Henry found me. Not sure how much time passed under the pier, but I was still balled up, and crying, when Henry’s voice cut through the laughing waves. Moments later, I was airborne. Henry carried me back to Beach Read.
Once laid out on the beanbags in the children’s section, Henry toweled the blood off my neck. Willie whined and licked my face. “Are you okay, Willie?”
“He’s fine,” Henry told me, “and it was thanks to him that I came looking for you. He made a ruckus at the door.” Henry eyed my injuries. “I shall call for help,” he decided finally.
“No,” I spat back. “Don’t call anyone.”
The pain in my head, my arm, my side – it was all swallowed up by rage. The last thing I wanted was another entanglement with the police, another story in the paper, another phone call to my mother, Delilah’s been hurt, again. Even the idea of telling someone, anyone, what just happened made my stomach turn into knots.
I wasn’t raped. I wasn’t hurt badly. I wasn’t even robbed badly – a pair of painful shoes I didn’t even pay for and a phone that wasn’t worth the cost of the minutes I added to it. This was a nothing crime – not worth the unwanted attention – and I was going to make nothing of it. Plus, I was an idiot. Traipsing around Tipee late at night just a few days after tough-as-nails Valerie Kent was robbed. Not one of my better ideas. What was I thinking?
Henry nodded, though I could see by his eyes that he wasn’t keen on my decision. Didn’t matter. Henry was my ally, willing to make my mistakes with me. Besides, his encounters with police hadn’t been positive over the years. There was no love lost between them, and (Sam aside) we shared that enmity.
“Then, what can I do?” Henry asked, hands out like he was helpless.
“Help me upstairs?” I extended my good arm to him, and he pulled me up. The store phone rang and we both stopped. I shook my head. “Don’t bother with it, Henry.” Leaning on Henry’s bulky frame, we left the store and rounded the corner of the alley.
“Are you certain this is the wisest course of action, dear?” he questioned upon seeing that I couldn’t stand up straight for the pain in my side.
I chuckled. “Wise? Me? Of course, not. But, it’s all I’m willing to do right now. I’ll-I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Would you like me to call Sam for you?” he offered.
“No.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple. My face felt like it was twice as large as normal, and it throbbed under stretched skin. “I just want to sleep.”
Henry managed to get me upstairs without falling down them (a trick since my head ached and I felt both dizzy and queasy), and once inside, he didn’t blink when I asked him to get me four Motrin from the medicine cabinet and the frozen peas from the freezer.
“Maybe if you told me what happened,” Henry tried again, “then I could report it on your behalf.”
“Henry, promise me,” I paused, shifting the frozen peas against my face. “You won’t make any phone calls. Please. I-I just want to be left alone, okay?”
With prodding, Henry left. I took a quick shower-bath (sat in the tub with the shower on) so I could wash all remnants of cigarette smoke and sand and Willie’s poop (if there was any) off of me. The pain didn’t wash off so easily, but the medicine dulled it. I crawled into bed, tears springing back into my eyes like weeds. I couldn’t rid myself of them. Slowly, sleep came.
In my nightmare, I was standing, naked on a sandbar in the middle of the ocean, watching the grains of sand crumble into the sea, feeling the structure shift beneath my feet. With only glints of moonlight reflecting on the water, I was enveloped by darkness about to be swallowed, knowing that whatever was out there would have me soon. Mavis’ voice screeched in my ears, I’m not done with you yet, you bitch! The ocean roared up against me.
But, it wasn’t the ocean. It was the roar of an engine, which echoed through the alley, puttered, and then stopped. Footsteps followed, heavy and fast rushing the stairs by two’s. I sat up in bed. My head coursed with pain. My side and arm ached. I should have stayed still. The bag of frozen peas lie soupy beside me, and it didn’t feel as though it had done any good. And, I was about to have a visitor at 4:13 in the morning.
Sam.
The door unlocked, he came in, and said, “Delilah, it’s me. Are you okay?” He switched a light on in the kitchen and hurried across the room. He knelt down beside the bed. His hands went to my face.
“What happened?” he insisted. His skin was cool from wind, and felt comforting. He wiped the sweat on my forehead and pushed my hair back from my face.
“I’m fine,” I sputtered out as he ogled me.
“Where else are you hurt?”
“Elbow again,” I reported, “head, side. It’s not that bad.”
Sam lifted my chin, and spied the slices on my neck. “What happened?” he repeated, slower. And when I didn’t answer, he prodded with, “Henry said you were under the pier. Delilah, please. I love you. I just want to-”
“I’m going to be sick.” I covered my mouth and stumbled passed him, across the room, and to the bathroom, where I fell to the toilet. Dry heaving ensued. Sam wet a cloth and set it against the back of my neck. He sat next to me, rubbing my back and holding my hair away from my face. Funny, I’d gotten half my wish – Sam Teague in my apartment and vomiting. Where was the tequila and the sex? Life is so unfair.
I sat back. The sensation passed with nothing to show for it.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Took too many Motrins.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
Sam whipped out his phone, and said, “Let’s just go to the hospital-”
“No!” I spat back. I stood up, and set my hands on his phone. “I’m a little banged up, but I’m fine. All they’ll say is that I had too many pain pills on an empty stomach and a couple of bruises. Please. If I thought for one second that I needed a doctor, I’d be the first to insist on going. It’s nothing that ice and Motrin can’t handle. Please, just trust me.”
Sam was thoroughly frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair, and seemed to want to argue. But, he put the phone away, and instead of badgering me, he held out his arms and I toppled into them relieved.
“You have to tell me what happened,” Sam begged.
I didn’t answer, but sighed. Tears were already forming in my eyes again. The stupid robbery had left me with a permanent leak. I hated even thinking about it, as if each second it replayed in my mind was a gift to the perpetrator. Sam led me out of the bathroom to the couch, and I plopped down carefully and pulled one of the cushions up against my chest.
My head felt like a drum being rapped on the left side, slowly growing stronger as my double dose of Motrin wore off. My side only hurt when I moved. I knew I’d have to start wearing my arm brace again, but somehow this moment was the hardest. Why, I didn’t get. For all our problems, I was confident that Sam loved me; the love may be trumped by the aggravation, but it was there. And that he loved me should make telling him what happened easy. I went to the bank, sold a few books, and oh, by the way, was mugged. How was your day? Shouldn’t it be that easy? Something inside me wanted to lie, to say that I fell down the stairs or got hit by a speeding bicyclist or was in a bar fight. You should see the other guy, I’d joke. But, Sam was smarter than that.
“I, um, was just out walking Willie,” I said, “and um, it’s really no big deal. I didn’t see him and then he was there. He had a knife. He pulled me under the pier, punched me, threw my phone in the ocean, stole my shoes, kicked me, and took off. That’s all.” I could have broken a speed-talking record for how fast I spit that out, but Sam didn’t seem surprised.
I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s okay. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket, typed something, and then turned back to me. “You didn’t call the police?”
“And I don’t want to,” I returned. “Please, don’t.”
“We have to report it,” he replied, his expression pained.
I got up in spite of my head, and paced over to the window. The blackness had turned gray. Birds were already chirping. Sam leaned against the wall near the window, staring at me, and I folded my arms across my chest.
“Do you have any idea who it could have been?” he asked. Anger was brimming behind his eyes. I could see it, though his efforts to contain it were exemplary. I needed to be as disciplined in hiding my emotions, I decided. Maybe Sam could teach me.
“Delilah, do you have any idea who did this?” he asked again.
I rolled my eyes, drops falling out, and shook my head. “None.” Even as the word sputtered out of me, a list formed in my head. I’d confronted a man about an affair, gotten caught spying on a drug deal, interrogated Dave Love (or at least tried to), and snooped around the Peacock again. Add all that up with making the huge mistake of going out by myself at night when I knew there was a robber on the loose, well, again I was the town idiot. I was angry, hurt, sick to my stomach, and sick with myself.
Sam pulled me over to him, and held me against his chest for the longest time, stroking my back and whispering into my ear. “I’m so sorry,” he said. Over and over he said it, as if somehow, this was his fault. Tears streamed from my eyes, and in the comfort and security of his arms, I told him, “I felt so out of control, Sam. I couldn’t believe it was happening, just another nightmare, and I was powerless.”
My head grew worse, so he helped me back into bed and promised me he’d be back soon. “And I’m taking your keys,” he told me. “I will lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone, and don’t leave.” I nodded shortly. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter anyway. At some point, I slipped back into my dreams where my sandbar was giving way and I was sinking into darkness.