Read Pink Balloons and Other Deadly Things (Mystery Series - Book One) for Free Online Page B

Ruth-Ann?” I asked softly.
    “In—-his car. In his car,” she sobbed.
    “Whose car?”
    “Mr. Woolensky. Mr. Wool—-he's giving me a ride home. But he's turning down the wrong street. He's stopping the car!”
    “What's happening? What're you experiencing?”
    “He's—-he's touching me! I want him to stop, but he won't. He has my hand—-he's making me touch his...on his...oh, God, he's got his knees between my legs!
    I can't—-I can't get him off! Daddy," she screamed. "Daddy, help me!”
    That day in my office, Ruth-Ann relived every horrific moment of the rape. She was sixteen at the time, a rabbi's daughter. She never told her parents what their neighbor had done to her--never, given her fear of authority figures--considered reporting it to the police, and ultimately forced herself to pretend it was all a dream. After a while her conscious mind believed the story.
    But she began to eat. In one year Ruth-Ann went from one hundred and ten pounds to a hundred and forty. The next year she gained twenty more pounds. In her subconscious mind, wrapped as she was in layers of fat, she was safe. The heavier she got, the safer she felt. She had stopped dating, refused to apply to college, and after high school had taken a job as a file clerk, where she was safely hidden away in the back recesses of a musty office. Her parents were distraught. When she came to my overeaters group at the age of twenty-three, Ruth-Ann had given up on having a life.
    “Ruth-Ann,” I'd murmured when her sobs had abated,
    “ if Mr. Woolensky were here now, if you could talk to him, what would you like to say?”
    She had clenched her fists, and her body went rigid. Tears streamed down her face. “I’d tell him...I’d tell him I hate him.”
    “Tell him,” I encouraged her. “Go ahead and tell him.”
    And then she was screaming. “I hate you, Harry Woolensky! I hate you! I hope someday somebody does this to your daughter! Or your sister! Or your wife! I hope you die!”
    Venting her grief and anger was the catharsis Ruth-Ann needed. In the weeks that followed, we worked on several guided imagery exercises in which Ruth-Ann visualized Mr. Woolensky leaving her life. Once we put him in a rocket ship and shot him into outer space. Another time he sailed away in a boat, becoming smaller and smaller until he disappeared.
    Ruth-Ann went on a diet, kept to it, and within two months had lost nine pounds. She’s doing it herself, but on her list I'm right up there with God. Nice, but there’s a downside. I'm not comfortable being God, and Ruth-Ann’s attachment to me is beginning to make me uneasy.
    Another knock. “Ms. Carlin?”
    I pulled myself together. “Be right there. I was in the bathroom,” I called out.
    Ruth-Ann opened the door, closed it softly behind her. “I heard what that reporter said to you,” she whispered.
    Damn!
    “That's what the police were here for yesterday, wasn't it?”
    I nodded. What could I say?
    Her brow furrowed. “I heard about your husband leaving you.”
    “It’s almost two years now, Ruth-Ann. I'm okay.”
    “He must be stupid!”
    In spite of everything I laughed. “I certainly think so.”
    “Do they—-do the police think you...had something to do with it?”
    Oh, God. “They have to question anyone who might’ve had a reason to—-dislike her—-you know?”
    “You mean a motive. They think you had a motive. So does that reporter.”
    I got to my feet, walked to the door. “He’s just looking for a juicy story.”
    “He’s a pig!” Her face flushed. She followed me to the door and whispered in my ear. “My cousin’s taking karate. I could get him to beat the guy up for you.”
    I had to smile at the image of Ruth-Ann’s yarmulke-clad cousin slaying my dragon. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I think there's been enough violence.”
    “She shook her head. “People like us-—we have to fight back. Tell them ‘Never again!’ Like the Israelis!”
    I put my arm around her.