Part 11B/14
{November 17, 2000}
Relief washed over her. Kerry let her hand drop
away from the curtain to her side. She went into the
kitchen, distancing herself from the events taking place
behind the closed curtains. Placing her crutch against the
stool at the centre island, she moved around the kitchen
comfortably.
She pulled out a packet of mocha Kenya style
coffee beans and her grandmother's old coffee grinder
from the cupboard. There was nothing like the smell of
freshly ground coffee brewing in a percolator. Using the
old grinder reminded her of her childhood, when she
would sit at her grandmother's kitchen table and turn the
handle slowly to ensure the coffee beans were ground
evenly and finely.
Closing her eyes, Kerry twisted the handle exactly
how her grandmother had taught her. As she listened to the
sound of the beans being crushed by the metal, she
remembered the aroma of her grandmother's kitchen; the
cookies baking in the oven and the big pot of vegetable
soup simmering on the stove. Her grandmother had
constantly been cooking one thing or another, delighting
Kerry with all her favourite foods whenever she came to
visit.
It was the chatter in the kitchen that she missed the
most. Whenever she was at Grandma's home, there had
always been talking. The idle chatter that they would
make as they were cooking; discussing her schoolwork, the
music she listened to and any other subject; there was
virtually nothing she couldn't talk to her grandmother
about. Even though she had been elderly with firm moral
views, she also was progressive with the times and wasn't
judgemental in her dealings with her only granddaughter.
There had been a special bond between them which had
only been broken upon her death.
When Carter had taken up residence in her
basement, she had once again experienced the joy of those
kitchen discussions. It had enveloped her in a warm cloud
of contentment and happiness. Although, Carter being in
the kitchen had also meant she needed eyes in the back of
her head, she yearned for what she had had with Carter and
her grandmother, the soft swish of the metal coffee grinder
the only break in the silence.
Kerry looked over at the phone on the opposite
wall, one part of her pushing at her to rush and dial
Carter's number. Yet, the other, more hesitant and
cautious part of her nature, held her back, caught in her
fears of letting down the facade that she worked so hard to
build as a protection against the vicious and malicious
nature of society. The two halves of her mind were at war
with each other, each reminding her of past events of
support and betrayal by friends and enemies alike.
The doorbell rang, breaking through her memories.
Kerry froze, her hand stopping mid-turn and her fingers
gripping the handle tightly. Bracing herself, she looked
across at the black and white security monitor and saw two
police officers were standing on her porch. It was Jack and
Mac.
Seeing them there, she had mixed feelings towards
them. Gratefulness that they had finally caught her
assailant combined with a thin veil of anger that it had
taken so long. Right now, all she wanted to do was place
the whole incident in the past and get back to normal. The
doorbell rang again and Kerry realised that she would have
to deal with them sooner or later.
Sighing, she grabbed her crutch and answered the
door. The two officers met her eyes and a fleeting smile
ran across Jack's features before being chased away by his
training. Kerry indicated for them to come in, before
shutting the door again on the frigid night air.
"Dr. Weaver, we have the suspect in custody..."
Jack broke off, Kerry's simple nod of acceptance slicing
through and touching him emotionally. He knew this case
- her attack - had shaken her to the core. While he may not
have known her prior to the incident, Jack had witnessed
her attempts to cover her fear and the paramedics attending
the scene had confirmed how much the attack had sent
Kerry to what appeared to be the edge of hell and back. He
also knew that if they were to bring her assailant to justice,
he was going to have to continue with the harder part of his
job. "We need you to come down to the station and ID
him."
"No, you can't." Fear coursed through her at
having to face him again, even with the protection of the
police. "I identified him from my house. You can't need
me. I told you he was there, in the street, and that's where
you caught him." Her words tumbled out, one word
chasing the other in a desperate need of denying what Jack
had just told her.
Jack shook his head and Mac took control of the
situation. "It's not good enough. You need to identify him
from a line-up. You have to be able to say unequivocally
that he is your assailant."
Reluctantly, Kerry nodded, acknowledging that she
would have to take this further step before the matter could
be placed behind her. "Do I have to do this tonight?"
"It would be better. He can then be charged and
held in custody pending a hearing," Mac said. "We'll take
you to the station and once you've identified him in the
line-up, we'll take you home again.
"I'll just go and get changed." She left the two of
them standing in her living room before they could say
another word.
******************************
CHICAGO POLICE DEPARTMENT
******************************
As Kerry slowly climbed out of the patrol car,
trepidation at meeting her attacker face to face caused her
steps to falter. These days, it seemed that uncertainty and
anxiety were her constant companions, the strength and
confidence in herself having been eroded to a wafer-thin
shell.
Mac touched her elbow lightly, a small movement
of his hand indicating the way. Walking up the steps to
the police department building, Kerry felt as if she was in
another place, another time, living out someone else's life.
The large, old building housing the police department was
a remnant of its once glorious and ornate architectural past.
Its masonry now drab and weatherbeaten, stained by the
forces of time. It was almost as if the darker side of the
criminals who were taken into the building had left their
mark on the old stone. Glass automatic doors glided
quietly open as the three of them reached the top step, the
modern technology out of sync with the old exterior.
The reception area was buzzing with activity,
reminding Kerry of an average day in the ER. Distantly,
she noticed that it essentially operated on a similar
structure to the ER. The most urgent matters being dealt
with immediately by those higher in rank; the more menial
the task, the lower the rank of the officer dealing with the
matter. Even though there was a sense of familiarity, the
disparities rang out strongly. Kerry felt an uneasiness
begin to permeate her fragile shell at what lay ahead,
ceasing her movement in an instant.
Once again, a hand touched her elbow and startled
her back to awareness. Kerry berated herself for getting
lost in time again. She had found that it took only a simple
incident or thing to trigger off a spiralling vortex back into
her memories. Memories that would send her pulse racing
and her heart pounding heavily against her ribs as if trying
to escape an unseen enemy from within.
Her attacker - the enemy which had laid a
destructive, lethal charge to her psyche - was here. In what
Jack had described as a simple procedure, she could ensure
that he remained locked up. Jack had explained the
procedure that would operate in the car so she was
prepared for what lay ahead.
The detectives interviewing the suspect weren't
quite ready for her and she was asked to wait. Kerry sat
and waited on the old, wooden bench seat in the dingy
hallway, her crutch clenched tightly in her hand, her
knuckles blanched white under the pressure. I n her mind,
Kerry pursued the physical features of her attacker, trying
to sever her emotional turmoil from the practical, ensuring
that she would not make a mistake when faced with the
decision.
A polystyrene cup danced in front of her eyes,
drawing her out of her fugue. Mac offered her the cup
with a smile. Kerry took it without questioning what it
was. It was too much effort and she didn't think she could
drink it anyway. Time seemed to drag on interminably
before the detectives finally took her in for the line up.
The larger of the two detectives ran quickly through
the procedure again, making sure she understood what she
had to do. "The glass is one way and he will be unable to
see you," Detective Collins finished his diatribe.
"It wouldn't matter anyway. He knows who will be
responsible for calling his number." Kerry muttered under
her breath to no one in particular.
Kerry walked into the darkened room with an
entourage of the detectives and police officers. It was a
relatively small room, rectangular in shape. A few chairs
were set against the far wall, directly opposite the large
window. Kerry felt drawn to the bluish light in the
opposing room. The room was painted a crisp, delicate
shade of blue. The floor had a thick black line, broken by
eight individual markers, beginning near the door.
"Are you ready?" asked Detective Collins.
Kerry nodded, not trusting her voice.
He gave instructions for the men to be brought into
the room. They moved in single file and Kerry's eyes
searched every feature of each face. She stopped searching
when number 2 walked in through the door, her breath
catching in her throat. She tried vainly to say the number
but found herself fighting to gain control, fighting to find
her next breath.
The detectives looked at her, understanding that she
was going through some emotional turmoil. "Do you
recognise your attacker?"
Kerry nodded, realising that she was
hyperventilating and trying her best to concentrate on
calming her breathing while also dealing with nailing her
attacker.
"Which number?"
She forced herself to wheeze the number. Kerry
repeated it several times, ensuring that the detectives
understood and once she saw that they did, she gave in.
"Dr. Weaver?" Mac realised that she was in
trouble, her breath coming out in gasps as she struggled to
draw in air. Her thin body seemed to be swaying with the
effort before finally giving into the forces of gravity. Mac
only just managed to catch her before she fell to the
ground.
Someone looking on from the outside who knew
Kerry would recognise the small, telltale fissures beginning
to snake their way through the residual, protective layer.
With the cracking of the shell came the opportunity of new
life..... or the beginning of the end.