The Cutting Edge, page 20
The room that just moments before had been filled with so much noisy activity was now completely silent except for the sounds of a crayon slowly moving back and forth on a large piece of paper. For a few seconds, Meg just observed the little girl, not disturbing her activity or her thoughts. Finally, when the girl had finished coloring Cinderella’s dress, Meg moved to the small table and pulled out a tiny chair. Folding up her full-size body, she took a seat, leaned over, and smiled.
Leslie hadn’t moved. She felt a little confused and maybe her face actually showed it. Meg hadn’t signaled for her to follow, so she still didn’t know what was wrong with this girl. As she awkwardly stood there, alone and seemingly very out of place, she wondered what she could do that a hospital full of nurses and doctors couldn’t.
“That is a pretty picture,” Meg softly told the little girl. She didn’t look up, nor did she respond. Undaunted, the nurse continued, “I brought someone I wanted you to meet. You know the lady I told you about, the one on the cover of the magazine? Well, she’s here.”
“The lady that looks like Cinderella?” the little girl asked.
“Yes,” Meg answered. “Would you like for me to bring her over?”
“I guess so,” came the timid answer. “Are you sure that she wants to meet me?”
“Of course, she does,” Meg answered. Motioning with her head, she signaled for Leslie to come over and sit in the small chair on the other side of the girl.
This was the last straw. Leslie set her jaw and shook her head, turning away from the table and facing the door. She couldn’t believe Meg was going to do this to her. She wasn’t going to allow a child to make fun of her.
“Leslie,” Meg sternly said, “Come over here. Now.”
Meg wasn’t going to give up. But neither was Leslie. No way, no how! Yet at that moment a large group of people walked down the hall. As they neared the playroom window, their heads turned in Leslie’s direction. She couldn’t let them see her, not even with the new makeup. Better the child than the adults! Quickly she spun and then grudgingly moved to the table. Yet, even as she pulled out the chair and folded herself into it, Leslie refused to change her angry expression. It didn’t matter as the girl never looked up.
“Leslie, I want you to meet Angel,” Meg said. “Angel, this is Leslie.”
“How do you do?” Angel shyly whispered, still keeping her focus on her drawing.
“Hello,” Leslie responded admiring the beautiful blonde hair that hid the little girl’s face.
“Angel, Leslie has changed since she had that picture taken,” Meg explained. “She had an accident, and her face was hurt very badly. It’s going to take her a long time to get it fixed right.”
The little girl quit coloring. She sat very still, as if trying to comprehend what she’d just been told. During these moments, the room took on a strange, almost churchlike silence. Finally, and very hesitantly, she lifted her face just enough to look at the visitor, then, quickly her eyes darted back to her drawing. They lingered there for a few moments, then the child again raised her head, this time allowing it to come completely up and stared long and hard at Leslie’s face.
When Angel raised her head, Leslie had felt so uncomfortable she’d looked toward the wall rather than return the little girl’s stare. Still she could feel her small eyes as they moved across the face. Anger began to build, a thick hot flow of blood burned through her body. She couldn’t believe Meg, the one person she thought she could trust, was exhibiting her like a freak. Even with the makeup, even with her hair fixed and a nice sweater and slacks, she knew that this child was seeing her as something grotesque and ugly. What was this all about? Why was this so important for this child’s ego? Finally, in rage as much as anything, she turned her face back toward the little girl’s. Ready to explode with a torrent of harsh words, she was stopped suddenly by something she hadn’t expected. As quickly as it had come, her anger departed.
“I am very glad to meet you,” Angel shyly began. “I’ve never met anyone who was important before.”
Leslie barely heard the words; she was too mesmerized by the little girl’s face. A terrible red scar covered most of the right side, from eye level to the bottom of her jaw. It left the little girl looking like something from a bad dream of a cheap horror show. The side of her face that had been left unmarked showed that she had once been a beautiful child.
Evidently noting Leslie’s shocked look, Angel said, “I hope that you’re not scared of me. Some people are.”
Shaking her head, Leslie finally managed to say, “I’m not scared of you, but I hope that you aren’t scared of me.”
“I couldn’t be,” the little girl whispered, “you’re like Cinderella. So even if God does hate you, I’m not scared of you.”
Puzzled, Leslie leaned closer to Angel, “What do you mean when you say that God hates me?”
“He must, after all. He messed up your face.” Her simple logic cut straight to Leslie’s heart. “But that’s ok, because He hates me, too. Of course, you can see that.”
How she needed answers. Searching her mind and sensing it tie to her soul for the first time in years, she fumbled for words. At first none materialized. After all, the little girl echoed Leslie’s thoughts and actions. It was not that bottle, it was God who had killed her beauty. He had done this to her. But if that was the case then he had done it to this child as well. She couldn’t allow herself to believe that, and she didn’t want an innocent little girl to think that either.
After almost a minute of uncomfortable silence, Leslie softly explained “He doesn’t hate you, and He doesn’t hate me. God didn’t do this to me, some man that I didn’t even know did. I’m sure that God is as upset about it as I am.”
Smiling, Angel quietly explained, “My mommy did this to me. She did it to me because I was bad. God made her do this to me because I was bad. That must have been why He made that mean person cut you.”
Had either of them been that bad? Surely not!
Once again shaking her head, Leslie took the girl’s face in her hands and looked her right in the eyes. “Angel, God doesn’t work that way. I don’t care where you heard it, but it just doesn’t happen the way you think it does. God didn’t do this, a man did.”
Angel’s eyes found Leslie’s as she spoke, “That’s what people say, but I know better. If I had been a good person, Mommy wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me.”
A rush of pain pierced Leslie’s heart. She fully understood why Angel felt the way she did, but she didn’t have a clue as to how to make the little girl see that what happened wasn’t her fault. Yes Leslie was sure that if she hadn’t been on the cover of a magazine she wouldn’t have been so brutally attacked. But it wasn’t because of anything bad she had done that she was hurt—or was it?
When she had been selfish and taken the Buffalo Scotch ad just to further her career, was she paying for that now? Was God getting her for ignoring others’ feelings and expectations and only considering her own? But even if that were so, what had Angel done in her short life that could have caused Him to lash out in such fury at her. No, God wouldn’t do that. It was unfair for anyone to think that. Yet, even just two nights before when she had tried to take her own life, hadn’t she blamed God?
“Angel,” Meg explained, “Leslie is getting to go home today. So I need to check her out of her room. It’s time for us to leave.”
The little girl looked back at Leslie, staring deeply into her eyes. After a few moments studying her face, Angel finally smiled. It was the first time Leslie had seen her express any real emotion. A big gap readily showed at the top of her mouth, a gap caused by losing her two front teeth, and a small sparkle appeared for a moment in her blue eyes. Shaking her head, Angel softly proclaimed, “You have pretty eyes. God couldn’t be too mad at you or He wouldn’t have given you such pretty eyes.”
Staring back at the little girl, Leslie smiled, “No, God’s not mad at me.” Pausing for a long moment to touch Angel’s soft hair, “Can I come back and see you sometime?”
“If you want,” Angel agreed and quickly went back to drawing her picture.
As Meg and Leslie made the long walk back to her room, the hospital halls were beginning to become crowded with visitors. Many of them stopped and stared at Leslie as they met her, but she didn’t notice. Her mind and heart were still back in the playroom.
As they turned the corner leading to Leslie’s room, she touched her cousin’s arm and asked, “Meg, how did she get hurt?”
Meg didn’t answer until they were both in the room and she’d closed the door. “Her mother poured some boiling water on Angel a few weeks ago. It wasn’t the first time she had abused her, just the first time she’d been caught. The woman had already had two other children taken away from her for doing similar things. To escape going to prison, a few days ago she signed away all rights to Angel. There are no relatives, so she will be placed in a foster home when we are through with her.”
“How much can you do for her?”
“Given time,” Meg explained, “a great deal. She has the chance to be beautiful someday. Her prom pictures will be wonderful. So, the problem is not her face, it is her heart. As you can see, she’s convinced that she’s an ugly person through and through. It’s very sad.”
“Is that how I am?” Leslie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Today, you accomplished a miracle,” Meg smiled as she spoke.
“What do you mean?”
“That little girl hadn’t shown a bit of emotion, not even any signs of pain or hurt or anger, since we brought her in. That has been over three weeks. Today, she smiled. I thank you for that.”
The blind leading the blind, that is what this was. Two people who shouldn’t have been hurt had been. What kind of world was this? Didn’t anyone have a soul anymore?
And there it was, a soul. She’d forgotten about having or needing one. She hadn’t prayed since struggling down that dark alley and then it was only for selfish reasons.
She glanced across the room into a mirror. Suddenly, after hearing the story about a girl who had been so badly injured by someone who should have loved her made the image reflected in the glass look far less hideous.
“It’s not fair, Meg,” Leslie whispered, tears filling her eyes. “It’s not fair.”
“You or Angel?” Meg asked.
“Both of us,” Leslie sobbed. Leaning forward she fell into her cousin’s arms. “I hate being ugly.”
“You’re not,” Meg assured her. “The compassion I saw in your eyes as you tried to comfort Angel was beautiful. In fact, I’ve never seen you look as radiant. Once again, thank you for getting Angel to smile today.”
“Thank me?” Leslie responded almost apologetically, pushing herself off Meg’s shoulder and wiping the tears from her eyes. “But it is not enough. I mean how can I get through to her enough for her to realize that people can love her without hurting her? She has a whole life ahead of her and if she doesn’t open up and learn to trust, she’ll miss it all.”
“Gosh,” Meg quipped, “I wish you would tell that to my cousin. She needs to hear it, too.”
“Touché,” Leslie replied. “But I’m serious. Everything I’m feeling must be meaningless compared to her. My mother is not the best in the world, but she would never physically hurt me. Her words might sting but …” She paused for a moment and then almost pleaded, “Will she go through her whole life feeling like I do? What can we do?”
“On the night stand,” Meg pointed as she spoke, “there’s a Bible. There are a lot of things in there that will help you if you will read them, but I recommend that you start out with something called the Love Chapter. You will find it in 1 Corinthians 13. I know you’ve read it before, but I think this is when you need to read it again. You will likely understand it now.”
Crossing the room, Leslie opened the book and hurriedly leafed through the New Testament. Finding the passage, she slowly read the words. Stopping at verse 14, she whispered them out loud. “For now we see in a mirror; dimly …”
“Meg,” Leslie asked, “Do you think that Hunter really could love me?”
“Could you love Angel?” Meg asked.
“Yes, I really believe I could,” Leslie assured both Meg and herself. “I think I already do.”
“Leslie, I think that it will be far easier for you to love Angel than for her to love herself. I think that Hunter probably feels the same way about you. It’s time for you to put away the childish vanities and codes that have ruled your life. It’s time to look at the fabric that is underneath. If that fabric has color and beauty then you will know that Hunter could fall in love with you. Of course, that will require taking a chance and creating a new life for yourself. You just told a little girl that God didn’t hate you. Then, if you believe that, maybe it’s time you asked Him to help you.”
Shaking her head, Leslie felt a new strength well up in her soul and a new brightness enter her world. Smiling through tears she whispered, “Let’s go for it!”
59
Rosatelli had been in a bad mood for almost a month. No case in Springfield’s history had created as much national buzz as the “Model Slashing” and, yet, he had nothing substantial to investigate. The victim couldn’t provide any worthwhile clues. The crime scene had been washed clean by heavy spring rains. Crime Stoppers had produced a few wacky calls, but nothing of substance. With pressure coming from the national media as well as the mayor and District Attorney Webb Jones, the police captain was at wits end.
As he sat at his desk and stared out a window at the quiet streets of the only town he’d ever lived in, he considered his options. The case was dead. Had it died due to the fact the suspect was a drifter who’d left town or was still hiding somewhere in the shadows? He didn’t have a clue, but he was leaning to the former. If that was the case, he’d likely never be caught. That made the captain sick to his stomach.
The FBI profiler they’d borrowed had suggested the victim must have known her assailant. She surmised this due to the violent rage that defined the attack and the manner in which the injuries were inflicted. The attacker had not wanted to kill Leslie Rhoads, but rather teach her some kind of lesson. That education came by destroying what defined her and made her living. By destroying that, he must have gained a bit of revenge for something he believed the model had done to him. But that trail went cold because Rhoads simply had no enemies. There was no one from her past, from her career, or in her personal life that cared enough about her to carry such hate.
“Captain.”
Rosatelli leaned over his desk, pushed a button and spoke into his call box, “Yeah.”
“There’s a Ms. Leslie Rhoads here to see you.”
The cop was shocked. The only times he’d seen her in person was when she had been hospitalized and since then he’d only spoken to her on the phone. He’d been told she wouldn’t even go out in public. Yet today she’d made the trip down to see him. Maybe she’d remembered something,
“Send her in,” he said. Releasing the button, he got up from his desk and moved toward to the office door. He was halfway across the twenty-foot wide room when she walked in.
“Captain.”
“Ms. Rhoads. Please come in. So glad you feel well enough to be out and about. Why don’t you take that chair in front of my desk?”
“Thank you,” she replied and moved to the suggested spot. As she did, he hurried back behind this desk. When she’d taken her seat, he sat down as well.
Except for the still obvious wounds created by the attack, she looked amazing. Wearing a navy blue suit, the skirt ending just above the knee with an ivory blouse under her jacket, she looked every bit a model. Her hair was perfect with the right side swept around in a peek-a-boo style that not only covered a few of the scars, but added a hint of mystery. She wore blue heels and a single gold chain around her neck. And even with the railroad-like red lines that intersected in various points on her face, he was still drawn to those incredible blue eyes. As she crossed one leg over the other and glanced his way, he asked a question that had been burning in his head for more than a month.
“Have you remembered something else?”
She nodded, “Not as much remembered as experienced. Did you hear that I’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills three days ago?”
“I was informed,” he replied. “I can understand what drove you to that point, but I’m glad you failed.”
“So am I,” she assured him. “But there was something strange that happened just before I passed out.”
“Really?” He leaned toward her as he waited for the explanation.
“Yeah. I was getting really foggy when someone walked in and talked to me. He told me he was there to finish the job. But when he saw what I’d done, he just watched me drift off. One of my last memories is of him stepping over me and leaving the house.”
Rosatelli nodded, “You’re sure it wasn’t an illusion?”
“No, I’ve talked to Dr. Cunningham about that, and she agrees with me that it was very real. I recognized the voice. In fact, his standing over me made me want to fight death. That visit gave me a reason to live!”
“What did he look like?”
“I wish I could tell you, Captain, but it was dark in the room and I wasn’t focusing too well by then. But there is something I can give you.”
Rosatelli smiled as he waited for what might be his first break in the case. “What’s that?”
“I’m sure he was driving a noisy blue truck that I’ve been seeing parked across the street from time to time. I’ve seen it and heard it a few times from my window upstairs in our house. The truck has a distinct exhaust sound, kind of a pat-pat-pat as it picks up speed. The truck I heard leaving that night had that same sound. In other words, I think he’s been watching me, maybe waiting for the moment to finish the job. Does that make sense?”
Rosatelli leaned back in his desk chair. The guy was still in town and he was scared Ms. Rhoads knew something. Looking back to his guest he asked, “What can you tell me about the blue truck?”
