Body of Stars by Laura Walter (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📕

I turned my face away, the gray entering my vision like a slap. That was the moment I started to disengage, when I began to view my body as a thing outside of myself. It had been wounded and then examined, and I had no memory of either violation. Not to mention the agony of having known high lucidity only to have it ripped away. I should have appreciated it more during that scant time I’d had it. I should have embraced so much else, too. Things like safety, family, the promise of a future.

My mother was holding my hand. She was asking me not to cry. I told myself I couldn’t be crying because I couldn’t feel tears on my cheeks. I felt no pain, no sensation at all. Even my bruises had evaporated in my mind. I was blank. I was nothing.

*   *   *

The police came in a pair, two men who didn’t bother to sit down or take off their hats. I sat up in bed and crossed my arms over the insufficient fabric of the hospital gown. I had no idea where my clothes were.

“Can you describe the events of the night you disappeared?” the first officer asked. He’d either forgotten to shave that morning or else his stubble grew back fast. From his pocket he produced a small notepad and a pencil. It wasn’t even a full pencil with an eraser; it was one of those mini pencils, the kind meant to be disposable.

“I don’t know,” I said. They stared at me, but I couldn’t make myself go on. My mother came over to sit on the side of the bed. She squeezed my shoulder.

“We spoke to your brother,” the officer continued. “He told us you were downtown at night, that you were drugged.”

“Though we found no evidence of illegal substances at the interpreter’s place of business,” the other put in. He had a big belly, a strain against his belt.

I felt hot all over. “I definitely wasn’t myself. I wouldn’t have left Miles otherwise. I felt out of control.”

“Well. You were a changeling,” the first officer said. He made a mark in his notebook.

I turned to my mother. Her jaw was set.

“Where are Miles and Dad?” I asked her.

“They were here earlier, before you woke up.” She wouldn’t look at me.

“Miss, we need to finish this interview. What can you tell us about the two men who led you away?”

The trappers, those men who were kind to me. Or at least I’d thought they were being kind to me.

“One had reddish hair, I think,” I said. “Or maybe it was blond. The other had darker skin.”

“Age? Height?”

I tried to remember. “Maybe they were in their thirties, but I’m not sure. And one was definitely taller than the other.” I paused. “I think the other one had a beard.”

The officers glanced at each other.

“They may have worked for Chloe,” I added. “The interpreter. She was acting strangely.”

“Yes, your brother mentioned that as well,” the officer said. “We’ve questioned her, but we didn’t find anything that would warrant an arrest. Based on your brother’s statement, it sounds as if you may have gone with these men willingly.”

“I wasn’t willing,” I said, but then I remembered pushing Miles away. Holding hands with one of those men. Feeling, for a few moments at least, safe in their presence. But that didn’t mean I’d gone willingly. Did it?

“I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I didn’t want to go with them.” I could feel my mother looking at me, but I refused to meet her gaze. I was ashamed of myself—for getting trapped in the first place, and for not fighting back.

“Can you tell us anything more about the trappers?” the other officer asked. “Any tattoos, scars, or identifiable marks?”

How much easier it was, I thought, for a man to point to a particular woman. Officer, she had a triangular pattern of markings on her upper arm, the kind that indicates a broken heart. Officer, she had a large birthmark on her cheek, which I remember because, my god, what a shame. But men, whose bodies were not documented in transcripts that could be subpoenaed in criminal investigations, were so much more difficult to identify.

“No,” I said. “Nothing I can remember.”

“All right. And during the time that you were missing—any memories?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I bit it hard enough to draw a sharp pain, as if that could bring something back, but it was useless. Most girls who were abducted didn’t remember. They were drugged, continuously, until the moment they were set free again.

“No. Nothing. I remember the men and then waking up here. That’s all.”

He flipped shut his notebook. “All right. You let us know if you think of anything else. In the meantime, focus on healing. The worst is behind you now.”

Both men turned to leave.

“Wait,” I said. “What happens next?”

My mother gripped my shoulder harder.

The second officer paused at the threshold of my room. “We’ll finish writing up the paperwork. Then we’ll coordinate with the doctors to add everything to your transcript. And we’ll keep an eye out, of course, for those men. But trappers tend to move around. Without any concrete leads, it’s unlikely we’ll find them—the trappers or the man who held you.”

For a moment I imagined the gray walls crumbling around me, that I was sinking into some nightmarish quarry.

“You know, I feel perfectly fine,” I said. “So maybe you don’t need to add anything to my transcript.”

“Celeste,” my mother said softly. “You were missing for weeks. You had a full medical exam. It’s too late.”

“I won’t press charges, even if you find him,” I went on. “I don’t need to bother with the paperwork. Maybe we can let it slide.”

The officer with the stubble lifted his cap a few inches, giving me a glimpse of his sweaty hair. “We can’t do that, miss. Not when a federal crime has been committed. But like I said, you should focus