TWENTY-FIVE
For quite a while, Angela lay on the greasy moving pad where she had been raped, gasping in air, sucking in life, getting her breath, both from the hanging and from the sheer terror of the ordeal.
Tears ran down her face but this time they were tears of joy. She had beaten her would-be killers. She had beaten all four of the bastards.
After a time, she made herself get up on wobbly legs. She couldn’t straighten up all the way because her abdomen hurt so much from the blows. She feared something inside was broken. Blood dripped from her chin to the concrete floor, leaving growing pools of vivid red. Her face throbbed in pain. She looked around and finally saw her shorts and panties lying against one of the shelves where Miguel had thrown them.
Angela shuffled over to her clothes. She pulled a blanket from the gray metal shelf. Blood was splattered all down her legs from the beating.
She stood for a few minutes to regain enough strength, then used the blanket to wipe off the semen running down her thighs before she pulled on her underpants and shorts. Her top had been torn off. She put it on with trembling hands and tied the front shut as best she could.
She almost shouted with excitement when she found the keys to her truck still in the pocket of her shorts. She wasn’t sure she could drive, but she knew she had to.
The door grated on the buckled concrete when she slowly pushed it open just enough to carefully poke her head out. She was worried that one of the men might have remained behind to stand guard.
She didn’t see anyone. It was dark and lonely outside. Her truck was still there.
The craziest thought came into her head. Barry would be wondering why she wasn’t at work. He had always been good to her, treated her well.
She pushed the door open a little more so she could put her head out farther into the night and get a better look around. She didn’t see any of the men. Their car was gone. They must have all left. They wanted her dead, but they hadn’t stayed to see her die. She supposed that they figured she didn’t have a chance in hell of escaping.
The abandoned factory area was dead quiet and pitch black. She didn’t see any lights anywhere. Overhead the moon shone down on her all alone among the ghostly buildings, giving her enough light to see.
Angela unlocked the truck and with an effort climbed up into the driver’s seat. Her abdomen cramped in pain, her face throbbed, and her throat burned with every breath.
Her phone was in one of the cup holders where she’d left it. She briefly thought about calling the police, but she knew they would take forever to find her. That would waste a lot of time.
Angela didn’t think she could afford to waste any time.
Her fingers were shaking so badly it took her several tries before she was finally able to get the key into the ignition. She turned the key and her faithful truck roared to life—her chariot ready to carry her away and help her escape. She backed away from the building, put the truck in drive, and laid rubber away from the death trap.
Her fuzzy thoughts kept wandering. She didn’t know where she was going. She was having trouble focusing enough to keep a train of thought as to how she had found the address in the first place. It wasn’t long before she realized she was completely lost. Nothing looked familiar. In the dark, the dark shapes of the buildings all looked the same. Getting lost in the old industrial complex was easy enough to do in the day, but at night, without any lights or landmarks, it was easier to lose your way. On top of that, she was in so much pain she was having trouble thinking at all.
Angela leaned forward against the steering wheel at the end of every building, looking left and right for the four-door Toyota Camry the men were driving. The last thing she wanted to do was get caught by them again. Of course, if she was in her truck, they would never be able to catch her. But if they were armed they could shoot out her tires, or more likely, shoot her. Being in the truck was no protection from guns. Her truck wasn’t bulletproof. She wasn’t bulletproof.
But now she had a gun and she could shoot back.
The industrial district wasn’t laid out with regular streets. The entire area was acres and acres of concrete with buildings placed in what seemed like random places. The expanses of concrete were broken, cracked, and overgrown with weeds. Even though it seemed random, there was a pattern to the way the buildings were laid out, such as to take advantage of the rail lines, and routes among them with occasional streets.
The problem was, Angela wasn’t familiar enough with that pattern. Here and there larger buildings blocked the way she thought she needed to go, making it necessary to detour around them. Without streets among the maze of old buildings, and in her foggy mental state, it was maddening trying to find her way out.
At last she saw a familiar building in the moonlight. It had a partially collapsed roof. Beyond that building she found the road she knew led back into town. She wanted to go home to her cabin in the woods. That was all she wanted to do. Go home and shower off the filth from those men.
But she knew that wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Instead of heading for her place, she headed into Milford Falls. It was a relief when she reached streetlights again and areas she knew well.
She encountered traffic but it was light because of the late hour. In a way, seeing other cars was a relief, because for a time it had seemed like she was the only person left in the world. When she saw no cars at intersections, she rolled through stop signs and red lights. She didn’t want to waste time to stop unless she had to.
When she finally saw the glowing red sign for the hospital, she pulled in and came to a crooked stop at the emergency entrance. She knew there was no parking allowed where she stopped. She didn’t care.
The emergency entrance had double glass doors. She could see activity inside. She didn’t see any patients. She knew that the emergency department was usually quiet this late at night. The drunks who had been in car accidents or fights had already been treated, so the hospital usually quieted down until the early-morning rush started in.
Angela slid out of the driver’s seat. When her feet hit the ground, she found she was so dizzy she didn’t know if she would be able to stand, but the light from beyond the glass doors drew her onward. She made up her mind that if it was the last thing she did, she was going to make it inside. If she could get inside, someone would help her.
The automatic doors slid apart as she stumbled through the entryway. Once in the light she saw that she was dripping blood all along the tan linoleum floor. She could feel it dripping off her chin and running all down the front of her.
The chairs for patients coming in with an emergency were empty, but there were people ahead at the desk. She knew the place well from picking up courier packages. She knew many of the people who worked in the hospital.
They would recognize her. They would help her.
When the nurse at the desk saw her shuffling in, she immediately called for help and then rushed out from behind her desk. Two more nurses emerged from a side hall. An orderly poked his bald head out from behind a curtain. None of them ran in a panic, but they all hurried with professional familiarity with medical emergencies.
One of the nurses came up and put a hand under Angela’s arm and the other around her waist just as she started sinking toward the floor. The orderly shoved a wheelchair at her from behind and helped pull her into it.
“Good lord, young lady—is anyone else with you?”
“I’m alone,” Angela managed. Her voice sounded garbled. Her tongue felt swollen.
The orderly started wheeling her toward one of the treatment areas, a nurse to each side.
“What’s your name, dear?”
Angela looked up. “Julie, it’s me.”
“Me? Me who?”
“Angela.”
The woman looked stunned. “Angela? Angela Constantine? Our courier?”
Angela nodded. She realized her face must be pretty messed up for Julie not to recognize her.
“What happened? Were you in a car accident?”
“No. I was raped by four men,” she said. “They tried to kill me.”
Angela was only dimly aware of being lifted onto a bed in the treatment room as people rushed around. Everyone seemed to have a job and knew just what to grab.
A short Asian woman leaned in. Angela realized she recognized her. It was Dr. Song. One nurse put a blood-pressure cuff around her left arm as another worked at getting a needle into her other arm. Once the nurse had taken her blood pressure, she bent in with a pair of scissors and cut off Angela’s shorts and panties, then quickly unlaced her boots. She pulled off the boots and set them aside.
“What happened to your neck?” Dr. Song asked while listening to her heart.
“They tried to hang me.”
Dr. Song turned to one of the nurses. “Call the police. Ask for a female officer. Then get a rape kit.”
Angela started to cry.
One of the nurses patted her on the shoulder. “No need to cry, Angela. We’re going to take good care of you.”
That wasn’t why Angela was crying.
She was crying because she was at last safe.