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KENNEDY ROLLED DOWN the car window. “How about next time we don’t wait until halfway into the semester to go out. Deal?” When Reuben didn’t respond, she glanced over at him in the passenger seat. “What are you thinking about?”
His face lit up with his usual bright smile. “Nothing. Just next year.”
“Almost sophomores. Can you believe it? And we haven’t gone insane yet. Well, at least you haven’t.” She had to laugh. It was embarrassing enough that she went to meet with a campus psychologist once a week. If she couldn’t find at least some humor in her situation, she was in big trouble. In fact, it was Reuben who had encouraged her to take her mental health more seriously, and she was forced to begrudgingly admit something she was doing must be helping. She’d only had two panic attacks all semester. Not too bad considering everything she’d gone through this school year.
But she didn’t want to think about any of that. Not tonight. It was only Thursday, not even the weekend yet, but she and Reuben had just finished their chemistry midterm and were on their way to the Opera House to see the Elton John musical Aida. They’d been planning for weeks on this date.
Ok, so maybe not a date. Not a real one. Then again, Reuben had texted her yesterday, said he had something important he wanted to tell her tonight. Said she couldn’t let him back out. Couldn’t let him change his mind and stay silent. She’d lost several hours of sleep trying to figure out what he was about to divulge.
Maybe that’s why he was quiet this evening. Beneath his cheerful personality, Reuben could be almost as serious as Kennedy. Her roommate Willow was always teasing both of them for being so studious. Always asking when Kennedy would start dating Reuben for real, but of course, Kennedy never had a good enough answer.
“He’s either stuck in the Victorian era, or he’s gay,” Willow would quip. Kennedy had gotten used to her roommate’s teasing, though. And tonight she wasn’t going to spoil the atmosphere with negativity from anyone or anything. Wasn’t that what her counselor always said? Only let positive energy in, or some psychobabble like that. She figured if seeing the campus quack helped her sit through a calculus lecture without turning into a wheezing, sobbing mess, it was worth the hassle and the time. Besides, as soon as Kennedy mentioned the words post-traumatic stress disorder to her missionary parents, they threatened to fly all the way to Massachusetts from China to help her get connected with the services she needed.
Or the services everyone else thought she needed.
It was funny how she was the one who survived a kidnapping and two separate attempts on her life, and everyone assumed she was a big, blaring psychological mess. What about her roommate? What about Willow, who had slept with every single boy in the theater department by now? Who was going to shrink-analyze this karma-fearing, yoga-practicing, granola-crunching pothead roommate from Alaska and tell her all her deviant behavior was the result of early childhood trauma or rubbish like that?
And what about Reuben? There wasn’t much Kennedy wouldn’t give to gain unbridled access to his psyche, to figure out what caused those quiet, moody spells that sometimes came over him. He hardly talked about his family or upbringing in Kenya unless it was to boast about the birth of his most recent niece or nephew back home. Of course, there were other things she’d want to know too, but they would have to wait until he was ready to tell her.
Like tonight?
The two of them had been through so much together since they met at their freshman orientation last fall. Two kids who grew up on different continents, both living oceans away from their families, doing their best to stay afloat in Harvard’s rigorous pre-med program.
She didn’t know when it happened. Maybe one night when they stayed up late working on calculus at the library. Maybe one day in the student union as they scurried to finish a write-up for chem lab. Maybe during one of Kennedy’s panic attacks, when Reuben’s calm assurance brought her back to reality, helped her recover from the scars and wounds of last semester.
She didn’t know when it happened, but Kennedy knew she’d found true friendship. Closer than she’d ever experienced before. Nobody could make her laugh like Reuben. Nobody else would argue literature with her like he did. After spending their first semester at Harvard studying calculus and chemistry side by side, they decided to both enroll in a children’s literature course during their spring semester. Together, they had discussed the stereotypic gender roles of the Alden children as they raised themselves in an abandoned boxcar and analyzed The Giver until there wasn’t a single phrase in Lois Lowry’s weirdly dystopian novel that they hadn’t dissected. One day Kennedy realized she’d found more than a best friend.
She’d found a soul mate.
She only hoped that whatever secret he was planning to tell her tonight was the same secret she’d kept hidden, even from herself, until recently. A giddy, nervous energy zinged up her leg. She really should pay more attention to the road. After growing up on the mission field in Yanji, China, Kennedy hadn’t learned to drive until her pastor taught her over Christmas break. She had just gotten her license and still wasn’t used to Cambridge driving, with all its funny rotaries and ridiculously congested streets. That was another reason she and Reuben had chosen to go out on a weeknight. Traffic wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, they were borrowing Willow’s car, and the chances of Kennedy’s roommate staying in on a weekend were about as high as Matilda from the Roald Dahl book getting detention for failing a math test.
“So, did you finish reading My Side of the Mountain yet?” Reuben asked.
Kennedy was grateful to hear the usual conversational tone in his voice. “We weren’t going to talk about school, remember.”
“I thought that only applied to math and science,” he replied. “By the way, how’s your sociology class going?”
Kennedy didn’t know why she’d done it, but she let her roommate talk her into taking one of Professor Hill’s courses on the American racial divide to fulfill a humanities requirement. On the one hand, it was nice getting to know Willow and a few of her friends better, but the course itself wasn’t at all what she’d been hoping for. After reading the catalog description, she assumed the class would be about Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Million Man March. She quickly found out Professor Hill was far more interested in citing every single instance of perceived discrimination that had occurred across the nation in the past three months than delving into America’s segregated history.
Kennedy shrugged. “It’s all right. I’ve gotten A’s on most of my papers, but I think that’s just because I’ve learned how to write the way she wants and skew everything from the right angle. Actually, the left angle.”
The pun was lost on Reuben, who spoke English as his second language, but Kennedy didn’t mind. She’d spent the past ten years in southeast China and didn’t understand a decent amount of slang or the majority of pop culture references either, so she could empathize with him. She often felt that she had more in common with Reuben, an exchange student from Kenya, than she did with her American peers. On more than one occasion, she wondered if she would have ever made it through her first year at Harvard if it weren’t for his friendship.
“What kind of papers do you write for that class?” he asked as Kennedy merged onto Soldier’s Field Road.
“A lot of fluff, really. Every week, we have to take something that happened to us personally and explain the racism implicit in the event. Like once, do you remember when you forgot your meal card at the student union and you didn’t have any other ID? I wrote that up about how since you’re black, the cashier automatically assumed you weren’t trustworthy and wouldn’t let you give her your student number, blah, blah, blah. Three pages of drivel about the racial injustices implicit in our interactions with the gray-haired lunch lady who knits socks for her grandkids on her breaks.”
Reuben laughed. “You really said that?”
She shrugged. “It was for the grade.”
“Do you believe it?” he asked.
“No. But it’s what Hill wants to hear, and it’s a pretty easy class, so I won’t complain too much. It’s kind of a joke though. I mean, they take all these cases where people just run into bad luck or something, and they turn every single one of them into an example of racism.”
“Like the meal card?”
Kennedy nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if I forget my card and she says I can’t give her my number, I figure she’s having a bad day. Or maybe her boss is telling her to stop doing that anymore. Either way, I don’t assume it’s racism. But if she refuses to let a black student give her the number, all of a sudden she’s a bigot.”
“So do you think America still has a problem with racism?” he asked.
Kennedy had asked herself that same question several times in Professor Hill’s class. “Maybe sometimes, but not like it used to. Take Pastor Carl. He and Sandy got married in the South back when blacks and whites hardly ever even dated. They’ve shared some of their stories with me. It wasn’t pretty. But this is a different era. I mean, you look at Carl and all he does, and he’s the last person to point fingers and say some big, burly white man is keeping him down.”
Kennedy frowned. Had she offended Reuben? Before taking Hill’s class, she wouldn’t have even asked herself that question, but now all the guilt she’d absorbed from being told how anyone with her complexion had inherited an incurably racist constitution, she wasn’t so sure. “I know it can be harder for black people to have some of the same opportunities, especially when we’re talking about kids from inner cities. But my guess is most of that’s related to poverty and education and things like that. It’s a socioeconomic issue, not a racial one.”
Had she expressed herself correctly? Why did she feel so nervous? If anything, Hill’s class made her feel more uncomfortable talking about race with a black man. Or what was she supposed to call Reuben? She couldn’t say African-American, since he wasn’t a US citizen. Why did it have to be so complicated? She decided to steer the conversation in a new direction. “What about in Kenya? Is there much racism there? Or reverse racism against whites or anything?”
“Not really. The white people who travel to Kenya are either tourists who come with lots of spending money or missionaries who start up schools or hospitals, so white and black relations are pretty good. There’s still a lot of prejudice between different tribes though.”
Kennedy kept her mouth shut so she wouldn’t say something ignorant. Up until now, she hadn’t thought about how Kenya’s tribal past would still have implications on its society today. She glanced at the clock on Willow’s dashboard and then saw blue and red flashing lights in her rearview mirror. Some cop was trying to pass. She merged over to the right.
“What’s he doing?” she mumbled when she saw the police car switch lanes with her. She checked her speedometer. She couldn’t have been speeding. Traffic was too congested. “Is he blinking at me?”
A familiar, unsettling quiver started in the base of her abdomen. No, she couldn’t give in to anxiety right now. She had made so much progress moving on from the trauma of last semester. She was healthy. Whole. She could see a policeman without giving in to flashbacks of her abduction. She could get pulled over without her mind convincing her she was back in a car chase, fleeing for her life while bullets shattered the windows around her.
Couldn’t she?
She slowed Willow’s car down to a stop. The police pulled up directly behind her.
Great.
“I wonder what I was doing.”
Maybe Willow’s registration had expired. It sounded like something her roommate would let happen.
“What’s taking so long?” Kennedy glanced in the rearview mirror. The policeman still hadn’t gotten out of his car. She turned to Reuben. “I’m really sorry. We might be late. Maybe I should hop out and explain to him we’re in a hurry.”
Reuben raised his eyebrows. “I think we better stay here.”
She sighed. This was supposed to be a fun night out together. Well, at least it would be memorable. She wondered what Willow would say when she heard they’d gotten pulled over in her car. She didn’t know anything about traffic laws and write-up procedures. Would the ticket go to her or Willow? Kennedy would find a way to pay it regardless, but she didn’t want it to count against Willow’s record in any way.
Finally, the policeman sauntered over to them. He had that typical side-to-side gait Kennedy always associated with cops in movies. Mr. Bow Legs. She tried to remember from the police shows she watched with her dad what she was supposed to do now. Keep her hands on the wheel? No, that was only for suspects and criminals. This was just a traffic stop. Kennedy had replayed every move she’d made since she turned onto Arlington. Not a single mistake. It had to be something to do with Willow’s car. She held her eyes shut for a moment. That was so like her roommate. Why couldn’t Willow learn a little personal responsibility?
Officer Bow Legs rapped on her window. His hands were massive. Another tremor blasted through Kennedy’s abdomen. She forced herself to take a breath from deep within her belly. While her psychologist was busy probing Kennedy’s past — certain that her missionary-kid upbringing overseas was the real culprit for her PTSD and not the fact that two different men had tried to kill her last semester — Kennedy had found a few websites with practical advice to ward off panic attacks.
Inhale through the nose. Expand your belly.
Her three-hundred-buck-a-session shrink would be shocked to learn it could all come down to a few simple breathing techniques.
Kennedy rolled down the window. Her first inclination was to apologize to the officer, but somewhere in the back of her head, she remembered her dad warning her about assuming culpability. Or was that only if you’d been in an accident?
The policeman was glaring at her. She did her best to keep her face neutral, reminding herself she had nothing to be scared of. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t dark yet, but the cop held up his flashlight and shined it into the cabin of the car. Reuben shielded his eyes.
“Hands behind your head!” Mr. Bow Legs shouted at him.
“He was just keeping the light ...”
“You shut up,” the policeman snapped.
Kennedy glanced over to Reuben who had interlaced his hands behind his head.
“Where’s your driver’s license?”
Kennedy reached for her purse in the center console.
“Get your hands on the wheel!” Bow Legs barked. How far behind were Willow’s car tags?
Kennedy hoped he couldn’t see her exasperation. Or was that fear? “I was going to show you my license.”
“All I asked was where it was.”
She peeked at the time. She and Reuben had to find a parking spot right next to the Opera House and be at will call in fifteen minutes if they wanted to catch the show. It would be best to comply. Cops had hard jobs. She had seen them risk their lives for her on more than one occasion. Bow Legs was probably extra tense after a long day at work. The least she could do is make this stop as easy as possible.
“My driver’s license is in my purse.” She nodded toward it and noted the cop’s whole body tense when she moved.
“Where’s the registration?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. This is my roommate’s car.” She didn’t bother to tell him she wasn’t sure what exactly a registration looked like or how she’d recognize one if she saw it.
“Does she know you’re driving it?”
Kennedy thought he was trying to make a joke until she saw his deep-set scowl. She answered with a simple, “Yes.”
“But you don’t know where her registration is?”
“No,” Kennedy answered. “Is that why you pulled us over?”
He jerked his head toward Reuben without answering. “Who’s that?”
Kennedy glanced at Reuben to see if he would answer for himself.
He didn’t.
“This is my friend from school.”
The officer glared. “And what’s the name of your friend?” He made the word sound filthy. Impure.
Reuben lifted his head. “I am Reuben Murunga. I’m a student from Kenya.”
“I didn’t ask what boat you got off.” The cop jerked his head. “All right. Get out of the car.”
Kennedy tried to catch Reuben’s eye, but he was staring at his lap as he unbuckled his seatbelt. All of Kennedy’s questions, all her protests froze in her throat. Her mind taunted her with memories of a trip she took when she was a little girl visiting her grandmother in upstate New York. Someone had burgled the house across the street, and the police were knocking on doors warning the residents to be extra vigilant locking up. Kennedy’s dad had called her downstairs, footie pajamas and all, and forced her to shake the officer’s hand. “Police are our friends,” he told her. “They’re here to help us.”
Her dad’s words replayed in her mind. Here to help us. Well, if she had done something wrong, she would have to accept whatever citation he wrote up for her. That’s all there was to it. Her dad would chide her for being careless, but he’d take care of the ticket and that would be that. She just wished she knew what she’d done. Had she forgotten to signal before switching lanes? Is that what this was about?
Here to help us. So why were her insides reeling as fast as a centrifuge machine?
She reached for the car handle when Bow Legs barked, “Just him. You stay put.”
She wished Reuben would look at her. What was he thinking? Was he scared? If he was, he was doing a good job hiding it. He opened his door and got out slowly. Methodically. Bow Legs warned him to keep his hands visible, and Reuben held them up by his shoulders the entire time.
Once Reuben was out of the car, the police officer planted one foot behind him. Kennedy recognized the stance from her self-defense course. What did he think, that Reuben was about to attack him?
“All right,” he ordered. “Now lace your fingers behind your head. Keep your back to me and take slow steps around the front of the car.”
Kennedy kept her fingers on the door handle. “Listen, he wasn’t the one driving. I was. If I did something wrong, just let me know so I don’t do it again. I already told you, this is my roommate’s car, and ...”
“Shut up.” The words weren’t even a snarl, more like an afterthought. All of Bow Legs’ attention was on Reuben. Kennedy probably could have confessed to planting a bomb in Logan Airport and he wouldn’t pay any attention.
When Reuben reached the driver’s side headlight, the officer planted his hand on his holster. “Stop right there. Don’t move.”
“Wait, do you really think ...”
Bow Legs wasn’t listening to her. He left his post at Kennedy’s window and stepped forward. Kennedy tried to pass Reuben some encouraging thought or positive message by sheer will power as the officer lowered Reuben’s hands and cuffed them behind his back.
She jumped out of the car. “What are you doing?” Commuter vehicles whizzed up and down Arlington, never slowing down. Didn’t anybody see what was happening? Didn’t anybody care?
The officer snapped his head around toward Kennedy. “Miss, you need to get back in that car right now.”
“No.” For once, she was thankful her dad had forced her to role play through so many ridiculous and embarrassing situations. Of course, he hadn’t thought to include a scenario in which Kennedy and her best friend get pulled over and handcuffed without any explanation, but if her dad had taught her anything, it was how to stand up for herself. “You can’t just pull someone out of their car like this. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” She struggled to keep the invasive tinge of hysteria out of her voice but wasn’t sure she pulled it off successfully.
“I told you to get back in.” Bow Legs’ hand was still on his holster. It was enough to dim Kennedy’s newfound courage. She shot a desperate glance at the stream of traffic, the blissfully ignorant drivers who didn’t even see her. Those who did notice probably assumed she was a drug dealer or some other sort of criminal. The entire situation might be humorous if it weren’t so terrifyingly real.
She inched her way backward. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.” She hadn’t tried to sound so whiny. She was thankful her body hadn’t given in to a panic attack. Maybe she really had made some progress since last semester. But if she wasn’t careful, she was going to start to cry. She refused to be associated with those girls who got out of tickets by summoning the fake tears. Except her tears wouldn’t be fake. Fear and confusion coalesced in her gut, washed down by copious volumes of scorching humiliation. She touched the door handle but didn’t open it. “What are you going to do?”
Bow Legs’ icy scowl could have frozen mercury. He ignored the question and slammed Reuben down against the hood of the car.
“Stop!” Kennedy couldn’t even guess what Reuben was feeling right now. His cheek was pressed against Willow’s car, his face blocked from view. The only thing that stopped Kennedy from charging the officer was the way one hand still hovered over his holster as he patted Reuben down with his other.
Maybe Professor Hill’s course hadn’t been as big of a waste of time as Kennedy initially assumed. How many times had the class watched those videos of police officers who overstepped their bounds? Of course, Kennedy had never been able to shake the nagging suspicion that somewhere off the screen, the victims must have done something to aggravate the situation, but what about Reuben? What could he have possibly done to antagonize Bow Legs or deserve any of this?
With a renewed surge of confidence, Kennedy knew what she had to do. She got into the car just like Bow Legs had ordered and pulled out her phone. She would record the whole encounter. That should get the cop to lay off. She started the camera up and set the phone in the pocket of her blouse, hoping it would get the entire scene without the cop noticing.
When she was sure it was recording, she leaned out the window, reminding herself how the people in those police videos had stood up for their rights. “Hey, don’t you need some kind of warrant to search somebody?” She wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but she remembered her dad saying something about it while they were watching an action movie together.
“Listen, I’ve heard about enough from you little —.” Here the officer let out a string of epithets that insulted both Kennedy and Reuben as well as their ancestry. If this whole incident were racially motivated, at least Bow Legs had offended them both with equal opportunity.
Kennedy licked her lips. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. She had always been at the top of her class. Even after everything she went through last fall, she finished her first semester at Harvard with straight A’s except for a single A minus. Bow Legs had no idea what he was doing. This was all some terrible mistake. She stretched her spine as tall as she could manage. “He hasn’t done anything wrong, and you need to let us go. Now.” Her voice only shook once. “You have no business bothering us like this. We’re students at Harvard.”
Bow Legs turned to her for the first time. “Yeah, right.” He spat out another string of profanities.
“We’re going to a show.” Kennedy didn’t know why she was telling him that. What would he care?
“You’re not going to any show, girlie. As soon as I finish searching your car, you and your baboon buddy are coming with me.”
“Search us for what?” she demanded. The cars were slowing down now when they passed, and she saw several commuters straining their necks to get a better look. How in the world could anyone mistake people like her and Reuben for criminals?
Bow Legs took a step toward her. “Any more lip out of you, and you’ll end up in cuffs too. Got that?” He eyed her up and down. “And just so we’re clear, I have no problem giving you a full body search right here on the side of the road if you don’t shut up and let me do my job.”
Kennedy shot an imploring look at Reuben through the dashboard. Other than a slight twitch in his jaw, he kept himself bent over the hood of the car and didn’t move.
The cop opened the door and yanked her out of her seat. She was too surprised to try to free herself from his hold. She bit her lip. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he’d take those cuffs off Reuben. Right?
He started rummaging under the seats and in the crannies of Willow’s car. Kennedy’s stomach sank faster than a lead ball. What if he found something Willow or one of her partying friends left behind? What if they thought it belonged to Kennedy and Reuben? More than anything, she wanted to call her dad. He would know what to do.
“There’s nothing in there.” She knew her voice sounded scared. It probably made her appear even guiltier.
Bow Legs straightened up and slammed the door shut. Good. He hadn’t found anything. Her phone was still in her blouse pocket. How much of this encounter would the camera pick up? He stomped to the other side of the car, giving Reuben a harsh nudge when he passed. Kennedy opened her mouth to protest, but Reuben shot her an imploring look that silenced her complaint.
She thought through the similar events she had heard about in Professor Hill’s class. Young men getting pulled over and arrested for no reason other than being black. Kennedy had read the accounts, felt sorry for some of the victims, but in the back of her mind had always wondered if they were reading too much into it. Sometimes police pulled people over. They had their reasons. Just because the victim was black didn’t mean it was racially motivated. But this ... What had either of them done?
Bow Legs jerked open the passenger door so hard the entire car shook. Seconds later, he let out a self-satisfied grunt and pulled out a Ziploc bag from the glove compartment. “Not hiding anything, huh?” He was glaring over the top of the car at Kennedy.
“That’s my roommate’s. It’s her loose-leaf tea.”
“Nice try.” Bow Legs pocketed the baggie and pulled out another pair of cuffs. “Come on. You better hope your eggplant friend has more brains than he looks. You’re both in a world of hurt right about now.”
A dozen fears and protests charged through Kennedy’s mind. Were they under arrest? Did they need a lawyer? What would happen to Reuben? Did he even have the same rights as an American citizen, or were laws different for international students? She had gone through enough in the past year to recognize the surge of adrenaline flooding her nervous system, but she wasn’t sure if it was time for a fight or flight. Or should she let the cop take them in and trust the justice system to sort everything out in the end? She was innocent. Both of them were innocent. So why did it feel like going with the policeman was tantamount to admitting guilt? She was even more scared than she’d been when the Chinese police stopped by her parents’ house to question her father about his printing business, his legal front for staying in Yanji as a missionary.
The officer swaggered over to Kennedy. “Come on, Barbie doll. Time to take a little ride.”
There’s nothing to be scared of, she reminded herself, but she knew it was a lie. There was plenty to be scared of.
“You better start thinking how you’re gonna explain that weed.”
“It’s tea,” she insisted again. Kennedy watched Willow prepare it every single morning and had never questioned what was in it. Willow took more supplements than a hypochondriac chiropractor. There was no way Kennedy could keep track of which ingredients were in what concoction. She eyed the bag. Maybe there really was some illegal substance in there. Then what would happen to her? What would happen to Reuben?
Police are our friends. Kennedy could hear her father’s voice mentally coaxing her. She wondered if this was the adult equivalent to finding out Santa Claus was a lie your parents perpetuated in a spirit of fun and holiday cheer.
Bow Legs stepped behind Kennedy and waved the bag in her face. “What do you say? Is this worth a night behind bars?” He leaned into her, pressing her body against the car. She clenched her jaw shut to keep from screaming. Tears of humiliation and hatred stung the corners of her eyes. She held her breath, trying to make her body as small as possible, but the farther she pressed into the car, the more heavily he dug into her.
“Looks like I’ve got a right to pat you down, don’t I?” His breath was hot. Acrid. Kennedy could almost taste it. She fought her gag reflex.
Police are our friends. It was still her father’s voice she heard, but now it was taunting. Mocking.
His hands started at her shoulders and lingered as they slid down to her hips. He felt in each of her pants pockets, his pace painstakingly methodical. His hands traveled back up her body slowly, his fingers probing each rib as he worked his way toward her chest. “Nice girl like you wouldn’t be hiding anything in here, would you?” he hissed in her ear.
She froze. What did he think he was doing? And how much angrier would he grow when he saw the phone in her pocket? Kennedy recalled a similar simulation from her self-defense course. She could head butt him if she wanted or bring up her heel for a swift kick to his groin. She clenched her eyes shut, unsure which reflex his touch would trigger. But before his groping hands could complete their circuit, Reuben barged between them.
“Leave her alone.”
Without warning, the officer punched Reuben in the gut. Reuben doubled over as Bow Legs brought his knee up to his face. Reuben staggered.
“You dirty n—.” Without warning, the cop whipped out his pistol and smashed its butt against Reuben’s head. He crumpled to the ground, where the officer’s boots were ready to meet him with several well-placed kicks.
Throwing all rational thoughts aside, Kennedy jumped on his back. Anything to get him to stop beating Reuben. The officer swore and swatted at her. Kennedy heard herself screaming but had no idea what she was saying. Her brain zoned in on Bow Legs, the object of all her hatred and disdain. She couldn’t see anything else, nor could she understand how it was that when her normal vision returned, she was lying on her back staring at a vaguely familiar face, but the officer and Reuben were nowhere to be seen.