A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(87)

“Yes.” Chelsea looked away from her, and a tear streaked down her cheek. “They said I was drugged.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate.”

“GHB,” Chelsea said. “Of course I’d heard of it. They even warned us about it in health class, but I never thought it would happen to me. And the one who did it, I never . . .” her voice trailed off.

“You didn’t think he’d do that,” Jane said. “Don’t blame yourself for that. None of this is your fault. What he did was a crime.”

“There was a female cop in there trying to get me to accuse him of rape. But when I asked her about what other evidence they’ve got, she went kind of vague on me. There was more of the drug in his house, and that’s illegal, but it doesn’t stay in your system long, so that’s a problem. And it all just feels so overwhelming right now.”

“I understand.”

Chelsea didn’t seem to hear her, just kept talking. “My boyfriend got killed right in front of me two months ago. I loved him. He wasn’t perfect, but I loved him. Have you ever seen anybody shot through the head?”

“I’m afraid I have,” Jane said. “It’s better not to think about it all the time, so don’t. Let it fade. When it comes back to you, remind yourself that it’s the quickest, and one of the most painless, ways to die.”

“Right now I just can’t face any more of this.”

“You’re a strong young woman who has about eighty percent of her life ahead of her. Good things will happen.”

“Would you press charges if you were me?” Chelsea asked.

Jane said, “If the police officer advised you to do it, she thinks they could get a conviction. They don’t like to waste their time. But it would be an ordeal for you. I think they have his supply of GHB, and assuming the doctors have used a rape kit, there will be proof that you had sex with him. I don’t know whether I would cooperate on the charges or not. I think I would, but it’s up to you what you want to do. Did you love him?”

“I tried, but I couldn’t feel love for him. I was grateful to him for being nice to me, and I felt so alone. But for days I’ve been feeling like I made a terrible mistake, and wondering how to tell him.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“I want to go home, but I can’t. I’m scared to death of those two guys, and I’m even more afraid of him. He’s not the way he seems at all. He sent them to take me.”

“Do you have relatives you can stay with?”

“My mother. But she’s visiting some relatives in Denver for a couple of months to help my cousin with her baby.”

“Could you join her?”

“No. The man who did this knows she’s there. He could find me there in an hour.”

“Do you think there’s any chance he’s not trying to hurt you?”

“No. I think he just tried. Those two had no other reason to bother me. I already got him in terrible trouble with the police. Now he’ll think that he’s going to be charged with rape, and that if I testify I’ll put him away forever. I really think he’ll kill me.”

“If I could take you someplace far away where nobody could find you until this is all over, would you want to go?”

“If this is a joke or something, please don’t say it.”

“It’s no joke. Would you go?”

“Yes.”

“You would have to promise never to tell anyone where you went or how you got there.”

“Not even my mother?”

“I’m offering you a chance to disappear for a time. I know how to do that, and I think you’re right that you’re in danger. But if you go with me, then the next part of your life has to be closed forever. It’s as though the story of your life had two pages permanently glued together. Nobody can ever know any of it. You could call your mother before you start, but that would be the last. If things work out so you can come back, you still can’t tell her where you’ve been.”

Chelsea looked at her and walked along for a minute in silence. “I want to go.”

“Think about it some more while we’re driving,” the woman said. “We’ll stop at your house so you can take two minutes to throw some clothes into an overnight bag.”

“I don’t think I can,” said Chelsea. “The man who did this—Dan Crane—has a bunch of other guys working for him. They could be waiting for me at my house.”

“We’ll look before we go in,” said Jane.

They drove to Chelsea’s house. Jane drove by and made sure there was no other car parked by the house or behind it, and then parked and took Chelsea through the field behind her house. As they went up on the porch the first thing they saw was that a window in the back door was broken so someone could reach the dead bolt, and the door was now closed but unlocked. “They’ve been here,” Chelsea said.

“Get packed. I’ll keep watch.”

Chelsea returned in a few minutes wearing fresh clothes—a pair of long pants and a long-sleeved pullover, and carrying an overnight bag over her shoulder.

They went out the back door and down the steps to the field. As they were crossing the field, a pair of headlights appeared and turned down the long driveway toward Chelsea’s house. The car pulled up at the house, and three men got out. Jane said, “The two men from the hospital must have called and told them you were coming home.”