Loverboy Read Free Page A

Maine. I have four younger sisters. They call me the pretty boy at the department, which I hate. Um,” I take a deep breath in and release. “I love dogs; my apartment is usually a mess. But, I love being lazy.” I reach behind me and dig my wallet from my pocket, where I fish out my driver’s license to pass to her. “I really hate that picture; I hadn’t had a haircut.”
    I watch her as she carefully reaches forward, but then she hesitates. I can tell she’s scared to death. Not just of me, but of everything. She’s unsure, uneasy, and it’s a heartbreaking sight to see. Even for a guy like me. It’s been a while since I’ve seen an expression quite like this, and it never gets easier.
    “It’s okay,” I reassure her.
    She finally takes it and glances down. “Twenty-five, huh?” She asks.
    I nod.
    She looks up at me and studies me carefully. “You look nineteen.”
    “Some guys have all the luck, you know?” I say, as she extends my ID back to me.
    “So, I’m guessing you want to know what I can remember?” She asks.
    I nod. “I just want to see if you remember anything new, or anything at all for that matter.”
    She nods. “I understand.” She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a few deep breaths. “I remember that I was at a friend’s party. When things weren’t going as planned, I left early.” She takes another long breath. “I remember I walked, since I walk everywhere. I had decided to cut through Central Park.”
    I can see that she’s beginning to obviously struggle as her eyelids start to flutter and her hands give a little twitch. “It’s okay, Charlie, you can go slowly. Take your time.”
    She nods. “I had cut through the park, because I love it. I never thought that anything like this would happen. I remember this guy; he grabbed me,” she says, her voice growing softer.
    “Can you remember where he took you?” I ask.
    She gives her head a shake. “Just that it was cold; very cold and dark.” She finally opens her eyes and looks at me. “I was on the floor. It was like a basement with windows that were up high.”
    “That’s good,” I say. “That’s great, Charlie; anything else?”
    She gives her head another shake, “Nothing yet. So far, that’s all I remember. I don’t remember when he…” She stops suddenly.             
    I can tell she’s beginning to struggle once more. There’s pain in her eyes and face. She looks lost, heartbroken, and completely down. I feel horrible for her, and find myself choking back a few tears of my own for some reason. “It’s okay,” I say, “best to take it slow anyway. It makes it easier to remember everything. But, what you just remembered is great. We can use that.”
    She finally let out a smile. “Think you’ll find him?”
    “I know we will,” I say. “It just takes time.”
    She nods. “I know that you’ll be here while I’m in the hospital,” she says, “but what happens when I go home?”
    Home. I don’t blame her for wondering about that. She may not know what she’s lived through just yet, but she knows enough to be frightened. Luckily for her, the police department has come up with a clever tactic to make her feel at ease on her road to recovery. I clear my throat one more time and take a breath. 
    “Well, I’m sure we’ll send police protection to your house,” I tell her. “We want you to be comfortable; heal at your own pace. Being in your own home should offer you some comfort.” She makes a strange face. It is an odd situation. Not one that the police would normally use. But, when we have a survivor as delicate as Charlie, we want to cater to her every need. Many counselors believe that being in her own home will help her. In my own opinion, they’re right. Who could heal completely if we stuck her in some hotel, surrounded constantly by police? I give her a wide smile. “Look at it like having your own personal body guard.”
    She leans back into her bed.