Stephanie
Why me? I cried. I sat in the corner of the Tasty Pastry, shaking badly from fear. What should I do? Joseph Morelli was lying on the floor behind the eclair case, bleeding from his neck. The only thing keeping him alive was the pencil I jabbed into him when he wouldn't stop hurting me. I heard him gurgling, begging for help. I didn't know what else I could do, so I used my mobile phone to call Grandma Plum. She worked as an ER nurse for forty-five years before she retired. Grandma would know how to help me.
"Hello," Grandma answered. I checked the number I dialled and felt relieved that I had called her mobile number. Hopefully, she could keep me calm while I waited for her to arrive.
"Help," I whispered. "Joe Morelli raped me, and I stabbed him. He's bleeding."
"Can you apply pressure to the wound?" Grandma patiently asked.
"No," I sobbed. I refused to go near Joe. He might hit me again. Joe's hand grabbed the air beside him, reaching in my direction. I shook my head in fear. "Please, Grandma, don't make me try to save his life," I begged, my teeth clattering together from the chill caused by the trauma.
"Francis, we need to get Stephanie," Grandma called. Grandma kept talking, telling me not to touch anything else. Her calm speech stopped me from freaking out more. She ordered Grandpa to grab the digital camera and extra memory cards. "Oh. I need my medical kit."
"Please hurry," I cried. "I'm scared." Grandma kept me on the phone until they arrived. I was thankful Grandma bought me the phone for Christmas. Mom wasn't happy about the gift, but she never confiscated it. She knew Grandma would return the device to me.
Grandma disconnected our call when they arrived. Grandpa took copious photos of the scene as he approached me. Grandma covered me in a plastic emergency blanket before she assessed Joe Morelli's situation. She secured the pencil with gauze and surgical tape.
Grandpa used to work in the Army forensics department. "Someone unlocked the back door," he said. "I took photos and fingerprints before entering. Was that Morelli's point of entry?"
"No," I shakily whispered. "Joe came in through the front door. He locked the door and flipped the open sign to closed." Grandpa nodded and continued collecting the samples. Joe Juniak, my godfather, arrived to oversee the evidence collection. He doesn't want his officers to see me in that situation or have the Morellis claim Grandpa falsified the evidence. The chain of custody for the evidence was Uncle Joe's top priority.
"What happened next," Uncle Joe asked, using a recording device to gather my statement as I explained what Joe had done to me and what I had to do to stop him.
Grandpa Plum took other photos of Joe Morelli, including some of me shaking as I sat in the corner, looking battered and bruised from the assault. "Is he?" I asked, unable to complete the question, but Grandma understood.
"He's still alive. The ambulance should be arriving soon," Grandma replied. She smiled at me, attempting to put my mind at ease, but deep in my gut, I knew Joe wouldn't survive the night. That thought scared me more than anything. I heard the sirens from the ambulance a few seconds later.
"Steph, hide in the bathroom until the paramedics clear Joe," my uncle advised. He made me place my hands in bags and tape them around my wrists. I followed his instructions and hid behind the closed door, fumbling with the doorknob as it slipped from my hands. It only took a few minutes for them to load Joe on a stretcher, but it felt like hours to me when Grandma opened the door, freeing me from the bathroom. "Where are you taking Stephanie?" Uncle Joe asked Grandma.
"I have friends in Newark Hospital," Grandma replied. I prayed Uncle Joe wouldn't force Grandma to take me to Helen Fuld or Saint Francis Hospital. Too many women from the Burg worked at those hospitals, and they have loose lips. Those women don't care about patient confidentiality.
"I'll retrieve the evidence," Uncle Joe offered. I exhaled the breath I was holding, feeling relieved that something was finally going my way.
Grandma herded me to the car parked behind the bakery. Uncle Joe shook his head and called for a cleanup crew after receiving the evidence Grandpa collected. Grandpa followed us outside and got into the driver's seat after disposing of his gloves in the car's trash bag. Grandma used alcohol to clean her hands after tossing away her gloves. She gave the alcohol pads to Grandpa, who washed his hands. Grandma doesn't offer me one because they must collect the samples beneath my nails. Besides, I had those awful bags covering my hands.
They take me to the Newark Hospital to complete a rape kit. Based on the pain I felt between my legs, I know my vaginal opening tore. "Oh dear," a kind nurse said, "I'm sorry you had to lose your virginity this horrible way. Do you mind if I take pictures?"
I shook my head. "Sweetie, you need to say yes or no," Grandma advised.
"Yes, you can take pictures," I whispered. I cried as the nurse photographed the most intimate parts of my body. She took pictures before cutting the tape, holding the bags covering my hands.
Grandma held my hand after the nurses collected the samples from my fingernails. The kind and gentle nurses took photographs and catalogued everything for the police. Uncle Joe arrived when the nurse bagged my clothes and blanket as evidence.
"Was she raped?" Uncle Joe asked. Grandma closed the curtain to help me change. A nurse brought me scrubs to change into. She apologized for the lack of panties but gave me an adult diaper to wear to prevent the stitches from catching on the seams.
"Yes," the first nurse replied from the other side of the curtain. "We collected semen samples."
"The bruises on her face appeared," Uncle Joe observed.
"She put up a good fight. Her nose is broken, and her jaw will hurt for a few days. The doctor wants x-rays before we release her into Giorgia's care." I heard plastic crinkling as she handed the evidence over to Uncle Joe. "What about her attacker? Some of the blood on her arm wasn't from her nose. I bagged and tagged a few samples."
"Alive," Uncle Joe replied. "She stabbed him in the neck with a pencil."
"Ouch. I hope he survives for her sake. She's mentally fragile. Everything is recorded as Jane Doe until she wishes to press charges," the nurse said.
"Thank you," Uncle Joe replied. I heard his shoes echo on the floor as he left the emergency room pod. He talked to Grandpa, but I couldn't decipher their conversation. They were too far away.
I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and die. What would happen if Joe Morelli died? Would I get charged with murder? A million thoughts ran through my mind as Grandma gently washed and dressed me. I only moved as she directed me to pull on the pants or shirt.
Numb. That was how I felt. The Burg's cherry popper stole my innocence. Mom would blame me for leading Joe Morelli on, though that wasn't true. She would lament, "Why me," as she punished me for having sex. The neighbours would know everything, and it would all be my fault.
I don't remember getting into the car, but we must have since we returned to Trenton at two in the morning. Grandpa parked in the garage and carried me inside when I refused to leave the car. I noticed a black helmet hanging off the handlebars of Grandpa's motorcycle. There was a black leather jacket and backpack on the seat. I wondered when he put everything together.
Grandma helped me to the guest bedroom. She brought me a warm blanket to help chase away the coldness I felt despite the warm temperature outside. "Sweet dreams," Grandma said. She kissed my forehead before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
Unable to fall asleep, I climbed through the bedroom window to sit outside. It was five in the morning. The local paperboy tossed the morning edition on various lawns. I carefully climbed down the trellis attached to the back of the house. When I saw the cover, I felt sick. Joseph Morelli had died a few hours after getting rushed to the hospital after an apparent sexual assault. They had an idea of who the suspected victim was. The article also stated homicide detectives would interrogate the victim after receiving permission from her parents.
Getting arrested for murdering Joseph Morelli wasn't on my bucket list. I had to leave. Even if I were found innocent and proved I acted in self-defence, I would still be the scourge of the Burg. Boys would be too afraid of me, and the girls would likely call me a slut or whore. I never asked for Joe to rape me. My heart raced as I decided to do the only thing I could. I climbed back up the trellis to grab my purse from the bedroom. After changing into the black clothes I had at my grandparents' house, I snuck downstairs and into the garage. Instead of opening the rolling door, which would wake up the household, I opened the door leading into the side yard of the house.
I clumsily guided the motorcycle through the door and walked down the street a few blocks. Thank goodness Grandpa taught me how to ride. I mounted the bike after pulling on the backpack and Grandpa's jacket. I could barely reach the ground when I sat on the seat.
The bank was a few blocks away, on Hamilton. I used the drive-through option at the branch since I didn't want to leave the bike. What if someone saw me? I don't want to get caught and dragged back home. Mom would call me every name under the sun and claim I deserved the assault, or she would call the police to arrest me.
I emptied my bank account and shoved the money into the backpack. Within ten minutes, I was on the highway heading towards Florida. Blue skies and sunny beaches, here I come. Grandpa collected enough evidence to prove Joe Morelli raped me, and I fought back in self-defence. I prayed the police wouldn't issue a warrant for my arrest. Nothing could drag me back to Trenton.
My trip to Florida seemed long. I never stopped for long, only when I needed something to eat, use the washroom or refuel. Nobody was searching for me, as far as I knew. I would be just another runaway teen.
The sunshine felt warm on my hands as I drove to Florida. I smiled when I saw the sign welcoming me to the State. "Welcome to your life," I muttered as I crossed the state line. A van for Pardo Plumbing passed me. I took that as a sign. From now on, my name will be Michelle Pardo. I didn't pull off the highway until I reached Jacksonville.