Chapter 13: Collateral Damage, Part 1

The ringing of the bedside phone awoke me Sunday morning, bright and way too damn early. I just let it ring. No one should need to talk to me that bad this morning. Eventually the ringing stopped. Rolling over, I took in the sleeping, naked, beautiful form of my love, and now lover, as she lay still asleep. I draped my arm over her, spooning up to her.

"Mmmmm," came the sleepy reply, "Ready for round four?"

I laughed at her sleepy voice, kissed the base of her neck, and tried to fall back asleep.

A few minutes later, the phone began ringing again. I was going to let it ring, but Roxanne spoke first.

"You should answer that, hon," she said, before rolling over to face me. Her eyes shining in the morning light, big curls falling over her face ... I thought to myself that this moment was probably as perfect as life would ever get. That should have been a hint.

"It's rung three times this morning. Someone really wants to talk to you," she continued.

"Crap," I said, deadpan, "do I have to?'

"Answer it."

I rolled over, grumbling, and picked up the phone off its bedside cradle.

"Hello?" I said, my voice still gravelly from being asleep. The high-pitched voice on the other end shouted a jumbled something that I had absolutely no chance in deciphering.

"Wait, wait, wait. Slow down," I said, "It's way too early for that shit." A morning person I was not. "Who is this?"

"It's Kara."

"Kara?" Why is she calling me, especially now. She was well aware of how Roxanne and I were planning on spending the night, and hopefully the morning.

"Nick, something really bad happened last night." The urgency in her voice managed to clear some of the cobwebs out of my head. I sat up in bed.

"What happened?"

"Sandra was ... was..."

To finish the sentence Kara couldn't, Sandra had been drugged and raped at the party they had gone to last night. Date raped was the common term for the assault, but not quite appropriate, as it wasn't a date that did the assaulting, but some unknown scumbag.

I dropped Roxanne off at home before heading to the hospital. She offered to go with me, of course, but from the sounds of Kara's phone call, there was going be a lot to deal with, and I wanted to deal with it by myself.

Upon entering the hospital, I went to the desk and asked the person sitting there where I could find Sandra. After getting the directions, I headed up in the elevator to her floor. When the doors opened, I stepped out into the lobby, and surveyed the scene.

I noticed Kara first, standing alone, down the hallway. She looked very upset. Further up I noticed Sandra's parents. They were speaking with a police officer at the moment. Her father looked agitated. Normally I'd say he had that right given the circumstances, but Sandra's dad always looked agitated. Finally, at the end of the hallway, sitting on a bench against the window, all by herself, and looking more than a little bored, was Sandra's sister, Samantha. Kara was the first to see me, as she was the closest, and heard the elevator bell ding. She came rushing over, and as soon as she got to me, she wrapped me in a hug and buried her face in my shoulder. I could hear her crying as I reluctantly put my arms around her.

"Nick, I'm so-so-so sorry," she sobbed into my shoulder.

"Kara," I said, trying to calm her down, "Kara, c'mon. Calm down and tell me what happened." I pried her off of me and led her to a nearby bench. She plopped down, drained, and continued. I had a moment to look her over before she started, and she looked terrible. I figured she'd been here all night.

"Nick, I don't know what happened. After we left the dance, we went to this big party. It was at Joey Bonnasero's house." She looked up at me to see if I knew who she was talking about. I did, so I just nodded, and she continued. "Rochester was having their homecoming last night too, and Joey was having the party at his house. His cousin goes to school with us, and I'd heard from her that there was an open invitation at his place, so I thought it would be good for a change of scenery."

"Everything was going fine. We were having a good time, flirting with new boys. The girls were being nice to us."

"Were you drinking?" I asked, cutting in to her conversation.

"No." she said, then, more emphatically, "No, not at all. I mean there was plenty of alcohol there, but as far as I knew neither of us had any."

"Okay. Go on."

"We got separated eventually. I don't know exactly how, but I didn't think much of it. I thought maybe Sandra just met someone or something." She looked up at me. "She looked really hot last night, and she was getting a lot of attention."

"Okay," I said. I was well aware of how Sandra looked last night, having pulled her around the dance floor once myself, but I hoped Kara would get to the point soon.

"Anyway, it was around one in the morning or so, I realized I hadn't seen her in a while, and I knew she didn't know a lot of people, so I went looking for her. I found her passed out in a bedroom upstairs, and it was clear she'd been ... been..." She couldn't continue, and started crying again.

"Who did it?"

"I have no idea! Everyone was just so nice, and..." She paused for a moment to compose herself. "I should have been watching out for her. This is all my fault."

I reached out and touched her face, lifting her chin to look at me.

"There's only one person to blame here, Kara, and it's not you." Probably only one. Hopefully only one. I looked up, and noticed that another police officer had just exited Sandra's room and was talking to her parents, along with the first officer. Moments later, the two uniforms left them and walked down the hall past us and towards the elevator.

"I'm going to go see if I can talk to Sandra now, okay?" Kara just nodded. "Do you need a ride home?" She thought for a minute, and realized she had no ride home, so she nodded again, punctuated by half sobs and sniffles. "Okay. You stay here, and I'll be out in a bit."

I walked down the hall, and approached Sandra's parents. As I said before, Sandra's dad was always a bit of an asshole, to pretty much everyone, his wife and children included, but I'd always had a good relationship with Sandra's mom.

"Mr. and Mrs. Courtland," I said, greeting them both. Sandra's dad just looked at me briefly, and then stalked off, apparently to talk to Samantha, who was still sulking in the corner, but Mrs. Courtland turned and greeted me back.

"Oh, hello Nicholas," she said. "I guess word travels fast."

"It does in my direction." I acknowledged. Being at the top of the food chain in my particular circle meant I tended to hear things before everyone else, especially important things. "How's Sandra?"

"She's shaken up, of course," her mom said, "but that's to be expected. Whoever did this to her didn't her hurt her, other than, you know."

"Can she remember anything?" I asked.

"No. The police said that it was fairly common ... something about being the drug they used. They said it was something called Rope ... Roy..."

"Rohypnol?"

"Yes, that was it," she said.

"Can I go in?" I asked, gesturing to the room. Mrs. Courtland looked over at her husband, who was still talking quietly, but animatedly, with his other daughter.

"Go ahead," she said. "Try to be quick. Martin doesn't have a lot of patience this morning, for anyone."

"I'll be as fast as I can," I promised, and headed into the room.

Inside, it was your standard hospital room. Sandra was laying on the bed under the covers, staring out the window. She turned to me when I entered.

"Hey kiddo," I said.

She looked up at me when I spoke. Her eyes were red, as was expected, and her hair had been pulled free and matted down from the up-do she'd had it in the night before, but other than that, physically at least, she looked ok. Time would tell how deep the psychological trauma would run.

"Hi Nick," she said, with a faint smile.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Like I got fucked and can't even remember it," she spat. Anger, I assumed, was probably better than guilt or depression. I sat down on the bed next to her. As soon as I did so, she lunged forward and grabbed me in a hug the strength of which belied her small stature and current condition. Her body shook with sobs as I wrapped my arms around her in a comforting hug. I let her go like that until they started to ebb.

"Do you remember anything?" I asked, as I stroked her back.

"Nick, I don't remember anything at all," she said. I could tell she was clearly frustrated at the situation, at the memory loss. "I barely remember being at the party." Then she started crying again.

"It's okay," I said, as I held her. "Did the police say anything?"

Sandra pulled herself together. "No," she said. "They collected the ... evidence. They said they'd go talk to the guy who lived there and his parents, but there were a ton of people there, Nick, from all over the place. I doubt that guy even knew everyone."

I pondered that for a moment, but my thoughts were interrupted by Sandra's dad clearing his throat at the doorway.

"Sandra, tell your friend it's time to go home." What a dickhead. I looked at Sandra, and just rolled her eyes. She reached out her hand and put it on mine.

"Thank you for coming, Nick. It means a lot to me. If you talk to the others, tell them I'll be fine."

"Do you want me to call them?" I asked, standing.

"No, but don't let things get out of hand either," she replied.

"Okay," I said, squeezing her hand. "I'll talk to you soon. Call me if you need anything." Then, for emphasis, I added, "Anything."

"I will," she replied, with a weak smile.

I got up and walked out of the room, and almost ran smack into Samantha.

"Hi, Nick," she said, a little too sweetly for my tastes, as I knew what kind of social predator stood in front of me. "It was very nice of you to come see my sister."

"Yeah, well," I said, trailing off.

"Where's your girlfriend?" she asked, though her tone was not quite questioning.

"I dropped her off this morning before I came here."

"Oh. Well hopefully you two had a nice night together," she continued.

"Uh, yeah." Small talk with Samantha unnerved me, for some reason. I looked around, hoping Kara was nearby to rescue me from the situation.

"Looking for Kara?" she asked, "I think she went to the bathroom to freshen up. God knows she needed it." The last part there was tacked on, but catty; the way it slipped out was disingenuous from the rest of the tone Sam was trying to take with me.

"So ... where's Mark," I asked, trying to deflect the conversation. "He didn't offer to come with you?"

"I dumped him last night," Samantha said, like it was an everyday occurrence, "After the dance. He was a loser, Nick. He was drinking this nasty-ass whisky out of a flask and kept going on and on about how great it was gonna be later. Gawd. He wasn't even on the football team anymore. I certainly wasn't going to let him fuck me anymore. I'm not going to waste my time on a loser." She took a step closer, beginning to invade my personal space. "You're not a loser though, are you Nick?"

I took one step back, just as she started to reach out and touch my chest.

"Depends on the point spread, I guess," I said, mostly to myself as I looked for an escape. Thankfully, I saw Kara come out of the restroom. She saw the two of us standing there, and I chose to make my getaway. "There's Kara," I said, taking another step back, "I promised her I'd give her a ride home. It was nice talking to you Sam." With that I turned and headed towards Kara. As I approached, I could see the look on her face, and it wasn't pleasant.

"What was that about?" she asked, the tone not very friendly at all. I grabbed her arm and spun her around, heading for the elevators.

"That was Samantha looking to move up in the world, again."

"That fucking whore!" Kara hissed.

"Quiet," I admonished her. "I know that."

"You sure didn't seem to mind the attention," Kara said. It was a toss-up whether her anger was about what Samantha had done to her, or what she thought I was thinking about doing to her best friend.

"I'm not an idiot, Kara, I could see exactly what she was doing. I just wasn't expecting that here of all places, considering the circumstances. I guess her ambition knows no bounds." The elevator finally arrived and we got the hell out of there.

I opened the door of the Aston and Kara slid into the passenger seat's leathery embrace. As I climbed into the driver's seat and keyed the ignition, I looked over to see Kara running her hands over the expensive materials of the dashboard. She stopped and looked at me when she realized I was looking at her.

"This is a nice car, Nick."

I allowed myself a small chuckle. "I know." I backed out of the parking space and took off down the street.

"I owe you an apology," she said, a few moments later.

"We've already been over this," I reminded her. "It's not your fault."

"I meant for what I said upstairs."

"What, calling Samantha a whore?" I asked, finding that humorous. "She kind of is a whore."

"No, for accusing you of enjoying her attention. It's a sore spot with me, and that was uncalled for."

I looked over at her for a second. "Apology accepted."

We drove in silence the rest of the way to the import dealer. I needed to drop the car off to Jack and pick up my truck. Since it was Sunday, I was expecting to just drop the car off and lock the keys in it, so I was surprised to see Jack there when I pulled the car onto the lot. I told Kara to head over to my truck, tossed her the keys, and walked over to talk to Jack.

"Hi, Nick. How'd your big night go?" he asked as I approached.

"Just fine, Mr. Lazier. Thanks again for all your help." I handed him the keys.

"You're very welcome, Nick." Jack looked past me to see Kara standing by the truck, waiting for me. "That your new lady?"

I looked back, and realized he was talking about Kara. I shook my head. "No. That's, well, it's a long story."

Jack laughed, that sort of conspiratorial laugh that meant he had the completely wrong idea. "I'm sure it is Nick. I'm sure it is." There was no real point in correcting it, and it was a long story. We shook hands and I headed for my truck to get Kara home.

By Monday, word had gotten around as to what had happened to Sandra Saturday night. What I'd told Kara earlier I really had meant. Our band, our friends, we really were a family. Of course we fought, and argued, just like any other family, but if something happened to one of us, it happened to all of us. My friends were in shock when they heard what had happened over the weekend.

High school being what it was, though, the rumor mill had been in full effect as well, so there were a number of stories as to what had actually taken place at the party. For our part, the band had circled the wagons, as it was; we made sure Sandra was never alone, and maintained a constant presence by her side, as much as was possible. For her part, she seemed to be taking it well, better than I would have imagined, but if you knew what to look for, you could see signs of the toll the incident was taking. There was a dark cloud hanging over her.

Kara, for her part, stayed away. She was still feeling very guilty about the whole situation, and thought it best if she just stayed away. She had taken my earlier warning to her, that my friends were my family, to heart. I considered that bond very strong, and she felt as though she had done that bond irreparable harm. It took Sandra herself walking over to Kara after school, and giving her a big hug, to shake her out of her guilt a little bit and return her to the fold, as it was. From then on Kara was by her side, as much as was humanly possible; for all intents and purposes they became inseparable.

Not much else happened until Wednesday afternoon, when I was summoned late in the day to Coach's office. When I got there, I found Coach, along with the man I'd seen at on the sidelines at Friday's game. I stood at attention until Coach acknowledged me.