“Suspect is a twenty-four-year-old female. Blonde hair and green eyes. Claims she was sexually assaulted by the victim in an alley. No report was filed.”
“I’m right here. Would you mind doing that out in the hall?” The two cops looked at her for a moment, then went back to talking. Sam was sitting in an exam room at the hospital trying to ignore the tang of anti-septic that made her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t remember how the blood got on her clothes, but the two cops questioning her said it wasn’t hers.
She could hardly remember how her day started. Everything seemed to be a blur lately. For the last week, it seemed she could only remember back a few minutes or an hour at most, like her brain had been on autopilot for the rest. Had it only been a week since Henry did that to her? Was she going crazy?
“At least we can put this whole Harlequin case behind us. Nothin’ makes the job harder than some crazy bitch takin’ the law into her own hands.”
“I told you. I’m not the Harlequin. And that jerk deserved what he got.”
“It’s not about what they deserve. It’s about doing what is right,” a new voice said. A woman in dark pants, a white button up and a tan overcoat came into the room. “How are you doing, Sam? Can I get you a juice or something?” She had an accent that Sam couldn’t place, but she was definitely not from around here. Was she with the feds?
“Who do you think you are, lady? This is our case.” Officer Greyfallow was never the charming sort.
“There’s no need to be defensive officer. I’m here to get to the bottom of things, same as you.”
The strange woman turned back to Sam. She looked her up and down, then lingered on her eyes. Sam shifted uncomfortably as the stranger looked deep into her eyes, like she was trying to read something on Sam’s retina. “She’s not your killer. The Harlequin is still out there. Probably planning her next victim if I had to guess.”
“And you know this how? By the expression on her face?”
“Because taking a life changes a person. People who look with their eyes open, rather than just seeing the world around them, can tell when someone has undergone that change. Sam here has barely done more than squash a bug in her entire life.”
Sam didn’t know if she liked the way the woman was talking about her. Did she think Sam was weak? The two officers looked like they were going to protest, but the stranger shot them a look that sent them out of the exam room. They stood by the door, guarding it so neither of the women inside could get out.
The stranger closed the door behind them and sat in the chair opposite Sam. “I know you’re not the Harlequin, Sam. But I think you might know something about who is. How many people have you talked to about what happened to you last week?”
“Including the officers outside the door?” The stranger nodded. “Just them. And that was sort of by accident. When I heard about Henry, I didn’t have the reaction they were expecting. I was relieved, but also upset. They kinda pulled it out of me.”
“And you haven’t told anyone else that you had been victimized?”
“I’m not a victim.”
“My apologies. You haven’t told anyone about what happened?” Sam shook her head. “Was anyone with you that night?”
“No. I was coming home from work alone like I always do. I ran into Henry near the library, and we started walking together. When we passed an alley, he told me to get in it. I thought he was joking, but then he pulled out that knife and…”
“It’s ok. You don’t have to tell me everything. Afterwards, did you go home?”
“I sorta laid there for a bit, but after that, yeah. I just went home.”
The stranger nodded for a moment. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion. “There are a few possibilities, then, for how the Harlequin knew about what happened to you. Either she knew Henry well enough to know what he had done.” She paused. Sam shook her head. She was the only girl Henry ever talked to. “Or the Harlequin has a way of tracking guys like that.”
“How would she do that?”
“How indeed. Sam, I feel I can be honest with you. I’m not a cop. Nor am I a fed, as I guess you had assumed by my being a stranger to your town.” Sam gave her a confused look. Before she could ask the obvious question, the woman continued. “What I am is an expert in a very particular field. I suspect that your town’s Harlequin is a practitioner, of sorts, from that field. My job is to stop people like her from hurting others.”
“Even if it’s people like Henry?”
“Sam, I have known so many people like you. You put your trust in the wrong person at the wrong time and you let that one event cause you to hate and resent the world, yourself, or that person.” The stranger put up a hand when Sam opened her mouth. “This isn’t about whether Henry was worthy of your scorn. This is about the fact that, if you continue to let this hate fuel you, you will become like the Harlequin. And I have seen where that path leads.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment. She and the stranger sat in the room, completely silent. Then the stranger rested a hand on Sam’s wrist. “I know this is difficult for you. You are going through a lot of things that no one should face in a just and righteous world. But I have seen many worlds, and all of them are broken in one way or another. It’s up to people like us to make safe places in them, and let the rest of the world work itself out.”
The stranger reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a cream-colored business card. She handed it to Sam. “If you run into the Harlequin again, let me know. I have some questions I’d like her to answer.” Then the stranger stood and walked to the bathroom door. As she did so, it morphed into an oak door with all sorts of strange, flowing carvings on it. When she opened the door, Sam didn’t see a bathroom behind it.
The door closed and morphed back into its normal form. Sam looked down at the card in her hand. It had a flowing gold script that spelled out a single word. “Calling.” What did that mean?