Chapter III
Resignation was a new emotion I had learned in the following three weeks. I had been transferred by ambulance to a rehab center in downtown Dallas; a four story square brick vaguely reminiscent of jail but the inside was obnoxiously cheerful. The grounds were pretty with masses of rhododendrons and Tyler roses, gravel paths and stone benches.
I was mobile enough on crutches and with a walking cane by then and I always had an attendant with me. They doctors changed my meds several times and though the feelings of despair lingered; thoughts of suicide no longer dominated my waking moments.
I was distraught with visions of a dead girl dressed in school uniform and wearing pigtails even though she was older than me. Her throat was cut from ear to ear and she wore an almost puzzled look on her face. She was blonde and pretty, carried her schoolbooks in a backpack that she swung against her leg. She had been dogging me for hours and driving me crazy.
This morning I had spent in physical therapy, strengthening the muscles in my legs. The doctors had done tests on my cognitive ability and declared me sound mentally in that respect. Emotionally, I was still a mess.
I’d been going to the woman therapist but we went round and round, not getting anywhere. I did not trust her and would not open up to her. To tell the truth, I would not open up to anyone.
My uncle came to see me every day, sometimes with my aunt, sometimes with my twin cousins. I felt an instant bond with them even though I did not remember them.
They cried when they saw me, gave me hugs and handed me wrapped packages that were belated birthday presents. Before I could open them, the FBI agent took them.
“Sorry,” he said briefly. “I have to check them over.”
“For knives, dynamite, guns,” I snorted.
“Why?” Ruby asked, curious.
“So I can’t hurt myself,” I returned.
“But why?” Ruby persisted, frowning. I had an instant vision of her lying on her back, naked with blood making a geometric cabala on her torso. Her eyes were open and blank, terror had etched her face.
I screamed and pushed her away, sobbing. Alarmed, people converged on me and I fought to get away from them.
Not only was I a small, thin thirteen year but I was recovering from a major accident, had no muscle tone, no stamina and no strength. My outburst lasted only minutes though it felt like hours. Sweat made me slippery and the pile of bodies got in each other’s way. Finally, I was grabbed and held down until a doctor stuck a needle in my ass and everything melted like ice cream left out on the kitchen table on a hot Texas day.
They let me slide slowly down to the floor and I had several of them kneeling next to me. The doctor ordered the crowd of people out of my room and he and the orderly lifted me up to the bed. The orderly was sent out and returned minutes later and I was put into four point restraints.
Slow tears pooled from my eyes, my mouth sagged open and strange, mewling cries came from me that I had no control over. He flashed a penlight in my eyes. I blinked.
“Cale, can you hear me, understand me? You’ll sleep for a while, then, someone will come in and talk to you.”
I tried to explain but it was too much of an effort. Twisting my wrists, I worked at them trying to get them loose. They left me alone in the private room. The ceiling seemed to grow heavier and press down on me. I felt like it was going to crush me if I didn’t escape it.
My wrists began to bleed under the cotton and fleece lined restraints. Mixing with sweat, the straps slowly stretched until I was able to slide my narrow bones out. My ankles took longer, my fingers didn’t want to coordinate the strap knots and buckles; they were like fat pillows with no feeling. Once free, I slid off the bed on rubber legs and held onto the wall so I wouldn’t fall on my face. The room wavered, retreated until it seemed like I was a tiny bug at the end of a telescope and looking up at the giant world.
Colored rings surrounded the lights. When I took a step towards the door, my feet moved before the rest of me, I wanted to fold over them and sink to the ground.
I fought it, fear would not let me sink into the dark I could feel hovering at the edge of my consciousness. Sound muted, and then became louder, trailed off until I was in a cocoon of muffled noises---the slow thumping of my heart, the sloshing of my blood through my veins, the crackling of my feet on lush carpeting.
The door opened to my gentle push; there were a few people going about their business and no one paid any attention to me as I walked like a zombie past the nurses’ station, to the front doors and out onto the sidewalk that led to the parking lot.
I was in jeans and a starched oxford shirt with the cuffs turned down and loose over my bleeding wrists. No one noticed, no one said a word to me as I moved relentlessly through the parking lot amidst the SUVs and small compacts. My eyes were set on the towering skyline of skyscrapers.
Most of the trip was a blur, my psychic sense told me where I needed to go without my conscious control and was probably the reason I did not get stopped or attract attention.
My destination was not a planned decision; I became aware that I was resting on a bench in the lobby of a giant building, staring at the corner of the plaza where there was a big potted plant in a courtyard of plants making an indoor garden. No one could see me but I could hear the muted murmurs of many people; the bubbling of water. I looked up to see the atrium’s ceiling far overhead. Light panels let sunlight filter through making dapples on the tiled floor.
When the pretty girl in the catholic school uniform walked by me, I knew why I had come there. With a groan of pain and effort, I got up and followed her out into the lobby, through a crowd of people who stared at me oddly, talked over my head and attempted to grab at me but I adroitly avoided their grasping hands as we marched to the elevators.
I slipped in besides her as the doors closed and we traveled up in silence to the 15th floor, down the hallway, past the open atrium and around to the room numbered 1561.
There was a maid cart next door which was open and I could see inside the suite all the way to the double bed. There were couches, tables, and a large screen TV. The maid was changing the sheets. She was a Mexican woman, short, dark with pretty black hair. She looked up at me and her hands froze as she shook out the top sheet.
“Cual es el asunto?” Her voice was sharp, frightened.
I put my fingers to my lips. “Tranquilo! A despertar a los muertos.”
I went into the room after the school girl and as the door closed and locked behind us, I heard the Latina woman screaming.
The hallway was short, bathroom on my left, large beds, two of them separated by nightstands with a lamp and the Bible. At the end of the beds were a long dresser and it held a phone stand and a computer station bolted to the table.
There were nicely framed prints on the walls and the curtains out to the balcony were completely closed. The phone was on the floor, torn from its jack and without a dial tone.
She was standing by the balcony doors smiling at me but she wouldn’t say anything. I asked her name, memorized the weave of her plaid skirt and the emblem on her jacket.
The door pounded behind me and I turned round to watch it fly open, Security and the cops barged in. When I turned to look again, she was gone.
I sat down on the floor in the spot where they would find her several hours from now while the authorities screamed over my head. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language and I could not understand them.
No one wanted to touch me but rather ringed me, jabbered away at me until I put my hands over my ears and screamed at them to shut up and blessed silence ensued.
Slowly, clearly, I iterated, “Call Special Agent Jed Deleon of the FBI.” I repeated it until it became a mantra and several of them detached and left.
To me, it seemed only light seconds later but they told me it was an hour later before the FBI agent strode into the hotel room and squatted in front of me. He pulled at his knees and I heard the cracking of his joints. His square hands with manicured nails, lightly tanned and haired fingers took hold of my chin and lifted my face to meet his.
“Cale.”
I blinked. His voice sounded like it was low rpms, deep, slow, sonorous. Even his Brahman accent was gone. He gave me a little shake and snapped his other fingers in my space.
“Cale. Where is all the blood on you from? Are you hurt? Who’s dead?” I looked at the floor between the beds, pointed. He turned round, spoke to the policemen. “Help me get him up.”
I shrank away but the cop had blue vinyl gloves on and nothing came through as he lifted my legs while Deleon took my shoulders. They put me on the bed and I bounced on the firm mattress. Deleon pushed up my sleeves and rolled both of my wrists over. “First aid kit?” he asked.
“Should I call 911?” the cop returned.
“Yes.”
He spoke over his shoulder. “Get these people out of here,” he told the DPD and they shooed everyone out but the officers.
“Cale, tell me what happened?” Deleon’s voice was soft, but insistent.
I cleared my throat, looked at my sleeves which were red with fresh blood. I did not know where it came from, I had not felt the pain from abrading my wrists in the restraints and there was too much to be from those minor scrapes.
“She’s a silly girl, goes willingly to her death, doesn’t even fight when she sees the knife,” I said in scorn. “She just sits there and weeps while he slices her throat.”
“Who, Cale? What’s her name?”
The patrol officer’s eyes grew round and wild. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple jumped up and down.
I spoke to him. “You better not forget your vest tomorrow when you stop for Devil Dogs.”
His hand went to his shirt. I turned back to Deleon. “It’s already too late for her. I can’t stop it. He has her, he’s raping her. I can’t see his face but he’s tall and good looking, strong. He has a mind that bounces thoughts back at me. Like a mirror bounces sunlight.”
“Why does he dump her here?” he asked.
“Because he likes to taunt the police. There’s a forensics convention here.”
“What’s her name, Cale?”
I looked around the room, gestured to the desk and he brought me the writing stuff.
Concentrating, I drew the school emblem on the notepad in pencil and then the plaid uniform with a description of the colors. Green and black with a red and yellow stripe. He handed it over to the policeman with instructions to track it down.
By now, voices could be heard coming down the hallway and an EMT team burst into the room complete with stretcher and kit bags. Deleon moved out of the way so that they had access to me.
“Where are you hurt?” the woman asked. She was in white shirt, blue cargo pants with belt from which all sorts of gear hung. Her shoes were Hi Tec boots like Fire and Police wore. She started at my neck and her fingers worked down, manipulating for wounds and the source of blood. The other was a man and he slipped a blood pressure cuff on my skinny arm. Both wore gloves.
I could not keep my eyes open. I sagged, huddled into myself while they took my vitals, watched my pupils react and assessed me.
“Only injuries I can find are some minor wrist abrasions,” she pronounced, puzzled. “Has he been around any other blood source to pick up these splashes? His BP is low and he’s verging on shock, but I can’t find any real trauma.”
“He needs to go to the Rehab Center, or do you recommend the ER?” the FBI agent asked.
“Given his low BP, the presence of blood and his obvious unresponsive condition, I would recommend the ER. I’m going to insert an IV, put him on lactated Ringers, and get his system back up. Kids crash so quickly and easily.”
They slid me onto the gurney, tightened straps around me and soon, I felt the bite of a needle and a cool sensation flow up my arm as fluids hit my blood stream.
We went rolling down the hallway like I was on a roller coaster ride with no brakes. Deleon stayed at my side all the way to the ambulance where he gave orders for one of the cops to drive his government sedan after the unit and meet us at the hospital. They only used the siren to go through red lights and intersections.
I was in a state of lethargy, did not respond to any of their questions, not even when they wheeled me into the emergency room and stripped my clothes off me. They gave me a shot and I faded into my dark, quiet place.