Minnesota

Past

Connie paced the small apartment. Lars was still at the hospital, determined to spend the night at Nena’s bedside. Connie left under the guise of needing to go shopping. Not that either noticed; Nena slept soundly, courtesy of modern pharmaceuticals. Lars was too concerned with Nena to pay attention to the details of Connie’s excuse.

She had two problems. The first one was the camera Nena remembered. Short of calling Cliff and flat-out ask him, she had no idea how to find out if there was any truth to it. Or until a knock at the door came, when either rapist number two or the police would be on the other side, confronting her with facts. Connie shivered. Not for the first time did she consider confessing the whole thing, to end the misery. The tension and fear of being caught came at a cost. She rubbed her forehead where another headache announced itself.

She dismissed the first problem to focus on the second. Nena only remembered cold, blue, eyes of her second rapist. Connie didn’t think that Duane would commit a crime with a complete stranger, so ‘blue eyes’ had to be a friend. And who do we know that has such eyes and happens to know Duane? Connie’s mind went back to the fencing tournament, the courtesy Mark gave to Duane. And while I’d never say this to Bruce’s face, it was obvious Bruce was afraid of Mark. And what eye color does Mark have?

It was time to get facts directly from the source, so she hit the dial button on her phone.

            Monique answered after the third ring. “Hi, gorgeous, how’s Nena? How are you?” Monique had made it her personal cause to follow and share every update on Nena’s recovery and donation request on social media feeds. Half of the accumulated funds in the crowd funding account had come from Monique’s savings account.

            “I need you to finish telling me about that party in Seattle and I need Bruce to tell me what he knows about Mark. And please don’t tell me Bruce doesn’t know anything. From his reaction to Mark at the tournament, I’d say Bruce knows a lot about him.”

            Monique sighed. “Serious mode, got it.” A pause on the other end of the line. Connie heard whispering. “We’re in the hotel suite, getting ready for a nap.”

            Connie ignored the implication of a quiet afternoon rendezvous. “Good, put the phone on speaker, I’d like this first-hand anyway.”

            There was a click in the line as Monique pushed the speaker. Bruce chimed in. “Connie, good to hear from you. So, what do you want to know about Seattle?”

            Connie tapped her leg, thinking. “Anything you can tell me about Mark, what he did, who he talked to, if he has any special friends, that stuff.”

            She heard Bruce talking to Monique. “Honey, could you get me a glass of wine? And a cigarette?”

            Connie thought Bruce would need time. He didn’t.

            “I wanted a job at their new branch in Seattle. It was a tough time for me and getting into Praeda Inc. would’ve been a real achievement. I’ve known Mark for a few months, we kept running into each other. I didn’t like the guy, but I needed him to like me.” He paused and Connie heard his breathing change as he took a drag from his cigarette.

            “To answer your question, he had lots of friends, but no one in particular. I left Seattle five days after that party and the official excuse was that I got a job, which was correct, but I would have left anyway. The truth is that I got scared shitless that night.”

            Connie hadn’t known Bruce for long, but his voice sounded flat, as if someone had punched the air out of him. She wondered how bad that night was if the memory alone had this effect on him.

            “Highlights of that evening are okay, I’m kind of wondering if he has a M.O. or something, you know …”

            Bruce’s laugh sounded like dry leaves being crushed. “He likes sex with unconscious women. I guess that counts as modus operandi.  Look, it was a normal party, with too much alcohol, sex and drugs. I never liked those, but it’s something you have to do. It’s like a test, to see if you belong there.”

He sighed. “A bunch of people went upstairs. I figured they went to have sex. I was looking for the bathroom.” He laughed. “They prepare for everything at these events, but no one ever bothers to put signs on the bathroom doors.

“Anyway, I open one the doors, a few people are passed out, on the floor, bed, everywhere, women, men. Kind of like group sex scenes from the sixties. You know?” He paused, dragged on his cigarette. “The real shit happened behind door number three.

“I knew right away that she was dead.”

            Bruce went silent. She waited patiently for him to finish.

            After a minute, he did. “I did a stint in the military, trained as a field medic. I know a dead body when I see one. Even in that dark room. It’s the eyes; they don’t shut, just stare.” He cleared his throat. “I walked in to check on her. When I realized I wasn’t alone, I left.”

            Connie wanted to ask, prod for details, but the silence on the other end of the line felt heavy, dark. So, she waited.

“Mark came by my apartment the next day. Tried to convince me that the girl was alright. ‘And even if she wasn’t, she was just a hooker, anyways, right?’ Fucking asshole.

“I’m ashamed to admit this, but I let it go. I kept telling myself that there’s nothing I can do, anyways. I figured, if someone comes asking questions, I’ll talk, but until then, I didn’t even know where to start, you know?”  

Bruce laughed. “Then, the very next day, I got an email from a company I interviewed with six months prior, telling me I got the job. I thought it was odd, but I took it because it got me out of Seattle. Three months into it, I find out that they’re a subsidiary of Praeda Inc. and the reason I got the job was that a recommendation flew in from Regina Praeda. Needless to say, I only stayed until I found something else. And my naïve world view took a nosedive after that.”

Connie tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair, letting Bruce’s story sink in. She had hoped to get clear answers, something that would nail Mark with certainty. All she had was events from years ago that had precisely one similarity with Nena’s rape.

Connie was still on speaker phone, and she heard Monique whispering to Bruce. She couldn’t understand the words, but the sound of her voice was soothing.

Connie blushed as she wondered if Monique was doing more than talking to comfort her partner. “I’m sorry you had to be reminded of that night.”

Bruce sighed; the sound heavy over the phone. “You’re not the one that should feel sorry. Running into Mark brought it all back. I should never have left Canada to come back here.”

Connie considered saying something, trying to smooth things out. But Bruce wasn’t finished with his confession.

“I didn’t tell Mark this, or anyone else, but I’ll tell you: That night, I did see someone in the room with the dead girl. Just out of the corner of my eyes. I knew Mark was there because the smell of his weird cologne. But the other guy, I’ve never seen him before or after.” Bruce wheezed. “Until the tournament, at least. That fencer, Duane something, he was the guy in the room with the dead girl.

“And I’m willing to bet they’re into some really psychotic shit together. I can’t prove anything, and I’m not going to try. But if you know something, you need to tell the police before they come after you.”