‘Where’s my underwear?’ The tone is accusing, prosecutorial.
‘Your bra is under the coffee table. One of the straps was broken. Maybe I can knot it together for you. As for underpants, you weren’t wearing any.’
‘You’re lying. What do you think I am, a whore?’
‘No.’
What he thinks is that she’s a young girl away from home for the first time who went to a wrong place where there were wrong people. Bad people who loaded her up with something and took advantage of her.
‘Well I’m not,’ she says, and begins to cry. ‘I’m a virgin. At least I was. This is a mess. The worst mess I’ve ever been in.’
‘I can relate to that,’ Billy says, and with absolute sincerity.
‘Why didn’t you call the police? Or take me to the hospital?’
‘You were messed up but not circling the drain. By that I mean—’
‘I know what it means.’
‘I thought I’d wait until you woke up, let you decide what you want to do. Maybe a cup of coffee will help you figure it out. It can’t hurt. And by the way, what’s your name?’ Best to get that out, so he doesn’t screw up and say it himself.
3
He pours the coffee, ready to dodge if she tries throwing it in his face and then running for the door. He doesn’t think she will, she’s settling down a little, but this is still a situation that could go bad. Well hey, it’s bad already, but it could get worse.
She doesn’t throw the coffee at him. She sips some and makes a face. Her lips press tight together and he can see the muscles in her throat moving even after it’s gone down.
‘If you’re going to throw up again, do it in the sink.’
‘I’m not going to … what do you mean again? How did I get here? Are you sure you didn’t rape me?’
That isn’t funny but Billy can’t help smiling. ‘If I did, I think I’d know.’
‘How did I get here? What happened?’
He sips his own coffee. ‘That would be the middle of the story. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what happened to you.’
‘I don’t remember. Last night is your basic black hole. All I know is I woke up here, hungover and feeling like somebody stuck a fencepost up my … you know.’ She sips her coffee and this time she gets it down without having to repress a gag reflex.
‘What about before that?’
She looks at him, blue eyes wide, mouth moving. Then her head droops. ‘Was it Tripp? Did he put something in my beer? My g-and-t? Both? Is that what you’re telling me?’
Billy restrains an impulse to reach across the table and put his hand over hers. He’s gained a little ground but if he touches her he’ll almost certainly lose it. She’s not ready to be touched by a man, especially one with nothing on but worn workout shorts.
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t there. You were. So tell me what happened, Alice. Right up to when your memory drops out.’
So she does. And as she does, he can see the question in her eyes: if you didn’t rape me, why did I wake up in your bed instead of a hospital bed?
4
It’s not a long story, even with some background added in. Billy thinks he could tell it himself once she gets started, because it’s an old story. Halfway through it she stops, her eyes widening. She begins to hyperventilate, her hand clutching her throat while the air goes whooping in and out.
‘Is it asthma?’
He didn’t find an inhaler, but it might have been in her purse. If she was carrying one, it’s gone now.
She shakes her head. ‘Panic …’ Whoop ‘… attack.’ Whoop.
Billy goes into the bathroom and wets a washcloth as soon as the tap runs warm. He wrings it out loosely and brings it back. ‘Tip your head up and put this over your face.’
He would have thought it impossible for her eyes to get any wider but somehow they do. ‘I’ll …’ Whoop ‘… choke!’
‘No. It’ll open you up.’
He tips her head back himself – gently – and drapes the washcloth over her eyes, nose, and mouth. Then he waits. After fifteen seconds or so, her breathing starts to ease. She takes the washcloth off her face. ‘It worked!’
‘Breathing the moisture makes it work,’ Billy says.
There might be some truth in that, but probably not much. It’s breathing the idea that makes it work. He saw Clay Briggs – Pillroller, their corpsman – use it several times on newbies （and a few vets, like Bigfoot Lopez） before they went back for another bite of the rotten apple named Phantom Fury. Sometimes there was another trick he used if the wet washcloth didn’t work. Billy listened carefully when Pill explained both of these tricks to soothe the mental monkey. He’s always been a good listener, storing up information like a squirrel storing up nuts.