an icy glare. "Is it true what he told me? What you did to his wife? What you did to his baby?"
I couldn't lie to her, and my eyes dropped, unable maintain contact, shame flooding through me like a rain-swollen torrent rushing over a dam, breaking off chunks of the structure, weakening the foundation.
It was no use telling her that I was no hero. She'd always thought of me as larger than life, Batman, Superman, and it inflated my ego so much that I hadn't tried to deter her. In truth I was none of those things. I was just a man, and a flawed one at that.
I was no longer El Trucidor, the Butcher. I'd spent the past five years trying to rid myself of the remnants of him, to eliminate the evil emptiness that once inhabited me. Loving Stephanie helped me exorcise the demons. I just couldn't allow her goodness to come into contact with the vicious void that had been El Trucidor.
She turned back to the window. Her voice was low and harsh, gutting me like a fillet knife slicing up a flounder. "Get away from me. I never want to see you again. I want Joe."
"He's flying down tomorrow morning. He'll be here when you're released and he'll take you home to Trenton."
She nodded without looking at me.
Foster had prepared me for the possibility, probability even, that something like this would happen, but the reality of it was so much more painful than I could ever have imagined. But only what I deserved.
"If you need anything at all from me, please call. Anytime… And Stephanie… I'm sorry." I turned and walked out the door, my shoulders slumped, defeated. El Látigo might be gone, but he had achieved his goal, condemned me to a fate worse than death. He had won.
oOo
I went myself to pick up Morelli at Kendall-Tamiami the next morning. I'd sent my jet for him, and it would take him and Stephanie straight back to Trenton.
"Jesus, you look like hell," he said, doing a double-take when he caught sight of me. I already knew that. In the weeks since the task force disbanded my hair had gone from gray-streaked to completely white. I'd lost even more weight, and permanent creases furrowed my face. A stranger meeting me for the first time would have thought I was in my sixties.
I was silent as I drove Morelli to Oceanview. When we arrived in the parking lot I got out of the SUV and handed him the keys. "You can just leave this at the airport. Someone will pick it up."
As he started to walk toward the entrance, I stopped him with a word.
"Joe."
He turned back. "What?"
"Stephanie went through hell. She's going to need counseling." I held out a fax of a business card I'd gotten from Foster. "This is a psychologist up at Princeton recommended by Barbara Foster. Stephanie's health insurance through RangeMan will cover an unlimited number of visits. Please try to get her to go."
In actuality, I would personally cover an unlimited number of visits, but Morelli didn't need to know that.
His voice was rough. "We don't need your help, Manoso. Your help is what caused this whole mess. I'm going to take care of Stephanie now."
"Joe, just listen to what the doctors tell you. She'll need professional help. Please." I held out the paper again.
He took it from me and held my eyes as he deliberately crumpled it up and dropped it on the ground.
"Fuck you, Manoso," he said and walked away.
oOo
I remained in Miami another week, making sure the business there was under control and making sure Velveteen, the young hooker whose call had led me to Stephanie, was settled with her little girls into a secure apartment. Raptor was taking responsibility for seeing that she got some education and had proper childcare.
I was avoiding going back to Trenton to face the accusing eyes and whispered innuendos. But a call from Tank finally convinced me that my presence was needed there.
The night before I left, I found myself again sitting in the back of San Juan Bosco Church, trying to take some comfort from the familiar Spanish words of the Sunday evening mass. Following an irresistible impulse, I emptied my money clip into the collection basket, not knowing why, but giving in to the urge.
When everyone else had left Father Valdes again sat with me for a time, fingering his rosary and offering silent prayers.
After a while I spoke. "I found her, Padre. She's safe."
"The answer to prayer, my son," he replied. "The Lord always hears and answers. It may not be the answer we selfish humans want, but God knows what is best."
God knew what I deserved, and gave it to me.
"Thank you for your prayers, Padre."
oOo
The first thing I did when I reached the seventh floor apartment in Trenton on Monday morning was dig into my nightstand for the card Foster had given me. I dialed the number.
"Hello, my name is Carlos Manoso, and I'd like to make an appointment to see Dr. Sanders."
TBC