Читать книгу The Doctor's Daughter - Judith Bowen - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

Six years earlier

VIRGINIA PAUSED at the spring-loaded door to the Bragg Creek Grocery with an odd feeling that something was wrong.

What could be wrong?

It was a glorious morning, the trees were in full leaf and the wild roses were in bud. She’d just heard good news about a summer job at the Banff Springs Hotel and now she had a place to live, too, at the Prescotts’ summer cabin just down the road. She didn’t have to go home to Glory, didn’t have to deal with her parents, after all. She could take care of herself.

Virginia frowned. Maybe the feeling had something to do with the shiny late-model Jeep that stood outside the store with its engine running. In winter, yes, people sometimes left their cars and pickups running, but on a beautiful May morning? She pushed open the door and stepped into the gloom of the old store.

“Well, well.”

“Johnny!”

“Will you lookee who’s here?”

Virginia was tongue-tied. She hadn’t seen Johnny Gagnon since the summer her father had packed her off to Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick, four thousand miles away.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, babe. Man, what a sight for sore eyes!”

She’d have recognized him anywhere. Handsome as ever, maybe even more so now that he was a man, fully grown. He wore a mustache, which suited him, and his hair was fashionably long. His teeth flashed white in his swarthy face when he grinned at her, and, as always, she found it hard not to grin back.

Johnny Bandito.

But what was he doing here?

Then she noticed his right hand stuffed awkwardly in his jacket pocket and, slung over his shoulder, a stained and worn canvas cash bag that was stenciled faintly with “Bragg Creek Grocery.” He was sweating profusely and his dark eyes were all over her and all over the store at the same time. Where was Mr. Gibbon? Where were the other customers? The old guys who gathered every morning in the country store to shoot the breeze with the proprietor?

Virginia heard a muffled thump from behind the high wooden counter. That was when she noticed the wall phone was off the hook and the connection had been ripped out.

Her eyes shot to Johnny’s. “What are you doing here?”

“C’mon, babe,” he shot back, winking at her. “Lighten up, eh? Just a little grubstake, that’s all.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket, leaving a bulky-looking object behind. A gun. He had a gun in his pocket.

He grabbed her arm. “Come with me, sweetheart. I could use a good-looking hostage.” He grinned again, but this time Virginia felt no inclination to smile back. Her insides were frozen. He was robbing this store. She’d walked into the middle of a robbery.

“Where’s Mr. Gibbon?” she demanded, wrenching her arm away from the man who’d been her first lover and, once, her closest friend.

“Aw, he’s fine. Tied him up with a little of his own stock. Panty hose.” Johnny nodded in the direction of the counter. “Little trick I learned in the pen. You know I’d never hurt anybody, Ginny,” he said irritably.

Virginia stepped closer, trying to peer behind the counter. “My God!” She turned to rush to the aid of the three people on the floor-one of whom was Mr. Gibbon—gagged and bound together by the feet. But Johnny grabbed her arm again.

This time it hurt. This time she knew he meant it. He was going to take her with him, just as he’d said.

“Look, they’re fine. I tied ‘em up so I could put a few miles between me and this dump before they called the cops. And I ripped out the wires just to give ’em a little more challenge, eh?” He winked at her, then reached out and scooped up half-a-dozen beef jerky and pepperoni packages from the display on the counter. “Come on, Ginny. Let’s get out of here.”

He stuffed the jerky and pepperoni in the cash bag and gripped her arm. Virginia cursed herself for not doing something when he’d let her go. Why hadn’t she run out of there screaming? She ought to be able to raise the alarm herself even now—run, get help at the nearest occupied cabin. Where was that at this time of year? Not many Calgary people spent more than weekends at their Bragg Creek cabins this early in the season.

It was too late. He had her arm in a viselike grip and he wasn’t letting go. Maybe she should play along. Maybe she could talk him out of this, talk him into giving himself up. Convince him that this kind of stupid crime was no way to have a life.

Johnny doused the lights with his free hand, twisted the doorknob lock and flipped the plastic sign hanging on the window beside the door to Closed. The lock wasn’t secure, but it would halt most people, though they might wonder why Mr. Gibbon hadn’t opened up yet.

Then, holding her tightly, he turned and yelled back into the silent store, “Remember, old man. I got a gun and a hostage—just stay where you are and don’t do nothin’ and nobody’ll get hurt!”

He slammed the door shut, then frog-marched her to the driver’s side of the running Jeep. “Get in, Ginny, and don’t try nothin’ funny. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

Virginia clambered across the driver’s bucket seat and the gearshift into the passenger seat. By the time she was reaching for her seat belt—a matter of habit—Johnny had thrown the Jeep into gear and popped the clutch. He left the small parking lot in a spray of gravel and grinned at her as she jammed her seat belt lever home. “Just like the old days, eh? You and me? Bonnie and Clyde—”

“This is nuts, Johnny. You’ll never get away with this.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who says, babe?”

“Me. You can’t do this.” She made a wild gesture at him, at the vehicle, at the blur of trees lining the roadside. “Whose Jeep is this, anyway?”

“Friend of a friend, you might say. Just borrowed it.” He winked at her again. She noticed then that there was no key in the ignition. He’d hot-wired it. That was why he’d left it running.

Johnny tossed her the cash bag with one hand as he pulled out to pass a gleaming stainless-steel dairy tanker. “Dig in there and throw me a chunk of that pepperoni, will you?”

Obediently Virginia rummaged in the bag. There wasn’t much cash. Probably just Mr. Gibbon’s float for the day. Or maybe his receipts over the weekend. She was disgusted. Imagine robbing a store for a couple hundred bucks or less. Then she caught herself—stealing was stealing, no matter what the amount. She’d just finished her second year of law school and she knew where this kind of thing led.

She’d have had more respect for her former lover if he’d planned and carried out something big. This nickel-and-dime stuff, this hot-wiring and stealing cars—all it did was add up to a ruined life and a string of jail terms. Not that robbing a bank and going to jail for twenty years in a federal penitentiary wouldn’t ruin a person’s life. But at least it took some brains. She tossed Johnny a bag of pepperoni strips, which he caught with his free hand.

“Thanks, babe. So—” he tore the bag open with his teeth “—what’ve you been up to since the last time I saw you? Four, five years ago now?”

“More than that.” She paused. She didn’t feel like filling Johnny in on her life over the past six years. This was no social picnic or school reunion. She was in the middle of a crime that was still taking place. He had called her his hostage. Armed robbery. She hadn’t guessed wrong; he’d told Mr. Gibbon and the others that he had a gun. Car theft. Now kidnapping. Did he mean it? Or was he going to drop her off somewhere, maybe in the next town or on one of these back roads, and ask her not to go to the police?

She wasn’t sure where they were headed, except that they were traveling west. The Rockies loomed, snowcapped and gleaming in the sunshine, in the near distance. Bragg Creek was in the wooded foothills twenty miles west of Calgary. To the southeast was the Stoney Reserve and, south of that, ranch country. Longview, Priddis, Black Diamond, Turner Valley, Millarville, Glory. If they stopped in one of those towns, she could jump out. Then what? She supposed she’d have to turn Johnny in and even testify against him when the time came. She didn’t want to be involved. She wished she hadn’t decided to walk to the store for a cellophane-wrapped Danish for breakfast this morning. She wished she’d settled for the dry cereal her first check of the Prescotts’ cupboards had yielded.

What luck. And Mr. Gibbon’s stock of bakery goods would likely have been a week old, anyway.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked finally.

Johnny swallowed the mouthful of pepperoni he’d been chewing and turned to her. “Place I know. Nice little cabin up here off the Powderface Trail. Give us a chance to visit. Nobody to disturb us, if you know what I mean.” He laughed and bit off another chunk of the pepperoni.

Virginia relaxed slightly. He couldn’t intend her any harm if he’d told her where they were going. He must plan to let her go soon, maybe after this “visit.” Oddly, even with the gun she knew he had, she wasn’t particularly worried. She wished he’d just let her go now. She had nothing to talk about with him. They had nothing in common anymore, probably hadn’t since high school. She’d gone to her prom with that half-Indian guy she’d always secretly admired, Lucas Yellowfly. Johnny had been in jail. It had been the last in a string of disappointments with Johnny Gagnon, and in a way she was relieved when her father, furious that she’d dated Yellowfly, had packed her up and sent her to university in New Brunswick.

She’d stayed with her aunt Sadie and attended Mount Allison for four years, long enough to get her bachelor of arts, and then she’d applied for law school in Edmonton and Calgary. Edmonton had accepted her. She’d wanted to come back to Alberta. Maybe not to Glory with her parents, but she’d missed the mountains and the wide-open spaces. She’d missed home.

But she hadn’t missed Johnny Gagnon, although she hadn’t forgotten him, either. You never forgot the first man you’d been with. You never forgot someone who’d been a good friend, someone who’d grown up with you and who’d once shared all the secrets of your teenage heart.

“What’ve you been doing, Johnny?” she ventured. Might as well play the game. For now, at least.

“You mean besides robbing dumpy little highway grocery stores?” He grinned at her and ripped open a bag of peanuts that had been lying on the dash. “Oh, this and that.” He stuffed a few peanuts in his mouth. “Got married.”

“Really!” Virginia was genuinely pleased. “Anybody I know?”

“Nope. Babe from Clearwater. In B.C. On the Yellowhead.” Johnny frowned, chewed a mouthful of peanuts and swallowed again. “Hey—you hungry?” He offered her the open bag. She shook her head.

“So, got any kids?”

“Nah. Marriage went belly-up a few years back. She couldn’t handle the life-style, know what I mean?”

That didn’t surprise her. What woman could?

“Worked a few jobs here and there, tried to stay straight. Sawmills, oil rigs, drove truck for a while. Harper’s Transport out of Olds.” He glanced at her. “Nothing that amounted to much. Spent a little time in the clink—I already mentioned that, huh?” Virginia had the distinct impression he’d spent more than a little time in jail, and maybe that had been the part of the life-style his wife couldn’t handle. “What about you?”

“Oh, this and that. I was down East for a few years. I’m going to law school up in Edmonton now, second year—”

“No kidding! So you can put guys like me behind bars, eh?”

“I guess so.” She smiled. It was hard to stay mad at Johnny. She remembered that about him. He could always make her laugh, even during the worst times. Firmly she reminded herself that this was different. This was serious. Mr. Gibbon had no doubt freed himself and called the Mounties. Any minute now they’d hear a police siren and they’d be pulled over and Johnny’d be arrested and that would be the end of it.

Suddenly Johnny slowed the Jeep and they lurched off the road, which had been gravel for the past several miles, onto a rutted lane that wasn’t much more than a grassy track. The vehicle heaved and bounced, engine growling.

Virginia held tight to the armrest. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one bit. At least the road they’d been on was public; there’d been a chance of flagging down another car, if she’d had the opportunity. But what could she do out here in some shack in the bush? Somehow, though, she didn’t think Johnny was a walker. Too lazy. The cabin he’d mentioned couldn’t be too far and she figured it had to be on some sort of road.

She was wrong.

They came to a stop in the middle of a clearing with a faint turnaround. There were tiny spring flowers and grasses growing in the tracks, indicating it hadn’t been used for a while.

“What are we stopping for?” she asked, on the off chance this wasn’t what she thought it was—their destination.

“We’re here, babe. This is old-fashioned cabin country. You take the cash bag and I’ll grab that duffel in the back. I’m banking on my buddy keeping the joint stocked. Otherwise it’s pepperoni and peanuts or, if the lady prefers, peanuts and pepperoni.” He laughed, as though it was a tremendous joke.

Reluctantly Virginia took the canvas bag. She didn’t know what else to do. She was stuck out here now. She had to put her faith in Johnny’s good nature. Surely he’d drive her back to civilization, or at least to the road, once they’d talked.

She shivered, realizing no one knew where she was. No one even knew she was in Bragg Creek, except Mary Prescott, and Mary was in France right now. Virginia had planned to call her parents and tell them about her summer job and the place she’d found to stay, but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

No one would miss her. Not until she didn’t show up at the Banff Springs Hotel next Monday for her new job. It was a horrible feeling.

She walked beside Johnny through the clearing and over a small grassy knoll, through sparse groupings of birch and poplar and mountain ash. A few conifers, spruce and pine, were interspersed with the deciduous trees. It was a lovely time of year. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sound of water flowing. Snowmelt? Elbow Falls was somewhere up here. Were they near it?

The cabin was surprisingly comfortable, despite its remote location. It consisted of two rooms, a tiny bedroom with a sagging double bed and a larger main room combining small kitchen, dining nook and living room. A large iron woodstove stood in the center of the main room. Seasoned firewood was split and piled to the eaves outside the weathered wooden door. The walls were log and the roof was rusted tin. The place had a certain charm.

“You’ve been here before?” she asked Johnny as he threw the duffel bag onto the old-fashioned sofa draped in a granny-square afghan on one side of the living room. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell in the air. Mice, definitely.

“Couple times. Buddy of mine owns it. Fishing cabin.” Johnny yanked open a window a few inches, then went to the cupboards. He whistled with satisfaction. “Man, ain’t we lucky? Everything a guy could want,” he said, holding up some soup mixes and other dehydrated-food packages in one hand and a large bottle of rye whiskey in the other. “Good thing we had a mild winter or this woulda froze—and that woulda been a darn shame.”

Whiskey. Virginia had a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly. Johnny had always been a boozer. She’d forgotten that about him. In fact, it struck her that perhaps he’d already been drinking. The Jeep, she recalled, had smelled faintly of old booze, along with cigarette smoke and damp canvas. Maybe to get his nerve up for the robbery. Suddenly this no longer felt like a lark—not that it ever really had. She wanted to go home.

“When are you taking me back, Johnny?” she asked nonchalantly, trying a smile. She had the feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to get into an argument with him out here. Not until she knew exactly where she stood.

“Oh, hell, Ginny,” he said sharply, unscrewing the cap on the whiskey and splashing several inches into a water glass. “What’s your rush? It’s party time. Hell, I haven’t seen you in six years and now you can’t spend a couple hours with an old buddy? What’s the matter? The doctor’s daughter too good for old Johnny Gagnon now?” He held up the glass in a mock toast and smiled, but his smile didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. Virginia felt a tiny shiver run over her flesh.

“I guess you’re right,” she said lightly. “Well, I’ll start a fire.” Why not play Girl Guide? Maybe Johnny wasn’t welcome in this cabin, and someone would come to investigate the smoke. It was as likely as not that the “buddy” who owned the place was like the buddy who’d lent him the Jeep—a flgment of Johnny’s wishful thinking.

Virginia found some old newspapers on a rickety table in the bedroom, yellowed and dated the previous fall. Did that mean the owner hadn’t been back since?

She crumpled up a few sheets and poked them into the stove. Johnny slouched on the sagging sofa, whiskey in his hand, watching her every move. She opened the door to get some firewood.

“Don’t go anywhere, eh, babe?” he called out. There was no mistaking the warning in his voice, and Virginia shivered again. She looked out the door into the deep, quiet afternoon woods. She had no idea where she was. What were the chances of her running out of here, away from Johnny? Not great. She’d play for a little more time; maybe he’d get drunk and fall asleep.

“I’m just getting some wood for the fire,” she said. She stepped off the stoop and ambled casually toward a large stump that had obviously been used for splitting wood. Dry chips lay all about the ground. Virginia bent to pick up a handful—starter for the fire. As she did so, she glanced toward the cabin. Johnny was watching her through the small window. So much for making a run for it.

Why did he want her? Surely not as a real hostage. That was crazy, just something he’d made up on the spur of the moment. Virginia carried in the chips, along with a few sticks of the firewood. She’d go along with him and stay as determinedly cheerful as possible. Any chance she had to run, she’d take it.

The fire caught immediately, and soon a welcome warmth penetrated the cabin, warming the chill, dank air and even driving off the mousy smell she’d noticed when she’d first walked in.

“Soup and crackers?” she asked Johnny, checking out the cupboard contents herself. “I didn’t have any breakfast or lunch.”

“That’s more like it, babe. Make yourself useful. Sure, put on some soup. Throw in some of that beef jerky.” Johnny grinned and raised his half-empty glass to her. He’d already refilled it once. “Let’s party!”

Virginia didn’t reply to that. She filled a pot of water from the outdoor hand pump, letting the rusty water seep into the ground until it ran clear. A squirrel scolded her from a nearby jack pine. In other circumstances, this could be quite pleasant.

The soup was good and filling, especially simmered with a handful of the jerky. Something new, she thought, almost smiling—cream of jerky soup. The crackers were stale, but she felt better after she’d eaten. Johnny was drinking too much and mumbling to himself. She ignored him. All she could hope was that he’d pass out.

When she’d cleaned up the dishes and pot she’d used for the soup, Virginia pawed through a stack of magazines and newspapers she’d discovered in a corner of the bedroom. She found an old Reader’s Digest magazine and curled up on the rickety armchair to read and pass the time. He was definitely incapable of driving anywhere now. Johnny had progressed from mumbling to singing to himself on the sofa, a third—or was it a fourth?—tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

Oddly, she didn’t feel threatened. She knew her captor too well. He was the same old Johnny. Impulsive, headstrong, a joker... He was too badly organized to carry off anything complicated or serious. Virginia had no doubt he’d be back in jail within days. And not for the last time either.

A sudden groan and then snoring from the direction of the sofa alerted Virginia to the fact that she’d finally had some luck. He’d fallen asleep. Or passed out. Now she could sneak out and find her way back to the main road—there was still an hour or two of daylight—hitch a ride to town and put as many miles between herself and her captor as possible. If she could avoid it, she wouldn’t go to the cops. Let them catch him themselves; it wasn’t as though anyone had been hurt in the robbery, including her.

Virginia got to her feet and walked quietly to the door, one eye on the snoring Johnny Gagnon. He’d knocked over his glass when he’d fallen asleep and the pungent fumes of twelve-year-old whiskey filled the room.

The key! It was missing. Virginia clenched her jaw in surprise and shock. Damn him. He wasn’t as disorganized as she’d assumed. There’d only been an old-fashioned latch on the outside when they’d arrived, but she’d noticed an ancient skeleton key stuck in the rusted lock from the inside when she’d gone out to get the firewood earlier. That skeleton key was gone. She glanced toward Johnny, her lips compressed in annoyance. No doubt the missing key was in his pocket.

Then she realized he hadn’t taken the gun out of his jacket pocket and his jacket was hanging over the back of the sofa. She tiptoed toward it Shuddering, she touched the icy-cold steel of the gun. She withdrew it, then panicked. It was a lot heavier than she’d thought it would be. What was she going to do with it? She didn’t know; she just didn’t want a weapon like that available to a man as drunk as Johnny. She looked around the small cabin. There weren’t many hiding places. In the end she put it in the crisper of the old icebox, which hadn’t been used for months. Johnny wasn’t the type to rummage around for vegetables, anyway.

After that she searched through the cupboard and found a couple of packages of noodles and mix, which she decided to make for an evening meal. The discovery that Johnny had locked her in was a shock. She was stuck until tomorrow now. It would be dark soon, and even if she got out, she didn’t think she’d be able to find her way to the road at night It wasn’t as though the Powderface Trail got a lot of traffic even in the daytime.

Johnny woke up for supper, cheerful but still very drunk. He ate two huge platefuls of the concoction she’d made, complimenting her on her cooking. Then he dug the key out of his jeans pocket with a sly grin at her and swaggered onto the stoop outside, where she could hear him relieving himself. When he came in, she went out with the same object in mind, finding some privacy behind a bush to one side of the cabin. There was no outhouse that she could see, but there was probably one a few yards . down a nearby trail. She wasn’t about to hunt for it, though. Johnny was waiting for her on the stoop when she returned.

“Thought I’d let you sneak off on me, eh?” he said with a snort of laughter. “Not a chance, babe.”

“When are you taking me home?” she demanded. None of this struck her as being the slightest bit humorous.

“Whoa, don’t get your shorts in a knot, babe. I’ll drop you off tomorrow somewhere. Canmore, Calgary, wherever you wanna go. No sweat.” He followed her back into the cabin and locked the door again.

“Why are you locking up?” she asked. She didn’t like the idea of a locked door with a fire in the stove. Or Johnny. He was drunk. What if he upset an oil lamp or something?

“Keep out the bad guys,” he joked, winking at her. “You can’t be too careful these days. There’s a lotta riffraff out there runnin’ around.” He gave her a significant look and dropped the key back in his pocket. Virginia went into the bedroom to return the magazine and surreptitiously tried the small window there. It was either nailed or painted shut. There was no way she could get out without breaking the glass. Well, if she had to, she would. Maybe when he passed out again.

Half an hour later it was too dark to read. Luckily her captor had shown no interest in lighting the lamps that were lined up on the kitchen counter. Johnny fell asleep sprawled out on the sofa, with only an inch or two left in the whiskey bottle. Virginia hoped that was the only booze the cupboards would yield.

She tried the bedroom window again. It wouldn’t budge. Then she went back into the main room and tried the window he’d opened earlier. It was stuck, too. She looked for some kind of tool in the kitchen drawer, but didn’t come up with anything more lethal than a dull knife, which she took into the bedroom. She began chipping at the paint that covered the window frame.

“Whatcha doin’, babe?”

Damn. Virginia put down the knife and cleared her throat. “Nothing,” she called back. She froze for a few moments, then heard snoring again.

She was trapped here. But did she really want to get out now and try to make her way through the dark forest? She could get seriously lost. For tonight, anyway, things seemed pretty hopeless.

She might as well go to bed. She picked up an afghan that lay on the end of the bed and carried it into the main room. Johnny was stretched out on the sofa. She unfolded the afghan and draped it lightly over his snoring form. With any luck he wouldn’t wake up until morning.

Then, just in case, she jammed the kitchen knife between the door frame and the door itself of the bedroom as a temporary lock and studied the sagging double bed. When had the sheets last been changed? Did she want know? For extra security, she lodged a rickety chan under the latch, then took off her jeans and sneakers, leaving her socks, shirt and underwear on, and climbed between the fairly clean-looking quilt and blanket that covered the bed. She could only hope that morning would come soon. And that Johnny would be sober enough to drive her to the nearest town.

It was so quiet. Except for the soughing of the wind in the trees and Johnny snoring in the living room, there wasn’t a sound. And it was getting so dark. There wasn’t even a moon.

Despite her certainty that, exhausted or not, she wouldn’t sleep, she did, only to awaken suddenly in a horrible fright, the room pitch-dark, and with the stinking, whiskey-laden breath of her captor in her face. He obviously had broken into the room somehow and fallen across the bed. He was trying to kiss her.

“Johnny!” She wrenched her face away. “Stay away from me!”

“Whassamatter? Doc’s daughter too good for me now? Eh?” He persisted, rubbing his whiskery face over hers. She wanted to gag when his damp mustache swept across her mouth.

“Get off me!”

“Shut up, you stuck-up bitch,” he growled, grabbing her hair. “Kiss me. The way you used to.” Real fear stabbed Virginia’s heart. This wasn’t the Johnny Gagnon she knew. She realized at the same time that he’d taken off his clothes. He was stark naked on top of her on the bed, only the tattered quilt between them.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she gagged. He swore and grabbed the quilt off her and tore at her panties. Virginia fought him, scratching his shoulders and pulling his hair. She was filled with complete panic and the strength of ten women.

Johnny swore in French several times and slapped her, then fumbled with himself, his other arm holding her down on the bed. She realized he was trying to rape her. She screamed. He laughed. “Go ahead. Nobody’s gonna hear you, babe.” She screamed again and twisted, desperately trying to free herself. “Come on, honey, settle down. You used to like this, remember?”

He thrust and thrust again. Nothing happened. Obviously he was too drunk to maintain an erection. Then he slumped suddenly, weighing her down so heavily she could barely breathe. Omigod.

He’d passed out again. On top of her. Stark naked on top of her. Virginia wanted to scream again, this time with hysterical laughter. But she was afraid she’d wake him. The impulse turned to painful whimpers as she heard his breathing slow, and the wet, sloppy, ragged sound of his snoring again. His breath overpowered her and made her retch. She tried to wriggle out from under him, with no success. She told herself to calm down, to save up her strength for one huge effort once he was deeply, fully unconscious.

Gradually, over the course of the next hour or so—she had no idea how long she lay there, terrified—she wriggled herself ever so slightly away from him. Inch by tiny inch she moved, so that less of his weight pressed her into the lumpy mattress springs.

But it was no use. There was no escape. Johnny woke up. He raped her twice before morning. The second time, the birds were singing mightily in the trees outside and it was nearly the gray of first light. Battered and feeling sick beyond words, Virginia pushed the unprotesting Johnny off her and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She no longer cared if he tried to stop her. There was nothing more he could do to her, except kill her.

She stood, shaking, and looked down at the man she’d once loved with all her innocent teenage heart. She hated him now. She hadn’t known hate could flood the heart as hotly and thickly as love.

She groped in the dark for her jeans. She couldn’t find her panties. She felt around for her shoes. She realized she’d put her hand on another pair of jeans, Johnny’s, in the darkness. She thrust her hand in his pocket. The key. Then she groped around until she found her shoes.

“Where you goin’, babe?” Johnny groaned sleepily, and she froze. She couldn’t believe it. He acted as though they’d just shared a night of consensual sex. As though this was just the morning after, one among many morning afters.

“I’m just going out to pee,” she said, willing her voice to steadiness.

Johnny moaned something indistinguishable and buried his face in the mildewed pillow.

She slipped into her jeans, shuddering. She had a few dollars in her pocket, for the Danish she’d planned to buy the morning before. She hadn’t brought a purse. Then she walked to the door of the cabin, opened it, closed it quietly behind her and turned the key in the lock from the outside. Squeezing her eyes shut, she threw the key as far into the long grass as she could.

She made her way to the Jeep and, in the rapidly lightening forest, managed to hot-wire the vehicle with shaky fingers. Some of Johnny Gagnon’s early lessons had been well learned, she thought ironically. The engine roared as she put it in gear and retraced the path they’d taken the previous day. If Johnny pounded on the cabin door, she didn’t hear it. She didn’t hear anything. All her thoughts were on getting away and blocking the entire incident out of her mind.

That afternoon, after she’d showered and scrubbed herself until she was raw, she phoned the police. A constable picked her up at the Prescott cabin and she gave a statement at the area headquarters. She knew Johnny was as good as in jail. She didn’t mention the rape, and when they asked her if she’d been hurt, she said no, she was fine. A month later, she was subpoenaed to testify against Johnny Gagnon in court and he was sentenced to nine years for armed robbery, grand larceny, assault and kidnapping, to be served in a federal penitentiary.

Three weeks after that, Virginia knew her dreams of a law degree were over. She needed to make a living, starting right now. She was pregnant; she was going to have Johnny Gagnon’s child.