Scapegoat

Why is it that promises given in haste are the ones that haunt you the longest. Even when you know you have no real responsibility to give it you do. Guilt or sentiment drives you to say those two horrid words, 'I promise'. That's what has happened to me and the reason you're now hearing this story. I gave a promise with the intention of forgetting it an hour later, but I can't get her voice out of my head.

"Tell them, tell everyone." That's what she said and I promised I would, simply to help a girl die a little easier. But now I can't get rid of her. I can't sleep without seeing her there and when I'm awake I hear her plead over and over, "Promise me."

The first words she spoke came suddenly startling me from near sleep. "I have a ritual you know. I didn't really know it was one, though. It's one of those things you do without knowing it, but when you don't do it, it feels like you've skipped a breath."

She paused and smiled a little, finally something other than despair and crying. She was actually pretty when she wasn't screaming or crying. Her hair was dark and cut short; it had been pulled back away from her face. She had big, huge green eyes and a thin little mouth. She was definitely attractive.

"I would first wash my hands. I don't know why, I've just always done it. I think my mother got me to doing it. Anyway, I washed my hands and fixed my lipstick. I went into the stall and surrounded my hand with many, many layers of toilet paper. It was ten. Always ten layers. I wiped the seat down. I hate public bathrooms; they always make me feel dirty.

"I had been in there about a minute or two, I thought I was there alone. I never heard the door open. I'm sure it never opened. I couldn't have missed it. That's why I wasn't really frightened when the light's went out. If I had thought someone had done it. If I had thought someone was there with me. I would have screamed or...

"I would have done something. I thought a breaker had gone out, it had done that before. But now I know he did it. I never heard him.

"It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds. God! It seemed so long. The darkness was so absolute, so complete. I couldn't see an inch in front of me. That made me nervous, not scared though, nervous, and a little irritated. I would have to fumble around in the bathroom."

She looked off at a noise in one of the beds near her. At the time I thought she was deluded and hysterical. I still think she was hysterical. I turned to look at what she was watching, nothing there.

"What is it?"
"He's here, I heard him."
"Who?" She ignored me and went back to her story.

"I heard someone moving in the dark. Muffled steps and voices that sounded far away, like little vibrations. They almost tickled, I think I even giggled a little."


"The lights flickered a little, then came back on. Someone was in there now. I could feel him. I knew it was a man, I can't explain how I knew. It's like knowing when someone is watching your back. It's kind of funny, I wasn't frightened 'till the lights came on. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything."

She began to stare at nothing again. At the time I thought she might lapse into some sort of catatonia. Now, looking back, I think she was just trying to figure out where she was.

"Drop...Drop...Drop.." She was nearly whispering. "He was crying. His tears were hitting the ground so loud. They drowned out his footsteps. He was waiting for me." She was staring at her hands, like they might fall off or fly away.

"My hands shook so bad. I couldn't stop them. I tried but I couldn't. I was so frightened. I knew it was his tears hitting the ground. I couldn't hear anything else. I should have heard something; anything other than that." She looked up at me. "I shouldn't be able to hear that you know. Why did he make me hear them?"

She was close to crying again. I thought about giving her a sedative, but I didn't want her last moments alive spent listless or asleep. Her story kept her going for now and if I couldn't treat her I could at least listen to what she had to say.

"What does he want? Why does he just stand there staring at me through the stall door. He won't say what... He want's me. I didn't know how I know it? He's waiting for me." She thought she was back with him. She looked at me and was, for a minute, back among the rational. Her expression softened, a smile eased back into place.

"I was so scared I totally forgot he was watching me on the pot. Even if I had realized it I don't think I would have thought much of it. How long do I have left?" She said it so casually I nearly missed it.

"That's hard to say. There are so many factors to consider." I didn't want to tell her.

"Guess:" She insisted.

"An hour. Three at the most." I tried to say this as flat as possible. I thought that if I showed any emotions it would only be worse.

"They won't make it in time will they?"

"No."

"Remember you promised to tell them, tell everyone who'll listen."

"I remember." It's the worst promise I've ever made. There's a poem, actually a piece of one, that keeps popping into my head.

For I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,

I think it's Frost. It doesn't really matter, it fits. It has become my cross to bare, pun not intended. Oh, sorry, you don't know it is one yet. Do you?

"I couldn't stand it." she continued. "I had to get up, to do anything. Before I even noticed it I had wrapped my hand in toilet paper. That's when it struck me what a ritual it was for me to go to the bathroom, and that I always did the exact same things. It even distracted me for a moment. But he was still there. He would stay there for as long as it took. His patience was limitless. I don't know if he told me that or if it was my own thoughts. Then I felt his voice again. Here." Her hand drifted onto her belly. "The tingling spread and I could feel my muscles contracting over and over. It was almost like sex. He was talking to me and I could barely stand up straight. It was so powerful. I felt so disgusted, but I couldn't stand for it to stop. My body gushed at every sound he made. I hadn't even seen him yet. I had to see him. I had to get out of the stall, but I was so afraid. He was so powerful. And so sad, he was crying for me. He was going to kill me. That's what he was saying, that he was sorry, but he had to do it. He had no choice. I could taste the tears at the corner of my mouth. It hit me; I'm going to die."


The crying started again. I've never been good with people who cry. I can't ever think of the right thing to say or do. So, I just sat there, watching her, hoping it would stop soon. I really felt sorry for her, but why did she have to cry? Then I felt guilty for having thought that way (Your going to die but you better not cry about it). She wiped her at her face. As a doctor I'm supposed to be objective and see everyone the same. This time I lost that. It was such a waste for someone so beautiful to die.

"I'm sorry." She said. "I shouldn't go on like that."

"It's OK. I don't mind." I lied. Wouldn't you?

We sat there quietly for a while. She had stopped her story for now and just sat there staring at the back of her hands. I thought she was going to start crying again. I had to try and head it off.

"You OK." It's all I could think of. I don't know what I would have done if she had said no.

"I never thought about my veins before, you're a doctor so you probably think about them a lot, but I didn't. Or what pulsed through them. It moves in the same pattern from the moment we're born 'till the moment we die. It's a ritual we
perform a thousand times a day. One he's going to stop." She looked up. "Where did I leave off?"

"You said you hadn't seen him yet."

"You can't imagine what it's like. His sounds were ecstasy and on some level I could understand it all. It was meant for me. He came there just for me. He knew I'd be there alone. In some ways I felt this made me special. I was so scared I had to try three times to push the latch back. I imagined a huge hideous monster on the other side. Maybe he had a knife or would he kill me with his bare hands.

"You know I never thought about rape 'till just now. Normally that would have been first on my mind. Then it never even occurred to me that he could. The whole time I was thinking 'Why am I making it so easy for him? Why was I going to him?' I could at least put up a fight, but I knew it would be useless, even a little selfish. Like a child throwing a temper tantrum. But he was going to kill me!"

I was lost in her story. It was as if she was pleading with me to do something, but I couldn't even speak to her. What would I say? 'This story's crazy. The disease has affected your mind. Sorry your going to die.' All I could do was just sit there, stare, and listen. Her breathing became short and choppy. She was in pain.

"Do you need something?" Maybe now I could finally do something useful.

"No, nothing." She looked back at me "Please no drugs."

"OK. I promise." An easy one.

I sat there wondering why she wasn't crying now. The pain had to be excruciating. Almost every organ in her body was affected, but she just lied there, an occasional tear falling down on her pillow. I thought about trying to give her something for the pain, but she probably wouldn't take it.

She had fixated on her story, and dying. I wonder why she never told the police about this man. He had to be a manifestation of her fears. With the state her brain was in I'm surprised it turned out to be a man at all. But I haven't gotten to that part yet.

"He was so beautiful. Nothing like I expected. He had black hair and deep dark eyes. The black clothes made him seem pale, nearly white. He was so sad, he was crying even more than I was. I actually began to feel sorry for him, but then the tickling began again. Looking at him, it was to much. I forgot about dying I forgot about everything. It felt so good. I fell down onto my knees. I couldn't help
myself, before I could think I was prostrating myself in front of him. I don't know how long it went on, not long enough. The pain I feel now is nothing compared to what it was like when he stopped.


"I had curled up on the ground with my hand between my legs. I began to cry from the pain and embarrassment. The fact that I wanted more made me sick. I didn't want him to ever stop. Then, like before, I began to comprehend what he
'said'. That's when I figured it out. The tickling, the noise. He was talking to me. He had asked me to die for him. He wished more than anything that he didn't have to kill me, but he did and was going to. That realization was just enough to pull me out of the daze I had slipped into. At first I could only cry harder. Then I did what I could to get myself together. I used the counter to help me pull myself up. I even splashed some water on my face. That helped a lot.

"'Why me ?' I said. I was surprised I could still speak. I stared down at the drain in the sink; trying as hard as could to concentrate on it. I caught sight of my hands. My knuckles were white. I hadn't noticed how hard I had been holding onto the counter. I looked in the mirror. He was just looking at me, still crying. I think he was waiting for something. So while I still could I began to speak. 'Why are you looking at me?' I started to shout at him. 'What have I ever done to you? What have I ever done to anyone?' But, he never flinched. It felt good to yell at him. 'Why don't you just do it? What? Do you get off tormenting and torturing people before you kill them? Is that it?' I think that got him. I knew it wasn't so even before I said it. But I had begun to get angry at the thought of dying and I sometimes say things when I'm mad. He looked away, towards the stalls. He never stopped crying.

I never thought of trying to run. You would think that a person would try to run if they knew someone was trying to kill them. Deep down I knew it was hopeless, like trying to fight him would be. It was as though you had been stuck on a plane going down and there where no parachutes around. You're going to die and nothing or no one could change it.

'I'm sorry.' I actually said that. Can you believe it?" She was talking to me again, it took a second to figure that out.

"Huh?" Was all I could think of to say.

"It was so ironic that I was apologizing for hurting the feelings of the person who was going to kill me. I wished he would stop crying. I should be the one crying. Not him. What did he have to cry about? 'I don't want to die.' I started to cry again. 'Please don't...please.' I was crying and pleading on my knees in front of him. He was looking down at me. I could hardly stand to look into his eyes. His sadness seemed so...so overwhelming.

"A tear landed on my cheek. It was hot, almost burning, and thick like blood. I could smell it. It had a sweet, musty scent that actually made me hungry. 'Who are you?' I finally asked it. I think it was the question he had been waiting for.

"He reached his hand out to me. I knew if I took it I would die for sure. Just as sure as if I had put a bullet in my head. But, just as he had to offer it, I had to take it. I finally heard him. His voice was a song. I heard and understood the words. His touch excited every nerve in my body. It was like one continuous orgasm was holding onto each part of me. I cried when he spoke to me, it was so
wonderful."

She drifted off into the memory. It was amazing. Her hand began to creep down between her legs, they tightened around it. I was becoming increasingly embarrassed for her and, I have to admit, more than a little turned on. But before I could say anything she started again.

"I can still hear him. Feel him all over again."

"What did he say?" I asked and she looked at me. I think she actually forgot I was there. She also noticed what she had been doing, or was about to do. She may have been crazy but I don't think she wanted anyone watching her masturbate.

"The words are fuzzy. Like an opera. Even when you can understand the words it's the voice you hear more than anything, so it may not be exactly what he was saying.

"'My dear, sweet child' that's what he called me. 'I am the same one who must, and will, visit every man once. But you like few others had a choice to go or not ,and carry with you the sins of the multitude. And for your bravery you will die so that they may live in what peace they choose to make. Until it's time for me to find another. And if the time comes that none will choose death, then all are doomed.' I hadn't realized I had made a choice to do anything, especially to die, but now I realize there was always a choice to be made at every step and he knew it. The last thing that he said was 'I'll be there when it's done.'

"Then he pulled his hand away. My stomach wretched. The cramps were so bad I doubled over. I felt my bowels release, but the pain was so strong. My head felt as though it had split open. I couldn't think.." She faded out and mumbled "I can't wait to see him, to feel him."

She was staring at the ceiling and for a while I wasn't sure if she was going to come back or not. Then suddenly she turned to me. "Please tell them."

"I will."

"Promise me!"

"I promise." I looked at her again, and her pretty little face was still pleading with me. "I promise." I said again. She eased a little at that. Then reached over and took my hand. We stayed that way for about an hour. She kept her eyes glued to mine. Her hand was hot... then it wasn't. Her expression never changed. Hasn't in two years.

A few hours after she died her relatives arrived. I wasn't thinking about telling her little story to them, but her plead sounded loud in my head, so I told it. Since then I've had to tell it so many times, and still she stays pleading with me. This will be the last time I tell it. That's why I've written it down. Now it's your turn. I think I know the moral she wanted people to understand, but it would do no good if I have to tell you. So, take from it what you can. I can't take anymore.