Blindsighted

  “Well.” She shrugged, licking the pudding off the top. “College girls being raped, killing themselves. That’s not what we’re all about, is it?”

  Again, Jeffrey was surprised by her cavalier attitude. This wasn’t like Sara, but lately he wasn’t sure exactly how she was.

  “I guess not,” he said.

  “You tell her parents?”

  Jeffrey answered, “Frank picked them up at the airport.” He paused, then said, “Her father.” He stopped again. The sight of Jon Matthews’s anguished face was not something Jeffrey would soon forget.

  “Father took it hard, huh?” Sara said. “Daddies don’t like to know their little girls have been messed with.”

  “I guess not,” Jeffrey answered, wondering at her choice of words.

  “You would guess right.”

  “Yeah,” Jeffrey said. “He took it really hard.”

  Something flashed in Sara’s eyes, but she looked down before he could tell what was going on. She took a long drink from her glass, spilling some down the front of her shirt. She actually giggled.

  Despite his better judgment, Jeffrey asked, “What’s wrong with you, Sara?”

  She pointed at his waist. “When’d you start wearing those?” she asked.

  Jeffrey looked down. Since the only thing he was wearing was his green boxers, he assumed that’s what she meant. He looked back at her, shrugging. “A while ago.”

  “Less than two years,” she noted, licking more pudding.

  “Yeah,” he offered, walking over to her, arms out from his sides, showing off his underwear. “You like ’em?”

  She clapped her hands.

  “What’re you doing here, Sara?”

  She stared at him for a few seconds, then put the pudding down beside her. She leaned back, her heels lightly hitting the bottom cabinets. “I was thinking the other day about that time I was on the dock. Do you remember?”

  He shook his head, because they had spent practically every free second of every summer on the dock.

  “I had just gone for a swim, and I was sitting on the dock, brushing my hair. And you came up and you took the brush and you started to brush it for me.”

  He nodded, remembering that was the very thing he had been thinking about when he woke up in the hospital this morning. “I remember.”

  “You brushed my hair for at least an hour. Do you remember that?”

  He smiled.

  “You just brushed my hair, and then we got ready for dinner. Remember?”

  He nodded again.

  “What did I do wrong?” she asked, and the look in her eyes almost killed him. “Was it sex?”

  He shook his head. Sex with Sara had been the most fulfilling experience of his adult life. “Of course not,” he said.

  “Did you want me to cook you dinner? Or be there more when you got home?”

  He tried to laugh. “You did cook me dinner, remember? I was sick for three days.”

  “I’m being serious, Jeff. I want to know what I did wrong.”

  “It wasn’t you,” he answered, knowing the excuse was trite even as he finished the sentence. “It was me.”

  Sara sighed heavily. She reached for the glass, finishing the drink in one gulp.

  “I was stupid,” he continued, knowing he should just shut up. “I was scared because I loved you so much.” He paused, wanting to say this the right way. “I didn’t think you needed me as much as I needed you.”

  She leveled him with a gaze. “Do you still want me to need you?”

  He was surprised to feel her hand on his chest, her fingers lightly stroking his hair. He closed his eyes as she traced her fingers up to his lips.

  She said, “Right now, I really need you.”

  He opened his eyes. For just a split second, he thought she was joking. “What did you say?”

  “You don’t want it now that you have it?” Sara asked, still touching his lips.

  He licked the tip of her finger with his tongue.

  Sara smiled, her eyes narrowing, as if to read his mind. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Yeah,” he said, not even remembering the question. Then, “Yes. Yes, I still want you.”

  She started kissing his neck, her tongue making light strokes along his skin. He put his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Sara.” He sighed, trying to kiss her mouth, but she pulled away, instead letting her lips travel down his chest. “Sara,” he repeated. “Let me make love to you.”

  She looked back at him, a sly smile on her face. “I don’t want to make love.”

  His mouth opened, but he did not know how to respond. Finally he managed, “What does that mean?”

  “It means…” she began, then took his hand and held it up to her mouth. He watched as she traced the tip of his index finger with her tongue. Slowly, she took his finger into her mouth and sucked it. After what seemed not nearly enough time, she took it out, smiling playfully. “Well?”

  Jeffrey leaned in to kiss her, but she slid off the counter before he could. He moaned as Sara took her time kissing her way down his chest, nipping the band of his underwear with her teeth. With difficulty, he knelt on the floor in front of her, again trying to kiss her mouth. Again, she pulled away.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said, surprised at the begging tone to his voice.

  She shook her head, unbuttoning her shirt. “I can think of some other things you can do with your mouth.”

  “Sara—”

  She shook her head. “Don’t talk, Jeffrey.”

  He thought it was odd that she had said this, because the best part of sex with Sara was the talking. He put his hands to either side of her face. “Come here,” he said.

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He waited for her to answer his question, but she just stared at him.

  He asked, “Why won’t you let me kiss you?”

  “I just don’t feel like kissing.” Her smile was not as sly. “On the mouth.”

  “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

  She narrowed her eyes at him as a warning.

  “Answer me,” he repeated.

  Sara kept her eyes on him as she let her hand travel down past the waist of his shorts. She pressed her hand against him, as if to make sure he got her meaning. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He stopped her hand with his own. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head, and when he made her look up she closed her eyes.

  He whispered, “What’s wrong with you?”

  Sara didn’t answer. She kissed him full on the mouth, her tongue forcing its way past his teeth. It was a sloppy kiss, far from what he was used to with Sara, but there was an underlying passion that would have buckled his knees had he been standing.

  She stopped suddenly, dropping her head to his chest. He tried to make her look back up at him, but she wouldn’t.

  He asked, “Sara?”

  He felt her arms go around him again, but in a very different way from before. There was a desperate quality to her tightening hold, as if she were drowning.

  “Just hold me,” she begged. “Please just hold me.”

  Jeffrey woke with a start. He reached out, knowing even as he did that Sara would not be there beside him. He vaguely recalled her sneaking out some time ago, but Jeffrey had been too tired to move, let alone stop her. He turned over, pressing his face into the pillow she had used. He could smell lavender from her shampoo and a slight trace of the perfume she wore. Jeffrey held the pillow, rolling over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened last night. He still could not get his head around it. He had carried Sara to bed. She had cried softly on his shoulder. He had been so afraid of what was behind her tears that he had not questioned her anymore.

  Jeffrey sat up, scratching his chest. He c
ould not stay in bed all day. There was still the list of convicted sexual offenders to complete. He still needed to interview Ryan Gordon and whoever had been at the library with Julia Matthews the last night she had been seen before the abduction. He also needed to see Sara, to make sure she was okay.

  He stretched, touching the top of the door jamb as he walked into the bathroom. He stopped in front of the toilet. There was a stack of papers on the sink basin. A silver sliding clip was across the top pages, binding together what looked to be about two hundred sheets of paper. The pages looked dog-eared and yellowed, as if someone had paged through them a number of times. It was, Jeffrey recognized, a trial transcript.

  He looked around the bathroom, as if the transcript fairy who had left it might still be around. The only person who had been in the house was Sara, and he could not think why she would leave something like this. He read the title page, noting the date was from twelve years ago. The case was the State of Georgia v. Jack Allen Wright.

  A yellow Post-it note was sticking out from one of the pages. He flipped the transcript open, stopping at what he saw. Sara’s name was listed at the top of the page. Another name, Ruth Jones, probably the district attorney who had prosecuted the case, was listed as the questioner.

  Jeffrey sat on the toilet and began to read Ruth Jones’s examination of Sara Linton.

  Q. Dr. Linton, could you please tell us in your own words the events which took place on the twenty-third day of April, this time last year?

  A. I was working at Grady Hospital where I was a pediatric resident. I had a difficult day and decided to go for a drive in my car between shifts.

  Q. Was there anything unusual you noticed at this time?

  A. When I got to my car, the word cunt had been scraped into the passenger’s side door. I thought perhaps this was the work of a vandal, so I used some duct tape I kept in the trunk to cover it.

  Q. Then what did you do?

  A. I went back into the hospital for my shift.

  Q. Would you like a drink of water?

  A. No, thank you. I went to the rest room, and while I was washing my hands at the sink, Jack Wright came in.

  Q. The defendant?

  A. That’s correct. He came in. He was carrying a mop and wearing gray coveralls. I knew he was the janitor. He apologized for not knocking, said he’d come back later to clean, then left the bathroom.

  Q. Then what happened?

  A. I went into the stall to use the bathroom. The defendant, Jack Wright, jumped down from the ceiling. It was a drop ceiling. He handcuffed my hands to the handicapped railing, then taped my mouth shut with silver duct tape.

  Q. Are you sure this was the defendant?

  A. Yes. He had on a red ski mask, but I recognized his eyes. He has very distinctive blue eyes. I remember thinking before that with his long blond hair, beard, and blue eyes he looked like Bible pictures of Jesus. I am certain that it was Jack Wright who attacked me.

  Q. Is there any other distinguishing mark that leads you to believe it was the defendant who raped you?

  A. I saw a tattoo on his arm of Jesus nailed to the cross with the words JESUS above it and SAVES below it. I recognized this tattoo as belonging to Jack Wright, a janitor at the hospital. I had seen him several times before in the hallway, but we had never spoken to each other.

  Q. What happened next, Dr. Linton?

  A. Jack Wright pulled me down off the toilet. My ankles were pinned by my pants. They were on the floor. My pants. Around my ankles.

  Q. Please, take your time, Dr. Linton.

  A. I was pulled forward, but my arms were back behind me like this. He kept me pulled forward by putting one arm around my waist. He held a long knife, approximately six inches, to my face. He cut my lip to warn me, I suppose.

  Q. Then what did the defendant do?

  A. He put his penis in me and raped me.

  Q. Dr. Linton, could you tell us what, if anything, the defendant said during the time he raped you?

  A. He kept referring to me as “cunt.”

  Q. Could you tell us what happened next?

  A. He tried several times to bring himself to ejaculation, but was unsuccessful. He pulled his penis out of me and brought himself to climax [mumbled].

  Q. Could you repeat that?

  A. He brought himself to climax on my face and chest.

  Q. Could you tell us what happened then?

  A. He cursed me again, then stabbed me with his knife. In the left side, here.

  Q. Then what happened?

  A. I tasted something in my mouth. I choked. It was vinegar.

  Q. He poured vinegar into your mouth?

  A. Yes, he had a small vial, like a perfume sample would come in. He tilted it into my mouth and said, “It is finished.”

  Q. Does this phrase have any particular significance to you, Dr. Linton?

  A. It’s from John, in the King James version of the Bible. “It is finished.” According to John, these are the last words Jesus says as he’s dying on the cross. He calls for something to drink, and they give him vinegar. He drinks the vinegar, then, to quote the verse, he gives up the ghost. He dies.

  Q. This is from the crucifixion?

  A. Yes.

  Q. Jesus says, “It is finished.”

  A. Yes.

  Q. His arms pinned back like this?

  A. Yes.

  Q. A sword is stabbed into his side?

  A. Yes.

  Q. Was anything else said?

  A. No. Jack Wright said this, then left the bathroom.

  Q. Dr. Linton, do you have any idea how long you were left in the bathroom?

  A. No.

  Q. Were you still handcuffed?

  A. Yes. I was still handcuffed and I was on my knees looking down at the floor. I was unable to right myself, to sit back.

  Q. Then what happened?

  A. One of the nurses came in. She saw the blood on the floor and started to scream. A few seconds later, Dr. Lange, my supervisor, came into the room. I’d lost a great deal of blood, and I was still handcuffed. They started to help me, but they couldn’t do much with the cuffs on. Jack Wright had rigged the lock so that they would not open. He had shoved something into the lock, a toothpick or something. A locksmith had to be called to cut them off. I passed out during this time. The position of my body was such that blood continued to pool from the stab wound. I lost a great deal of blood during this time from the stab wound.

  Q. Dr. Linton, take your time. Would you like to take a short break?

  A. No, I want to continue.

  Q. Could you tell me what happened subsequent to the rape?

  A. I became pregnant from this contact, and subsequently developed an ectopic pregnancy, which is to say that an egg was implanted in my fallopian tube. There was a rupture which caused bleeding into my abdomen.

  Q. What effect, if any, has this had on you?

  A. A partial hysterectomy was performed wherein my reproductive organs were removed. I can no longer have children.

  Q. Dr. Linton?

  A. I would like to take a recess.

  Jeffrey sat in his bathroom, staring at the pages of the transcript. He read through them again, then once more, sobs echoing in the bathroom as he cried for the Sara he had never known.

  19

  Lena lifted her head slowly, trying to get some sense of where she was. All she saw was darkness. She held her hand inches from her face, unable to make out her palm and fingers. The last thing she remembered was sitting in her kitchen talking to Hank. After that, she drew a complete blank. It was as if she blinked one second and the next was transported to this spot. Wherever this spot was.

  She groaned, moving to her side so that she could sit up. With sudden clarity, she realized that she was naked. The floor underneath her was rough against her skin. She could feel the grain in the wooden planks. Her heart started pounding for some reason, but her mind would not tell her why. Lena reached in front of her, feeling more rough wood, but it was v
ertical, a wall.

  Pressing her hands into the wall, she managed to stand. In the back of her mind, she could make out a noise, but it was unfamiliar to her. Everything seemed disjointed and out of place. She felt physically as if she did not belong here. Lena found she was leaning her head against the wall, the wood pressing into the skin of her forehead. The noise was a staccato in her periphery, pounding, then nothing, pounding, then nothing, like a hammer on a piece of steel. Like a blacksmith fashioning a horseshoe.

  Clink, clink, clink.

  Where had she heard that before?

  Lena’s heart stopped as she finally made the connection. In the darkness, she could see Julia Matthews’s lips moving, voicing the noise.

  Clink, clink, clink.

  The sound was dripping water.

  20

  Jeffrey stood behind the one-way glass, looking into the interview room. Ryan Gordon sat at the table, his skinny arms crossed over his concave chest. Buddy Conford sat beside him, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. Buddy was a fighter. At the age of seventeen, he had lost his right leg from the knee down in a car accident. At the age of twenty-six, he had lost his left eye from cancer. At thirty-nine, a dissatisfied client had attempted to pay Buddy off with two bullets. Buddy had lost a kidney and suffered a collapsed lung, but was back in the courtroom two weeks later. Jeffrey was hoping Buddy’s sense of right and wrong would help move things along today. Jeffrey had downloaded a picture of Jack Allen Wright from the state database this morning. Jeffrey would have a lot stronger leg to stand on in Atlanta if he had a positive ID.

  Jeffrey had never considered himself an emotional man, but there was an ache in his chest that would not go away. He wanted to talk to Sara so badly, but he was terrified that he would say the wrong thing. Driving in to work, he had gone over and over in his mind what he would say to her, even talking out loud to see how his words sounded. Nothing would come out right, and Jeffrey ended up sitting in his office for ten minutes with his hand on the phone before he could coax up enough courage to dial Sara’s number at the clinic.

  After telling Nelly Morgan that it wasn’t an emergency but he would like to talk to Sara anyway, he got a snippy “She’s with a patient,” followed by a slam of the phone. This brought Jeffrey an enormous sense of relief, then a feeling of disgust at his own cowardice.