Giving Him the Blues
an excerpt

wordcount widgets
Trace reheated everything in the microwave while Kate freshened up. When she came back, he had everything arranged on trays, waiting. Kate thanked him for remembering the crab rangoons she loved, dipping them in her hot and sour soup and crunching the outer edges before eating the soft cream and crab-filled middles. The snow peas in her cashew chicken were nice and crisp, the way she liked them, and the cashews gave sweet crunch to the dish. There was just enough szechuan pepper in her soup, plus plenty of straw mushrooms and chunks of tofu.

Wiping her mouth on one of the red and gold aida cloth napkins her sister had given them for their wedding, Kate looked over to find Trace watching her. "What?" She asked, laughing.

"I just like looking at you, honey. You're beautiful."

"Thank you. And thank you for all this," Kate said, waving her hand at the table. "Trace, there's so many things I want to say. I just don't know where to start."

"Don't honey. Let's just enjoy this. I think we have made a lot of good decisions lately. One of the best was getting back together, even if it wasn't what you wanted at first. I love you, Kate. I don't want to live without you."

Kate was silent. Guilt swamped her, as she knew that he had no idea what she really wanted to discuss. Feeling like she was taking the coward's way out, Kate did as he asked and stayed silent. Another month and her body would tell her story for her anyway. As it was, her curves had never been so lush. She was surprised also to find how much she craved Trace's body. Their lovemaking was a rush of sensations that had her floating in a passion-soaked haze. Shaking her head, she did her best to clear lust from her thoughts. They still had work to do: on their marriage, as well as on the search for the rapist terrorizing the women of Memphis.

*****

Kate walked through the aisles of Kroger on Riverdale Road. She found herself gagging as she walked past the meat display. Morning sickness my ass, she thought. This past week, she'd found more and more things made her nauseous, red meat being one of them. Moving on to the dairy case, she bought three dozen eggs. For some strange reason, she could eat egg after egg with no trouble at all, especially if she pickled them first. Delicious slices of red beet, minced onion, lemon juice, white vinegar, and a half teaspoon of ground clove and she had a treat that her baby seemed to thrive upon. Weird kid. Who doesn't like a good juicy steak?

"Okay, Janelle, ease up on the tummy trouble," Kate said aloud to her daughter, as she'd begun thinking of the baby lately. If she turned out to be a boy after all, Kate had a list of potential names on her computer. If she were writing a novel ,she'd name her son Shiloh. Over-romanticized, maybe, but she liked how it sounded.

Kate added a box of Bigelow Plantation Mint tea and a can of Maxwell House Master blend coffee to her cart, then turned up the baking supply aisle. She bought honey, sugar, flour, butter flavor Crisco sticks, brown sugar, baking soda, vanilla extract and chocolate chips to make cookies for Thanksgiving, which was less than a week away. At the end of the aisle, she found packages of Pepperridge Farm stuffing mix and gravy packets. She added a two foil roasting pans, one for the turkey and one for the macaroni and cheese that had been a family Thanksgiving staple for as long as she could remember. She also bought celery, cream cheese, black and green olives, dill spears, bread and butter pickles, yellow pepper rings, grape tomatoes, and bell peppers for the relish tray. Stopping in the beverage aisle, she bought six two-liter bottles of Canada dry ginger ale, a case of Coke Zero, and three cans of Hawaiian Punch. Three round loaves of bread, one Italian and two pumpernickel would be made into bread baskets, to be filled with one of three dips: artichoke, tuna, and cheddar cheese. She bought a twenty four pound tom turkey and a fifteen pound spiral sliced ham, plus a ten pound beef roast.

Both Kate's family and Trace's were coming to dinner, as well as several members of Women Aware and their husbands, plus Ed and a few of the men from the Memphis Chapter of the Guardian Angels. Kate was tempted to make reservations at Majestic Grille. But no, she was going to make this dinner no matter how tired Janelle/Shiloh made her. Walking up to the checkout, Kate began pulling times from her cart and putting them on the belt, waiting for the tired clerk to run them past the scanner. Soon, she was on her way to her car. Waving off the clerk who offered to help her to her car, Kate pushed her loaded cart through the automatic doors.

As usual, she had trouble remembering where she'd parked. Fortunately, she had gotten keyless entry on this new car. Hitting the button, she followed the flashing headlights and bleating horn to her Kia. She opened the trunk and started putting groceries in it. She put an hand on her lower back. Lifting things had begun bothering her a little. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to ease the tension. An arm went around her neck, and something foul-smelling was pressed to her face.

Kate immediately began to struggle, scratching at the arm, biting into the fleshy part of the forearm and stomping hard with her foot where she judged her attacker's instep might be. She whipped her body back and forth, but the substance on the rag entered her lungs, making her cough and gag. Desperate, and scared for her baby more than herself, she kicked upward, trying to hit her attacker in the groin. An oof of pain told her she'd succeeded. Instead of loosening his hold, though, her attacker pressed harder, cutting off her air. Kate whimpered in terror for her baby as she went limp in her attacker's arms.

*****

Trace cursed the traffic as he drove from City Hall, where he and Ed had been on patrol that night, back to the house. He hadn't told Kate yet, but he'd bought tickets for tomorrow night's performance of the Nutcracker at the Cannon Center For The Performing Arts. He wasn't much of a ballet fan, but he knew Kate loved it. They'd been working hard, and needed a little escape from the constant tension. They had dinner reservations at Majestic Grille before the show, and they'd been invited to a reception afterward. Cutting across several lanes, Trace finally made his way past the source of the delays, a broken down VW microbus painted in a wild mishmash of Day-Glo colors and slathered with protest stickers. He was willing to bet it had fuzzy seat covers and a beaded curtain. Laughing, he continued home.

Trace was surprised to find the house empty when he arrived. Kate had said she was headed to the grocery store, but it had been at least four hours since they'd spoken. He checked their answering machine, but none of the messages were from Kate. Dialing her cell phone, he waited for her to pick up. When she didn't answer, he left the house phone number as a page, then walked next door to talk with Ed.

Knocking on Ed's door, he waited for Ed to answer. "Have you seen Kate today?" Trace said without waiting.

"Hi, mate. Nice day," Ed said,sardonically. "No, haven't seen her since she left this afternoon. Said she was headed to Kroger on Riverdale Road. What, you think something has happened?"

"I don't know, but I talked to her at two, and it's six now. The longest it should have taken was an hour, two if she did any Christmas shopping. She was picking up the trimmings for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Give her another half hour, mate. Maybe she just got stuck in traffic or something."

"Yeah, that sounds reasonable. I don't know though, Ed. Something just doesn't feel right. I'm going over to the store. Want to come along?"

"What the hell, might as well. I could use a brew or two and a steak for dinner."

"Still getting nowhere with Kellie?"

"I called, her mother answered. She told me Kellie is in The Florida Keys on a dive with her college professor and a couple of other students. She said she'd tell Kellie I called. That was two weeks ago."

"That's ate up, mate."

"Yeah, I think so, too. I'd go down there if I had any idea where to start looking."

Trace walked back to the house and checked the answering machine again. Still no calls. Trace's uneasy feeling had his stomach churning. Going back out, he knocked on Ed's door again. "I'm heading out now. I'm tired of waiting."

Ed got into Trace's truck, and they turned toward Kroger. Driving slow, Trace cruised through the parking lot. When he spotted Kate's car, trunk open, he felt his stomach heave. No way she would leave her car open like that. He jumped out of the truck, motor still running. A cloth at the rear of the vehicle caught his eye. Reaching down, he picked it up. A chemical odor hit his nostrils, as the bottom dropped out of his world. The pure unadulterated terror ripped through his guts like shrapnel from and IED. His knees buckled, and he leaned against Katelyn's car for support. When he looked up, Ed blanched. He hadn't seen that look since Iraq, after a particularly bad suicide bomb attack had spewed parts of half a dozen Iraqi kids all over the open air market in Baquba. It was a look that said the person responsible for the attack was a dead man. But not before he suffered. A lot.

"Trace, man up, mate. She's alive, or he wouldn't have needed an inhaled anaesthetic to knock her out." Looking up, Ed realized Kate had parked under a surveillance camera. Pointing to the camera, Ed continued, "The camera might have caught her abductor. Come on!"

The two men entered the store. Ed asked for the manager and explained the situation. Trace was silent, his face a mask. Ed flinched when he looked in Trace's eyes and saw nothing but death and hell. He shuddered, then continued talking to the store manager, finally getting him to let them review the tape from the camera near Kate's car. Unfortunately, whatever had happened had been at the rear of Kate's vehicle. The trunk lid obscured any vision of the perpetrator's face. What they did see, however, was a beat up gold tone Chevy Malibu pulling out of the parking lot about three cars from Kate's. It turned toward the river and disappeared into traffic.

Trace called nine one one and filed a missing person's report on Katelyn. The dispatcher told him she would connect him with a detective, but it would be seventy two hours before she would be considered officially missing. Trace's next call was to LouEllen Masterson.

"LouEllen, that sick son of a bitch rapist has my wife. I called Memphis Police Department, but they won't report her missing for another seventy two hours." LouEllen heard the anguish and rage in Trace's voice. Just thinking about the filth who had raped her had her gagging and running to the bathroom to vomit. She held the phone away from her while she heaved, then rinsed her mouth. "Can't talk now. Call later," she said as she hung up. Sliding down against the bathroom wall, LouEllen put her face in her hands and sobbed out her terror.

Trace heard heaving sounds, and guessed correctly that LouEllen was reliving her rape. He closed his eyes and tried to clear away the fear that gripped him deep in his guts. He swayed, then lifted his head, breathing deeply. He had to clear his mind, or he would be no use whatsoever to Katelyn. There was still a chance, in spite of the length of time she'd been gone, that the bastard hadn't gotten around to assaulting her yet. He just had to think. Where was the closest deserted area to Kroger? Ed took the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot. Trace looked at the scenery without seeing anything.

"He'd go somewhere isolated, Ed. We have to figure out where."

Ed drove toward Shelby Drive, to the vacant land next to Kroger. Cruising slowly, he noticed a half-open gate near an abandoned corrugated metal outbuilding. Creeping the truck through the gate, Ed pulled between the building and an illegal dump, old refrigerators, broken furniture, and bag after bag of yard waste.. Spotting what looked like a pile of rags as he turned the corner, Ed stopped the truck. Trace jumped out before he had the truck in park. When he reached the pile, he closed his eyes and roared, all the rage, guilt, and helpless despair within him contained in one long anguished bellow. "Baby, I'm here, I'm here. He's gone honey, he's gone. Oh God, honey, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated, tears running freely down his face. He pulled Katelyn's battered, unconscious body into his arms and rocked her back and forth. He kissed her bruised lips, blackened eyes, and reddened cheek, continuing to babble to her, talking as much to rouse her from her unconscious state as to convince himself she was still breathing.

Ed pulled out his cell phone, dialing nine one one. "We need an ambulance. We're at the vacant lot near Kroger, just off Riverdale, on Shelby Drive. We have an unconscious victim of a sexual assault. Move it!"

Trace continued rocking Katelyn, kissing her eyes, cheeks, and forehead over and over, getting no response. Pulling her closer, he closed his eyes, his face a train wreck of failed attempt to control his emotions. Unwanted tears ran from his eyes as he rocked, not even hearing the sounds of the approaching ambulance and the police patrol coming in behind it. Strong hands pulled at him, voices urging him to "...let her go, mate, they need to treat her.." His body chilled as they pulled Kate away, the numbness seeping into his soul and blacking out his vision. He bent over with his head on his knees and howled like a tortured animal, Ed stood by, putting out his hands when the policeman approached. After several minutes, Trace shuddered, then lifted his head. The blankness in his eyes went deeper than Ed cared to look, nearly sucking him into the soulless vortex he'd carefully avoided when he'd discovered Kellie had left him. That way lay a one way trip to a padded cell at Walter Reed, and he wasn't going.

Trace closed his eyes, a muscle in his cheek twitching. The he turned to Ed and said, "Let's go," in a dead voice.

"You're going to have to give a statement," the police officer began, then paused as Trace's glance speared him.

"Fuck that. I'm going to the hospital with my wife. If you want a fucking statement, you can come along. Otherwise, get the fuck out of my way." With that, Trace climbed into his truck. Ed gave an apologetic shrug to the policeman and got into the passenger seat.

Trace drove to the hospital behind the ambulance that carried Katelyn. He said nothing as they followed, eyes and face blank. The cold rage that filled him kept him from feeling the despair that she wouldn't regain consciousness. That beautiful face that looked at him with such love, the fist-split lips, blackened eyes, all coiled in his guts like rattlesnakes waiting to poison his soul. Little by little, a black haze settled over his vision, blocking out the horror of finding Kate laying in a heap, torn and bloodied by some vicious animal with no more right to life than a rabid dog.

They reached the emergency entrance of the hospital. Trace tossed the truck keys to Ed and jumped out. Ed moved into the driver's seat and silently drove the truck into the parking deck nearby. By the time he got to the ER, Trace had already been taken to registration.

Trace gave the registration clerk Katelyn's name, address, phone number, date of birth, told them she had no allergies, and told them he was Katelyn's husband and would be responsible for her bill. He showed his insurance card, Humana PPO. Up to then, he was patient, voice low, almost a monotone. When the clerk started asking additional questions, however, he snapped at her. "This can wait, damn it. I want to see my wife."

"There's no need for foul language, Mr. Evans. This is just hospital procedure. You'll be able to see your wife in a few more minutes."

"Where's she at? She was brought here by ambulance. Is she conscious yet? Is she talking? Has she said anything about the son of a bitch who attacked her?"

The security guard at the desk walked over to where Trace was berating the clerk, adjusting his holster, which held a can of mace. "You're going to have to lower your voice. I understand you are upset, but throwing your weight around is only going to make things take longer. Come on over and sit down. Have a cup of coffee."

Trace shuddered for a second, the desire to lash out and deck this asshole rent a cop warring with his knowledge that he himself was the real asshole here. Suck it up and drive on, soldier, he told himself. He let his hands relax slightly, taking a deep breath. "Sorry." he said abruptly to the clerk. He turned and walked over to the coffee pot , pouring a cup of the thickened, overboiled black liquid. He slugged back two or three quick jolts, then refilled the cup and sat down to wait. He felt Ed's approach more than he saw him. Ed sat down next to him, silent. He understood there was no point talking, so he left Trace to his thoughts. Trace willed his mind blank, his emotions to go into hibernation. The icy sick feeling in his stomach eased to an anticipatory anxiety. Full of adrenaline and no target for his rage, he turned it inward. He should have told her to wait for him, or taken off early, or told her to just order out, anything to keep her from having gone to the store to be brutalized.

Too hyped to sit, Trace stood up and patrolled down the corridor and back, then repeated. After his fifth circuit, he heard his name being called. A technician stood at the double doors leading into the emergency room, gesturing to him to come in and see his wife. The technician lead him to a cubicle shrouded with a pink muslin curtain. Kate lay on a gurney, still unconscious. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and kissed her, his control breaking just enough to let a tear slip down his face. Another technician entered the room. "We're taking her to x-ray. The doctor wants to perform an ultrasound exam. You can wait on the second floor in the family waiting area if you like. It's a little more comfortable than the emergency room waiting area, and a little more private."

Trace said nothing, just nodded. Going out to the waiting area, he nodded to Ed to follow him as he took the elevator to the second floor. The waiting area was to the left, about thirty feet past the elevator. A long bank of picture windows let in the sun. Someone had made ruffled drapes in a vain attempt to give the room a home-like look. Overstuffed armchairs and love seats were arranged in groups, with little end tables scattered about, covered with outdated hunting magazines and old copies of Catholic Digest and Guidepost. A couple of dog eared children's books and some broken crayons lay on a Lego covered table in one corner of the room, with a box of assorted toys underneath.

The volunteer receptionist took Trace's name, and Kate's, putting them on a list. "The doctor will call you on that phone on the wall when they are finished examining your wife. You'll just pick it up when it rings, when I call your name." She gestured toward the phone, then turned to the next person to enter the room. Trace got another cup of coffee, then walked out into the corridor. Waiting had never seemed so hard before. Even in combat, on the eve of a battle, he had been clear minded and alert. Here, though, there was no clearly identifiable enemy. That would change as soon as he knew Katelyn was stabilized.

Trace walked the corridors absently, robotic. He felt nothing, just ice coating his mind. He clicked through all the facts he knew about the rapist. This last attack could not be random. This guy was stalking his victims, choosing them ahead of time, and choosing them for effect. Walking back into the waiting room, he waited for Ed to look over at him standing in the doorway. Nodding a question, Ed shook his head. The doctor had not called. Trace returned to his patrol of the corridors. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to release the dread he felt as the wait grew longer. His hands shook from the effort of maintaining the cold control that had settled over him, blanketing him from the full force of the guilt and shame at his failure to protect his wife from harm. Rage at the animal son of a bitch pulsed in the veins of his forehead, ran through his guts like acid, etching everything with a black haze. He strode up and down the corridor like a caged tiger on steroids, ready to attack the first identifiable target that presented itself.

A doctor approached him, holding out a hand, the look on his face buckling Trace's knees and making his gorge rise. He held out a hand to fend off the knowledge, whatever it was, that the doctor was about to impart. At the words, "I'm sorry," he let out a bellow of pure hate, rage, and despair that was heard throughout the entire floor, bringing Ed to the doorway. Pushing at the doctor to get him out of his way, he tried to go to the room the doctor had just come from. "Where is she? God damn you to hell, where is she?"

Trace had vastly underestimated the doctor. A three tour combat veteran and Army medic, he pinned Trace against the wall, banging his head. "Suck it up, soldier. Your wife needs you, and not some grief crazed nutjob. She's still unconscious, but alive. She lost the baby, though, so you're going to have to pull yourself together and be there for her..." he trailed off as Trace went limp in his grasp, sliding down to the floor, eyes vacant. The scream that came from his lips was primal rage, anger, shock, and despair, the sound echoing through the hospital corridor like bullets off a wall, tearing into the ears of everyone on the floor. A red haze took over his vision as Trace struggled to his feet. His voice was unearthly quiet and controlled.

"Where is she? I want to see her." At the change in Trace's demeanor, the doctor made a mental note to make a psych referral. He lead Trace into the room where Kate lay unconscious.

"We'll be admitting her to the hospital within the hour. You might want to go home and get a shower, have something to eat. Maybe by the time you get back she'll be conscious. You didn't know about the baby?"

Trace shook his head. One more way he had let Katelyn down. The only reason he could think of for her to keep the knowledge of their baby from him was the fragile state of their marriage. She still didn't trust him to take care of her, to be there through whatever came. The betrayal twisted into his soul, burying his raw feelings in ice. He bent his head and kissed her, them turned and left the room. Meeting Ed's questioning gaze, he walked to the elevator. The two silent men made their way to the parking garage. Trace took the keys from Ed's outstretched hand and drove home.