Good as Gone Read Online Free

I answer as best I can considering that, for all I know, she could have come straight out of the glowing orange sunset or a god’s forehead or the side of a man opened up while he was sleeping. The question of how she was delivered to us seems that unimportant.
    In the background, I hear Tom repeating the words “You’re safe now. It’s okay. The doctor says you’re going to be okay.” He is talking to himself as much as to her, and though the words aren’t meant for me, they’re so comforting that I let my attention drift toward them and away from Detective Overbey’s questions.
    He notices. “I’d like to talk to Julie alone for just a few minutes.”
    “No,” Julie says, clutching Tom’s arm but looking at me. “Don’t go.”
    “This won’t take long.”
    Tom stands directly in front of Julie’s bed. He’s a tall, broad man, imposing even with a gut. “Absolutely not. We left her alone once tonight, for the doctor. We’re not leaving her again.”
    Tom and the detective begin to argue back and forth, and the tiny curtained room shrinks. The same words keep coming up, and at first I think Detective Overbey is questioning our mental health or Julie’s; he is talking about the
sane
, the
safe
. Finally, he addresses Julie directly, speaking right through Tom. “I know you’re not feeling well, ma’am, and I hate to bother you right now,” he says. “But I need to ask: Were you sexually assaulted?”
    Julie just looks at the detective and nods. Tom sets his jaw, and I find a moment to be glad Jane is still not back from the restroom.
    Detective Overbey explains about the forensic exam, and I realize SANE and SAFE are acronyms. “The sexual assault nurse examiner has already been dispatched,” he says. “She should be here soon to set up the exam room. The minute you’re off the IV, she can get started.”
    Julie shakes her head no, and Tom steps forward, looking ready for a fistfight.
    Detective Overbey, equally imposing, stands his ground. “If there’s any evidence of sexual assault, it’s best to collect it—”
    “Listen,” Tom says, pointing his finger at the detective for emphasis. “We’ve done everything the police told us to since day one and never asked a single question we weren’t supposed to. Eight years later, after we’ve—” He chokes. “Years since we’ve heard any news, and our missing daughter shows up on our doorstep, no thanks to you. And now you want to keep her up all night asking her questions, treating her like a crime scene?” He snorts. “We’ll come in tomorrow.”
    Detective Overbey starts to answer but a faint noise from Julie’s bed stops him.
    “The last time was—a long time ago,” she says quietly. “At least six months.”
    Detective Overbey sighs as if the news that our daughter hasn’t been raped in six months is disappointing but acceptable. “Okay, then. We still recommend you come back for the exam, but from a forensic perspective there’s no rush. Rest up, and we’ll get a full statement from you folks at the station tomorrow.”
    Julie nods weakly. Tom slumps forward, hands on knees.
    Jane comes in, a juice box in her hand. She must have gotten it from the nurses’ station. When she sees Julie awake, she smiles shyly and says, “Welcome back.”
     
    Six hours later, in the middle of the night, Julie is discharged, fully hydrated and wearing hospital scrubs to replace the scruffy T-shirt and jeans the police took for evidence. She leans on Tom’s arm while I sweep everything into my purse: prophylactic antibiotics for chlamydia and gonorrhea, a prescription for Valium in case she has trouble sleeping, and a folder stuffed to bursting with pamphlets on sexual assault and Xeroxed phone lists for HPD Victim Services and various women’s shelters. It also holds Detective Overbey’s card, tucked into four slits in the front of the folder so it won’t get lost. I remove it and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans.
    Tom drives