The Resurrectionist Read online

  The female detective smiled at Sarah as she ushered them into a small examination room.

  The victim’s advocate from the police department was a tall black woman in her late thirties with thick curves. She had a kind face with a scar in the corner of her mouth that ran from the right corner of her lip up to her nose.

  “My name is Detective Trina Lassiter.”

  “Sarah Lincoln.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Lincoln, tell me what happened,” she said as she and the nurse pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

  “I’m not really sure. I remember being attacked but I’m not sure it wasn’t a dream.”

  The nurse just nodded without looking up.

  “That’s normal. Your mind sometimes suppresses unpleasant memories,” the nurse, a Latino woman in her fifties, said.

  The detective opened a big plastic bag and withdrew cotton swabs, Q-tips, and little plastic jars.

  “When do you think this happened?” Lassiter asked.

  “The memories are from two nights ago but I think something may have happened last night as well.”

  The nurse finally looked up. She looked at Detective Lassiter and then they both looked back at Sarah.

  “You think you’ve been raped twice?” Lassiter asked.

  “At least. I think the neighbor is doing it. I think he might be drugging me.”

  Detective Lassiter turned to the nurse who was still staring with her mouth open.

  “Let’s get blood and urine samples. Check her for GHB and rufinol.”

  She turned back to Sarah.

  “Okay, let’s get your clothes off. Is this what you were wearing during the attacks?”

  “No. They happened at night when I was sleeping. I was just wearing my underwear but somebody washed them.”

  She related the entire incident, as much as she could remember including being stabbed and then waking up the next morning without a mark on her. She told the detective about the bloody sheets and then the missing sheets the next day. The tall black woman listened patiently.

  “Okay. Okay, let’s just get you undressed.”

  Sarah took off her clothes and slipped into the hospital gown. She put her legs into the stirrups and closed her eyes as the nurse swabbed the inside of her vagina and anus and then swabbed beneath her tongue and inside her cheeks, bagging each Q-tip and labeling it before placing them back into the plastic envelope. She winced as the nurse slid a syringe into the vein on the inside of her elbow and withdrew three vials of blood. Then she gave Sarah a cup and helped her into the bathroom to take a urine sample.

  When she came out of the bathroom she could tell by the demeanor of the two women that something had changed.

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing. We’ll send the samples to the lab but there’s no sign of vaginal bruising or tearing. No sign of rectal trauma either. It doesn’t look like you’ve been raped.”

  Sarah just stared at them, trying to figure out what it all meant.

  “But…? But those memories? Those fucked-up horrible memories? Am I going crazy?”

  “I’m not saying that nothing happened. If you were drugged your muscles may have relaxed, making it easier for him to penetrate. You may have even had an involuntary reaction and been lubricated enough that he didn’t tear any tissue the way he would have if you weren’t lubricated. That’s normal and it doesn’t mean you enjoyed it or anything. The body just acts funny sometimes and there’s nothing we can do about it. You also said his penis was small. All of that may have contributed to the lack of evidence. A lubricated condom on a small penis could leave very little evidence of bruising or tearing.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement, barely listening. She kept thinking about what the detective had said about her being lubricated. Had she subconsciously enjoyed it? Maybe all the porn she watched had fucked up her head. How could she have enjoyed being raped by that perverted little freak? The woman had said that it happens all the time and it didn’t mean that she was enjoying it or that the sex was voluntary but Sarah still questioned herself. She could only guess what Josh would say. He already thought she was a nymphomaniac. But there was, of course, another possibility. It might have all been in her head. She might have never been raped at all.

  “Like I said, we’ll test the samples. It might be a good idea to get a semen sample from your husband too so we can exclude his semen.”

  Sarah nodded. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She just wanted to go home.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sarah didn’t say anything to Josh when they left the hospital. She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make her sound insane.

  “Let’s call an alarm company when we get home. We’ll see if we can get someone to install it tonight.”

  Sarah shook her head slowly, still staring ahead, eyes glazed, looking out the windshield at nothing.

  “No. We don’t need to spend any more money on this. But I can’t take another night in that house. Not tonight. Let’s just go home and get some clothes and I’ll go with you to work. See if you can get us a hotel room.”

  “Okay. Okay. That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll speak to the hotel manager. I should be able to get us a few nights for free. That will give me enough time to get that door fixed. I think I’m going to get an alarm installed anyway. I should make some good tips tonight and that cop was right. The neighborhood is changing.”

  Sarah nodded again, still staring out the windshield at the desert rushing by. The mountains surrounding the valley were still an odd sight to her. In Indianapolis there was nothing to see but trees and more buildings. Though, the mountains were the only things about the town that Sarah thought of as beautiful. This was a town that destroys its own history. Any building older than thirty years was threatened with demolition leaving only row after row of cookie-cutter stucco tract homes, most less than ten years old. More and more Sarah was coming to despise this city.

  The collapse of the economy had devastated the town, leaving brand-new houses standing empty, vacant strip malls, and towering office buildings standing unfinished, little more than steel frames without the bank funding to complete them. And the crime rate had been steadily increasing year after year. There were more red and blue bandanas hanging from the back pockets of sagging jeans than she had ever seen before.

  Their car pulled into the driveway and Sarah turned to look at the house across the street. She thought she saw the blinds close as she turned. A sudden fury rose inside her and she stormed down the driveway and started across the street toward the neighbor’s house.

  “Fuck this bullshit! I’m not going to let anyone terrorize me and scare me out of my own damn house!”

  “Sarah!”

  Josh came running after her, catching up to her in the street. Sarah did not slow her stride.

  “Sarah? Sarah? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to let this bastard know that I know what he’s been up to. I want him to know that I’m not afraid.”

  Sarah walked up the neighbor’s steps and pounded on his front door. It felt good to be doing something, to be taking control again instead of just sitting back waiting for him to break in and attack her again. Even if the entire attack was all in her head and the neighbor didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, it would still feel good to be doing something. After being probed and examined and being told by those fucking nurses that she might have gotten wet when she was being raped, it felt great to go on the offensive. She waited. There was no answer. She pounded on the door again.

  “Open this goddamned door! I know you’re there. I saw you looking at me through the blinds!”

  The door swung open and Dale stood there in a robe that was too big for him and made him look even smaller, weaker, and emaciated.

  “Yes?”

  “I know what you’ve been up to and if I ever catch you sneaking into my house again I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will blow your fucking head off!”

 
Dale looked terrified. His eyes shifted nervously from Josh to Sarah.

  “I-I-I haven’t been in your house. What are you talking about? I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  Josh tried to step in front of Sarah.

  “My wife has been under a lot of stress lately.”

  Sarah whirled on him, pushing him back and jabbing a finger in his face.

  “Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare!”

  Josh fell silent and dropped his head. Sarah turned back to Dale.

  “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but we are going to catch you and then your ass won’t go to jail. I won’t call the cops. I’m going to send your scrawny ass to the fucking morgue!”

  Dale smiled. It was quick. He suppressed it almost immediately and resumed his look of fear and confusion. But Sarah saw it. He had smiled. Before she could think, question herself, talk herself out of it, she drew her hand back and slapped him. She turned her shoulders into the blow, giving it her all. He fell against the doorjamb and a big, angry red welt in the shape of four fingers rose on his left cheek. The expression on his face was one of stunned outrage but then she saw it again, that quick smile. Sarah balled up her fist and pulled back and Josh grabbed her, dragged her off the steps and into the street.

  “I’ll fucking kill you! Do you hear me, you fucking pervert! I’ll kill you!”

  Up and down the block, doors and windows opened as the few remaining curious neighbors looked out to see what was going on. Sarah knew she ought to feel embarrassed but she didn’t. She felt great!

  “Why did you hit me? You’re crazy! I’m calling the cops! You’re crazy!”

  But for the first time in days she didn’t feel crazy. She felt strong again. She felt in control again. And even if she was imagining everything else, she had not imagined that smile. She was certain about that.

  She turned and shook free of Josh, then walked into the house, stomping her feet with her hands balled into tight fists. Josh walked in right behind her.

  “I can’t believe you slapped him.”

  “He fucking smiled at me. That slimy, nasty little bastard was grinning at me.”

  “I think we need to get you someone to talk to.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know…Maybe you need some help.”

  There it was, out in the open. He thought she was crazy.

  “Do you think maybe we should at least wait for the lab results?”

  “That policewoman told me they found no physical signs of rape.”

  “She told you?”

  “I’m your husband. I was concerned.”

  “Did she tell you that it could have looked that way because he used lubrication and had a small dick? Or because the drugs relaxed my damned vaginal muscles?”

  “Well, drugs or lubricant would show up in the lab results.”

  “That’s why maybe you should wait before you try shipping me off to the fucking loony bin! Wait to see if maybe I’m fucking right!”

  Josh was keeping his distance. He appeared to be afraid that she would attack him too the way she had attacked the neighbor. He held his hands out palms up as if he were trying to negotiate with a gunman. Sarah really did want to hit him. Josh knew her well.

  “But what if nothing happened? You just slapped that guy. He could press charges. You were about to beat the hell out of him. Can you seriously imagine that little guy attacking anybody?”

  “Maybe that’s why he uses the drugs? So we can’t fight him.”

  “We don’t know that he uses anything! We don’t know that anything happened! This could all be in your head. You could have sleepwalked and shot off that gun and changed the sheets and scrubbed the carpet and then crawled right back into bed and went back to sleep. That sounds a whole fucking lot more likely than some sheepish little guy who lives across the street has been breaking in at night and raping and killing you but you can’t remember it and, did I forget to mention, you aren’t fucking dead!”

  Sarah was stunned. Now it was all out in the open. Everything she had felt before, all the power and confidence, was now gone. Now, she felt crazy again.

  “Wow. I-I really didn’t know you felt that way.”

  Josh deflated, collapsing on the couch.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to think. This is just so fucking confusing and scary as hell…either way. I mean, if this guy has been drugging both of us and then breaking in and raping you, that’s fucking terrifying. And if you’re, you know, losing it, that’s almost worst. You-you’re my rock. You’re supposed to keep me from losing it.”

  There was a hitch in Josh’s voice. When he looked up at her there were tears in his eyes. It broke Sarah’s heart. She felt like she had let him down, as if she had failed him in some way.

  Sarah hadn’t thought much about how this must have been impacting Josh. She knew that Josh was not built for stress or surprises. He was a middle-of-the-road business-as-usual type of guy and this was as far from that as could be. This was the other side of the moon.

  A silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Sarah walked over and plopped down beside Josh. She leaned over and put her head in his lap.

  “I’m not crazy, Josh. But I can’t expect you to believe that. I mean, crazy people don’t know they’re crazy right? If I’m sleepwalking or something, I guess I wouldn’t really know. Let’s just get away for a few days. It might make things a little clearer We could both probably use a little break from all this.”

  Once again, in the midst of her own trauma, it was her taking care of Josh. Sarah didn’t mind. It felt normal. She hated that she had been leaning on Josh so much lately.

  “Let’s just grab a few things and go. We’ll treat it like a honeymoon.”

  Josh nodded and slowly rose from the couch. He still looked shaken, scared, uncertain. Sarah cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eyes.

  “I’m not crazy, Josh. Don’t worry. I’m not crazy.”

  Josh smiled weakly and hugged her. She could tell that he was still not certain. Neither was she. She would have to change that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Once she had settled into the hotel room, the first thing Sarah did was plug in her laptop and get online. She looked up The Spy Store and began scouring through their surveillance equipment. Most of it was prohibitively expensive. She settled on the nanny-cam teddy bear. Both attacks had taken place in her bedroom. If she could catch it on film, then she could prove to Josh and herself that she wasn’t crazy. Then she’d have that fucker arrested and her life would go back to normal…after a few years of therapy.

  Sarah wrote down the model number and the address to the store. Then she opened her documents and began working on her dissertation. She had no desire to surf through porn sites. She’d already seen enough violent and deviant sex acts to support her theory that human sexuality on a whole was growing more nihilistic as overpopulation increased. She didn’t need to see any more pictures of women being brutally fist-fucked and gang-raped. Her sex drive had already crashed and burned. She wasn’t certain she’d ever have the desire for sex again. That alone made her want to murder Dale.

  Sarah took a digital voice recorder out of her overnight bag and slipped it under her pillow. If anything happened tonight, she would at least have a recording of it. She began to write about the increased popularity of what she called “nonreproductive sex” such as sadomasochism, anal and oral sex, the use of sex toys, and ejaculation outside the vagina, on the face, breast, buttocks, etc., following the start of the AIDS epidemic.

  Human sexuality had been a major focus of her study ever since she was an undergraduate. She had grown up in a very religious household where sexuality was never discussed. Sexually explicit books, movies, or TV shows were not allowed in her home when she was young. Even music with explicit lyrics was banned. She had first learned about sex from her friends in high school. It was a wonder she hadn’t gotten pregnant at fifteen like mo
st of them had.

  In college she’d finally had the freedom to explore her sexuality and divide the facts from the fiction. She had become fascinated with both the lore and the science of sexuality and had switched her major from psychology to social anthropology. She was hoping to someday write a groundbreaking book that would shed new light on human sexuality and show the necessary social function of so-called deviancy. She believed that the evolution of sexuality followed a Darwinian trajectory where acts like sexual violence would have long been eliminated from the human gene pool if they did not serve some purpose. In this case, she theorized, that the purpose was to harness sexual energy into nonreproductive activities that would not further contribute to overpopulation or exposure to disease.

  Of course, by that logic, she should have found greater sexual diversity in the more overpopulated cities and countries than her research had so far uncovered. There should, in fact, have been an exponential increase in sexual deviancy in cities with populations over five million as compared to those of a million or less. But she could not find any significant differences.

  Sarah closed the laptop in frustration and picked up the room service menu. She was beginning to doubt if she would ever finish her dissertation and was starting to lose her drive. She kept finding new holes in her theory that needed to be filled and each time she plugged one hole it created another. She was also worried that all of this research might be the cause of her violent sexual dreams. And if they were real than she didn’t want to rationalize the things that monster had done to her, which is what it felt like she was doing with her research.

  Sarah scanned down the menu straight to the deserts. She needed some comfort food. She found some chocolate cake and vanilla fudge ice cream. It was just what she needed. She picked up the remote and turned on the TV. She pushed the menu button and clicked on pay-per-view movies. She needed a good romantic comedy, something silly with Ben Affleck or Hugh Grant. That, along with the ice cream and the cake, was guaranteed to take her mind off her troubles. And if that didn’t work there was always the hotel gym, though she hated running on treadmills. The wind in her face and watching the scenery rush by were part of the thrill of running. But she didn’t feel like battling crowds trying to jog up the Las Vegas strip. Even with the decrease in tourism due to the recession, the strip was still packed like a nightclub on Saturday night.