Scanning the people pressed up against the police tape, I see more and more locals. There is a ghoulishness about their expressions that sickens me. My emptiness gives way to rage. I want to kill these onlookers. I can’t kill them, so instead I stare at them, wanting to tell them with my eyes what I think of them. And there, tall enough to be seen in the back row, is Wolfman.
I gasp as if punched in the gut, but I don’t believe my eyes. I’ve already hallucinated him once. The EMT stops the stretcher, thinking my reaction has something to do with my injuries.
Wolfman sees me, propped up and alive, and even from this distance I can see his surprise turn to hate. My reaction mirrors his because I know him. God knows, at this point I know him as I know myself, and I believe nothing more than that he’d come back to watch, supervise, get off on seeing my dead body carried away.
I scream.
Not in English, but in hate.
I twist my body into a pretzel, possessed. Writhing, twisting, I fight against all that binds me. The thin elastic band of my oxygen mask snaps. Broken as I am, I still want to kill him.
My EMT tries to replace it. I lock my gaze onto hers. I tell her, clearly and distinctly, “The man who took me is in the crowd.”
I look back to where he was, and he’s already gone. My scream wasn’t smart. I let my hate get the best of me and gave him a chance to escape. I must be smart in how I speak. I must make these people believe.
“What?”
“The man who tried to kill me is in the crowd.”
“Are you sure?”
I hear the power in my own voice as I tell her what she needs to know. “He is tall. Over six feet. He has dark hair and a beard. He was in the crowd, but he left as soon as he heard me scream.”
I’m not sure what all is happening beyond the border of my stretcher, but cops and firemen appear. I keep talking, keep saying my message, like a general instructing soldiers going into battle. “The man who took me was in the crowd. He is over six feet tall. He has dark hair and a beard. He drives an old red pickup truck. He is middle aged.” I say it again and again. People come and go, but I don’t stop talking, don’t stop repeating my message.
It feels like far too much time has gone by, but I don’t stop giving instructions. It’s the only thing I can do.
My EMT returns, puts her face close to my mine. “We have him. You can stop. We have him.”
I hear her words, but I can’t absorb them. “The man who took me is in the crowd.”
“No, he’s not. He’s in a police car. We have him.”
“You have him?” I don’t sound like a general anymore. I sound broken.
“Yes, Ruth, we have him.”
I believe her, but I can’t stop talking now that I’ve started. “He killed a cop.”
“Try to relax, okay?”
“He killed six girls.”
“Please try to lie back and breathe.”
“He killed six girls and he buried them under his cabin.”
“Just lie back, okay?”
“He tried to kill me.”
The EMT puts a new oxygen mask up to my face.
“He took me to a cabin in the woods and he was going to rape me, but I ran away.”
“Let me put this on you.”
“I ran away and I got to some people’s house and they wouldn’t help me. Why wouldn’t they help me?”
“Calm down, Ruth. I need you to calm down.”
“And then I took him. I took him hostage.”
The EMT stops trying to put the mask on me. I know there are other people around, but I don’t care, I’m just talking to this one woman, the woman with the calm, confident voice. I need this one person to understand.
“What?”
“I took him hostage, the man who kidnapped me. I tied him up. I did bad things. I tried to kill him with his own gun, but he got away and came back to get me again.” I can’t tell if she believes me or not.
“But then you got away, and now we’ve got him. You understand that, Ruth? You’re safe.”
I don’t really think I’m safe, but I nod anyway and let her put the oxygen mask on me. The stretcher rattles along toward the ambulance. With a quick heave I’m up and in. Inside the ambulance I find a small dark cave. The lights glow dim. There’s something soothing about this dark little cave. I keep my gaze on the blond EMT, the one who listened.
“What’s your name?” I ask. She lifts up the mask and I repeat the question.
“Janet,” she says. “I’m Janet. And I’m real proud of you, Ruth. I’m real proud of you.”
The words mean a lot. Some of my clenched muscles let go.
“Would you do me one favor?” asks Janet. “Would you close your eyes?”
I do.
“Would you breathe real deep?”
I take a long, deep breath. More muscles unclench.
“Would you believe me when I tell you it’s going to be okay?”
I don’t believe her, but I nod anyway.
She pats my hand. “Good girl.”
I know I’m in the hospital as soon as I wake up. It’s night. There’s a soft pool of light under the door; medical equipment buttons glow amber, red, and green. I turn my head, trying to get a sense of the space in the darkness. When I move, someone stands up. I’m not alone.