Night of the Were-Bimbo

"I called the police," Meg said quietly. "They should be here soon."

"The police?" She sat up, all of her fear and tension returning in a rush. "I don't want to talk to the police!"

"Susan." Laurie's voice was calm and soothing. "You don't have to if you don't want. But I think you should." Her small face was deadly serious, like carved ivory. "Either this woman is a sexual predator, which means that we should make sure nobody else gets attacked like you do. Or she's mentally ill, like you said, which means we have a duty to protect her. Do you want to wake up in a few days and see her picture in the student paper and find out that she was raped at some frat-party because she was off her meds and couldn't think straight?"

"Oh, God." She put her head in her hands. "I hate you. All right," she said as a knock sounded at the door and Meg went to answer it. All around them, people were putting on their jackets and getting ready to leave. Though everyone at the party was legal (or was supposed to be) having the police show up at your Friday night blowout kind of put a damper on things.

"I'll talk to them. But I want you to stay with me."

Laurie squeezed her hand. "Of course."

The police were discreet, courteous, and professional. Well, half of the two-person team was.

And completely useless, as far as Susan was concerned.

"What do you mean, 'we don't know?'" she demanded, shock and stomach-churning trauma slowly giving way to anger. She waved a hand. "She's out there, somewhere. Go find her!"

The man, Sergeant Brumley, was fiftyish, fat, florid, and balding, and set her teeth on edge with his condescending attitude. "Well, here's the problem," he said with an insincere smile. "We'd be happy to, miss. All we have to do," he added as he flipped open his notepad and read the contents ponderously, "is track down every blond-haired woman in the area between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five, with heights from five-two to five-nine, who have no distinguishing marks or tattoos, and who might have been near the quad at nine o'clock this evening. Based on the information you gave us, it shouldn't be any trouble at all. Heck, we've got one in the room right now," he added, looking at Megan, who stared back in distaste.

"Russ," his partner said warningly. She was older, lean and gray-haired, with a patient attitude that put Susan in mind of an elementary school teacher. One of the nice ones.

"It still seems fishy. A woman?"

Sergeant Hastings leaned forward and plucked a few loose hairs from the shoulder of Susan's hoodie. They glimmered like fallow gold in her palm. "These don't look to be the same color as Miss Benton's, do they? And too long for a man."

"Humph. With the way some of the kids around here grow out their hair like a bunch of damn hippies? It doesn't prove a damn thing." Nevertheless, at Hastings' glower, the older man dropped the hair into a plastic evidence bag.

"Miss Benton? I know this has been hard on you. If you like, we can have another of our female officers come in and do a physical examination. You said in your statement there was no actual...penetration."

"Penetration?" she repeated numbly.

The older woman kept her face studiously blank. "You would be surprised by the things we see. Even with women. Fingers are just the start."

"No." She shook her head, her hair whipping her burning cheeks. "Nothing like that happened. You don't need to send someone in. I'm fine." From the other side of the room, Laurie gave her a raised eyebrow.

"You can have someone with you if you want," Hastings urged. "To make you more comfortable. I know something like this can be traumatic. Your roommate, maybe?" She looked at Laurie, who nodded soberly. "Or maybe your boyfriend here?"

"Boyfriend?" She glanced at Liam, who colored.

"I'm just a friend," he said. He raised his chin. "But if Susan needs me, I'll be there. And if she doesn't, that's okay."

"Ah." Her lips twitched. "Not a boyfriend. But a boy friend. Got it." She closed her notebook. "Well, if you say nothing happened, I can't force you to get an examination." She handed her a card. "But if you think of something else that might assist us, please feel free to get in touch. My number's on the front, and my e-mail."

"And if you find the girl?" Liam asked.

"Sir, I'm not going to lie to you," she sighed. "There's probably a thousand women on campus who would fit Miss Benton's description."

"But...the hair..."

"Don't believe everything you see on television, sir. Even if we had the time and resources to try to do a DNA match, it would only work if the woman already had her information in the system. It's not like we have a genetic database of every man, woman and child in America." A glimmer of humor entered her dark eyes. "Or do we?"

"What is this? The flipping X-Files?" Susan dropped her aching skull into her palms. "All right. God. This night has lasted forever. Thank you." She lifted her head, seeing an unspoken fellowship in Sergeant Hastings' eyes. "If I remember anything, I'll let you know."

"Thank you. Russ? Let's go." The fat man in tow, the older woman left the apartment.

"What a lovely man," Laurie said as the door closed. "Makes me glad I'm a lesbian."

"What a jerk." She looked at Laurie and Megan and Liam. "Thanks for sticking around, guys. This has been..." She laughed shakily. "This has been an absolutely shitty night."

"Here." Laurie pressed a drink into her hands. "And I won't bother to tell you that if you had taken my advice, and blown off studying for that stupid class of yours, you could have avoided all of this crap."

Susan took a deep sip, feeling the heat of alcohol trace a line into her belly. "Stay at home, don't let some crazy bitch try to rip your pants off?" She snorted. "That would have been helpful."

"Yeah." The Chinese woman put an arm around her shoulders, and she burrowed in deep, savoring the warmth, even though she would have much preferred that it be Liam, who was hovering indecisively nearby. "Real life is a bitch. Why don't you go take a shower? You've had one hell of a night."

"Yeah, Thanks." She drained her drink, and set the empty glass on the coffee table, where it hit with a muted clink. "Liam? We good for that study session with John and Christine tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," The black-haired man stood up. "If you're up for it. But if you're not, let me know. I can tell John and Christy. They'll understand.

"Well, all the excitement seems to be over. I'm going to take off. You take care of yourself." He smiled, the expression almost like a grimace on his long, mobile face. "Stay away from crazy women, all right?"

Megan followed Liam out the door, flashing Laurie a look as it closed behind her.

"You hurt him, you know," Laurie said, as silence settled over the apartment. She stood, gathering empty cups and bottles in her hands and pitching them into the recycling bin.

"What? Who?"

"Liam, of course. Who stayed here with you when the cops came? He did. Everyone else bailed. Except Meg, of course. You could at least have given him a hug or something."

"Laurie, I do not need this now." Some of the shaky feeling had passed off, but she was still out of sorts. "I know you want to play matchmaker and put Liam and me together. God, you've been pushing me at him for months. But the last thing I want to talk about right now is my love life. I want a hot shower, something to eat, and a decent night's sleep, in that order."

"I might be pushing you at him. But you're the one who keeps pushing him away. He likes you, Susan. Why can't you admit it? Oh, to hell with it. Forget about it. I might as well be talking to a wall. Go take a shower and try to relax. I'll take care of the mess out here."

She nodded. "I will. And thanks, Laurie. I was..." She shuddered. "I was a mess. Thanks for keeping your head on straight."

The smaller girl gave her a quick hug. "What are friends for? Besides, I'm going to need you for my lawyer when I get hit with a malpractice suit, sooner or later."

She laughed and went into the bathroom, frowning as she dropped her jeans to the floor. Well, those are ruined. Shit. I really liked them. It was so hard to find clothes that flattered her tall, skinny body. But those had actually made it look like she had hips and a rear end.

Thanks, Dad. If I was going to get your height, couldn't you have made sure I got Aunt Nancy's boobs, too?

Christ. She flinched as she caught her reflection in the mirror. I look like hell. Her dark brown hair was wild, with bits of dead leaves and pine needles tangled in the snarls, and her face was pale, except for the spot where she had fallen against the tree, which was red and swollen. Most likely she would have a bruise there tomorrow. When she turned her back, she could see that her rear and the backs of her thighs were raw from being dragged across the frozen ground.

Yeah. But you should see the other girl, she snickered, and clapped her hand to her mouth before the laughter could turn into full-fledged hysteria. I kicked her ass!

She got into the shower, letting the hot water pour down her body for long minutes before she began to lather up. She washed her hair once, then again, and then soaped herself up a second time before the bone-deep shudders of reaction finally stopped.

When she came out of her room, dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt, Laurie handed her a plate. "Here."

Her mouth watered at the smell of pork fried rice and egg rolls. "Did you make this yourself?" she smiled as she set the plate on the counter and took a bite.

"Well, that is just racist as shit," the smaller woman retorted with a grin. "Not all of us work in Chinese restaurants, you know."

"Except that your father actually does."

"Yes. Restaurants in the plural, if you please," she said, sitting down on the couch as Susan dug into her meal. "And he doesn't work in them. He runs them. When Mom told Grandfather Lee that she was in love with a man who worked for Lucky Wok Banquets, I think he nearly had a heart attack. Until she added that that he was the CFO and his family owned the chain. That calmed him down a bit."

"So did you order delivery from one of your father's minions?"

"Nah. This is one from one of Dad's competitors. Not bad, really. I mean, you can hardly taste the cat-meat."

She laughed, then coughed and barely got the swallow off half-chewed egg-roll down without choking. "And you call me racist," she giggled, wiping her streaming eyes on her sleeve. "God. Is it only ten o'clock? What a fucking night." She carried the plate over into the living room and put it onto the coffee table. "Let's watch a movie. Something funny and stupid as hell."

"Hmmm." Laurie turned on the television and clicked onto their Netflix account. "Knocked Up? Superbad? Harold and Kumar?"

"Any of those." She went to the kitchen and returned with a pair of beers from the fridge. "Something that reminds us how dumb men are. Or you can just play one of Gaffigan's comedy specials. It's practically the same thing."

"Hot pockets!" Laurie sang in a high, winsome falsetto.

"Cheers." She handed her roommate a beer as the credits began to play, and they clinked their bottles together. "And thank you," she added. "For tonight."

"No problem, babe. Though if that girl was as stacked as you say she was, I'd like to meet her sometime."

"Oh, come on. You and Meg are practically married."

"Nothing says a girl can't look."

*****

Susan woke the next morning and wished she hadn't. The morning sun shining through the blinds was a poor exchange for the sexy dream she'd been having. Liam had been playing a prominent role, and she wondered whether the finely crafted details her imagination supplied actually came anywhere close to reality. I mean, guys aren't really that big, are they? Unless they're, you know, freaks. Way to the right on the bell curve and all that.

She pulled on a long t-shirt and went to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Laurie was already up, curled in a corner of the couch like a cat with her laptop in front of her, her feet neatly tucked under the heavy bathrobe she liked to wear on chilly mornings.

"Hello, sunshine," she said, then bent back to her computer, her fingers tapping on the keys.

"Hey." She blinked at the coffeemaker, trying to make it come into focus. Gah. I hate morning. It comes so early in the day. She rubbed her eyes and stabbed a button at random. Fortunately, it seemed to be the right one, because the machine began to make promisingly hopeful burbling sounds.

"I can't believe you drink that crap," Laurie commented from the living room as she came out, a mug cradled in her hands as if it were the Holy Grail. "Do you even know what it does to your intestines?"

"Listen. I'm not addicted to caffeine. I just need it to live," she growled, and took the first heavenly sip. "What are you up to this morning?"

Laurie grimaced. "Going over my case notes from the hospital. I don't even know why I volunteer, sometimes. They never give me anything interesting. And if I get assigned a decent case by accident, a real doctor takes it over as quick as they can. I've seen more rashes than I ever wanted, that's for sure. Of course," she sighed, typing quickly, "I guess even people with poison ivy or acne need doctors."

"Poison ivy?" She looked out the window, where flurries of snow were falling out of a slate-grey sky. Wonderful. "It's September. Isn't that a summer thing?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Laurie said darkly. "Some people decide to burn off all their brush this time of year, before they plant their gardens or whatever. So they toss a great big pile of poison ivy or poison oak onto a bonfire. Just because it's dead doesn't mean it's safe. If they're not careful, they get a really nasty surprise. The smoke is toxic as hell. If you breathe it in and you're allergic, it can kill you."

"Oh." She took another sip of the hot, sweet coffee, liberally laced with sugar, and felt her mind start to wake up. She looked up to see the Chinese girl's eyes on her. "What?"

"Nothing." She grinned. "But you're looking a bit nipply down there today, girlfriend."

"Oh," she repeated. Looking down, she could see the twin indentations in her shirt. "Yeah. I was having a nice dream. Really nice." Even now, she felt a little hot and bothered, her core pulsing with a slight, sweet ache. "Lauren?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're a lesbian, right?"

The other girl frowned, nibbling distractedly on her lip as she stared at her screen. "Well, if I'm not, Meg is going to be super pissed at me for lying to her for the last two years. Especially since I swore up and down that I was not going through a phase."

"Um." Her face flushed. "So...why haven't you ever hit on me?"

"What?" Laurie looked up, confusion all over her face.

"Well. You keep telling me that I'm...you know...not physically repulsive. So I was just wondering."

Laurie leaned back, focusing her attention on her. The effect of those dark, intelligent eyes was oddly disturbing, as if she could see right through her. "Are you thinking you might be a lesbian? Or bisexual?"

"Oh. No." She shook her head. "Not at all."

"Well, then you just answered your own question. I wouldn't hit on a straight woman for the same reason I wouldn't go to a sushi bar and order a cheeseburger. They're not selling what I want to buy. I mean, if you ever did something with your hair and your makeup, you could look a lot better than you usually do, Susan. And I won't pretend I haven't ever thought about how those long legs of yours would feel if they were wrapped around my face. But one," she held up a finger. "I'm with Megan. And we're happy. And two," a second finger joined the first. "You haven't ever shown the slightest interest in me. So why should I go and make things all weird?

"What is this about, anyway?"

"I don't know." She toed the carpet awkwardly. "I guess I was just thinking about what you've been saying lately. About me. And putting myself out there more."

"Well, you should," Laurie said firmly. "But unless you're thinking about turning into a switch hitter, don't ask me. Ask a guy. One who might appreciate it," she hinted.

"Right." Her mug was empty and her stomach was growling for breakfast. "Thanks."

The two of them fell into their usual Saturday morning routine. After breakfast, Susan turned on the television, opting for one of the nature channels where she could let the narrator's voice lull her into a semi-trance as they studied.

They ate lunch around noon, and then Susan took a walk around the neighborhood to stem off a pending attack of cabin fever. When she returned, it was to find a strange car parked in front of their building and a pair of figures at the door to her apartment. Laurie seemed to be holding them at bay, her face set in an expression of ill temper that was out of character for her.

"There she is right now," she said as she walked up the stairs. "Susan, these...people want to talk to you. Should I let them in?"

"Susan Benton?" the woman asked. She was of medium height, with dark hair and sharp gray eyes.

"Yes?" she answered warily.

"I'm Doctor Marian Howard. And this is Doctor James Velli." She nodded at her partner. "Can we talk to you for a moment?"

"Why?"

"It's about the police report you filed last night. Doctor Velli and I think there might be some connection between the woman who you...encountered...and one of our patients who went missing recently."

"Oh! All right. Please, come in." She slipped through the pair, and Laurie stepped aside. "So," she said, shedding her jacket. "Did the police find her? What's going on?"

Dr. Velli looked at Laurie. "Perhaps your roommate might like to excuse herself?"

"Perhaps her roommate lives here," Laurie responded, folding her arms across her modest chest. "But if you don't want to talk in front of me, you're more than welcome to go outside and freeze to death on the balcony."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Dr. Howard said placatingly. "Both of you, I am sure, are more than aware of the need for privacy. Doctors and lawyers both respect their clients' needs."

"Yeah, whatever." Laurie waved a hand.

"What's going on?" Susan demanded. "Did the police find her? Or someone else?"

"Well, I would hate to speak ill of the campus police department," Dr. Howard said, smiling disarmingly. "But they have not been terribly helpful. Tell me." She pulled a picture out of an inner pocket in her jacket. "Is this the woman who attacked you?"

"No," Susan said immediately. "Absolutely not." A young woman, perhaps a year or two younger than her own twenty-three, looked back at her. Her face was plain, slightly scarred by the remnants of childhood acne, and her hair was that indeterminate color that her mother called 'dishwater blond.' Not fair enough to be true blond, not dark enough to be brown. She had a tentative smile on her face, but her eyes were wary, as if she was expecting life to give her a kick when she wasn't looking.

Where have I seen that face before, she thought, handing the picture back. Around campus? Or in my own mirror?

"Are you sure?" Dr. Velli's voice was strangely intent.

"Yes. Her face isn't right, or her hair. And her body..." She made a vague gesture in the direction of her chest. "I don't want to be crude, but this woman is much more...modestly endowed...than the woman I saw last night. And not nearly as attractive."

"Ah." The pair traded a glance. "We thought so. But we wanted to be sure. We are very worried about Grace."