Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

find her?”
    “Seventy over fifty-eight.”
    “In the bus shelter around the corner on Fifth.”
    “Miss? Do you hear me?” His voice was tinny, from way off. “Was she like this when you found her?”
    “You mean the blood and stuff? Yeah. Like she was laying in it. We’re going to leave now.”
    “Okay. She have any ID on her?”
    “Nothing. We’re outa here.”
    “BP’s moving. Come on, honey, lie on your back. We just want to see where you’re hurt.”
    Someone lifted her eyelids and shone a light in her eye. “Miss? I’m Dr. Coughlin. You’re in the ER at Mount Sinai. What’s your name?”
    They were raising her arms, her legs, touching, pressing. “God,” she whispered. “Make them stop the noise.” Her skin shivered, pulling away from her body. The space filled with clattering, moaning, a woman crying.
    “Get someone from psych over here.”
    “Contusions, burns, nothing serious. Looks like she put up a fight, but she took quite a beating. On the back, side of her head. Nothing broken, but let’s get some x-rays. Cuts and scratches, facial abrasions, eyes bloodshot, but nothing that would cause all that blood on her clothes. We’ll do the works and see what we get. But she’s hypothermic, disoriented. Keeps saying, ‘make them stop the noise.’ She was fetal when they brought her in, found her huddled in the bus shelter on Fifth. No ID.”
    “Rape?”
    “No bruising in the groin area. We’ll check. And we bagged her clothes.”
    “What’s she said?”
    “When I asked what her name was, she said, ‘God,’ then ‘make them stop the noise.’”
    But they hadn’t done it. It was going around and around in her brain. And she hadn’t said her name was God. Why were they saying that? The shaking began again. Her fingers clawed the blankets they’d wrapped her in.
    “I’ll see what I can get.” Someone took her hand and calmed her clawing fingers. “I’m Rachel Hirsch. I’m a doctor. Dr. Coughlin’s going to make sure you don’t have any broken bones. I’m going with you to keep you company. Don’t be afraid.”
    The quiver of release flushed through her, forced her eyes open. A woman in a white coat, open over a shirt and tailored trousers, young, vivid blue eyes and ringlets of red hair surrounding her freckled face. “Is that okay with you?”
    She squeezed Rachel Hirsch’s hand. She tried to speak, and this time she heard a voice, presumably her own, though she didn’t recognize it.
    “Good girl,” Dr. Coughlin said. “Do you think you can sit up? Hey, Manny, get us a chair.”
    She saw them exchange nods, Dr. Coughlin and Dr. Hirsch. As if they had a secret they weren’t going to share with her. Dr. Hirsch put an arm around her shoulders and she sat up with some difficulty. Her skin felt raw, and every muscle in her body ached. They lifted her off the table and into a wheelchair. She was drowning in blankets. Someone tucked another one around her like a hood. She came back, conscious of the pain and stiffness in her shoulders, the ache in her head. And the noise, around and around. She pressed her hands over her ears and rocked. It didn’t stop.
    “Do you know where you are?” Dr. Hirsch asked, as Manny wheeled the patient down the hall to the elevators.
    She took her hands from her ears and stared at Dr. Hirsch. “Mount Sinai Hospital.” The noise stopped. “It stopped.”
    “What stopped?”
    “The noise.”
    “What kind of noise? Music? Subway?”
    “I don’t know.” She tried to run her fingers through her hair, but her hair was matted, tangled in knots, her fingers raw. “It was there, but I couldn’t hold onto it ... ”
    Dr. Hirsch looked thoughtful. “Do you know how you got here?”
    “No.” Had there been an accident?
    “Some people from Project Help found you huddled in a bus shelter and brought you in. Do you remember?”
    She searched her mind. Nothing. Nothing. She heard the noise again, muted, far off. “No.” She began to shake. Tears burned her eyes, her cheeks. “No, no, no. Please. You have to tell me. Please.”
    “What do you want to know?” Dr. Hirsch said. She motioned to Manny to keep moving and placed a soothing hand on the slight, trembling shoulders as the elevator stopped and the doors opened.
    The words came in a hoarse whisper. “Who am I?”

5
    A WOMAN was singing, somewhere in the distance, a song so sweet and sad, she felt the tears creep down her cheeks.
    She opened her eyes. The singing stopped