I was nearly finished packing one last little box of pictures and keepsakes when I heard the loud sound of a car pulling onto Grandma's loose gravel driveway.
I glanced out a window. It was an old, brown sedan, and as I watched, Detective Harris stepped out of it.
I was not happy to see him.
I wanted the creep who'd attacked me caught, but I'd had more than my fill of dealing directly with the police.
Still, I went to the door and greeted him.
He smiled and asked how I was doing, citing that he hadn't wanted to intimidate me by pulling me into the station again for more questions, which I thought was supposed to be nice.
Nice, but nerve-racking. I didn't want to be alone with a strange man after what had only just happened to me.
Still, I did hate the police station. It always made me feel paranoid. I was so used to being in trouble that it just felt instinctual to stay away from a place like that.
"Where's Detective Flynn?" I asked him warily. I really didn't like her.
"She's back at the station, doing some paperwork. I got the impression that you'd be more comfortable without her." As he spoke he was looking down at his notepad, jotting down something that I couldn't make out. "Can I come in?"
I didn't want to let him in. Felt a powerful urge to refuse him, in fact. "Can I call my friend?"
He cocked his head to the side. "Why?"
"To, you know, have a friend here with me for this."
"I don't understand."
"It would make me feel better."
He smiled kindly at me. "I'm your friend, Scarlett. And I don't think it's . . . appropriate to have some teenager involve themselves in an official police case. Listen, this will be quick, and I promise you it is necessary. Can I come in, or would you rather go to the station?" he asked again.
"I suppose not," I said stiffly, truly rattled. "You can come in." I knew it was just the fear from all that'd happened, but I did not want to be alone with this man, cop or not, or any man at all just then, for that matter.
"Can I call Mrs. Durant—Vivian—and have her join us?" I tried again. She wasn't a teenager, and I knew with certainty that she'd come if I needed her.
He'd been jotting something on his pad again, but he looked up at that. "Also not the best idea. All of this is sensitive information about an active case. I really can't allow you to divulge any of these details to anyone not actively involved."
Should I tell him that I'd already told Gram and Dante virtually everything, or would that get me into some sort of trouble? I wondered.
"Now have a seat, Scarlett," he said, perching himself on the sofa. He patted the spot next to him.
Trying not to visibly shudder, I sat down, getting as far away from him on the couch as I possibly could.
"Dear girl," he said, still giving me that benevolent smile of his. "I know you've been over all of this, but I want you to do it again, for my direct ears this time. Maybe I'll catch something that Detective Flynn didn't."
My original statement at the station had been given to Flynn alone out of sensitivity to the fact that I was a teenage girl who had just been sexually assaulted.
Where the hell was that sensitivity now?
Harris shifted closer to me, and I had to fight not to cringe away. "I know this is hard. Just take your time and explain it to me as best you can. Every detail you can recall. Details are very important. Crucial in a case like this, if you actually want us to catch the culprit. You want that, right?"
I just froze, staring down at my hands. I did not want to go over it all again, and certainly not here.
"Here, let me try this again," he said gently. "I'll start with some questions, so it's less daunting, okay?"
I glanced at him and he smiled again. He had a great smile framed by an even greater face. His teeth were straight and white, his features even and handsome, his skin olive-toned, his eyes deep set and so dark that his pupils blended seamlessly into his irises.
I studied him closely for the first time.
He didn't look like a small town cop. He looked like a hard as nails sexy cop from a TV show.
Even so, I didn't want to be alone in a small space with him. And I particularly didn't want to tell him what had happened to me in detail.
Mostly what I wanted was to be left alone for a very long time.
But I wanted the creep that'd attacked me to be caught most of all. I didn't want to be scared every time I took a walk by myself, if I could ever bring myself to walk alone again.
"Okay," I finally said, looking back down at my lap.
"Did the man penetrate you?"
I jerked at the word, bewildered eyes flying back to his face. "N-n-no," I finally and with great effort got out.
"What did he do?"
I touched the back of my skull, eyes aimed at my lap. "I didn't see him coming. Something hard hit the back of my head—a rock, I guess?—and then he pinned me on my stomach. His arms reached around me, and he was trying to take off my jeans. He was clumsy and out of breath, strong, but he couldn't get the button undone. His mouth was at my ear. His whole . . . body was on my back. I always thought he was skinny, but he was so heavy on my back."