The Sinner
“Come here,” he said, holding her up. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
Opening the door into the garage, he helped her inside, holding her up as she limped on the one stiletto that still had a heel. There were a pair of stuffed armchairs off in an alcove, next to the refrigerator and the space heater, and he took her over to one of them. As she eased down onto the padded cushion, her wince told him more than he needed to know about where else she’d been hurt.
Leaning to the side to turn on the heater, he opened his mouth to say something, but struggled to put together anything coherent. Too much of him was focused on wanting to find whoever had done this so he could kill them.
Mel put her head in her hands, her tangled hair falling forward. “I am so stupid. So stupid to have been alone with that guy—”
Butch crouched down and took her palms from her face. “Hey, hey. Stop that.” He brushed a strand of her long, brown hair back behind her ear. “We need to get you to the hospital.” And to a rape kit. “And we should call the police—”
“No!” She wiped a tear off her cheek and winced. “I’m not going to do that—”
“Mel, this was a crime.”
“I don’t know his name—”
“That’s okay, we’ll give a description to the CPD, and we’ll make sure they have a DNA—”
“I’m not going to the police.”
Butch gripped her hands. “Mel. I can’t imagine what you’ve just been through. But I know for certain there are people who can help you—people who can also make sure that the piece of shit who did this to you will get what he deserves.”
Her eyes were luminous with tears that trembled on her lashes. “I can’t. I just want to forget this ever happened—”
“Caldwell has a SART program, and I can put you in touch with them. They’re really good and they—”
Mel sniffled. “What’s a SART?”
He thought of his shellan and how much he had learned from Marissa as she’d studied how humans deal with violence against females. “It’s a sexual attack response team. It’s a multidisciplinary approach that is all about the survivor. It’s medical people, law enforcement, social workers, all coming together to support you as you seek justice. I promise you, they’re good folks, and—”
Mel’s eyes went down to their linked hands. “I can’t go to the police.”
Butch frowned. “I know that it will be hard. But I swear, you’ll be taken care of—”
“You don’t understand.” Her stare came up to his own. “It’s really not an option for me.”
And that was when her meaning sunk in. As the implications became obvious Butch released her hands and sat back on the cold concrete floor.
“I don’t want you to think any less of me.” She sniffled again and cleaned her tears with the back of her arm. “But yeah… it’s not going to happen.”
“I don’t think less of you.”
“You sure about that.”
“Absolutely, I am. I just… it’s not where I expected—” Butch cut himself off. “But enough about that—”
“You didn’t think I’d end up an escort?” She held out her short skirt and moved around the hem, as if she were looking for tears in the fabric. “Neither did I.”
Getting to his feet, he got a roll of paper towels off the top of the refrigerator. After spooling free some sheets, he folded them and knelt back down again. Gingerly patting her cheeks and under her nose, he grit his teeth at the fucking animal who had done this to her.
“It doesn’t matter what the circumstances were when the two of you met up,” he said. “This is an assault. It’s illegal.”
“I’ve already been popped twice down in Manhattan. That’s why I had to come up here. I don’t want my family to find out how I’m making my money. I’m more afraid of that than going to jail for solicitation. Prostitution. Whatever they call it in this jurisdiction.” She took ahold of his hand as he tamped her tears. “And I don’t work the streets or anything. I’m expensive.”
“Pinch your nose with this.” He gave her the paper towels. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
She did as she was told, her words coming out muffled. “I feel like if I tell you that you won’t think I’m a common whore.”
“Don’t use that word.”
“It’s what I am. What I’ve become.”
He thought back to what he remembered of her and Janie, and the center of his chest hurt. “You’re still exactly who you’ve always been.”
“I sell my body, Butch.” She took the paper towels away and stared down at the red stain on the white twist. “What else would you call me.”
“If you’re trying to get me to judge you, it won’t work.”
“I feel like I should be judged. Ten commandments and all.”
“That doesn’t matter.” He looked up into her face. “You matter. Your choice of what you want to do with your body is not an issue. It doesn’t change a damn thing.”
Mel touched her cheek where it was abraded. “How badly am I hurt? Do you think any of this is permanent?”
“No,” he said. “You’re still beautiful.”
The defeat in her eyes aged her. And the bruises and cuts, the blood and swelling, made him furious and despaired by turns.
“Listen, I know a doctor.” He cleared his throat. “She could come and check you out. She’s totally discreet.”
Mel shook her head and squeezed one of his hands. “I’ll take care of myself.”
“You really should have a doctor—”
“You think this is the first time something like this has happened?”
Butch closed his eyes briefly. “Shit.”
Releasing his palm, she pushed herself to her feet with a wince and lurched to one side. As she looked down at her shoes in confusion, she mumbled, “My heel broke off. I didn’t notice.”
“Let me take you home, at least? And is there someone we can call? Someone who can sit with you?”
“I shouldn’t have come. I just ran out of the club, and the next thing I knew, I was here. I just wasn’t thinking right.”
“Will you let me drive you home?”
She looked at the R8. “This is not how I imagined seeing you again.”
“Fate has a strange way of working things out.”
* * *
Behind the wheel of the Golf, Jo kept driving along, leaving the strip malls and the car dealerships behind, and proceeding into more open spaces where cemeteries, the community college, and part of SUNY Caldwell’s campus was. Things had been silent inside the car for a while now, and they were closing in on their destination. She couldn’t decide whether this was a good thing or not.
A part of her just wanted to drive around until dawn. As if everything on his mind, and all that was on hers, would maybe run out of gas before the VW did.
“So what about you?” Syn asked.
Jo cleared her throat and found it hard to know what to say; her thoughts were still bouncing around the details he’d shared about his own life. So it was on autopilot that she ran through her dossier.