Breathe Page 3

  “GAC.”

  “Greater Atlanta Christian? Do you play basketball there?”

  Kara struggled but she answered through her scratchy throat, “Yeah.”

  “I guess that’s why people go there: to play basketball. My daughter plays ball at Shiloh. Her name is Riley Roberts. Do you know her?”

  “Yeah, she’s a great player,” she said. She closed her eyes.

  With one hand, Det. Sanchez stroked the back of Kara’s hand with her thumb. She ran her other hand through Kara’s hair. She comforted this afflicted one and mulled over how affliction would be brought upon the comforted.

  The ambulance splashed through the rain and its siren blared.

  Chapter Two

  Within two minutes, The Acolyte had reached his hiding spot.

  Safety, he thought. He held tight to the iron rung. His sexual high withered into disappointment. He did not get the full high. What a waste, he thought.

  Rainwater crashed from both sides and soaked his clothes. The water beneath him had gone from a puddle to a stream.

  The rain sewer was the perfect escape. He grinned, proud of himself, but he did not know how long he would wait.

  He stepped off of the ladder onto a ledge on the side. He had not anticipated this. A tunnel connected both sides of the road. It was pitch black, but it was worth a shot. It lessened the chance of discovery.

  Already soaked, he got on all fours and traversed the tunnel. The tunnel had a slight incline and water from the other drain trickled in his direction. Sludge and mud greeted his knees and palms but he pushed forward.

  The Police dogs barked. He held his position and he held his breath for fear of any sound would alert the dogs. He did not know if they could hear him, but it was not a chance he’d take. The rain was a well-planned part of his strategy. It washed away his scent, but it led the dogs this far. His heart pounded hard against his rib cage. However, he controlled his breathes and contained it in silence.

  “They’re stumped,” a male voice called. “He must have gotten on the bus. He’s long gone.”

  “Where does this bus go?” another voice said.

  “The next stop is the Marta train station. The best thing is if we can find out which bus came through and watch the security video.”

  “We can impound it for finger prints or hair or both.”

  Footsteps sloshed away and the barks with them. He felt safer. He scurried on his knees to the other side of the street. He had not thought about the security cameras.

  They’d look for the last bus but not a bus in the other direction.

  He arrived to the other side. He stood, the water dripped from his clothes in a steady stream. The bottom rung was broken.

  He jumped and grabbed hold of the next rung, but his fingers slipped. He fell onto his backside. His pants soaked through to his bones. He regrouped and tried again. This time he grabbed hold with vigor. He swung his feet out, higher than the tunnel he traversed. There, he planted his feet and walked the wall and got higher on the ladder. He threw his left hand and grasped, and then he threw his right hand. He pulled himself higher and brought his feet onto a rung.

  Scrunched into a ball, he stretched himself and climbed high enough he could see through the drain vent. From the ladder, he had a clear view of the parking lot.

  The rain flowed in and the next bus ambled down the road.

  Glee. The next bus pulled to the stop before his stop.

  The K-9 unit came back with a woman cop. He had not heard her earlier. Were they going to check the sewers?

  He glanced down the street. A few people got off. The few included a person on a wheel chair. She got onto the sidewalk and wheeled her chair back. She said something to the driver and cackled a great cackle.

  The dogs were half way to him already. This wasn’t the time to panic.

  He wedged himself on the stairs, held on with his left hand, and pushed the sewer lid with his right hand.

  The bus had left the previous stop.

  He could not budge the lid. It would not move. He loosened his grip.

  The bus rumbled to a stop. The diesel engine whined and the air breaks deployed with a whoosh.

  One last, push. Trapped.

  The bus idled, the door swooshed open. Footsteps pattered off.

  In desperation, he pulled himself through the vent.

  He watched and the last person got on and the door whooshed. The bus rolled away.

  He pounded on the Victoria Secret advertisement on the side panel of the bus.

  The bus halted. He smiled, and jogged to the door and it pushed open. Success.

  The dogs went nuts but the detectives stood at the other bus stop and searched.

  “Oh, I did not see you,” the driver said with her Ebonics mixed with a side of southern flare.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You soaked. Where you coming from?”

  “I missed the last bus so I waited under the trees so I would not get wet. Did not work.”

  “Dollar fiddy,” she said.

  “I’ve got a pass somewhere,” he said. The cops stood over the sewer. “Ah, cannot find it. Here are two. Keep the change.”

  He slinked into the first seat, slouched, and watched over his shoulder. They took the cap off of the sewer. The bus drove off and the Acolyte was gone. He sighed and watched one of the cops lower himself into the sewer.

  “Really should not be under trees with lightning. I had a cousin in Charleston get struck cuz he was too close to a tree.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He kept his head bowed and did not make eye contact.

  He scanned the bus. A couple of passengers, he thought. iPods, books, Journal Constitutions; everybody was preoccupied.

  The Acolyte pulled a gold chain cross necklace from his jeans pocket, kissed it and chained it around his neck.

  Chapter Three

  The rain pattered on the windshield. The ambulance backed into its spot along the lane of ambulances. The doors crashed open and the EMT workers unloaded and rolled the gurney towards the Grady Memorial Medical Center doors.

  Sheet after sheet of rain moved across the driveway. A cool northwest breeze blew the rain in a fine mist into the porte-cochere. The lightning lit the clouds.

  The gurney rolled and Kara became aware of the new surroundings. She looked at the white brick wall and turned her head. She saw the cement pillars and the gurney whisked into the doorway.

  “Where are we?” Kara’s mouth said but her vocal chords did not comply with her in and out of delirium.

  The automatic doors bounced open as they neared. The gurney rolled on into the sterile white central corridor of the hospital.

  Bright fluorescent lights blinded Kara’s un-dilated pupils. She scrunched her eyes and turned her head. Her pupils contracted. The lights reflected off of the walls and fused in one long white blur. The new surroundings kept Kara curious enough she strained her eyes open despite the brightness. Every sound and motion caught Kara’s attention.

  The sound was of a whole host of emergency technicians who ascended on Kara and whisked her away.

  An Asian American female technician asked Det. Sanchez, “What is her name, ma’am?”

  “Kara, I do not know her last name,” Det. Sanchez said.

  The smell of yesterday’s blood aggravated the nausea Kara already felt. Yet, Kara lacked any strength to throw up.

  “She was raped,” the medic told the technician. The tech walked them down the hall.

  The sound of those words echoed in Kara’s psyche. It was as if it was said about somebody else and Kara overheard it.

  An eternity passed and they wheeled Kara into a room where they moved her to overstuffed, leather, Brewer 6000 Access exam table. It looked more like a Lazy Boy Recliner than a hospital exam table, she noticed, except the paper liner, which ran down the middle.

  Kara reclined in the chair. A female technician came in. She stretched purple non-latex gloves over her hand.

  “Make sure you seal the sheet on the gurney,” the technician instructed the medics.

  She hooked Kara to a heart monitor and moved the drip bag to a portable stand. She continued and another female nurse entered the room and brought the sealed sheet.

  “Dr. Green will be in here soon and she will complete the kit. She said to go ahead and gather the personal information,” the second nurse said.

  The first technician grabbed a cardboard box, sealed in plastic, from a cabinet, under the counter. The box was white with blue letters and was labeled in the upper right hand corner, with an orange biohazard label. She took the lid off of the box and pulled out the top form.

  Kara stared and the practitioner placed a form onto a clipboard and sat on a stool next to Kara’s bed. The nurse pulled a pen from the front pocket of her burgundy scrubs. The click echoed through the silence room.

  “We’re busy tonight, so if I’m too fast, ask me to slow down, okay?” the nurse clarified.

  Kara nodded.

  “What is your name?” the nurse asked.

  “Kara… Foster…” she said.

  “How are you, Kara? Is there anything I can get you?” the nurse asked in her Georgia, sweet like molasses, accent.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I know you are,” the nurse observed from Kara’s voice, “we have you on an IV, but you cannot have a drink yet, until we are done, okay, Sweetheart?”

  Kara nodded. “Do you know when my parents will be here?”

  “No, Sweetheart, I will have Nurse Mary Beth find out in a minute.”

  “When were you born, Kara?”

  “September 3, 1991.”

  “17. And you are female and Caucasian,” she scribbled, and looked back at Kara.

  “What’
s your social security number?”

  “470-66-0787.”

  “What is your phone number?”

  “770-555-9963.”

  “Let’s see here,” the nurse said. She studied the heart monitor. “The diastolic blood pressure is at 91 mm Hg and systolic blood pressure of 142 mm Hg. Not too bad considering.” She jotted her information down.

  “Any allergies?”

  “No.”

  “Last tetanus shot?”

  “I think,” she paused, “last summer. I will not answer these questions.”

  “I’m sorry, Honey. I do not want to ask you them, but we need this information. Ok?”

  Kara nodded and hummed an ok.

  “Ok. Do you have any illnesses? Are you sick with anything major?”

  “No.”

  “Have you had any surgeries?”

  Kara stared away. She paused for a few moments and finally answered, “I had my appendix taken out when I was like seven.”

  “Have you ever been pregnant before?”

  “No,” she said. She set her hands on her belly and sniffled. A tear emerged and trickled down her cheek. She wiped the tear with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and sniffled again.

  Pregnant. The word echoed. She had not thought she could be. She feared the responsibility. She was a child, she thought. Georgia tech appeared on her radar for basketball. College blipped on her radar. If she were pregnant, her whole future would change. She would lose her scholarship.

  “It’s okay sweetheart. What is your weight?” The nurse asked. Kara snapped back.

  “One hundred pounds.”

  “How tall are you, hon?”

  “Five feet, five inches.”

  “Do you know who your family doctor is?”

  Kara stared, stuttered, and answered, “I cannot remember.” She pulled her legs into a ball, inside her sweatshirt.

  “We will wait for the Doctor before we proceed. It should be a couple minutes.”

  Kara sighed. Her face was stoic and she stared at the picture on the wall. She never comprehended the images of the picture.

  Her lips lowered and she breathed heavily and she pondered the night. She was so deep into her thought she did not notice the quiet chatter of the two nurses.

  She fought the nausea, which moved into her throat. She looked for an open a window so she could jump out. The higher the better, she thought. She would rather die than go through this. She turned and stared at the IV and thought she might pull the plug. However, it did not support.

  There was a knock at the door. It clicked open and interrupted her train of thought.

  A blonde female doctor came in and asked, “Is this,” she looked at her clipboard, “Kara Foster?” The first nurse scurried and gave her the form she started.

  Kara perked up. She straightened her posture and her bottom lip still poked out. The doctor was too young. Doogie Howser looked down on her. The doctor and her ponytail did not help the youthful look. However, the doctor’s voice soothed Kara.

  “Kara, I’m sorry we are meeting under these circumstances, but I assure you I am here and I will help you. My name is Doctor Kimberly Green and you can call me Kim.” She waited for Kara’s response. Kara never gave one.

  “I am a trained forensic examiner. I will collect all the evidence so we can catch the man who did this to you.”

  Kim changed her tone to a more sympathetic and quieter sound. “Listen, Kara, I’ve been in your seat before, and so has my sister, which is why I’m here. I’ve been where you are. I’ve been through what you’re going through.

  “I know you’re 17, but make an important decision. Please, sign this form and agree for a rape kit.

  “What this does is it allows us to take any of your clothing, a sample of your hair, examine any part which was assaulted and things like that. Most of the time, when a doctor asks for information, or perform procedures on a person of your age, parents need to give permission. This is one of the few, if not the only reason, we would not have to get parental permission. It is an emergent situation and we believe you can make an educated decision and help us help you. Will you sign this?”

  Kara sat and reached for the clipboard. She jotted her signature and gave the clipboard back.

  “It’s a good decision, I assure you,” Dr. Green said. “I have a couple more questions for you so I can finish this form. Afterwards we can get started on the rape kit.

  “Did he use a contraceptive and if so what was used?”

  “He used a condom, until the end… he pulled it off before he finished…” Kara retracted her hand and covered her mouth. Her eyes welled with tears. Her stomach wretched, like a surfer caught inside a wave.

  “Do you have a gynecologist, Kara?”

  “Yes, but my first scheduled appointment was not until next week,” she said. She still cupped her hand over her mouth and sniffed the snot at the rim of her nostril.

  “Kara, these next questions are a lot more personal. You have to be honest with me,” she exhorted. “Have you bathed, showered, douched, brushed your teeth, or used mouth wash since you were raped?”

  “No I have not,” Kara whimpered. She clicked her teeth against her fingernails. In her mind, she talked about someone else.

  “Have you urinated, defecated, or vomited since you were raped?”

  “Defecated means did I poop?” Kara clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “No, I have not.”

  Questions like “Was there penetration?” and “Did he ejaculate there?” were among the questions.

  Kara turned her head and looked to the back corner of the room. Reality hit her between the eyes. Her body convulsed and she suppressed her tears. She swallowed and said, in a higher pitched voice, “Yes,” and “I do not know” were common answers with tears rolled down her face, she cried. She reminded herself to breathe.

  A barrage of yes or no questions followed. What happened to you and where did it happen?

  “Were you pregnant at the time of the assault?”

  Pregnant. The word landed a pit in her stomach. The pit came up and lodged itself in her throat.

  “No, again. I am… I was a virgin,” Kara said. Her composure slipped from her grip. Her vision skewed from the tears like a dream of an examination room buried in Lake Lanier.

  Dr. Green paused and went over the previous set of questions and made sure she had not missed anything. She kept active because it was hard not to get personal in this situation. She could not fake being warm.

  She had written articles in the past. She asked the tough questions. Was it harder for a rape victim who was a virgin prior to the rape compared to someone who was not and compared each scenario of stranger rape, date rape, statutory rape and incestuous rape?

  Because she worked on the forensic side of things, she spoke in subjective theories and based on the stories she had seen in emergency rooms. She prayed a counselor would tackle the case study objectively.

  Kara had not gained her composure but Dr. Green pressed on. “Do you have any injuries which resulted in bleeding?”

  “I think so.”