Page 2 of Save the Game

One of the police officers takes a step forward and I stiffen. My thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. Do I have a concussion? “Hockey practice? I—I don’t…where am I?”

“You’re at the hospital,” he says patiently. “You had hockey practice today. What did you do after that, can you remember?”

“No,” I whisper, and glance over at the cop. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he tells me calmly. “Can you remember how you got here?”

I stare at him. “No, I don’t… I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”

My chest constricts, choking me and making it impossible to breathe. Something is really fucking wrong with me. Marcos’ grip on my hand is almost painful. I hope he doesn’t let go.

“That’s all right, Max,” the doctor says, slow and quelling. I look over at the cops again, and he catches it. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay.” I can’t stop glancing over at the police officer who keeps creeping closer to the bed. “What happened?”

I look around the room for the nurse with the kind eyes. I want her to come back and the police to leave. Marcos looks ill, and I wonder if we shouldn’t be here for him. He looks like he could use a hospital right now.

“Max,” the doctor says, drawing my attention back to him. He leans over the bed, partially obscuring the officers and keeping my focus on him. “You and your friend went to a party tonight, after you had practice. At the party you ingested a drug, a benzodiazepine known as Rohypnol. It’s a very strong tranquilizer; even a small dose can cause amnesia, loss of consciousness, and an inability to control your muscles or inhibitions.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t take any drugs,” I tell him, even though I don’t know this for sure since I can’t remember. “I don’t do drugs. I play hockey.”

“No,” he says, eyes steady on mine. “You didn’t take it. You’re not in trouble, remember? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding and looking at Marcos who is staring resolutely at the wall. His jaw is clenched so tightly I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek. “What was the drug? I’m sorry. I can’t remember, I’m sorry.”

“Rohypnol,” he repeats slowly, enunciating each syllable. Ice trickles down my spine and settles deep in my stomach. I recognize that name.

“Isn’t…isn’t that a date rape drug?” I ask, and Marcos flinches like I’ve struck him. “Sorry.”

The police officer moves all the way to the end of the bed now. He’s an older guy, grizzled and grey-haired, with a barrel chest and a stern expression. I’m illogically frightened of him and his presence in this room.

“My name is Officer Reynolds, Mr. Kuemper.” His voice is as rough as sandpaper, and is exactly what I would have expected.

“Hi,” I say, trying to be friendly. I’ve forgotten his name as soon as he gave it to me. Why is he here? I look back at the doctor, whose name I’ve also forgotten. “What…what happened?”

“You’re at the hospital. You were at a party on campus and you were given a date rape drug called Rohypnol. You’re safe here,” he says, and waits for me to nod before he continues. “Max, Officer Reynolds needs your permission to take your clothing.”

“My…clothing,” I repeat slowly. He nods. “Okay, that’s fine. Can I go home?”

“Not just yet. We would also like your permission to perform a sexual assault forensic exam?—."

“I don’t…I don’t think that’s necessary. I just want to go home. You can have my clothes,” I remind him, desperately. I look at Marcos, hoping for him to back me up. He’s still staring at the wall, lips pursed and skin drained of color. He looks like he needs to sit down before he falls down.

“Mr. Kuemper,” Officer Reynolds’ raspy voice draws my gaze back to him, “it is necessary. Somebody gave you a drug that severely incapacitated you, and they did it to take advantage of you. This exam might help us find the person who did that.”

“I don’t…” I don’t understand. There are too many people, and too much information for me to follow. I feel sick, and all I want is to go home. “I don’t want to do it.”

I don’t even know what it is. But I’d rather die than let Officer Reynolds perform any sort of sexual assault exam on me.

“Max,” Marcos says, jostling our linked hands. “Max, listen to me. I’m sorry, I’m really fucking sorry, but you need to do this, okay? Somebody roofied you, do you understand? Nobody does that unless they want to hurt someone. We need…we need to know if somebody hurt you. And if they did, this exam will give us evidence to find them. Okay?”

His voice breaks and he looks away again, as though staring directly at me is too difficult. I feel terrible, knowing I’m the cause of his pain. Very slowly, I loosen my grip on his hand and slide mine from his. We need to know if somebody hurt you, he’d said, but what he’d meant was we need to know if somebody raped you. No wonder he looks like he’s going to vomit. I gaze around the room, wanting to ask who is supposed to do the exam. I’ve already decided it will be a no if it’s one of the cops.

“Who…”

“Patrice is a sexual assault nurse examiner,” the doctor says, indicating the nurse. “She’d be the one doing the exam.”

“Just you and I, love,” she says, voice low and meant for me alone. “You can tell me to stop at any time and that will be it. You run the show.”

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