The Cutting Edge, page 13
“I won’t change my mind,” Hunter grinned. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my office. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Thanks for coming by,” she said. “And you don’t have to come back.”
“I know I don’t,” he replied, “but I will.”
As he left, Leslie hit the call button. Within moments, Meg entered her room.
“I owe you an apology,” Leslie sobbed.
“No,” Meg whispered, “You don’t owe me anything. Now, would you like something from the real world for dinner? Our janitor is going to pick up some food from Big Al’s. All of the nurses have decided to pig out.”
“Yeah,” Leslie sighed, “how about a shake?”
“Let me run and catch him.”
Meg hurriedly rushed from the room yelling, “Jacob, could you pick up a chocolate shake for my cousin?”
“The girl who was cut up?” the man asked.
38
Everywhere I look I hit a dead end,” Brian Rosatelli’s voice displayed all the frustration he was feeling. “None of the white cars match.”
“What do you mean, Cap?” patrolman Bruner inquired.
“You know the slashing victim?” The captain explained. “Well, she saw a white car pull out of the employee’s parking lot a few nights ago, and it was like the car that picked her up at the airport. Well, I’ve checked on all the employees who have white sedans. Three of them are unmarried women, and the fourth, a janitor named McCleod, told me that his car has been broken down for at least a month. He’s been using his aunt’s blue truck. It’s a dead end. Someone else must have used the lot that night, and there is no way that we can find out who.”
“What about security cameras?”
Rosatelli shook his head. “None out there. It’s not like New York or L.A. where everyone has every angle covered. Those TV shows make it look there are cameras showing every part of the world all the time. Fat chance! There aren’t any in the hospital hallways either.”
The lack of cameras was normally something Rosatelli pointed to with a sense of pride. There wasn’t that much crime in Springfield. The old Midwestern values were still in place. Most folks left their doors unlocked right up until the moment they went to bed. Yet now that a violent crime had occurred, this lack of full coverage was frustrating. At no key point in this case was there a single scrap of video footage. Not at the airport, the alley, or the hospital! Like it or not, Springfield was going to have gear up its security in order to protect its citizens during this more violent age.
“Is the car all you have got to go on?” Bruner asked.
“Yeah, Charles,” Rosatelli admitted. “The woman never saw her attackers, and she doesn’t really remember much anyway. So there’s a madman on the streets, and we are helpless when it comes to finding him. We don’t have a clue, except for a white car, and there are just a few thousand of them around here.”
Bruner shook his head. “Cap, that may not be the case. As she was picked up at the airport and we have had nothing since, it could have been someone passing through who just took advantage of the moment. Kind of an impulse thing! The guy might be a thousand miles away now.”
“Yeah,” Rosatelli answered, “I’ve considered that. Even spent a full day online looking at other crimes in other places. Figured I might see a pattern. But nothing! Then there is the nature of the attack. What was the motivation? Cutting someone up with a broken bottle signals this was a personal crime—one motivated by deep animosity toward the victim. Yet she wasn’t hated. And there was no sexual assault. In the norm, there would have been. None of the clues fit. She had no enemies, no ex-boyfriends, no jealous friends, no one with an agenda against her.”
Picking his cell phone up off the desk he moved quickly toward the door. Glancing back over his shoulder, he said, “Well, I think I’ll call the hospital and see if Ms. Rhoads remembered anything else. Maybe she can give me something else to go on.”
“Hey, Cap,” the patrolman asked, “have you put it on Crime Stoppers? Maybe you could get someone to call in if there’s a reward. Money often trumps fear!”
“It’s going on the air next week,” Rosatelli answered, just before he left.
As he stared out on Springfield’s calm streets, he scratched his head. This one made no sense at all. With crimes, there are always whys that lead him to a who, but not in this case. There simply is no reason for anyone Leslie Rhoads knew to do this to her—no reason at all.
39
Boy, this place sure is dark,” Flo Rhoads complained as she walked into her daughter’s hospital room. “Why don’t you turn on the lights?”
“Great idea, Mom,” Leslie answered. “Why don’t we put out a sign and charge admission, too.” She raised her voice to mimic a carnival barker, “Come one, come all, see the freak! Catch her now and we guarantee you won’t sleep for a week.”
“Yeah, you look horrible,” Flo replied, “but we will make them pay.”
“Who Mom?” Leslie answered. “Who are you going to sue? The doctors did what they could, and we don’t know who cut me up. Why don’t you just grow up and face the facts? This is what happened and this is the way I look.”
“I don’t have to do that,” Flo shot back. “Somebody’s going to pay and pay big for taking my daughter from …” The woman paused as her eyes locked onto Leslie’s face.
“Come on, Mom,” Leslie pushed her, “finish it.” She waited for a second, and when her mother said nothing, Leslie added, “… taking my daughter away from me. Not my daughter’s face, not her beauty, but her whole being. To you, it’s like I died. In fact, you would rather I had died!”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Flo’s weak apology failed to ring true.
“Mom,” Leslie’s voice was filled of bitterness, “the first words out of your mouth when I was born were not, ‘Is she healthy,’ but ‘is she beautiful?’ You used to brag to everyone about how beautiful I was from day one. Was it that day I became your project? After all, ever since I can remember you have spent your life telling me, forcing me, to be all the things that you said you could have and should have been if you’d had better parents or a more suitable husband. Lucky for you I was beautiful because it gave you something to live for. Now, I’m not beautiful, but I’m reasonably healthy, and it’s not enough. You see, I can’t become the things you wanted to be anymore. You can no longer look on the cover of a magazine, see my face, and imagine that it is you. Now your daughter is just another person and I’m not the person that you want. I’m an ugly person, so for someone like you, I have no value. I’m not someone you can be proud of anymore!”
Flo turned her face toward the window, crossing her arms under her ample bosom. Leslie waited for a few moments to see if the woman would put up an argument, even a weak one, but it was quickly apparent there was none coming.
“Mother, I’ve spent my life being a computer that you programmed and operated. You molded me into a successful model, but what kind of person did you mold me to be? I don’t know who I am beyond my face! I don’t think there is anything in me except my beautiful face and this body. And, if that is the case, then my life is over. Admit it, you think it is. You think that without my face, I’m worthless. So, you want to sue somebody—anybody—to make sure I, and probably you, have the money my beauty would have earned.”
“Honey,” Flo pleaded, “you deserve some money. I mean you were almost at a point where you would’ve been worth millions. Your agent told me about the perfume promotion. It would’ve made your career.”
“Wait a minute,” Leslie interrupted her mother, “I came home so that you would talk me out of that ad. I thought you would freak over the nudity. I mean, what would those little old ladies in your garden club say when they saw me naked?”
“Oh, Les,” Flo’s tone was now sad and low, “the nudity would’ve been no big deal. You would’ve been famous. It was just an ad. And it would have showed your real beauty. It would have made your career. I wouldn’t have stopped you from being the envy of every woman in the world. That is what I always wanted for you.”
“That’s great, Mother!” Leslie exclaimed. “I spent my life trying to live up to your godly principles in order to be the kind of good girl you wanted, and when it meant a career break, those things meant nothing. Now, I realize you only put up a token fight against the booze ad so that you could have something to hold over me. It had nothing to do with Steve’s death. You didn’t once think of the pain it might cause Meg!”
Leslie was on a roll and she wasn’t going to let up until she had revealed all the deep-seated grudges she had been holding against the woman who’d given her life.
“Do you even know who I am? Am I your daughter or am I just a series of still photographs, a series of beautiful images caught momentarily by a digital camera, and then framed like a bunch of first-place trophies? You better decide, because if all I am is Leslie the model, Leslie the beautiful face, then I died in that alley. So, why don’t you dig me a grave?”
“Now honey …”
“Don’t, Mother, don’t even start. Why don’t you just get out of here? I’ll call you when it’s time for me to come home. Oh, and please buy a bunch of veils for me to wrap my face in so you don’t have to look at it ever again. Or better yet, have a mask made from the cover of Fashion and Style. Then you could pretend I am still that beautiful baby you dreamed of and held onto for so long.”
Putting up no argument, Flo Rhoads smoothed her hair, grabbed her purse, and pushed out of the room. She didn’t even bother to mouth a good-bye.
In the darkness of the room, Leslie continued to fume. She was angry, not so much at her mother—she had long accepted the fact that her mother did not look beyond the surface at anyone—what was upsetting her were the questions that she couldn’t answer about herself. Without a beautiful face, she didn’t know if she had any value. She had never been the center of attention at parties because of her humorous quips, sparkling concepts, or deep insights. She had impressed people by flashing her teeth or batting her eyes. It’d never taken any more than that, and she wondered now if she had anything else to give. Was that all there was to her? She had never been so grateful when her thoughts were interrupted by a ringing phone. After pulling on the light cord she found the receiver and answered.
“Hello.”
“Leslie, Captain Rosatelli here. Listen, I’ve drawn a blank on the white car. Have you come up with anything else?”
“No,” Leslie answered, “I don’t know anything else.” Pausing a moment, she brought her left hand up to her face, letting her fingers linger on the rough stitches. As almost an afterthought, she inquired, “When are you going to get this guy? I want him put away.”
“So do we, Ms. Rhoads,” Rosatelli assured her. “And we are doing all we can, but …”
“No buts,” Leslie’s voice was suddenly rough and coarse, almost as if she was channeling her inner Flo. “If you were a real police force rather than some hick organization, you’d have him. Listen, he ruined me, I’ll never work as a model again and I want to see him pay.”
“Well, we’re doing all we can, and I’m sure that we will get our man. You don’t worry about it. Call me if you think of anything new.”
Minutes after Leslie hung up, Meg strolled into her room. She was wearing a blue skirt and a white-and-red blouse. She looked a lot more like a model than a nurse.
“Well,” Leslie inquired, more than a bit put off by her beautiful, stylish cousin, “where’s the uniform?”
“Even I get days off,” Meg responded. “I see you’re using the lights today.”
“I had to turn it on to find and answer the phone,” Leslie explained as she reached up and pulled the off switch. “Why did you come by?” Her inquiry was anything but friendly.
“Well, to see you. Your mother called and said that you were not having a good day. And my mom wanted to see Dawn anyway, so I thought I’d check on you.”
“Mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Leslie shot back. “She’s the one not having a good day. I’m fine. Bored, but fine.”
“Yep,” Meg smiled, “judging by your tone, I’d say that you’re handling everything just perfectly.”
“Well,” Leslie snidely answered, “how would you feel?”
“About the same as you,” Meg admitted. “I might even be a little madder. You wouldn’t believe the person I became when Steve was killed. I’m really glad you didn’t see me then. I was almost demonic. And while I don’t want you to sink to the level I did, I’m glad that you’re fighting. That’s good. And even though I wouldn’t want to tell her this, I think that you said a few things that your mother needed to hear. If you hadn’t told her, I might have. But, you need to put that behind you and start dealing with what’s real. And you need to cry. I put that off when I lost Steve, and I wish I hadn’t. You need to admit how deeply hurt you are and let it out.”
“I’ve been trying,” Leslie replied, a softness returning to her tone. “I just can’t cry. I’m too angry to cry. And worse yet, I don’t have any answers. I do know that I want the guy who did this caught and punished.”
“Sure, we all do.” Meg quietly agreed. She paused a moment before softly asking, “And what about the face? Have you looked at it today?”
“No.” The reply was short and direct.
“Well, it still has a long way to go,” Meg admitted, “but more of the redness is gone and it does look better. The stitches are ready to come out. As a matter of fact, Dr. Parks is going to remove them this afternoon. Then he’ll let you go home. I told your mother that I thought it would be best if I picked you up and took you to her house. Do you mind?”
“No,” Leslie replied, shaking her head, “that would be a whole lot better than having Mother get into it with Dr. Parks again. I don’t need another scene like the one we had yesterday.”
“Fine,” Meg’s voice was reassuring. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Do you want me to get you something? Anything?”
“Meg, is there a specific time I’ll get released?”
“No, not really,” she answered.
“Good,” Leslie stated. “I don’t want to walk out of here until after dark. OK?”
“Sure kid.”
“Thanks,” Leslie smiled, “I knew that you’d understand.”
40
Hello, Les.”
“Hi Hunter!” Leslie answered. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” His voice was so clear he sounded as if he was in the same room not across town. “A more important question is, how are you doing?”
“Well, I must be pretty good,” she explained. “They’re letting me out of here and sending me home later this evening.”
“Want me to drive you?” There was an eagerness in his voice she couldn’t fathom.
“No, thanks a lot, but I promised Meg that she could. It’d mean a lot to her.” Leslie had almost choked on her overstatement, but no matter what Hunter had said the day before, she still wasn’t comfortable with him seeing her scars, particularly not in normal light.
“I can understand that,” Hunter’s tone was still enthusiastic, “I’m just glad you’re going home. I probably didn’t tell you this, but my apartment is just a few blocks from your folks’ house. You probably know the spot, 115 Hubbard, Chapman Square Apartments.”
“Yes, I think they were building those when I left for college,” Leslie answered. “Aren’t they made out of brown brick?”
“You got it,” Hunter laughed. “Ugly brown brick. But it’s not bad for a carefree single guy. What time are you going to get home? I’ll come over and see you.”
“I don’t know what time, but if you don’t mind, why don’t you give me a little time to settle in with my folks before you drop by.” A part of her really wanted to see Hunter, but a bigger part of her wanted to retreat into a dark world, one without visitors. She was sincerely hoping that home would be a place where she could hide.
“No problem, maybe later in the week.”
“Just call,” Leslie suggested.
“OK, I need to get back to work. Bye.”
“Bye.”
She was still confused over whether and if she wanted to see him as she set the room phone back in its cradle. She wanted company and she dreaded being locked in the same house as her mother. But then there was her face. It might be easier just to maintain a friendship via the phone. That way she wouldn’t have to wonder if he was focusing on her scars or on her heart.
As she stood beside her bed, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Though she knew the scars were there, it still shocked her. They were deep, red, and angry. It was like someone had torn a handkerchief in a hundred pieces and then tried to piece it back together but with the wrong color thread. Running her still bandaged fingers over her face, she sighed. They felt even worse than they looked. It was like touching a relief map.
“Anybody home?”
Leslie’s eyes left the mirror to her cousin. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Feeling OK?”
“I’m fine, Meg. They took the stitches out, gave me some meds. It’s good to have the IV out. But I don’t know if I’m ready to leave. I think it might be easier to be a freak in a hospital than to be one out there.” Leslie pointed to the window.
“Come on,” Meg smiled as she patted her cousin on her back, “let me help you pack.”
The room was silent for a few minutes as the two women pulled together the few things Leslie had at the hospital. It was Meg who broke the silence with a question that was far off the previous line of conversation.
“What do you want to do with all of these flowers?”
“I don’t want to take them home,” Leslie answered as she looked around the room. “But there sure are a lot of them.”
