S omeone was following her.
No, no , she thought, trying to tamp down the anxiety before it could take hold. Not following. Just going in the same direction.
Male voices carried and bounced off the eerie stone corridor. There was one feeble light near the end of the alley attached to one of the brick buildings. It wasn’t powerful enough to light the area, just a couple of garbage cans.
And her.
She looked down at her feet and walked faster hoping they hadn’t seen her.
“What are you doing out here on your own, darling?”
“Where are you going at this time of night?”
“Wait up, are you lost? We’ll go with you. Tell us where you want to go.”
Robbie paused only for a fraction to glance over her shoulder. There were three of them. Older, like around late-twenties. Wearing hoodies and oversized football jackets. Not students. She knew this instantly. Months of self-imposed exile had developed in her a finely tuned intuition about people. Like when you avoid caffeine for weeks and then have a cup of coffee. It didn’t take too much to jolt you awake.
“I’m fine, thank you. My friends are meeting me around the corner.”
An old trick she had from living in New York City.
“Friends? What friends? What kind of friends are those to let you drag your suitcase–is that what that is? It’s a big one, hey boys? Isn’t that the biggest fucking suitcase you’ve ever seen?”
“What’d ye have in there–a body? You got a body in there, love?”
“Open it up. Open it up and let’s see what you got in there.”
“Panties,” one of them said and the tone in the alley changed. “I’ll bet she’s got some sweet little panties in there. Show us, sweetheart. Show us your panties.”
The hair on the back of Robbie’s neck prickled with alarm. She dropped the suitcase and tried to run but her legs locked in place. Her brain stopped functioning. Anxiety exploded in her chest. A high-pitched ringing in her ears drowned out the scraping of their boots on the cobbles as they came after her.
Someone grabbed her backpack and wrenched it hard. Pain shot through her shoulder and she screamed. Her assailant slammed her against the brick wall, scraping her cheek and nearly knocking her unconscious.
She sank to her knees, her arm dangling uselessly at her side. The ringing got worse and she was disorientated. Three pairs of jean-clad legs surrounded her. Thick boots stood on her coat, pinning it down. Then a pair of hands gripped the hood and she was strangled with it when he tried to pull her up. Blood trickled down her cheek and into her mouth.
She didn’t know how to cope with this situation. She had no skills to deal with bullies or potential rapists. Emboldened by her passivity, one of the guys, the one strangling her, slammed her head into the wall for a second time.
“Easy, asshole, don’t kill her. I’m not corpse-fucking. Check the suitcase for valuables.”
Robbie met the speaker’s eyes as his fist drew back. “No,” she pleaded and raised her hands to block the blow.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he breathed, smelling of alcohol. “I’m only going to give you a tap. Just to keep you quiet.”
The ‘tap’ sent her sprawling back, lying prone and helpless on the cobbles. Stinging snow fell into her eyes and she started to cry. Her pack had been wrenched from her shoulders and her arm was burning in pain.
One of the men was going through her suitcase, throwing her clean, carefully packed clothing all over the alley. The other man was rifling through her backpack looking for her wallet, no doubt. There was a third man but she couldn’t see what he was doing. He was at her feet, struggling to take her boots off.
The boots, then the tights and then the underwear….
And then the rape.
Three of them.
Robbie closed her eyes and let the sleet pelt her face. If she could pass out, that would be desirable. Maybe if she fought back, one of them would hit her hard enough to knock her unconscious.
You have to find Harry. Fight, Robbie. You have to fight.
She pushed up on her elbow and saw something that gave her hope.
A man stood at the top of the alley in a swirling cloud of snow and glistening rain. It was too dark to see his face but he wasn’t one of the attackers. The wind caught the hem of his coat and pulled it back.
“Is everything all right, boys?”
The guy trying to take off her boots spun around slightly. “Fine, old man. Our friend fell down and we’re giving her a hand.”
“A little too much party. This one likes her drink. We’ve got it under control.”
Robbie tried to call out but her throat was closed tight with terror.
“Doesn’t look like you have it under control,” the man said, stepping slowly and purposefully into the alley. “Looks to me like she needs a doctor or maybe the police. Shall I call the cops, boys?”
“No, asshole. We already told you–we have it under control. She’s drunk. Getting the cops involved would be bad for her. Got it? Now, piss off.”
Robbie lifted her hand, pleading.
What happened next was a blur. The man swung toward them, picked up the guy at her feet by the scruff of the neck and threw him against the wall. The other two hurled themselves at her rescuer, but before she could warn him, he had spun around and plowed the first one in the face with his fist. The second thug received a roundhouse kick to the gut for his pains and went down like a sack of cement. The would-be rapist who had been thrown against the wall recovered and flew at the stranger wielding a metal pipe.
It was so dark, it was hard to see what was going on. Robbie’s head throbbed; she was terrified her helper was going to be killed trying to save her.
A ghastly sound of metal crunching bone reached her ear and everything seemed to stop. Then a high-pitched scream echoed down the alley. Two of the three that could still move turned and ran while the third clutched his arm, sobbing hysterically.
Her rescuer waved the metal pipe in his victim’s face. “If you ever come near her again–if you ever touch her again–I swear to God, I’ll break more than your arm. Now, get the fuck out of my face before I really lose control.”
The bastard seized his chance to escape and ran off.
Violent sexual assault averted.
You go, girl.
Left alone in a dark alley with a total stranger, Robbie crooked her good arm over her face and burst into tears.
She was crying a lot. Like non-stop. Deacon knelt down beside her to examine her injuries and she turned her face away to bawl some more.
“You’re all right. Shush, shush. You’re safe now. Safe and sound.” He was babbling. Anything to get her to calm down. “Bad cut on your cheek, that’s about it. Did he hurt you anywhere else?”
“My arm,” she said between gulps. “I think it’s broken.”
He lifted her to his lap, holding her upright against his chest and gently eased her coat open. “I’m going to take a look, alright?”
Deacon had to ignore it when she squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth against the pain as he worked her arm out of the coat.
“It’s not a break. Your shoulder is dislocated. Hurts like a bitch but it’s not as bad as it feels. You need to see a doctor. Can you walk? I’ll take you to a hospital.”
“No!” She tried to sit up. “No, I can’t go to the hospital. No police either. I don’t have time to file a police report and press charges. My mother can’t hear about this.”
Deacon glanced around for her wallet, some form of ID. It suited his purpose to avoid police, but if she was seriously hurt he had to get her medical help. The girl might not be connected to Harry Listowel at all. He still didn’t have confirmation that she was a problem.
“What’s your name?”
“Robbie. It’s short for Rowena, but I’ve been Robbie my whole life. Robbie Listowel.”
Deacon swore under his breath and sat back on his heels. “Robbie Listowel. I’m Deacon Wake. I live in the neighborhood.”
“You’re American? You don’t have an accent.”
“Canadian. I get that a lot. What do you mean you don’t have time to file a police report?”
“My ticket is only good for three weeks. I’m looking for my brother, Harry. No one back home has heard from him for months. He lives at Dugald Croft. Do you know where that is? If you can help me get there, my brother will take care of me.”
If he had half-a-brain, he would leave her in the alley to be someone else’s problem. Drown her in red tape with a hospital visit and a police investigation until she ran out of time and never made it to Dugald Croft.
“Is your brother a student?”
“Yes, at Locksley Hall Academy. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick.”
He rolled her to her side so she could vomit without choking to death. He couldn’t leave her; she was his problem now. It was too late to reverse course. On the bright side, her injuries gave him a legitimate excuse to keep her away from the Croft.
“Dislocated shoulder…. I can pop that back in for you and it’ll be good as new.”
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Sure. I used to do it all the time when I played hockey. It’s going to hurt like a bitch, but only at first. Are you ready?”
“No–yes–okay–” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do it.”
He popped the humerus back into the socket before she had a chance to think about what was happening. Robbie pressed her face to his chest and screamed.
“Lie still. Lie still. Breathe. Give it a second, the pain will pass. If there’s been no damage to the soft tissue, you’ll heal up in a few weeks. Some ice to reduce swelling and pain killers and you’ll be back to normal in no time. How are you doing now?”
Robbie Listowel had stopped screaming but she was still crying. A real crying jag. Shock, Deacon thought.
A delayed reaction to the attack. She clung to the lapels of his coat and buried her face against his chest. Deacon cradled in that position for a long time, not rushing her to move or even to settle down. Her mind and body needed time to accept that she was safe.