The Target
Page 7
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"But you know," he continued slowly, eyeing the strips of undershirt on her wrists and ankles, thinking of that small battered body, knowing she'd been raped, "I think we should see a doctor, maybe in a couple of days, then we should see the sheriff. I hope Dillinger has a sheriff." The mewling sounds began. She laid the empty cereal
bowl on the floor beside him and raised her face. She began shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth, the mewling sounds coming from the back of her throat, raw and ugly.
He felt goose bumps rise on his arms. "You don't want to see a doctor?"
She pressed hard against the wall, her legs up, the undershirt wrapped around her like a white tent, her head tucked in, and she was rocking.
"Okay, we won't go anywhere at all. We'll stay right here all safe and snug. I've got lots of food. Did I tell you that I went into Dillinger just two days ago? I got stuff even a kid would like. I've got hot dogs and some of those old-fashioned buns that don't taste like anything, French's mustard, and some baked beans. I cut up onions in the beans, add mustard and some catsup, then put it in a pot on the stove for about twenty minutes. That sounds good, doesn't it?" She stopped rocking.
Slowly, she turned her face toward him. She pushed back her hair.
"You like hot dogs?" She nodded.
"Good. I do too. I bought some of those old-fashioned potato chips. The real greasy kind that makes your hands all oily. Do you like potato chips?"
She nodded again. She eased, just a little bit. The kid liked food. It was a start. "Did you mind the skimmed milk?"
She shook her head.
What now? "Do you mind if I eat my toast? It's getting cold." He didn't wait for her to nod again, just smiled at her and began to butter his toast. When he'd slathered strawberry jam on one slice, he held it out to her. "You want to try this?"
She stared at that piece of toast with a glob of jam about ready to fall over the edge. "Let me put it on a napkin." Thank heaven he'd bought napkins.
He handed it to her. She took three fast bites, hardly chewing, then sighed and ate more slowly. She licked strawberry jam off her lower lip. For the first time she looked happy.
"Has it been a long time since you've eaten?"
She was chewing slowly on a bite of toast. She seemed to think about it. Then she nodded slowly.
"I see I've got to ask you only yes or no questions. Do you feel better this morning?"
Fear washed all the color from her face.
She was looking at her bandaged wrist holding the half slice of toast.
"I'll put some more medicated cream on your wrists and ankles after you finish your toast." He said nothing more, just ate his own toast. What about the rest of her body? He knew he should examine her again but he didn't want to, not with her awake and terrified.
When they'd both finished, he rose and said as he walked away from her into the living area, "Would you like to have a bath? I can heat some water over the stove and pour it into the tub. I've got a couple of really big pans just for that purpose." He knew without looking at her that she was probably shaking her head, pressed against the kitchen wall. "You're a big girl. You can bathe yourself, right?" He turned, smiling toward her. Slowly, she rose. She nodded.
"I've got some shampoo in the bathroom. Can you wash your own hair? Good. Then I can put more cream on your wrists and ankles. There are a couple of other spots that need some medicated cream too. Now we've got a clothing problem. Tell you what. When you're through, just put the undershirt back on. I'll see what I can scrounge up for you." He'd gotten so used to silence over the past two weeks that hearing himself talk on and on felt strange. He felt the echo of his own voice inside himself.
After he'd heated enough hot water and poured it into the tub, he heated more for her to rinse her hair and set the pots beside the tub. While she was in the bathroom, he sat down at the old Olivetti typewriter that had belonged to his mom. It felt comfortable hammering away at those dinosaur keys. He put on his glasses and began reading what he'd written the day before.
He didn't know how long he read. But suddenly he looked up to see her standing there beside his desk, making no noise, just standing there, her hair wet and tangled around her face, her wrists and ankles raw and ugly, her face shiny and clean, wearing his undershirt.
"Hi," he said, taking off his glasses. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come out. When I work I tend to forget where I am. Why don't you come over and sit on the couch."
bowl on the floor beside him and raised her face. She began shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth, the mewling sounds coming from the back of her throat, raw and ugly.
He felt goose bumps rise on his arms. "You don't want to see a doctor?"
She pressed hard against the wall, her legs up, the undershirt wrapped around her like a white tent, her head tucked in, and she was rocking.
"Okay, we won't go anywhere at all. We'll stay right here all safe and snug. I've got lots of food. Did I tell you that I went into Dillinger just two days ago? I got stuff even a kid would like. I've got hot dogs and some of those old-fashioned buns that don't taste like anything, French's mustard, and some baked beans. I cut up onions in the beans, add mustard and some catsup, then put it in a pot on the stove for about twenty minutes. That sounds good, doesn't it?" She stopped rocking.
Slowly, she turned her face toward him. She pushed back her hair.
"You like hot dogs?" She nodded.
"Good. I do too. I bought some of those old-fashioned potato chips. The real greasy kind that makes your hands all oily. Do you like potato chips?"
She nodded again. She eased, just a little bit. The kid liked food. It was a start. "Did you mind the skimmed milk?"
She shook her head.
What now? "Do you mind if I eat my toast? It's getting cold." He didn't wait for her to nod again, just smiled at her and began to butter his toast. When he'd slathered strawberry jam on one slice, he held it out to her. "You want to try this?"
She stared at that piece of toast with a glob of jam about ready to fall over the edge. "Let me put it on a napkin." Thank heaven he'd bought napkins.
He handed it to her. She took three fast bites, hardly chewing, then sighed and ate more slowly. She licked strawberry jam off her lower lip. For the first time she looked happy.
"Has it been a long time since you've eaten?"
She was chewing slowly on a bite of toast. She seemed to think about it. Then she nodded slowly.
"I see I've got to ask you only yes or no questions. Do you feel better this morning?"
Fear washed all the color from her face.
She was looking at her bandaged wrist holding the half slice of toast.
"I'll put some more medicated cream on your wrists and ankles after you finish your toast." He said nothing more, just ate his own toast. What about the rest of her body? He knew he should examine her again but he didn't want to, not with her awake and terrified.
When they'd both finished, he rose and said as he walked away from her into the living area, "Would you like to have a bath? I can heat some water over the stove and pour it into the tub. I've got a couple of really big pans just for that purpose." He knew without looking at her that she was probably shaking her head, pressed against the kitchen wall. "You're a big girl. You can bathe yourself, right?" He turned, smiling toward her. Slowly, she rose. She nodded.
"I've got some shampoo in the bathroom. Can you wash your own hair? Good. Then I can put more cream on your wrists and ankles. There are a couple of other spots that need some medicated cream too. Now we've got a clothing problem. Tell you what. When you're through, just put the undershirt back on. I'll see what I can scrounge up for you." He'd gotten so used to silence over the past two weeks that hearing himself talk on and on felt strange. He felt the echo of his own voice inside himself.
After he'd heated enough hot water and poured it into the tub, he heated more for her to rinse her hair and set the pots beside the tub. While she was in the bathroom, he sat down at the old Olivetti typewriter that had belonged to his mom. It felt comfortable hammering away at those dinosaur keys. He put on his glasses and began reading what he'd written the day before.
He didn't know how long he read. But suddenly he looked up to see her standing there beside his desk, making no noise, just standing there, her hair wet and tangled around her face, her wrists and ankles raw and ugly, her face shiny and clean, wearing his undershirt.
"Hi," he said, taking off his glasses. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come out. When I work I tend to forget where I am. Why don't you come over and sit on the couch."
