Save One Bullet

Chapter 27

I stopped in the food court at the mall and sat by the windows facing the lake. Mom used to love coming here to watch the eagles in the Winter. For her, I took a few pictures of eagles diving for fish in Onondaga Lake. It was something we enjoyed doing together until she became unable to catch her breath while walking. I had to face it. When Mom died, I lost my only real friend.

I picked up some Chinese takeout at the food court and took one last look at one of the last places Mom and I had enjoyed together. A bittersweet day of remembering our special places and times together. For some inexplicable reason, I drove to the hotel where Rick and I had spent the weekend making love non-stop. Maybe I was hoping he’d be there.

Although it was a good idea to let this new infatuation rest for a few days, he was like an invisible magnet pulling on me. I needed to see if he was in town. I checked my phone to see if there were any missed calls from him and was disappointed when I found no messages on my phone.

I drove into the parking lot but saw no sign of him. Damn. Well, I thought, maybe that was good. It didn’t feel good, though. I headed back home, feeling needy and foolish for chasing this young guy and wanting to absorb him into my life right now. Checking my phone one last time, I got to James Street and drove the rest of the way home, hoping for a buzz from my phone, signaling Rick’s call. What used to be an annoying noise in my ear became an alarm for my hormones to wake up and my stomach to begin flip-flopping. The disappointment would be palpable if it turned out to be a message from someone else. Messages were great, but to hear his cool, low voice vibrating on the other end of the line was my favorite treat.

When I got home Tom’s car was in the driveway and very few lights were on. He probably got tired of waiting for me and went to bed. I marched into the house as if I owned it. Hey, I did own at least half of it. Tom was sitting in front of the TV watching a ball game with a beer in hand. The coffee table held a greasy pizza box and a half dozen empty beer bottles were strewn carelessly on the table.

“Where the fuck you been all day? I know you weren’t with your book club pals. They’ve been calling here looking for you,” he slurred at me.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, Tom. You’re drunk. Look at this mess,” I countered, hands on hips.

He struggled to stand up, then he lunged across the room for me, grabbing me by my hair and twisting my head so I was facing him. “Listen up. We are going to make this marriage work. You got it? We’ll get through the funeral and then things are going to change around here. It’s time for you to be a wife again and we’re gonna start right now.”

“Stop, Tom! You’re hurting me,” I screamed as he dragged me, half on my knees down the hall to the bedroom, bouncing off the walls on the way.

“Fucking women. Fucking liars, all of them. Cheaters and liars. You aren’t getting away with it. I don't have to take this shit from you,” he growled into my face, spittle flying.

He pushed me into the bedroom, and I landed on my hands and knees. Before I could stand up, he pounced on me and started tearing at my clothes, pulling my skirt up and ripping my lace panties so they hung by a thread off my ass, leaving me exposed. I felt, rather than heard, his belt being unbuckled, and his zipper being pulled.

Before I knew it, he was on top of me with a fistful of my hair in one hand and his other hand trying to work his member into my bottom. Frustrated at not getting inside he spat a gob of spit on me and jammed himself inside of me viciously, tearing my opening and pumping into me. When he was finished, he pushed me over with his foot and spit on my face as a punctuation mark, telling me he was done.

In stunned silence, I curled myself up in a protective ball on the floor and rocked back and forth, expecting another attack. Our beige throw rug was streaked with blood, semen, and dark stains. No tears fell, no sobs escaped my lips. I simply stared into the darkened bedroom, not focusing on anything. My mind was as blank as my stare, and I do not know how long I stayed curled up on that soiled rug in a catatonic state.

I heard the shower running in our bathroom. When the water stopped, I heard Tom whistling casually to himself as he walked past my broken body to the closet. He got dressed and stepped over me to leave the room as if I didn’t exist. His car started up and he squealed out of the driveway.

I crawled to the bathroom and pulled myself up on the sink to look in the mirror. There were rugburns on my forehead and cheeks. My lips were swollen, and chunks of hair were missing from the back of my head. I resisted the temptation to shower and instead found my phone and punched in 911.

‘911, what is your emergency?’

‘I, I think I’ve just been raped,” I stuttered through my swollen lips and a bleeding tongue, which hadn’t been noticed upon my first inspection.

‘Where are you, Ma’am? Is the attacker still with you?”

‘I’m at 231 Holiday Drive in Eastwood. The attacker left,’ a sob broke through my calm exterior.

‘Are you safe now?’

‘Yes, I, I think so,’ I replied hesitatingly.

‘Do you need an ambulance, Ma’am?’

‘Um, I don’t know. I think I can walk,’ I answered.

‘Please unlock your front door, Police are two minutes away.’

‘What should I do? Bring with me? How will I get home?’ I quizzed the dispatcher, not knowing how any of this worked.

‘Ma’am, the officers will explain it to you and call for an ambulance should you decide you need it. I will stay with you until the officers arrive.’

Limping erratically, I made it down the hallway and to the front door just as the blue and red lights filled my front lawn. I opened the door and a female officer and a male officer came to the porch.

“Ma’am, I am officer Peck and this is officer Matthews. He will circle the house and make sure the intruder is gone. If you need an ambulance, I will call one for you. May I come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course. The rapist is my husband. He drove off. He’s not here anymore,” I announced, not certain if it made a difference who raped me.

“Are you currently married or separated or divorced?” Officer Peck asked, writing in a little notebook, just like on all the detective shows.

“Does that make a difference?” I asked, feeling irritated by the useless question.

“No, ma’am. Rape is rape and it is always treated seriously as the crime it is, no matter what your relationship to the perpetrator is. Just getting a lay of the land here.”

Officer Matthews came inside and joined us, “No one outside that I could see.”

“It was her husband and he’s gone,” Officer Peck told him.

“Wow, you got beat up pretty bad. Pecker, we got a first aid kit in the car. I’ll grab it,” Officer Matthews suggested.

“Thanks, Shawn, but we better get pictures first and do a rape kit at the hospital before we destroy evidence,” Officer Peck replied.

“Do you need to see where it happened?” I asked, unsure of the procedure.

“Yes, that would be helpful, can you make it okay?” Pecker replied.

It was easy to see where the crime had been committed on the bedroom floor. They put a little marker on the disgusting throw rug. I was too stunned to be humiliated. Small consolation.

“Ma’am, would you like to grab clothes to wear home from the hospital, and maybe find a blanket to wrap up in? It’ll be faster if we just drive you ourselves. I’ll help you,” Officer Matthews declared.

In a trance, I collected an odd lot of items to bring with me, handing them off to the officer, then pulled the comforter off the bed to wrap around myself. The officers helped me find my purse and my keys and off we went on a jolly trip to the hospital.

By that time a group of nosy neighbors had gathered to see what kind of funny business was going on at this time of night on their nice, quiet street. I felt like sticking my tongue out at them. Instead, like the grown-up I am, I asked the officers if they could turn the siren on for me, leaving a trail of barking dogs and crying babies in my wake. They all deserved it and I smiled despite my cracked, bloodied lips.