Something Is Always Happening Somewhere, page 2
“I wouldn’t know. I made it up,” Dale said.
“Made it up?”
“I see you’re not wearing a wedding ring, so it’s possible you somehow missed this, but when two people get married they’re offered a name change. Gina, whose maiden name was Richards, wanted to take my name, but I wanted a new one as well. Since neither of us were too keen on Richards, for obvious reasons, I made up a new one for us. Travers. After Mary Travers from Peter, Paul, & Mary. They were my mother’s favorite band. I grew up listening to their albums.”
“I see. I think they’re a bit before my time,” Officer Bethel said, taking a final look over all his paperwork. “So what was your name before you changed it?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re sitting in a police station aren’t we? Doesn’t that computer on your desk provide that kind of information?”
“We ran you for priors from one of the cars when we were back at the house. That usually tells us most of what we need to know. But it doesn’t tell us everything.”
“And you found …?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly. Nothing. You probably sit around finding all kinds of nothing all day. So can I go then, officer? Can you give me that ride now, or should I get an Uber?” Dale gestured with her eyebrows over to her purse, which Officer Bethel had sitting on his desk. She watched as he clicked away, bringing up the station’s main database and plugging in Dale’s driver’s license and social security number to access her full background information.
“You don’t like cops much, do you Dale? I’m curious, why would someone with no criminal record have such a bad taste in their mouth towards us? Been watching too much news lately?”
“I don’t like anyone who tries to exert themselves over me,” Dale said.
“Well, you’re gonna have a difficult life then, Mrs. Travers, because that’s pretty much all life is about, other people exerting themselves over other people.”
“Maybe your life, officer, but not mine. Not mine.”
“Says the woman on the wrong side of a police desk. Anyway … Bushnell. Former name, Bushnell,” Officer Bethel read from the screen out loud before his eyes twinkled with realization and he started to laugh. So let me get this straight, Gina’s maiden name was Richards, and your maiden name was Bushnell. Damn. That’s a rough draw of the cards for two lesbians.”
“Hilarious. And definitely not the hundredth, or even thousandth time we’ve had to hear some guy make that very same joke. How professional of you,” Dale said.
“Here’s your purse back,” Officer Bethel handed it over his desk. “We’re all done here, for now, but do us a favor and don’t leave the state until we give the go-ahead. Once I file my reports the higher ups may have some more questions.”
“I can’t help but find it funny that I read in the news every day about serial rapists getting off with little more than a slap on the wrist but I attempt to protect my home and my wife from an intruder and am being treated like Hannibal Lecter. What a system that’s been put in place here.”
“No offense ma’am but, you did a little more than just protect your wife and your home. There are things we need to spend sufficient time looking at before you’ll be fully cleared.”
“You do what you need to do. In the meantime, take me to Gina. Please.”
* * *
Officer Bethel drove Dale to Long Beach Medical Center in silence broken up only by the occasional dialed down murmurings of his police radio. Nearing the emergency entrance, her hand latched onto the door handle before he even came to a full stop.
“We’ll be in touch, Ms. Travers,” the officer said in what she could tell was well practiced firmness.
“Mrs. Travers,” she corrected him. “And you have all of my information. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m trusting you to keep your word on that. Please tell Gina that everyone at the station, myself included, wishes her a speedy recovery.” And with that he pulled slowly out of the lot.
Watching his car meld into the mix of Long Beach’s evening traffic, Dale felt both the need to rush to Gina’s side, and also the all-consuming urge to take a few quiet moments to clear her head after the stress of the night. She walked to the end of the sidewalk and took a cigarette out of her purse. She’d been trying to quit but, given the circumstances, what better time to smoke than now?
Her hands still felt sticky, even though she’d washed them several times, and when placed to her lips to take a drag she could smell blood.
After a few quick puffs she stubbed out the cigarette on a nearby trash can, taking one last deep breath before heading inside. The contrast of the cool, dark evening and the emergency room’s fluorescent lighting made her feel like she was headed in to a casino, or a check cashing place. Her brain, not always on her side, but this time making good effort, had tried in many creative ways throughout the night to vanish her.
She wanted so badly to shut down. To run. To call an Uber and go somewhere far far away. Barnes and Noble. The gas station for a taquito. Camping. The movies. Anywhere else. Anywhere. But she couldn’t. There was no other option but to suck it up and be strong for Gina. The night wasn’t anywhere close to being over. In fact, this night, in many ways, would never end.
The lady at the front desk didn’t look up when Dale approached her little glass window. Dale watched her tuck a half eaten bag of M&Ms into a little cubby next to her knee and then, when it still didn’t click that someone was standing in front of her, used her wedding ring to tap on the glass. The woman’s head shot up, brows wrinkled.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to see Gina Travers,” I was told she was brought here a few hours ago.”
“Are you a relation?”
“I’m her wife.”
Although they’d been married for seven years and Dale should be used to saying so, she still felt a bit of fear in her throat and chest every time she had to vocalize it to a stranger. People tend to have a wide variety of responses to hearing a woman refer to another woman as “wife” but, much to Dale’s surprise, the lady she was standing in front of now seemed to warm upon learning the information, rather than bristle. Maybe she was, as they say, on their “team.” Or maybe, more likely, she was surprised to find that Dale wasn’t just another rude and overly privileged boring white person banging on her glass.
“Let me see, “ the lady said, moving her mouse to bring her computer back to life. “Oh, yes, she’s in recovery. Room 3E. Just take the elevator to your left up to the third floor.”
“Thank you. Does it say in there how she is?”
The woman turned to her screen again and scrolled for a few seconds.
“We’re not technically supposed to give out that kind of information at reception, but I know how to access those files. Gimme one second.”
Dale could see the details of what Gina had suffered register on the woman’s face as she read them. She had to scroll a few more times to get them all, which can’t be good.
“She was unconscious when she was brought in but was rushed to surgery almost immediately, which helped a great deal here. She’s stable now, and most likely sleeping.”
“Surgery? What did she need surgery for?” Dale stopped herself from adding on “it was just a rape.” Not only did she know that the lady was already well aware of that, but she couldn’t say it out loud. She didn’t want to make it any more true than it was, and plus, there’s no such thing as “just” a rape.
“Well,” the lady said, swallowing hard and finding it difficult to meet Dale’s eyes, “your wife suffered quite a few blows to the head and torso, and there was some pretty severe internal bleeding as a result.”
“Oh. I see,” was all that Dale could muster as a response. “I’m gonna go check on her now.” She could feel the lady’s eyes on her back as she walked to the elevator which was, thankfully, waiting and open. Small mercies. She’d take them where she could find them. She got in and pushed the button for the third floor without looking back at the desk.
Gina’s room was dark aside from the lights coming from the machines lining the wall next to her bed. Dale stood at the foot of it for a minute listening to the beeps of her heart monitor and taking comfort from them. Edging slowly towards Gina’s upper body the tears that had been collecting, pockets of hot salty pressure right behind her eyes, burst out in a thick stream. Her sobs flooded out the noise of her wife’s heart. She made herself stop so she could hear it clearly again. Her sadness didn’t matter right now. She could cry when she got home.
Gina’s head was bandaged and her lips had a slight blue tint from the icy temperature of the room. The attacker must have done more of a number on her than Dale had realized. She’d witnessed enough, but can’t even begin to imagine what had taken place before she got to the house.
Even though she couldn’t see the damage that had been inflicted, Dale could picture the wounds and bruises hidden from view, angry and reddish purple. Seeing Gina now, she could only assume she’d missed the worst of it.
She forced a shaking hand out and lightly touched her wife’s brown hair. She didn’t make any move that would indicate she was about to wake up any time soon. “She’s the lucky one for that,” Dale thought, and then felt terrible.
“She’s heavily sedated, but she can probably hear you, if you’d like to talk to her.”
A doctor had come in, unknown to Dale, and was standing just inside the doorway.
“We’re gonna keep her here for a few days for observation. If all goes well, which we think it will, we’ll have her home to you by early next week.
“What’s today?” Dale asked.
“Friday. Today’s Friday,” the doctor said, maintaining his calm, doctorly expression.
On Fridays Dale and Gina would usually eat takeout, drink wine, and catch up on their shows. If both of them stayed awake, the night would sometimes end with half-drunken, or fully-drunken sex.
There’d be none of that tonight. There’d be none of that for a long long time, Dale thought. Hating herself again for continuing to steer things mentally to her own sadness and grief.
“Can I stay here? I realize you probably have visitor’s hours but, can you make an exception and let me sleep in this chair next to her bed?”
Dale had more to say. How she couldn’t picture going back to that house tonight. How she was afraid of the blood left there. A mix of her wife’s and her attackers, in one new super blood. Evil blood. The kind of blood a movie witch would use to cast a spell or summon something from a dark realm to do her bidding.
Her thoughts were unhinged, so she left it at “can I stay here?”
“We make that exception all the time, ma’am. What kind of person would I be to say no? I’ll send a nurse down with some extra blankets and pillows. If you need anything beyond that just ask for me. Dr. Woodward.”
Dale took her loafers off and lined them up next to the chair. Gina always made fun of her shoes, no matter what shoes she wore, saying they looked like they came from Urban Outfitters. But these were the loafers that Gina would slip on to her own much smaller feet to go get the mail, or water the lawn. She wore them so often that her own little toe marks were indented just under the ones that Dale’s own toes sank into.
She sat and stared at Gina’s sleeping face.
“Goodnight, Gina. I love you.”
After a few short minutes the beeps of her wife’s heart lulled her into a hard sleep. She didn’t dream of anything.
* * *
A bright ray of sunshine escaping the two panels of the hospital room curtains woke Dale harshly. There were a few seconds between waking and remembering where she floated in a confused comfortability that early morning hours are good for.
She had a flimsy white pillow stuffed behind her neck and was draped with a thick nubby blanket that a nurse must have brought in after she’d passed out at some point in the night. She had a pounding headache, and her face felt heavy and greasy, as though she and Gina had been out all night partying rather than recovering from the worst tragedy of their lives.
Dale pulled her iPhone up by the cord it had been charging from and checked the time. It was almost 7:30. She’d sit with Gina until the nurse came to do her next check-in and then she’d go back home for a bit to clean up both the house, and herself. She smelled like an old pot of beef stew and desperately needed a shower.
She made a mental note to call Gina’s editor at the Press-Telegram to let them know she’d be out of work for, how long? She couldn’t even begin to guess. A week? A month? She made a second mental note to pick up a copy of today’s paper, just in case. Hopefully her co-workers would have the sense of decency and compassion not to write about what had happened to Gina but, news is news. The last thing her wife needs is to see the grizzly details of her attack splattered across the front page of the very paper she works for.
She should probably call her own boss too. She had several missed calls and voicemails.
Worrying about work at a time like this seemed obscene but she wouldn’t be doing Gina any good if she got fired and cut her family’s finances in half when they needed that stability the most.
“Good morning, Mrs. Travers,” the nurse called out upon entering. Way too chipper, but that’s the flatline when you’re in your mid-twenties, which this woman appeared to be.
The brightly colored scrubs featuring a cartoon character Dale didn’t recognize conflicted with the bookish glasses perched high on the nurse’s slightly upturned nose. She looked studious and dumb at the same time, and although her chosen profession probably paid well right out of the gate, her youth hadn’t quite afforded her the ability to properly read a room.
Medical professionals very often lack a certain amount of, how would you say it politely, social skills. They’re good at fixing up people, but not good at the actual people.
“Hello,” Dale landed at for a response.
“Let’s see how Miss Gina is today,” the nurse said, taking out her chart and checking her vitals. She swapped out an empty IV bag with a fresh replacement and, once properly in place, took out a syringe of clear liquid and shot it into a tube connected to the new one. Another bag, this one a greenish color, was hung next to it. Must be breakfast. Dale tried to remember what they’d had the last time they went out for breakfast together. Gina usually liked sweet stuff. Belgian waffles maybe. Or what she referred to simply as “a big muffin.”
“Everything looks good,” the nurse said. The bright sunlight of the day reflecting off her glasses, making her squint. “I’ll send in another nurse in a bit to get her cleaned up for the day and change her potty bags. You might wanna take a walk and get some coffee for that part.”
“I’m actually going to head back home for a bit to take care of some things. If it’s okay with everyone I’d like to come back again this evening and stay another night?”
“Of course, Mrs. Travers,” the nurse said, making a notation elsewhere in her paperwork. “You do whatever you need to do. Gina’s in good hands. We’re gonna keep her sleeping for a bit longer. Helps the body do its job better, when it comes to the healing process.”
Dale waited for the nurse to leave and then went into the small bathroom attached to the room to pee and splash some cold water in her face, lingering on the brief feeling of normalcy before returning to her wife’s bedside to kiss her goodbye. She still smelled like the face lotion she used. A hint of rose and something slightly herby. It had to have been in Dale’s imagination, just stuck in her memory after all these years. The previous night, and the time spent on the operating table, had to have killed anything even remotely sweet smelling on her.
* * *
Dale used the app on her phone to get an Uber and, once it arrived, sat in silence in the backseat, staring out the window at everyone bustling around, headed to work. Normally she’d use down time like this to catch up on emails, or scroll through Twitter and Instagram, but she kept her phone in her purse during the drive, preferring the strange comfort of observing other people doing routine things.
She was thankful that her driver wasn’t attempting to make any conversation. Maybe they assume it’s unwelcome when picking people up at the hospital. Unless the person gets in the car holding a brand new baby, it’s best to rationalize that they’re coming from something terrible and aren’t going to be in the mood for chit chat.
The ride didn’t take nearly long enough and they turned onto Alhambra Ave., and then into the driveway, before Dale was ready.
There was her Jeep, parked in the drive where she’d left it. Walking by she noticed that both the driver’s and passenger side windows were smeared with greasy fingerprints. The forensics team must have come in right after Officer Bethel took her to the station.
She tried the front door, expecting it to be unlocked for some reason, but found that they’d locked up before leaving. Seems silly to think about securing a house when the thing you’d most want to secure it against already happened. That’s like coming in from a bad storm and putting on a rain coat.
She used her key and then ducked under the yellow band of crime scene tape to go inside.
She’d half expected a wave of blood to rush down the hall towards her, ala The Shining, but the entryway looked pretty much normal. They’d pushed her work bags and the wine she’d brought home out of the walking path and over by the wall. There were a few clumps of dirt, tracked in from the yard she supposed, and a frame had been knocked off the wall in the hallway.
The bloody footprint was still there, with a little red flag stuck next to it, as if anyone could miss it. She knew where she’d find a lot more blood, and she was in no rush to get there.
Dale took a glass from the cupboard to pour herself some water, and then sat at their kitchen island to call her boss, and then Gina’s boss. As the phone rang on her first call she flipped open the newspaper she’d brought in from the front porch. The headline made her gasp, although she wasn’t entirely surprised to see it: Local Journalist Brutally Raped In Home. Attacker Killed By Wife.
