Chapter 14

Friday, February 6, 2015

Chicago

As Rashmi sat on the nine AM Blue Line train from O’Hare to downtown Chicago she realized she had two additional problems to add to her current predicament; she was getting a cold, and worse, she was in love. She knew the cold was caused by a virus and would soon pass as all colds do, but being in love, well that was something beyond her knowledge or experience. She knew attraction was pretty much based on chemicals and such but considering how she felt she might not ever get over it. Unfortunately, it was completely hopeless. She was in love with a soldier! No, that wasn’t right, he was a Marine, and he had set her straight on that almost immediately after their meeting at the Starbucks at Terminal Two.

He was also a cowboy who grew up on a ranch in California. Her parents would be appalled and never approve. It was unspoken, but she knew her parents planned for her to marry a man from India of their choosing. Rashmi quickly chided herself for even considering what her parents might think. Regardless of how her current situation would resolve itself, she vowed they were no longer going to be a factor in how she would live her life. She didn’t know how she would accomplish that yet but she would find a way.

She shook her head slightly to try to clear it of her Marine’s handsome face. They’d only been together for a little over five hours, but in her mind he was now ‘her Marine.’ Rashmi knew she had to concentrate on her most immediate needs, like where she was going to sleep tonight, and she needed to prioritize, although it was much more pleasant to think about napping in one of those comfortable overstuffed couches at the Terminal Two USO, his strong arm around her and her head on his shoulder like she did yesterday. She quickly checked the pocket of her coat – yes his address and phone information was still there. She promised herself if she ever got things straightened out she’d go to southern California and find him at his base on Camp Pendleton, and then what? She was sixteen and a junior in high school – she’d told him seventeen, and a senior - and he was twenty. Stop daydreaming!

When she’d walked into Terminal One at ten on Tuesday night she’d just wanted to find a bench or a chair and have a nap. Rashmi was exhausted and her body ached, and her ribs still gave her trouble each time she took a breath. The place was huge and she just went inside and turned left. She was pleased to see signs for services and fast food outside security. She didn’t have a boarding pass or ID, except her student card, so there was no hope of getting past security and even if she did, what would that gain her? She was better off without the increased security scrutiny and certainly cameras which would be present inside the check points. So on Tuesday night, half in a daze, she walked along the wide concourse dragging her roller bag. As she had hoped, no one gave her a second look, even with her bandaged eye.

Rashmi saw a sign for restrooms and thought she might as well use the facilities and perhaps clean up a bit more and brush her teeth with her newly purchased toothbrush. She walked down a short hallway and the discovered the entrance to the restroom was blocked with a couple of orange cones and some yellow tape. There was a sign apologizing for the inconvenience and promising a ‘new and upgraded’ facility in the near future. A second sign pointed patrons to the next restroom some distance away. Rashmi turned, and then stopped. She retraced her steps and moved a couple of the safety cones and walked inside. The lights were on but there was no sign of renovation other than some large construction tools, which probably meant they were going to start soon, but that meant the place was deserted and no one would be coming in tonight.

Rashmi explored the large restroom - the water was still on and the toilets flushed - so it had not been decommissioned. Toward the back out of sight from the entrance, was a baby changing station and beneath that was a pile of tan canvas drop cloths. She had found her place for tonight. As quickly as her exhausted body could move she removed the gauze pad from her eye and gingerly washed the makeup from her bruised face. The swelling had subsided, but it looked like she would have a black eye for some time to come. She took a couple of aspirin, brushed her teeth and bedded down on the pile of drop cloths, but not before hanging Patil’s still very wet coat on a hook in one of the stalls. She shuddered as she smelled his cologne but she decided she wasn’t ready to discard the coat yet. She set the alarm function on her tablet for six AM, figuring the construction crew would not be around until well after that but giving herself plenty of time to clean up in the morning.

Even tucked away as she was, her night was anything but restful. The drop cloths kept her off the tile floor but were far from the comfort of a mattress, plus her body protested each time she rolled over. On top of that, airports, even at night are noisy places. There was also her fear of discovery. Eventually she fell into a deep sleep only to be awakened much too early by the beeping of her alarm. How could it be six already? She dragged herself from under her parka and sat up, draping the parka around her shoulders. From the activity down the hallway from the restroom the airport seemed busy, even at six in the morning.

As soon as she got up, which took a bit of doing, she went to one of the sinks and took more aspirin. She tried to avoid looking at herself. It just made her angry. She hoped Patil had been arrested and was sitting in some Chicago jail cell at this moment. Of course that meant he had a bed, which was more than she had.

Rashmi took a sponge and some liquid soap from her roller bag and shivered as she gave herself a quick sponge bath. This was the first time she’d actually been able to look more closely at the bruises that covered her body, especially the upper half. No wonder she ached. She put on clean underwear and got dressed and put on fresh makeup to hide her bruises. Today she would wear her large-lensed aviators to hide her black eye. They would also give her a different look from the gauze bandage from yesterday. She then tucked everything away in the roller bag, including Patil’s still-damp overcoat. At least it seemed the melted snow had washed away some of the smell of him.

She then sat on the pile of drop cloths and thought about her day. She was still angry, and she fervently hoped he was confined somewhere, or dead. Rashmi knew she would never be safe as long as he was free, but dead? Did she want that? Then she thought of her sister. Patil alive could not only be a threat to her but to her younger sister too, or maybe other girls. The fact he had a syringe full of a powerful drug, and had a house with a prison inside made her think that he had done this before. She decided she would leave his fate to the gods. She sat quietly for a few moments and prayed to Durga, the Indian goddess of vengeance, asking her to punish Patil and all others involved in her abduction.

As she calmed, her stomach told her she needed to find something to eat. At home, naashta, the first meal of the day was the highlight for her. Rashmi was usually the first in the kitchen and their cook Sarala would make her a masala chai and flat breads and serve fruit and yogurt. It was often served with a selection of chutneys and preserves. She doubted if she would find anything to compare at the airport.

And then what? She needed to keep moving. There was a train that went to the different terminals, so she could explore the airport to find different places to sit for short periods without drawing attention to herself. She could also use the airport’s Wi-Fi so she could check her tablet for any mention of her abduction and Patil.

As part of her roaming, she decided she would occasionally check back on her restroom accommodations. She wondered how long the construction crew would stay each day and when would they get to a point they would shut off the water.

Before she left the restroom she took a few moments to calm herself to prepare for the challenges of her first day as a resident of O’Hare.

Wednesday was a day of slow-motion activity. Her mobility was still limited by her injuries, but it was probably good that she should keep moving, keeping her sore muscles loosened up. For breakfast she had an egg sandwich, a banana and a chai at the Starbucks. She picked up a discarded copy of the morning Chicago Tribune as she rode the airport train to Terminal Two, and buried in the local section was a small headline which read, Possible Chicago Kidnapping of 16 year-old girl.

The article went on to say,

Last evening a Chicago 911 operator received a call from a young woman whose identity has not been released. The young woman reported she had been kidnapped and was being held in a house near O’Hare. Before the call was cut off she identified her kidnapper as an Arlington Heights man. Police managed to trace her call to a cell tower in an Arlington Heights neighborhood and they arrived at the address at the same time as units of the Arlington Heights Fire Department responded to reports of a car fire. They arrived to find an SUV fully engulfed in flames. Inside the house police discovered an unconscious and badly injured man who is now in police custody at Cook County Hospital. His name has not been released pending investigation and possible charges. Police have been unable to question him because of extensive head injuries. Police searched the house and surrounding area but the victim was not found. They did discover personal articles including a cell phone belonging to the kidnap victim at the house. Police are searching for a possible second suspect in the alleged kidnapping. For updates see www.chicagotribune.com.

Rashmi read and reread the article. She was relieved there was no photo. She took satisfaction in the fact that her desperate move with the toilet tank cover had hurt Patil badly enough that he was in hospital. There was also satisfaction in knowing the road flares had done more than just cripple the Navigator. That car would never again be used to abduct anyone. Durga would be pleased.

That afternoon she couldn’t wait to find a discarded newspaper, because during the quick perusal of the newsstand she spotted her school photo on the lower part of the front page of the Sun Times. She dipped into her stash of Patil money to purchase a paper. The Sun Times reiterated much of what the Tribune had reported that morning, but went on to identify the ‘kidnapping victim’ as Rashmi Darzi, and quoted a police spokesperson asking the community for help in finding her. Rashmi noticed the paper had not used the words, ‘alleged kidnapping victim.’ Patil had still not been identified but the article said his condition had been upgraded and police were anxious to talk to him since, Rashmi Darzi had been missing for more than forty-eight hours.

When she returned to her restroom hideaway at four-thirty, the workers were already gone so Rashmi finished reading the Sun Times while reclining on her pile of drop cloths. Unfortunately access to the online editions of the newspapers required a subscription. Her tablet provided on-line news sources and there were snippets from local television news, but none of them gave her more information than she had from the papers, so she would just keep her eye out for articles in the coming days. She wondered how long it would be before it all became old news.

While she was roaming O’Hare the workers had torn out a large section of the back wall and removed all but one of the toilets. All the stalls were gone too, but the water was still connected to the remaining toilet and the sinks.

Wednesday night she was bedded down and asleep before eight, and with the help of aspirin and a healing youthful body she slept much better even though her bed was still a pile of canvas.

Thursday morning was a repeat of Wednesday. She felt much better except her ribs on her right side, which were still very sore. She decided to again forego the eye bandage and do her best to disguise the bruising with makeup. She was certain her photo had been widely circulated by now, so as a precaution she wore the sunglasses again. For a change of look she wore her dark hair down, topped with a dark felt fedora she had purchased in one of the shops in the International Terminal the day before. She examined herself in the bathroom mirror and decided with the hat and makeup she looked very different and older than her school photo which was in the newspaper. In that photo she was smiling and her long hair was parted in the middle and hanging on either side of her face. As a further precaution Rashmi also wore her parka zipped up to the top of the collar, which helped hide her features.

She took the airport train to Terminal Two and ordered breakfast at the Starbucks there. It was a little after nine but most of the morning rush had subsided although the tables were still full except one small table near the windows, well out of the constant pedestrian traffic. She sat with her back to the busy concourse. Someone had left the morning Tribune on the table and when she looked down there was her photo in an article just under the fold on the front page. The article was headlined with the words, Still no Sign of Highland Park Kidnap Victim – Hospitalized Suspect Formally Charged.

The reporter reviewed the case, and for the first time identified Patil as the prime suspect. The article went on to say a preliminary hearing was held at the hospital but despite arguments from Mr. Patil’s attorney the judge had denied bail citing the fact ‘Ms. Darzi had yet to be found.’ The reported cited unnamed police sources who said that Mr. Patil had not been cooperative with investigators despite overwhelming evidence that Ms. Darzi had been in the house where Mr. Patil was found unconscious and the victim had identified him as her abductor on the 911 call. Those same police sources had also said that Ms. Darzi’s cell phone, purse and some articles of clothing had been recovered from the house. Near the end of the article the reporter wrote that the Darzi family had refused to make a statement and had gone into seclusion without explaining why they had not reported their daughter missing.

“Excuse me Miss, is this seat taken?”

Rashmi quickly folded the paper and set it on the table so the photo was hidden. When she looked up she saw a tall handsome young man with soft blue eyes and close-cropped sandy hair smiling at her.

“Ah, no ... I was just getting ready to leave.”

He looked at her half-eaten scone and fruit cup and said, “Please don’t leave on my account. I’ll find somewhere else.”

As he turned to leave she noticed he was in some kind of camouflage uniform. A soldier perhaps?

“No, that’s perfectly fine, please don’t go.” She wondered why she was taking this chance. Perhaps she just wanted to talk to someone. And he was very handsome.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please have a seat.”

“Okay, thanks.”

His smile returned as he put his drink cup on the table and sat across from her. He extended his hand and said, “I’m Tom Moore.”

She took his hand which was warm and a bit rough but felt wonderful. She quickly rationalized that any human contact at this point would be wonderful. Without thinking she said, “And I’m Rashmi.” She realized her mistake and bit back telling him her last name.

“Nice to meet you Rashmi.” She liked hearing him say her name. “You don’t sound like you’re from Chicago.”

Rashmi realized that she had not only told him her name but she had used her normal British speaking voice instead of the faux American she’d been using the last couple of days. Why did he affect her this way? Maybe she was just tired and distracted.

She smiled. “No I’m not. I’m from London, although my family is originally from India.” Now why did she tell him that? Probably because she didn’t look like she was from the UK.

“Oh, London. I hear it’s a beautiful city. I’ve never been.” His smile brightened, “I’ve been to India though.”

“Oh? I’ve never been. I was born in the UK.”

“You should definitely go. When I was stationed in Afghanistan I took some leave and went to several places in India ... loved the people and the food, and nobody was shooting at me ... that was a bonus!”

She couldn’t help but smile at him. So he liked Indian food and had a sense of humor - two pluses.

She digested his comment about being stationed in Afghanistan and then looked again at his uniform. “So you’re a soldier?”

He shook his head and smiled and then pointed to a cloth tape sewn over his left breast pocket which said, ‘U. S. Marines.’ “Corporal Thomas J. Moore, United States Marines at your service Miss!”

Rashmi blushed. “Of course.” And then she teased, “And did you ever meet Prince Harry while you were in Afghanistan?” She found it impossible to keep a grin off her face.

He looked confused for a second and then got the reference and the British Royal Family connection and laughed. “Sorry no. I’m pretty sure he was long gone before I got there, and anyway we really don’t travel in the same circles I’m sure!”

She laughed too, and after a moment asked, “Are you from Chicago?”

“No, I’m just passing through on my way to rejoin my unit in California.” He frowned.

She was going to ask if somehow he got left behind, but his expression told her there had been a problem.

Finally he said, “I was wounded and spent some time at Walter Reed - it’s a military hospital near Washington DC, but I’m completely recovered now.” His smile reappeared. “So it’s back to the same old grind.”

“Oh, I’m sorry you were hurt, and I’m happy you’re recovered.” She didn’t know what else to say and took a sip of her chai. “Tom.” She liked saying his name. “Where are you from?”

He looked at her with those blue eyes and said, “My folks own a cattle ranch near a town in the north central valley of California called, Red Bluff. I pretty much grew up on a horse.” He said it with some pride. Then he must have realized Rashmi might be Hindu and didn’t eat beef. “Oh sorry...”

She tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face as she said, “Just because I don’t eat beef doesn’t mean I’m opposed to others eating it. And to the best of my knowledge animal husbandry has been a noble profession for a few millennia.”

“Animal husbandry!” He laughed. “Maybe all the vegans and the bureaucrats in Washington and Sacramento would like us better if we quit being ranchers and started being animal husbandry experts.”

“Well as they say, ‘a rose by any other name... ‘“

“Apparently Shakespeare was never downwind of a feedlot!”

Handsome and he knows Shakespeare. Distracted she completely missed his question. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

He watched her for a couple of seconds and then asked, “So you are Hindu?”

She smiled and deadpanned in an American accent, “Well I tried to pass as a white Anglo-Saxon protestant but it just didn’t seem to work out.”

Tom laughed. She thought he had a nice laugh.

He leaned toward her and said, “My flight doesn’t leave until five this evening and I was on my way to the USO...” and then he seemed to realize that he was going to ask a stranger to go with him and stammered, “I, I, well I was wondering if you’d like ... that is if you have some time to kill before your flight, if you’d like to join me.”

She smiled wanting desperately to go anywhere with him and asked, “USO?”

“Oh right. Well, it stands for United Services Organization and they’ve been around, I’m pretty sure since World War Two and they have USO Centers in or near about every base to support the military. They also sponsor shows to entertain troops and I even got to see one in Afghanistan. They have lounges at most major airports, staffed by volunteers. Most places even let Marines in,” he said with a broad smile.

Rashmi didn’t know why she blushed. Maybe it was from the vision of walking through the airport with this handsome Marine and maybe getting a chance to hold his hand or arm. All of a sudden he looked unsure, but she quickly put him at ease. “I don’t have a flight until tonight. I’m on my way to London to visit cousins, so let’s go visit your USO and we will see if they’ll really let Marines in.”

Janice Wilson watched the tall Marine and the exotic-looking young woman as they approached the sign-in desk at the O’Hare Terminal Two USO. ‘Gee how did they all get so young all of a sudden, ‘ she thought. Technically only service members and their family members were allowed to use the USO lounge, but when he introduced her as his ‘girlfriend’ and Janice could see the girl blush even under her makeup she didn’t have the heart to turn them away. They were cute together. She remembered when she and Michael used to look at each other that way – now he was in Arlington Cemetery - and she was living in Chicago with the kids and volunteering at the USO in his memory.

For the next few hours Rashmi and Tom sat side by side on one of the plush sofas that dotted the rooms and talked about the inconsequential things people usually talk about on first dates; Tom played guitar and she played violin, he liked country music, she was more interested in classical music, he was a hunter and she had never seen a real rifle. She found out he’d enlisted right out of high school and been in the Marines for two years and had two years to go and he didn’t plan on staying. He was going back his parents’ ranch to do what he loved.

Rashmi told him about growing up in London, and he told her about growing up on a ranch. His future as a rancher was far from assured though. The latest drought threatened the entire cattle industry in California so there might not be a ranch to go back to when he got out. He told her his family had been on that land for generations and they’d been through droughts before and he was optimistic they’d make it through again.

During their time together they quickly discovered they were well-matched in intellect and curiosity about the world and each possessed a wicked sense of humor.

They ate pizza for lunch provided by the USO, and after lunch she snuggled against him dozing while he read some hunting and shooting magazine. When she awoke she caught him looking at her. Rashmi felt all tingly inside and she gently touched his face and smiled. “Guess I was more tired than I thought. Thanks for being my pillow.” She wanted desperately to tell him about her situation, but there was nothing he could do.

When she visited the restroom at the USO, she discovered that some of her makeup had smeared off, probably while she was asleep against his shoulder so some of the bruising was less well hidden. Tom was pretty perceptive, and with a look of concern asked her about the injuries to her face. She stuck to the story about a car accident. He tried to hide the fact he was less than convinced, but he didn’t question her about it further.

Finally it was time to catch his flight to San Diego, and they walked hand in hand to the security check point like they had been doing it for years. At the USO he had given her his contact information, including the address of the ranch in Red Bluff.

“Rashmi, if for any reason you need a place ... a place to stay, please contact my parents. I know they’d be happy to put you up for whatever time you need.” She was comforted by the thought she might have somewhere to go. He went on, “I’m going to call them and let them know about you. Is that okay?”

She could only nod, holding back tears.

Earlier she had admitted she lived in Chicago, and before leaving the USO she had given him her full name (which thankfully he didn’t seem to recognize) and address, but cautioned him that any correspondence had to be through her sister Mani. He looked puzzled for a second but seemed to understand. She smiled as she allowed him to take a photo to go with her contact information on his phone. It was easy to smile when Tom was around.

Finally, as they approached security he leaned over and gently put his arms around her and kissed her lightly on the lips. Rashmi’s first kiss turned out to be much better than she had imagined in her girlish growing up fantasies and she decided she wanted more kisses from Corporal Thomas Moore. Still holding her he whispered in her ear, “If you were my girl, I’d never let anyone do that to you.”

A tear streaked her cheek and she said softly, “I know.”

He kissed her once more a little longer, and then he was gone.

With tear-filled eyes, Rashmi walked slowly back down the concourse remembering the lines from the haunting Edvard Grieg piece from the play Peer Gynt, entitled Solveig’s Song. She had been the soloist with her school choir in London when they had performed it.

Before Tom’s departure it had simply been a beautiful song, now she felt the loneliness of Solveig as she waited for Peer to return. She knew if she ever had the opportunity to sing it again, her performance would not be the same.

The hour-long trip on the Blue Line into Chicago from the airport was a bargain for five dollars. The train was comfortable and warm and unaffected by weather or traffic, and thankfully the weather had moderated as the storm continued east. Although there was still plenty of snow on the ground the sun had appeared, giving the illusion of warmth outside the train’s windows. Today she was headed for the downtown public library. She would hide out there while she figured out her next move. Her restroom hideaway seemed in no danger of being completed anytime soon and she doubted the workers were in on weekends so she was probably safe until Monday at least, so sometime this afternoon she’d take the train back to the airport.

Wearing her felt hat, sunglasses and Patil’s heavy coat with the sleeves rolled to her elbows over jeans and turtleneck sweater, she thought she presented a picture of a fashion-forward young woman – a young woman who would be unrecognizable to anyone who might be searching. As a bonus, Patil’s cloying scent on the coat seemed finally to have receded to the point she hardly noticed.

Before she left the airport for the train she had purchased and posted an O’Hare postcard to Tom’s address at the ‘First Reconnaissance Battalion, ‘ whatever that was, at MCB, Camp Pendleton, California. She had simply said,

Tom, I’m missing you already, please be safe. Your, Rashmi

Rashmi had taken a long time to get the wording she wanted, but finally settled on something simple and not too, what? Gushing? School-girl crush? Was that all it was? Certainly in stories she had read, people often fell in love at first sight or after a very short time, but those were stories. This was real life. But Tom was real, not some imagined prince in some story, riding in to save a damsel in distress. But she was definitely a damsel in distress and when he had walked through the security check point yesterday she felt part of her going with him. He had turned and smiled and waved. She smiled and waved in return wiping tears. Tom made her feel safe, and loved? As she watched him disappear down the crowded concourse she wondered if he had been serious about his parents taking her in. She also wondered if she would ever see him again.

After he left, she had gone back to her hideaway and had spent time on her tablet researching travel to Red Bluff. She could ride Amtrak to Sacramento and then transfer to a bus for a little over two hundred dollars. She still had more than enough of Patil’s money so she could afford the fare. The web-site said it would take a couple of days, but then she’d be in California. Unfortunately at that fare she’d be sitting in a coach seat exposed to all who came by.

In Rashmi’s excitement she’d had trouble getting to sleep, but when she awoke that Friday morning reality set in. She was a sixteen year-old girl on the run from an evil man and from her family. If she was discovered she would certainly be sent home. Until she determined if her father was part of Patil’s scheme, there could be no going home. Had Patil really said that he had purchased her? She had been drugged and was being beaten when she thought she heard him say those words. Could she be mistaken? If her memory was correct it was monstrous to think her parents had sold her. Her father was a tyrant but was he evil? She angrily brushed tears. How could this happen?

Could she ask Tom’s parents to take her in? She would not be eighteen for another year and a half, so she was no more than a runaway. And if she refused to go home? She had two sets of grandparents in India, but she had no desire to go there. Would the state of Illinois put her in a foster home? Then she realized that since she was not a US citizen she might be deported if she was separated from her family.

Could she even take a chance on going to Union Station and buying a ticket to California? With the 911 call she had left the impression Patil had an accomplice so the police might be looking for a man and a girl, but her picture had been in the paper. What if she was recognized?