he say anything to you, Chloe? Can you remember what he said?’
‘Oh my God. Yes, yes, yes, that was the worst thing. He kept talking to me like he knew me.’ She could not stop shaking, and sobbing wracked her shoulders. ‘He knew everything, everything. He said he was always watching me and said he would always be near me. Always. He knew about my vacation to Mexico last year, he knew Michael’d been over on Tuesday, he knew my mother’s name, my favorite restaurant, he knew I missed my gym class on Wednesday. He knew everything!’ Pain ripped through her breasts, and she now remembered why.
‘He had a knife, he just cut off my pajamas and then he… he cut me. I could feel him slice my skin open and I couldn’t move. Then he was on top of me and…
‘Michael, please, I couldn’t move! I kept trying, but I just could not move. I couldn’t get him off of me!’ She screamed it until her voice went completely hoarse.
Detective Harrison sighed and slowly stroked Chloe’s arm, repeating herself that Chloe was not to blame. Detective Sears exhaled a deep breath and shook his head. Then he flipped to the next page in his notebook.
Chloe, sobbing, looked over for Michael, but he was still turned away toward the window, with his fists clenched and his back to her.
13
It was pouring rain on the Tuesday afternoon when Chloe was finally released from Jamaica Hospital. Just five days after she’d been wheeled in unconscious on a stretcher, Dr Broder came in her flower-filled room and announced with a broad smile that Chloe was now ‘fine’ and was being discharged that afternoon. The news had frightened her – she’d had the shakes all day, and her heart raced as the time of her discharge approached.
Her mother had finally heeded her advice and ignored the real estate section of the New York Times and instead had focused on the paper’s obituary section. Within two days she had found Chloe a one-bedroom apartment on the eighteenth floor of the North Shore Towers, a high-rise building in Lake Success, just over the Queens-Nassau county line. It had belonged to a ninety-year-old widow and her seventeen-year-old cat, Tibby. Unfortunately for Tibby, the widow had passed on before he did. Chloe, with the help of two new Ben Franklins, was able to have it right away. Her mom said she thought it was nice, for a New York apartment.
Chloe never wanted to return to Apartment 1B, Rocky Hill Road. Never. She never wanted to see Bayside again. Except for Pete the Parakeet, she never wanted to see anything from her apartment again, and especially anything from the bedroom. From her hospital bed, she told her parents to sell it all, burn it all, give it all away. She just did not care, as long as nothing and no one, includingMichael or her parents, made the trip directly from her old apartment to her new one.
She knew that Michael thought she was being more than a little paranoid. The idea of her rapist waiting, watching, and following people to find out where Chloe would be moving to seemed, to him, far-fetched. He agreed that she should move out of Bayside, but he could not understand why she did not just move in with him. And he simply refused to give up his Manhattan apartment.
‘Chloe, do you know how hard it is to get a rent-controlled apartment in the eighties?’ he had asked. ‘I had to search for eighteen months before I found this one.’
Explaining her reasoning to him was almost demeaning. ‘Michael, he knows everything. He knows all about me and he knows all about you. He’s probably followed me from your place or he’s followed you home. Maybe he was your neighbor, and he followed me from your apartment. And maybe you are willing to take a chance for a stupid “rent-controlled apartment in the eighties”, but I’m not. And I am not going there again. Ever. I just can’t believe that you can’t see any of this!’
The conversation had been heated. Too heated. She had started to cry, he had sighed
‘Oh my God. Yes, yes, yes, that was the worst thing. He kept talking to me like he knew me.’ She could not stop shaking, and sobbing wracked her shoulders. ‘He knew everything, everything. He said he was always watching me and said he would always be near me. Always. He knew about my vacation to Mexico last year, he knew Michael’d been over on Tuesday, he knew my mother’s name, my favorite restaurant, he knew I missed my gym class on Wednesday. He knew everything!’ Pain ripped through her breasts, and she now remembered why.
‘He had a knife, he just cut off my pajamas and then he… he cut me. I could feel him slice my skin open and I couldn’t move. Then he was on top of me and…
‘Michael, please, I couldn’t move! I kept trying, but I just could not move. I couldn’t get him off of me!’ She screamed it until her voice went completely hoarse.
Detective Harrison sighed and slowly stroked Chloe’s arm, repeating herself that Chloe was not to blame. Detective Sears exhaled a deep breath and shook his head. Then he flipped to the next page in his notebook.
Chloe, sobbing, looked over for Michael, but he was still turned away toward the window, with his fists clenched and his back to her.
13
It was pouring rain on the Tuesday afternoon when Chloe was finally released from Jamaica Hospital. Just five days after she’d been wheeled in unconscious on a stretcher, Dr Broder came in her flower-filled room and announced with a broad smile that Chloe was now ‘fine’ and was being discharged that afternoon. The news had frightened her – she’d had the shakes all day, and her heart raced as the time of her discharge approached.
Her mother had finally heeded her advice and ignored the real estate section of the New York Times and instead had focused on the paper’s obituary section. Within two days she had found Chloe a one-bedroom apartment on the eighteenth floor of the North Shore Towers, a high-rise building in Lake Success, just over the Queens-Nassau county line. It had belonged to a ninety-year-old widow and her seventeen-year-old cat, Tibby. Unfortunately for Tibby, the widow had passed on before he did. Chloe, with the help of two new Ben Franklins, was able to have it right away. Her mom said she thought it was nice, for a New York apartment.
Chloe never wanted to return to Apartment 1B, Rocky Hill Road. Never. She never wanted to see Bayside again. Except for Pete the Parakeet, she never wanted to see anything from her apartment again, and especially anything from the bedroom. From her hospital bed, she told her parents to sell it all, burn it all, give it all away. She just did not care, as long as nothing and no one, includingMichael or her parents, made the trip directly from her old apartment to her new one.
She knew that Michael thought she was being more than a little paranoid. The idea of her rapist waiting, watching, and following people to find out where Chloe would be moving to seemed, to him, far-fetched. He agreed that she should move out of Bayside, but he could not understand why she did not just move in with him. And he simply refused to give up his Manhattan apartment.
‘Chloe, do you know how hard it is to get a rent-controlled apartment in the eighties?’ he had asked. ‘I had to search for eighteen months before I found this one.’
Explaining her reasoning to him was almost demeaning. ‘Michael, he knows everything. He knows all about me and he knows all about you. He’s probably followed me from your place or he’s followed you home. Maybe he was your neighbor, and he followed me from your apartment. And maybe you are willing to take a chance for a stupid “rent-controlled apartment in the eighties”, but I’m not. And I am not going there again. Ever. I just can’t believe that you can’t see any of this!’
The conversation had been heated. Too heated. She had started to cry, he had sighed
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