While There Is Hope

A brightness stirred me, and my consciousness swam upwards and broke the surface. I wished it hadn't. Even with my eyelids closed, the light was searing. What new torture awaited me? Maybe best to fall back into oblivion. I'd come so close to embracing eternal blackness in recent... Recent what? I had no real clue. Time had not been a thing for me.

But now I had feelings that were less existential and more emetic. I rolled sideways, my eyes blinking in the light, and dimly saw a bowl on the floor. One which was soon full of my stomach contents. Sweating, panting, and with tears of effort rolling down my cheeks, I slumped back on to the couch and closed my eyes. My head was pounding, my heart racing, and my mouth tasted foul.

A new thought entered my befuddled head. My wrists, my wrists were unbound. Eyes still closed, I tentatively raised first one leg and then the other. No clanking of chains, no restraining weight. What was going on? My head was begging me not to do it, but I forced myself to sit up and look around. At first everything swam and swirled about me sickeningly.

I began to make some details out. First that the blinding light was just the sun dully filtered through gray clouds and half closed blinds. My cranium felt like a bell that had been rung one too many times, and again my stomach heaved. I wiped the slime from my face and tried to focus, eyes as slits. The wild gyrations abated and more shapes resolved. The surroundings were unfamiliar. A regular living room. Pretty untidy, detritus everywhere. Some movie posters on the walls, old ones. Even above the self-inflicted stench in my nostrils, it smelled of guy.

I sat up and rubbed my wrists, trying to figure out what the deal was. My head wasn't in the best shape for thinking. Then suddenly I was more attuned to my surroundings. I heard footsteps. Footsteps in the adjoining room. Scanning round me in panic, I saw a baseball bat, leaning against the wall by an easy chair. I lunged for it and stood ready to crush the skull of the footsteps' owner.

A shape appeared. My eyes were still not working so well, but I could make out arms raised, trying to show an absence of threat. A soft voice reached my ears, sounding as if it was coming from a great distance. "It's OK. It's all OK, Esperanza. Or Hope, is Hope better? It's Bill Kowalski, Officer Kowalski, from last night. Do you remember?"

Nothing he said meant anything to me. But his voice was not one I recognized. It didn't belong to one of them. Neither of the two of them. He sounded... calm, reasonable. Maybe a little scared. Join the club, mister!

"ID. I need your fucking ID." I swung the bat back, ready to use it.

Again he was calmness personified. "Sure. I'm gonna reach in my pocket, OK? Really slowly. Here."

He threw a wallet towards me, taking one hand off the bat, I caught it. Despite the situation, there was a new tone in his voice. "Shit! Cool reactions, you a Jedi or something?"

I couldn't recall the last time I had laughed. But I did now. Then the laughter turned to sobbing and I collapsed. It had been all I could do just to stand. I didn't need to look at his wallet. I knew I was OK. And that feeling was more overwhelming than anything they had done to me.

As I lay sniveling on the floor, I felt a blanket draped over my shoulders, and he sat down next to me. I half thought he was going to put his arm around me, but thankfully he had enough awareness to avoid that. Instead he spoke in a soft voice. "My guess is you have been through hell, Deputy. We had a doctor look at you, me and my partner. He said lots of fluids. I've got some isotonic sport drinks, or just water."

"Water please. I'm sorry about the floor. I tried to use the bowl."

"Don't worry. It's all good. I've had to clean up after myself. Sad to admit it, right? I'll get the water."

He stood and walked out of the room, looking back a couple of times at me. My eyes were adjusting and I could make out a gentle, concerned smile.

I closed my lids and breathed deeply, adjusting to unaccustomed freedom. When I opened them again, the first thing I saw was fishnets, then my dress. Something exploded in me. I could hear myself screaming, but it sounded like someone else, somewhere else. But I knew I was ripping at my clothing, I couldn't bear it on me, it burned, it humiliated, I couldn't stand it.

He was back again, rushing. He tried to put the glass of water he was holding on a table and missed, it shattered. The sound brought me back to myself. I suddenly realized I was wearing only panties. I covered my chest with my arms, and stood rooted to the spot, too shocked by my own actions to speak.

Ignoring the mess he had made, the guy moved towards me, and I flinched. But he covered my nakedness with the blanket. This time he seemed unable to stop himself and he put his arms around me. I let him, but violence stirred in my breast, images of blood, of hurting him. Then slowly, slowly they subsided. I breathed and breathed and breathed, just letting him hold me. We must have stood like that for minutes.

Stepping back, I pulled the blanket tighter round me. "I'm sorry. I'm not crazy. It's just... I can't explain. I don't want to explain... I just couldn't wear that shit. I'm sorry."

He picked up the ripped garments from where I had flung them and took them with him as he again left, explaining that he was going to get a new water, and would be back soon.

I nodded and sat back down. Before he was out of the room, I felt I needed to say something. "Thank you, Bill. It's Bill right? Thank you. And Hope is good, you can call me Hope."

Bill had been taking his time. I began to feel anxious. The idea of things being kinda OK was so abnormal to me. But, eventually, I heard him again. He had water in one hand, a second plastic bowl in the other, and some clothes hanging over his arm. He gave me the glass and I gulped from it.

"Not so quick, you'll make yourself throw up." I glared at him, but his face had such a genuine expression that I let it go.

Bill continued speaking, oblivious to what I now thought an overreaction. "I brought some mouthwash," he nodded at a bottle lying in the bowl, "you can use this. I'll clear the other one."

He put down the dustpan, laid the clothes on the couch, picked up the used bowl, and once more retired. I sluiced the minty liquid. It felt good. Then I drank some more water, sipping as I had been told. I looked at the clothes. Nothing fancy, some sweatpants, a pair of shorts, and two different T shirts, both bearing the name of a Californian college. They looked around my size.

Bill was back, he handed me two Tylenol, which I gratefully took, and busied himself tidying up broken glass and mopping the spilled water. He disappeared and came back with some Clorox wipes for my own spill, and a box of Kleenex to let me clear my nose.

As he worked, he chatted about what he was doing, essentially meaningless stuff, but I cherished hearing it. I assumed that he was trying to connect, trying to emphasize that things were OK. I had questions of course, top of the list was how I got here? But I didn't have the energy to pursue them right now. It was nice just listening everyday things.

I guess it also felt novel having a vaguely normal conversation with another human, mine hadn't been like that in what felt like a long time. I thought I'd try something neutral, but I guess I chose poorly. "So, Bill, why do you have women's clothes hanging around. A wife, or girlfriend...?"

He hesitated. "No. Not either. Not right now. They're my daughter's. She's at college on the West Coast. Just started her second year. I don't see her so much. The flights are so expensive. It's just me now... since she left." His voice seemed to crack a little as he said the last words.

It was none of my business, but I craved human interchange, I couldn't help but ask. "And her mother?"

He winced. "She's... she passed. Cancer. About two years ago."

I said I was sorry and he told me not to be, that I didn't know. I tried to change the subject. "Your daughter, what's her name?"

That brought a smile back. "Bianca. She's Bianca. Are you...?"

I laughed. "Married? No. There was someone..." I stopped abruptly, my head was spinning with thoughts I really didn't want to deal with. "I'm sorry, I feel awful. Can I, can I just go lie down? I don't think I'll be sick again."

"Sure, sure. Did you want to...?" He looked at the clothes. I nodded and he turned his back on me.

I pulled on the pants and grabbed one of the shirts. "Bill, I wanted to..."

He turned round and then rapidly back again when confronted by me topless. "Sorry, Bill. My head's kinda scrambled."

I could almost see the heat of his cheeks rising as he stammered. "No problem, I should have been... more careful."

I pulled on the T. "This is gonna sound weird. Would you... would you come up with me. Just stay in the room. I don't want to be alone."

Still staring away from me, he answered. "OK, if you think that would help."

"Yeah, it would help a lot."

He took me upstairs and tucked me into his bed. I'd mentioned it being weird, but it didn't feel that way. It felt... safe. I wasn't used to that feeling.

Then he sat on a chair by the wall. The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was him looking at a book he had picked up. With a smile, I noticed that it was upside down. Then a gentler form of unconsciousness than I had known in some time took me.

I woke screaming, sitting bolt upright, and with no clue where I was. I heard a crash, which broke me out of my waking nightmare. Bill had obviously stood up suddenly. By his feet was a broken photo frame, shards of glass gleaming in the afternoon sun. He looked at the floor, clearly aghast, then at me. Maybe sensing a greater need, he moved quickly to sit on the bed, his arm curled around my shoulder in a fluid movement that seemed natural, my previous terror of intimacy replaced by a yearning need.

Bill stroked my hair and told me all was well, that there was nothing to be afraid of. Kindness from another human, their touch, these things meant so much. So much after... And I believed him, I needed to believe him. I gulped air and gradually the panic subsided. I was embarrassed, both at my reaction, and at how I seemed to have so quickly developed a dependency on him. I told myself that these things were only to be expected. I had seen it before in witnesses, plagued by their past traumas, or terrified of future ones.

Turning to my new helper, I smiled weakly. "I'm sorry. It's better now, thank you."

Another thought hit me. "But your photograph. Is it OK?"

Bill seemed evasive. "It's fine. Just an old shot. I'm sure the photo is OK, I've got a digital version anyway. I'll just buy a new frame."

The way he spoke belied much deeper emotions than the words he used. Even in my enervated state, I'm a student of people, and I made an informed guess. "It's of her, isn't it? Your wife."

Bill nodded, tears forming in his eyes. It was my turn to provide comfort, and he bowed his head as I wrapped an arm around him. "May I see it, see her?"

Bill seemed to initially recoil in horror, and then a resigned look spread across his features. He spoke haltingly. "You mentioned weird before. You'll probably find this weird."

He stooped and carefully removed the paper from the frame, wiping away fragments of glass before handing it to me. And I looked at... a photo of me.

Well not me, not exactly. Not my twin, but a woman with my build, and coloration, and a strong facial resemblance. We could have been cousins maybe.

Bill looked at me. When he spoke, his voice was steadier, as if a weight had been lifted. "I know. She's you, right? And I saw it in the first second, when you stepped out in front of the car."

"Wait! When I did what?"

There was clearly a need for explanations. But I was still exhausted. I felt my strength evaporating. Bill sensed it and he gently lay me back down. His voice was tender, fatherly almost. "Just rest. Can I get you anything? More water maybe, or a juice?"

I was struck again by his kindness. My head was swimming and the words I spoke felt almost involuntary. "You could hold me, Bill. I'd really like you to hold me."

He seemed to hesitate and then lay next to me. I rolled onto my side, facing away, and felt the closeness of his body behind me, the warmth of his arms around me. A pang of guilt ran through my head. Was I using him? But I needed this, I fucking needed this. Once more I gave into my body's insistent requirements and let darkness envelop me.

When I woke, I was calmer than before. A wave of anxiety still hit me, but I felt Bill's presence and it was what I needed. His breath tickled the hairs on the nape of my neck and I shifted to avoid the tingling sensation. My movement roused him too and we lay looking at each other silently.

I'm not clear what happened next, who did what first, but suddenly we were kissing. Not chastely, with passion. With surging passion. And his embrace felt healing. A voice in my head kept saying, 'no, are you crazy?' but I ignored it. I knew this was wrong, stupid, unprofessional, twisted even, but my need was so much greater than my discernment. My heart told me that what I wanted was normality. Intimacy to be a positive. Human interaction to be good once more. To begin to forget...

And, even as my desire rose, as we both began to pull clothes off, and as our hands caressed skin, I knew I was using him. I knew I was being unfair. I told myself he was using me too. Using my resemblance to recapture what he had lost. We both needed something. For now it was each other. I focussed on his tongue so urgent in my mouth, his hand between my thighs. The way my body was responding. The way my appetite was burgeoning. How things were meant to be. Not like... not like before.

I broke from Bill and looked at him. We were both crying, despite the heat escalating between us. "I want you to fuck me. It's OK. I really want this, need it. OK?"

I could see conflicted feelings rush across his features. But... just like me, it seemed that his emotions were too strong to deny. He fumbled in a nightstand and brought out a small packet. He gave it to me, maybe he needed me to do this, to do this as some sort of permission. I tore it open and rolled the contents down him. "Now fuck me, Bill!"

He got between my raised knees and aligned himself. When he penetrated me, in one long stroke, it felt like life was flooding back into my torpid body. Nerves that had been deadened by abuse were reawakening. As he began to rock, glands that had long since run dry once more sprung into life, welcoming him, easing his increasing thrusts. I was a human again, not a thing. I was a woman.

And as his frequency grew, so too did my inner feelings. Feelings that had been all but cauterized, but now flooded back. And I came. I came so hard, crying as I did. My tears driven by both agony and ecstasy. Bill's body also tensed and he buried his face in my neck, groaning as his own climax shuddered through him. My tears mingling with his, both of us seeking some sort of redemption.

He rolled off me and we lay breathless. I turned to him and kissed his cheek, whispering, "thank you."

Then a noise startled us both. It was his phone. Bill kissed my lips and went to pick it up.

The smile on his face disappeared in seconds, and he collapsed to sit on the bed, clearly in shock. I couldn't make much sense of the conversation, but it was clear that something bad had happened.

He put the phone down and turned to me.

"That was the Captain. My partner... she's... she's been shot. She's in the OR being worked on. They don't know how bad it is. And... and the guy who took my shift, he's... he's dead. He's fucking dead, Hope."

The feeling of safety that had fleetingly filled me was gone. Replaced by a familiar and cold dread. Another death. Another death because of me.

To be continued...