Voices. Footsteps running in the hall. “Everyone out!” Ash ordered. The door closed firmly. Carolyn heard the lock set. Sobbing, hysterical, she tried to speak. He clamped a hand over her mouth. When she tried to bite down, he slapped her, grabbed her by the hair, and shoved her face into the mattress. “Are you going to be quiet?” He pushed harder and only let her go when she started to pass out. Gasping for air, she scrambled away from him.
He put his hand on Chel’s neck, checking for a pulse. Taking his hand away, he looked furious, not aggrieved. He swore under his breath. “Stupid witch.”
“You don’t even care that she’s-”
“You were supposed to watch out for her.” He hit her. She tasted blood in her mouth. He shoved her from him and turned toward the window.
She made it to the door, but Stoner stood right outside, blocking her escape. “What’s the matter, babe?”
“Chel’s dead.”
“Bummer. Who’s gonna pay the rent?”
She stared at him.
Ash came up behind her, his hands firm. With a tone full of compassion, he reassured Stoner. “Everything will be fine.” When she tried to move away, his grip tightened. “We’ll call an ambulance. Someone will come and take her to the hospital. What was her name, Stoner?”
“Chel.”
When Carolyn opened her mouth, Ash’s fingers bit into her flesh. “Chel.” Ash spoke low. “That’s all we know. Her name was Chel.”
Stoner shrugged. “Yeah, man. That’s all I ever knew.”
Ash slipped his arm around Carolyn, pulled her back into the room, and closed Stoner out. He shoved her toward the bed where Chel lay dead. “You’ll do what I tell you, Caro. Got that? It’s your fault she overdosed. You said she was your friend. Where were you? You should’ve been right here with her every minute. I told you to keep watch.” He gripped her face in viselike fingers. “But you didn’t, did you? You did your own thing and had your little walk in the park. You put flowers in your hair.” He crumpled them and threw them on the floor. “And now she’s dead because you didn’t care enough to take care of her.” He let go of her and stepped away.
She’d once thought herself in love with this man. But he’d tossed her aside and moved on to another girl.
Suddenly solicitous, Ash drew Carolyn to her feet. He stroked her cheek. “It’ll be the way it was.” He whispered words of comfort now, words of endearment. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.” When he kissed her, she felt nothing but revulsion. He drew back, his dark eyes searching hers. “I’ll call for an ambulance. Sit with me downstairs. Be at my side.” He opened the door. Stoner and several others stood waiting. “We’ll light candles for our sister. We will say prayers.” He stroked Carolyn’s arms as though trying to smooth away the bruises.
The ambulance came within minutes. Two men got out. They unloaded a gurney and locked the vehicle doors before heading up the steps. One looked at her. When they came out with Chel’s body zipped in a black bag, she heard them talking. “Chel. Not much to go by.”
One unlocked and opened the back door of the ambulance. “She’ll be another Jane Doe.”
“Too bad. Pretty girl.”
Carolyn came down the steps.
“You need to move aside, Miss.”
“Her name is Rachel Altman. She came from New York City. She was an A student at UC Berkeley. They’ll have her records.”
His face filled with pity. “A friend of yours?”
“My best friend.”
“We’ll take good care of her.”
“You’ll be the first.”
Frowning, he searched her face. “Are you going to be all right?”
Carolyn walked away without looking back. He had a job to do. So did she.
It didn’t take long to beg enough money for a long-distance telephone call. Carolyn stepped into a phone booth and dialed the number on the card Chel had given her. She asked for Mr. Altman.
“Who may I say is calling?”
“My name is Carolyn Arundel. His daughter, Rachel, was my best friend. She died today. You can tell him that, or let me talk to him.”
“One moment, please.”
Less than a minute passed and a man’s voice came on the telephone. “My secretary says you have news about my daughter.” He sounded annoyed. Maybe she’d interrupted a business meeting. “Make it quick. What is it this time?”
“She died of a heroin overdose this morning.”
Silence. Then hushed anger. “Look. I’m in the middle of an important meeting. What kind of sick prank is she playing this time?”
“They picked up her body a few minutes ago.” Carolyn gave him the Clement house address. “I gave the paramedics her full name and told them the university has her records. But Chel said if anything happened to her, she wanted me to call you. So I’ve called.” She hung up.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Carolyn wasn’t sure where to go. She’d been happy in the park, walking in the sunshine, looking at the flowers. She didn’t make it. She walked half a block and squatted next to an old run-down Victorian row house, where she covered her head and sobbed.
She could hear Chel’s voice in her head. “It’s not your fault, Caro. Remember that. It’s not your fault.”
Carolyn wished she could believe it.
Dear Rosie,
Trip has given up on finding Carolyn. He went to Berkeley several times looking for her, even went to the police, but they told him he is among dozens of parents whose children have “dropped out” and disappeared. Many have moved to Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco. Trip took days off work to look for Carolyn, contacting her neighbors and classmates, but so many of these young “flower children” hate authority, and Trip looks every inch the police officer he is, so I’m convinced, even if anyone knew of her whereabouts, they wouldn’t tell anyone who looks like a member of “the establishment” they despise.
I am grieved Hildemara has given up on Carolyn as well. She never mentions her, nor can she abide my doing so. I invite her to tea. She declines. She comes home from work and stays in the house while Trip hammers on something. They go to church on Sunday, where they have the dubious distinction of being the only parents in Paxtown who have lost a son in action. Being a star football player in high school made Charlie a favored son, but his death has made him a local hero to some, object of hatred to others.
No one mentions Carolyn. She is more dead to everyone than Charlie could ever be.
13
Time passed in a haze of misery. With no place to go, nothing to do, Carolyn wandered through Golden Gate Park. She loitered near the museums, knowing that was her best chance of finding food. Some people looked at her with pity. Others stared in disgust, drawing children’s attention away. Most pretended they didn’t see her at all. She wanted a drink, but had no money. Sick to her stomach and suffering tremors, she left the pathways and collapsed. When she heard someone coming, she crawled into the bushes. Curled up in her hiding place, she wished she could will herself to die.
She used the public restrooms to wash. She found better places to sleep. Her fringed leather jacket kept the dew from soaking into her upper body, though her skirt felt wet after sleeping on the grass.
Occasionally a police car passed by. She would sit still, arms wrapped around her knees, making herself as small as possible, like an animal hiding among rhododendrons and overgrown azaleas. She had always liked it there among the trees and flowers. The gardens reminded her of Oma’s cottage.
School buses pulled in every morning during the week, bringing children for field trips. Once when the children came out to eat their bagged lunches, Carolyn approached to beg, but a chaperone told her to leave the children alone. So she sat with her back against a tree and watched children laugh, eat, and casually toss their leftovers away.