Chapter 4
Cheryl opened her eyes.
Her body felt leaden, lifeless. The rain was beating on the window. Cheryl moved a little and groaned with the pain that lanced through her groin. There was a pain in her head, and she remembered that she had drunk a lot. Then she remembered the rest of it, and she closed her eyes, trying to sink back into the warm gray sleep, to some place where it would never have happened.
It didn't work. There was a faint nausea now, spreading like an oily stain at the base of her belly. She opened her eyes again. She lay that way, staring sightlessly at the ceiling for about five minutes, trying to fight back the nausea. She tried to think of peaceful things, settling things. She thought of a farm in the country. Grass, silence, animals. She thought of Frank, naked and white, spearing her again and again with his rigid white bludgeon of flesh. She ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet bowl.
Afterward, feeling better, she stood in front of the mirror and examined herself. She didn't know what she expected to see, but she didn't see it. There was no telltale mark, no scar, no blood. Her body didn't look a bit different. But it felt so different. She felt as if it weren't completely her own, anymore. It had been invaded-forcibly. She had had a man's penis jammed up into her body-she had accepted his spurting seed-not lovingly, but fearfully, hatefully, in terror and pain.
She had never imagined that it would happen that way. There had been many times when she hadn't ever wanted it to happen at all, when the thought of spending her life a virgin had seemed pleasant and safe.
Now that dream was over.
She eyed her image in the mirror, and fought back the urge to break into tears. That was it--no romance, no mystery, no emotion, just raw, hard lust. It was savagery, and now that she had tasted it, she felt certain that no man would ever want to touch her again. And, even if one did--well, even the thought made her sick.
It was a Sunday, and there were no classes, so Cheryl stayed alone in her room all day. She was grateful that Annie had stayed away. She didn't know how she would face Annie now. It wasn't that she blamed Annie-it was herself that she blamed. She had wanted to help her brother. She had trusted him and wanted to help him. And what had it gained her ? She thought about Bobby. Somehow, even now, she didn't blame him. How much easier it would have been if she could have found someone else to blame. But the plain truth was that she was eighteen years old now, and responsible for herself.
In the evening, when Annie still hadn't come back to the room, Cheryl took advantage of cover of darkness to slip out of the dormitory and off the campus without being seen. She was hungry, and she couldn't stand another minute locked in the room with her thoughts of guilt. But, she couldn't stand to be seen now. There wasn't much danger. She hadn't cultivated friends among the students, and it was very unlikely that she would come across one of those few who might consider himself on speaking terms with her. But the city streets at night afforded her an anonymity that she needed. She seldom ventured off the campus at night. The neighborhood around the campus was tough and dingy-there were always stories of coeds being raped. But tonight, Cheryl wasn't afraid. What had she to be afraid of? Hadn't she already been raped?
She was hungry, not having eaten all day. She kept watching for a place to get a bite to eat, but it was Sunday night, and not much was open. She walked a long way through the dark streets before she found a business open. It was a greasy-looking hot dog palace. There was quite a crowd. She hesitated before going in. These were obviously not college people. There were some members of a motorcycle gang in greasy denim cut-always. There were a few surly-looking ghetto Blacks, and a few whites with long, dirty-looking hair, who looked as if they might be drug addicts. But she was half-starved. Ordinarily she would never have gone into a place like this. But tonight wasn't ordinary. She felt oddly fearless. It was as if part of her had already died.
She found a spot at the crowded counter, ordered a foot-long hot dog and a cup of coffee. The hot dog was shoved across the counter at her, wrapped in wax paper. The coffee, of course, was served in a plastic cup. She ate greedily, trying to close the clamor of the place from her mind, not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead. She had finished the hot dog, and was scalding her mouth on the coffee, when she became aware of a presence beside her. She didn't turn her head, but she knew that it was a man, and that he was watching her with undisguised interest.
"You look good eating a hot dog," the man said.
She turned and eyed him coldly. He was young, with fine blond hair that fell to his shoulders. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and his skin was milky white. She felt a chill pass through her as she watched him. There was something ominous in his pale-blue eyes, something creepy. Even his grin was threatening somehow.
She glanced quickly around the room. Nobody was paying any attention. She would have to handle him, somehow, by herself.
She ignored him. Maybe he would get the message.
He leaned closer. She could smell the odor of cheap wine on his breath. She put her coffee down.
"I bet that's not all you eat, is it?" he said softly. Cheryl fumbled in her purse, trying to catch the eye of the old man behind the counter.
"How would you like to go home with me?" the man whispered, bending very close. "I'll give you something to eat. You can eat it all night long."
He reached out and placed his hand brazenly on her thigh.
She jerked, as if she had been shocked, slapping his hand away. She turned and stared at him with burning fury in her eyes.
"Look," she said, "leave me alone. If you touch me again, I'm going to claw your eyes out."
He looked startled. Cheryl didn't wait for him to react, she slapped a dollar bill on the counter and walked out quickly, not looking behind her.
Se walked a block and a half before her anger abated enough for her to realize that she was walking in the wrong direction. In fact, she didn't remember which way the campus lay. She stood still, trying to get her bearings, trying to remember which way she had come. The street was completely deserted. Back down the street, she could see the lights of the hot dog palace. It was the only place open. She would have to walk past it again to get back. Either that, or walk a block out of her way. She was about to go back when she saw a man walk out of the place and start in her direction. She hesitated.
Then he looked up, and she saw that it was the man who had bothered her. She turned, knowing that he had seen her, and walked quickly back in the direction from which she had come. Her heart was beating wildly. Her courage, the courage, that had come out of her anger-was gone. The street was cold and wet. There was nobody in sight. It was different out here.
What should she do? He had walked out of the place behind her. And then he had seen her, standing there. Had he thought that she was waiting for him? Had she given that impression. She should just turn around and face him. She had backed him down in the restaurant-she could do it again. But she was afraid now-so afraid that her knees were knocking. She knew that he would sense her fear-like a dog. She tried to calm herself, tried to collect her wits to confront him. But her legs just carried her along faster and faster. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps keeping pace with her in the empty street.
She came to a corner. She looked quickly both ways. Maybe there was something-a coffee shop, a hotel that she could go into. Nothing. Nothing but houses. They were apartment houses. They were the kinds of houses that had buzzers. She would have to buzz, then wait for someone to buzz back, unlocking the door. She would never have time. He was gaining on her. He was closer, although she was afraid to look back, afraid to see how close.
She turned into the side street. Maybe it was all her mind, maybe he wouldn't turn to follow her, maybe she had been mistaken, and it wasn't even the same man. She walked quickly, searching for a doorway, a hiding place.
Quickly, she climbed a short deck of steps and slipped into the deep shadow of an arched portal. She listened for his steps. He hadn't reached the corner yet. Maybe he would go on.
Then she heard his steps at the corner.
They stopped. He must have seen her turn. Go on, go on, she prayed silently. The steps began again. They were getting louder-he was coming her way.
She tensed with horror and tried to push herself back into the wall. The steps were relaxed, confident. He knew he had her now. She thought about running. She slipped off her shoes and got ready to run.
He stood in front of the doorway, looking up at her. He was smiling. Then he started to climb the steps.
"Well, well," he said. "This looks like as good a place as any for you to eat my hot dog."
"I'll scream," she said.
"No, you won't," he said. Then he moved-with extraordinary speed and grace-so quickly that Cheryl scarcely had time to catch her breath. He caught her wrist and bent it around behind her in a hammerlock, while his free hand came up to clamp around her mouth.
His hand was dirty and callused. She tried to scream, but she could hardly breathe. The power in his lean body was incredible; he was holding her almost completely immobile without any strain at all. Her arm felt as if it were being torn from its socket. The pain was almost unbearable.
"If I take my hand from your mouth, are you going to scream?" he muttered thickly in the dark.
She was wild with horror and pain. She just groaned mutedly against the heel of his hand. He jerked her arm another notch upward. She thought she would faint from pain. "Uh-uh, uh-uh," she muttered. She had to" get the pressure off her arm, or she would die from the pain.
He took his hand away from her mouth and released the tension on her arm. Then, while she gasped deep, shuddering lungfuls of breath, he groped her taut breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. He mauled her and felt her hard melons, kneading them between his thick, dirty fingers.
Then he slid his hand down to the hem of her skirt and jerked it quickly up around her waist.
She shivered as she felt the misty night air against her warm, naked thighs-felt the cool through the gauzy nylon of her panties. His hand was between her legs, feeling her there roughly, gouging into the soft clump of her cuntal hair with his blunt fingers. She was still sore there from what Frank had done, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming at the pain, the fear, the humiliation. She couldn't scream-she would have to submit to him, or he would kill her. She was sure of that.
Then there were steps, approaching.
Instantly, his hand was over her mouth-he was drawing her back into the depths of the portal. The steps continued to approach, at a leisurely rate. A young man came into view.
Cheryl bit the man's hand as hard as she could.
"Shit!" he spat.
The other man looked up, startled.
"Help!" Cheryl screamed. "Please help."
The man in the street seemed to take stock of the situation very quickly. He braced himself and started up the steps in a half crouch, his eyes scanning the darkness of the portal.
Suddenly Cheryl felt herself flung violently away. She fell hard against the apartment house door and slumped to the floor, groaning with pain. Through her fear-dimmed eyes she saw her tormentor grope in his pocket. Then there was the glint of a blade. He grinned wickedly and jabbed the knife casually in the direction of the other man, who backed away a step.
"He's got a knife," Cheryl moaned. "Run, go get help."
The man glanced at her very briefly. Then he half-turned, and she thought that he was going to follow her advice. He had something quite different in mind.
It happened so quickly that Cheryl wasn't quite sure that she had actually seen it. One moment the man was turning to go back down the steps. Then, like a great, swift, hammering fist, his leg whipped out, face high, connecting with the other man's jaw. The knife clattered to the ground. The man fell back, groaning, holding his face.
Immediately, the other man was at her side.
She was vaguely aware that the first man was getting away, but she didn't care-didn't care about revenge. She was so frightened that it took her several tries to answer the question.
"I think so," she said at last. Her ribs were sore from crashing into the door-her breasts felt raw and bruised from the mauling they had received. But she wasn't seriously hurt.
He bent over her, and for a few moments, there was no sound but her labored breathing. Once, she tried to get up, but her knees were shaking so badly that they collapsed under her.
"It's okay," he said gently. "Take your time."
"But.. . shouldn't we call the police?" she muttered.
To her surprise, he laughed. "The police. This happens a dozen times a day around here," he said. "I doubt they would even send someone out to investigate."
Finally she was able to stand. She was still feeling weak, and the man supported her with his arm.
"I'm afraid I don't have a car," he said. "I could call a cab."
"No, that's all right," she said. "I can walk."
"Then I'll walk with you. You are a student, aren't you ? "
She looked at him. "How did you know?"
He smiled. "You have that look."
She looked at him. He wasn't very big. Somehow he had seemed huge a few minutes before when he had been disarming the mugger. Actually he was less than six feet tall-rather on the wiry side. He looked about twenty-eight. He was dressed simply, but not extravagantly.
"Would you believe," he said, "that I'm a student, too?"
"Really? I would never have guessed," she said, thinking of his performance of a few minutes before.
He read her mind. "That?" he shrugged. "Just something I learned a long time ago. Now I'm learning philosophy."
He took her arm and they began the long walk back to the campus. There was no sign of the mugger-or of anyone else on the street.
"By the way," he said, "my name is David Andrews."
She looked at him. There was something strangely formal, almost bashfully polite about him. "I'm Cheryl Burke," she said. "I can't thank you enough."
He waved her gratitude aside. "I won't lecture or preach to you," he said, "but this neighborhood is really no place for a girl to walk alone."
"I believe you," she said. "I didn't know."
"Next time you decide to take a walk, invite me along," he said.
"Thanks just the same, but I think I'll confine my walking to the campus after this," she said.
He walked her solicitously up to the door of the dormitory.
As he was walking away, Annie appeared--home from her own date.
"Well," she said conspiratorially. "I see you're branching out."
"It's not like that Annie," Cheryl said. "It's not like that at all."