Choice.
by Virginia Hoskins.
Disclaimer: SVU isn't mine. Nor will it ever be.
A/N: This plotline is of my own creation. The events occuring in this story are based mostly on statistics, including but not limited to the ages of Nora and "the guy". Yes, Nora's glasses and hair are taken straight from me. The "MY EYES ARE UP HERE" shirt was taken from my dear friend Molly, and I'm sure someone owns a copyright to that too. Most of Nora's thoughts that's the parts in italics, guys are paraphrasing from internet blogs from various rape survivors. No, I don't smoke, and yes, I had to look up which end you smoke from. I've never known anyone to be in Nora's situation, and she's not really based on anything. Detective Bonetti, however, is based on a real person, see below. And for the record, the show Nora referenced was called "Tequila and Bonetti", and the Detective Bonetti in my story was originally K9 like the show...then I realized how stupid you would have to be to put an officer trained to work with dogs into a sexual violence unit, even for a few cases. Oh yeah, and when I say Briscoe from five desks down, that's Ken Briscoe, circa Season 1, right up until he ruined a lineup in Contact.
Challenges: A few months ago, the real Bonetti told me to write this, sometime during the poetry unit she taught.
Summary: Elliot is in Brooklyn for a few cases, and his temporary replacement is on the SVU squad. When a teenager is found unconscious in an alley with a ripped shirt, all hell breaks loose. Never assume you know what the girl's story is...because it hasn't been the same yet twice.
"Benson! In my office!" The captain didn't sound angry, for once, but his voice made the tall detective move quickly toward him.
"What's up, Cap?" Olivia leaned on the door. There was a woman sitting in the office, looking nervous. She was in her early to mid twenties, dark hair in a ponytail high on her head, and black emo glasses framing a diamond face.
"Seeing as Detective Stabler is on the Spicer case with Brooklyn SVU, and we have a lot of cases," Cragen began, "I've traded for a Brooklyn SVU detective for a few days to work with you, until he gets back. This is Detective Bonetti."
The woman stood up, and Olivia shook her hand.
"Hi, I'm Olivia Benson," she said. "Looks like we'll be working together on the next couple of cases."
At the end of the day, the new pair had closed a case, and were just finishing up the paperwork when Captain Cragen walked out of his office again.
"Benson, Bonetti, we've got another case. A girl was found unconscious in an alley, she's en route to the hospital now."
"A girl, or an adult?" Olivia asked.
Cragen's eyes were grave as he answered. "A girl. Can't be more than 16."
"Did you do a rape kit?" Olivia questioned the doctor who was caring for the teen.
"Not yet," the woman responded. "There wasn't trauma to say it was rape without a doubt, but her shirt was ripped, not ripped like when you walk into something, ripped like someone took it in their hands and ripped it. We thought we'd ask the girl herself before doing a kit; figured we should call you guys in as a precaution, in case she said it wasn't consensual. She should be waking up soon, and we can find out her name and what really happened. You guys can wait in the room until then if you like."
The detectives nodded, and moved into the curtained-off area.
Need. Caffine. Now. Wait, it's Saturday, isn't it? I should be sleeping in. What...I'm not in my own bed. Where is this? Am I awake; is this one of those horrible dreams you always read about? What happened? I was at the apartment, I went in, then...where? Am I in a hospital? Ugh, I hurt all over. Wait, that's not right. I shouldn't hurt at all. Karate was Monday, and we didn't even spar, let's see, today is...what day is it? Oh, God, I'd better say something, let the world know I'm alive. I guess "help" is the word I'm looking for here...
"Mlfp."
Great, that helped a whole bunch. Mlfp. I could be more coherent if I was drugged. Wait, am I drugged? I'm missing something here. Dare I look?
She cracked open an eye.
Oh, crap. This is a hospital. Or a mental institution...haha. Whoa, people. Why are there people here? What? Who are they? What happened?
Both detectives turned toward the voice, and as the girl opened her eyes, they started talking.
"Hey, there, you awake?" the older one asked. Who are these people? What are they doing here? Where is this place? What happened?
"...Uh."
"We're detectives," the other woman said. "Are you okay?" Oh shit. Detectives? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED? I'd better talk, and fast. Before they drug me more.
"I...I don't...want drugs." The words were slow coming, and, though she tried to talk loudly, her voice barely came out a whisper.
"Were you hurt?" the first one asked. No duh. Would I be in a hospital otherwise?
"I...I don't remember." Even as she said the words, the memories came back to her, so fast she winced as her eyes flooded with tears behind her black emo glasses. I won't cry. I won't cry. Not in front of these detectives, not in front of anyone. I won't cry. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong.
Then, the doctor walked in, and began checking vital signs. Get away from me. I don't need to be walked in on. Do I look completely incapable to you? She caught a glance of herself in a mirror across the room. Oh God. I do look completely incapable. No. I don't. I'm fine. There's absolutely nothing wrong. None of this is really happening. Please, don't let any of this be happening...please...
"I'm f-fine," the girl muttered, though she obviously wasn't. Her face was pale, and she looked as though she were fighting hyperventilation.
"We're going to have to do a rape kit," one of the detectives, the girl couldn't see which, said to the doctor. "Knocked out in an alley, shirt ripped, you know the deal."
"Do...do they have to be in here?" the girl asked the woman who was now checking her pulse.
"No, if you don't want them to, no one but you and the doctor have to be present for the examination."
The girl looked up at the detectives, a look of pain, and the detectives got the message. Please, I don't want to have to be embarassed in front of any more people than absolutely nessecary. Please, just go.
The older detective had to ask two last questions before they could leave, though.
"What's your name?"
The girl looked up at her, obviously surprised that no one knew that yet. "N-Nora Hayes."
"Nora, how old are you?"
"Thirteen..."
"Detectives? I have the results of the kit," the doctor told them.
"Was she raped?" Detective Bonetti asked.
"Not exactly," the doctor said uncertainly.
"What does that mean?" Detective Benson queried. "Object rape, general assault, what?"
"Well, here's the weird part--she's a virgin," the woman began. "However, she tried to stop me from taking oral swabs, or putting the shirt she had been wearing into evidence. So maybe there was forcible oral sex, maybe the guy hit her, ripped her shirt. Maybe there's something else on the shirt that we couldn't see, but the lab will have to tell you that."
"W-What happens now?" The voice startled the detectives, and they looked up to see Nora staring at them, tucking her short black hair behind her ears uncomfortably. She was clad in faded jeans, a studded belt that was on backwards, and a t-shirt with large print and an arrow, proclaiming that her eyes weren't in her chest, another of those sarcastic shirts that tended to be so popular with teens these days.
"Now we'll go back to the station and get your formal statement," Detective Benson told her.
"Fine. Whatever." Apparantly the girl had put up a tough face, trying to ignore the facts of what had happened to her.
Nora was sitting, knees to her chest, head down, on a chair in the corner of the room, either scared or mad, or both.
Why? I don't know, I don't understand, and everything's spinning. Whose dumb idea was this? What if I don't very well want to give a statement? What if I want this to all just go away? I don't care what happened, I just want to go back to sleep. Like I'll ever be able to fall asleep again anyway? Not without a gun between the mattresses. No, first I want to get this horrible taste out of my mouth, disgusting, bitter, worse breath than anything else I've ever smelled, and take the longest shower in the world, wash this disgusting feeling off me. I just want to leave. I don't know where I'll go, but it won't be here. No matter what, I'll never go to court. As far as I'm concerned, this isn't going to get anywhere. No evidence. Just my feelings. And what I know happened. But it doesn't matter. You have to actually say the word "no" coherently for it to count, right? I mean, what if he just didn't know? Then how I felt about it didn't matter. Why didn't I kick him? Why didn't I just hurt him back?
But even as she thought of reasons that she thought would make the whole assault her fault, words spun in her head, slowly, behind everything else, so quiet she barely noticed them, but they were there nonetheless.
He had no right...he had no right to do that...none...who cares what you said? At least YOU know what happened...he had no right...not at all...it doesn't matter if you didn't say it aloud...he had no right...and juries have convicted on he said she said before...it's not your fault...HE HAD NO RIGHT.
While Detectives Benson and Bonetti canvassed the building where Nora was found, Detectives Odafin Tutuola and John Munch were told to interview the victim, see what happened from her point of view.
It didn't work out very well.
The instant they entered the room, she cowered back.
"Hi, Nora," Fin began. "My name is Fin, and this is my partner Detective Munch. Can you tell us what happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Her face turned completely red behind her purple emo bangs. She was obviously embarassed, and scared. She probably didn't trust men at all at this point, too traumatized.
"Nora, we can get the man who did this to you," Detective Munch said. "But we need to know how he hurt you."
"I-I can't." Nora was perilously close to tears, her face flushing a deeper shade.
"Why not?" Fin asked.
"It's too-I can't talk to-"
"Would it help if you talked to a female detective instead?" Munch suggested. He had seen enough rape victims in his career to know that sometimes, they just couldn't talk to men. Even though the women knew that the detective's weren't the perps, they would occasionally just shut down entirely.
"Yes, please," Nora said, relieved.
"Alright, just wait here for a few minutes, and someone will be in, okay?" Fin told her.
She nodded, and as the detectives left the room, she buried her face in her knees again and cried, silently.
Why the fuck? Why me? Why didn't I say something? This is fucking messed up. I don't care, I just want to get out of here. I need to eat something, anything, to get the taste out of my mouth, this fricking disgusting taste of his breath, his tounge, slimy, sickening, disgusting. The only thing I can think of...disgusting. Everywhere I always hid inside my head has just been ripped away. I don't care. I'm going to go home, eat something, and then take a shower for twelve fucking hours, and wash him off that way too. I'm going to burn the shirt. As soon as it gets back from evidence, it's going straight into one of those metal trash cans, with a lighter and any other evidence I can get out of the stupid system. Fuck reality. I'm going to deny everything, tell no one, and just leave, run, and see how far I can get. All I have to say is that the shitface better not take my will to live...he's already taken enough.
"Hey there," the ponytailed detective said, walking into the room and sitting across from Nora. "I'm Detective Bonetti."
"Oh, this is great. Right. Detective Bonetti. Where's Tequila? Is this some kind of sick joke?" the girl asked sarcastically, referencing a TV show from the early 1990s.
"What happened with Detectives Munch and Fin?" Detective Bonetti asked gently.
"I-I couldn't talk to them."
"Why not?" Detective Bonetti pressed. "Were you too embarassed?"
Nora nodded miserably, her facade slipping a bit. "It was just...I can't talk to guys right now."
"I see," the detective replied. "Well...can you tell me what happened?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to." Nora's hazel eyes were bloodshot and empty, but a small flame was beginning to flicker behind them--a flame that could mean hell for whoever it was bestowed upon.
"Why?"
"Because none of you get it!" the girl burst from her chair, and walked over to the window, facing outside. There. Now at least I don't have to lie to a police officer's face. Wait...they've probably got a shrink on the other side of the mirror, reading my every move. No, I shouldn't have done that, they'll know why. Keep walking. Start pacing. Move around, don't make it look like I'm trying to avoid this. As far as they're concerned, I have nothing to hide. The problem is what I'm hiding from myself...
"What's there to get?"
"Listen," Nora said, whirling to face Detective Bonetti. "There's nothing to get, okay?"
"Then what happened to your shirt? If there's no problem, then why don't you tell me what really went on, and we can clear this up and send you home?" Damn. Didn't think they would call me on that. Okay. Here's where all those improv courses--she flinched--kick in. Time to be an actress, one chance. Fool your audience.
"Well...it's a kind of hard story to tell..." Nora feigned her breaking point, where she could pretend her "story" was bursting to get out. "But I guess..."
Hope this works...here goes. Once upon a time, in a magical land called Manhattan...
"I was running, and I ran straight into an alley. Some skinhead followed me in there, grabbed for me, I don't know what he wanted, and I was on top of a trash can, jumped to the fire escape. He tried to pull me back down, but he only caught my shirt. It ripped, and I'm not stupid. I know that if you can get a witness, it makes your case ten times stronger, and if someone showed up, the skin would run. I figured that if anyone had come in to the alley to help, they would have seen some john pushing around his whore. Maybe they would have helped, maybe not, but the skin probably wouldn't have stuck around for long with people there. I started climbing farther up, in case he started getting on top of the trash cans, and I just slipped and fell. That's really all that happened, and I'm terribly sorry to have wasted all this time with some story that isn't even a crime." She bowed her head, in what was only partly mock shame. That last part's true at least...I doubt this could be prosecuted, even if there was a frigging video camera right there...damn, I wish I had said something...
"What were you running from?" Detective Bonetti's face was emotionless, she was either damn good at not letting people see what she was thinking, or she was planning something, she knew something that no one else did.
"N-No one..." Shit. Did not think this through properly.
"Do you want to clear this up or not? Just tell us who it was, and you can go home."
"Fine." Perfect. Got it. "I was...I was running from a drug dealer."
"Did someone try to give you drugs?"
"Not exactly...I was trying to get cigarettes."
"...You wait here for a minute." The detective, her face still completely devoid of emotion, turned and exited the room, as Nora sat back down.
Does she believe me? Hell, will anyone believe me? It's not like they would believe me if I told them the truth...guess I'll just follow this and see where it goes...
"Bullshit." The word escaped Detective Bonetti's mouth the instant the door to the interview room closed.
The other detectives, joined now by the captain and George Huang, the psychiatrist, turned.
"I'm sorry, but that girl's never smoked a cigarette in her life. Look at her. How old did we say she was? 'Can't be older than sixteen', right Captain?"
"Actually, I have to agree with you," Detective Benson said. "I know it sounds stupid, but my gut is telling me, there's a lot more to the story than Nora's telling us."
"Something is most certainly going on here that's not what she's saying," Dr. Huang added.
"Well, how do you suggest we prove it?" Detective Munch asked. "Ask her to smoke without coughing?"
"Actually, hang on a minute..." Detective Benson walked into the squadroom. She returned a moment later, carrying a pack of cigarettes.
"Olivia, as good an idea as it is, there's no smoking allowed in the building," said the captain. "No exceptions, unless you want to be drenched by a sprinkler. Wait...since when do you smoke?"
"I don't. Borrowed them from Briscoe five desks down." She ran into the interview room, and sat, placing the pack and a lighter on the table.
"What the hell?" Nora asked.
"You said you were going for cigarettes. Go ahead. Show us. How do you light a cigarette?" Well, they don't trust me, that's for sure. Wish I had known I would need to use this, I wouldn't have spent so much time trying to avoid smoke, I would have been trying to learn this.
Nora picked up the pack and slid one out. She picked up the lighter, and held it to the dark end of the cigarette. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get a flame to come out. Turning more and more red with embarassment, she finally gave up. Pushing back the material, hands shaking, she admitted defeat.
"By the way," Detective Benson added, leaving the room, "When you smoke, you usually light the white end...the other one goes in your mouth."
"Damn!" Nora cursed under her breath, once again hiding her face in her knees. I should have known that...I'm so so so screwed now.
Detective Bonetti entered.
"Is this some twisted kind of musical chairs or something?" the girl asked. In, out, in, out, what is it with these people?
"Not quite." The ponytailed detective sat down again, directly across from Nora. "I want you to tell me what happened. Not some crap about falling off a fire escape. I want to know the truth."
Something inside the girl broke. Fuck. This.
"Fine!" Nora yelled. "You want to know the real story? I'll tell you the real story! I'm a runaway, I live in DUMBO, and someone was offering free acting courses. While I was there, I met a guy. I liked him, okay? I'm allowed to like a guy! As of yesterday, I was a virgin who had never dated, let alone kissed someone! Oh, no, wait, did you want to hear the story of my ex boyfriend from when I was five? He was eight back then, and he moved--he's gay now. The one guy in my life, I go for ONE guy, and everyone looks at me like I'm some whore! I have a newsflash for the world, I'M NOT A WHORE! If you have some sort of problem with me, everyone, then get over it on your own time, leave me the fuck alone! I have no problem with the way I am, so why should the rest of the world? And this guy gets it, he's the one guy who gets me! The one person who's ever really gotten me, and he turns out to be a total ass!"
Nora was pacing in a circle that was getting smaller and smaller. Eventually she was just standing there, spinning around. Okay. Calm. Calm. He's not even in here. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Just tell your damn story, so at least one person knows. At least then you won't go crazy trying to never tell anyone.
"And we go to this camp, we talk, I flirt, maybe he likes me back, because he invited me over. So I go, it's an apartment, and he's there. Let's just say that it turns out he did like me back, and now suddenly we're a 'thing', dating, whatever you want to call it. He starts kissing me, and in my head, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I'm being kissed by a boy, not just any boy, THIS boy, oh my God!"
I've never even been kissed, I hate this. I just hope this isn't going to be the end of my sex life. I mean, I only wanted to date, maybe kiss, I'm not even looking for anything serious, maybe when I grow up, and maybe I'll trust enough to get married, maybe then I'll have sex, maybe then I'll have kids, but I didn't want sex. Not right then. And especially not like that. I'm only thirteen, this isn't right. This is just plain wrong.
Nora took a deep breath and continued her story. "...And then I realize that I'm totally uncomfortable with this. In my head, I'm screaming to stop, even if my body isn't listening, and the only reason I'm kissing him in the first place is that he made a bet in the very beginning, on a damned VIDEO GAME, I win, he sings, he wins, I have to kiss him. Those are his exact words, I 'have' to kiss him. Of course, I'm totally lovedrunk at this point, so I agree, and the first couple of kisses just totally blow my mind, I mean, my first kiss, you know the deal. Then I get uncomfortable. I notice that the guy is practically slobbering all over my face. His breath smells. And I'm making out with a total stranger. And here I am playing Halo 2, betting on my purity and innocence, for what? For some guy I barely fucking know? Not a chance!"
First kiss? Some kiss! Oh yeah, that was a fucking GREAT kiss. He kisses me, and what am I going to do, open my mouth? Look like some whore? No, I'm not going to take the lead on this. So he goes, "What, you're going to keep your mouth shut?" then forces it open with his tongue? Not so much! I'm not a whore, damn it! Do I look like a slut to you, world? If you don't like me, then fuck off, this is the way I am, get over it!
Nora's knees had found their way to her chest, her arms hugged her body, and she started shaking, rocking back and forth in the chair, looking almost as if she was trying to fold into herself and disappear.
"I ask to change the bet. No. He actually said no, even, 'No, we're doing THIS.' I ask to do something else...he leads me into another room, another video game, some car racing game. Same bet, he says. I'm just sitting there, staring, like, what? What the hell is this? Is this some kind of sick, demented maze? The whole day's really kind of a blur, but the shirt got ripped when I was...I was..." Finally, Nora's head lowered in true shame. "It ripped when he pinned me to the ground by my arms to kiss me...I had to ask him a couple times before he would get off. I was just, I was, I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly, so I went to the bathroom and sat, and pressed my head to the tile, and thought that I could handle it, but the whole thing got way out of hand. He tried to feel me up. I turned away, and he didn't try it again, thank God."
Still shaking, Nora lay her head in her knees, chin tucked to her chest, trying but failing to hide the tears that were beginning to fall down her face.
"I didn't realize what it really WAS until I got out of the place, and then I just collapsed. I wasn't raped, I wasn't forced into oral sex, it was just 'tongue wrestling', that's the sick name he called it by. I had a choice, I could have said no, and I tried to, but I couldn't do it, I couldn't get the words out of my mouth, and in my head I was screaming, let me out, let me out, I want to leave, but it wasn't working, and all I could do was sit there and let him do those things to me, and that's why I didn't say something earlier. It's my fault. And I just let him do that, I LET HIM, and I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop him, he's tall, and I'm short, and he's strong, and he can pin me down, and I'm just generally very fucking afraid of what could have happened and I don't want to report this and I don't want to press charges, I just want to go home and take a shower, because I fucking loved him! Okay? I said it, I loved him! I FUCKING LOVED HIM! And he went and took it all away, and I don't even believe in love, and everything in my world just came crashing down on me, and I hate him, and I hate what he did to me!"
Damn it, damn it, damn it, please wake up, I want to wake up, I WANT TO WAKE UP! Take me out of this hellish dream, and let me go free! Just let me leave, please!
"If you don't want to press charges, we can't make you," Detective Benson said from the wall near the door. When did she get here? Was I seriously so wrapped up in my little confession that I couldn't even notice someone walking in? Some detective I'll make when I grow up...
"I don't want this to go on to a report. I don't want this to exist. I just want to go. Just drop the case, whatever, you couldn't prosecute anyway, just let me leave, please."
"Fine," Detective Benson said. "But before you leave, you should know that you should never blame yourself for something that's happened to you. It's never a victim's fault."
"I'm no victim!" Nora turned back to look at the two detectives before leaving. "I'm not a victim, no one can make me be. The choice is mine, and I choose to be a survivor."
Fin.
"Nora? Are you awake?"
"Nrpog?" Nora lifted her head slightly, not even opening her eyes, barely even awake.
"Nora, help!"
"What is it? What's wrong?" Nora, suddenly alert, sat bolt upright, pushing her black and purple hair out of her eyes.
"Someone's outside!" A young girl, seven years old, materialized in front of Nora's eyes as she placed her glasses on her nose.
"Are you sure, Jamie?" Nora's hand strayed to the seam of the two mattresses. No, calm. Don't scare her. Just go outside calmly, and find out what's making noise.
"Yes!" Jamie whispered loudly. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe me?"
"I believe you," Nora said to the girl she'd "adopted" as a younger sibling since running away to DUMBO. "In fact, I'm going to look right now." Why does she have such trust issues? Well, it can't be easy being born and raised in this area, but still. I guess it just comes with the territory and the company.
Despite the situation, Jamie looked a little happier at being listened to. "Can I come with you?" she asked.
"No, I don't want you to get hurt if it's a big dog or anything." Agh, I hate lying to her. But what am I going to tell her, there might be a potential rapist outside, stay here, but don't panic. I'm sure it's just a branch.
"Fine." Jamie gave Nora a sullen look and laid back down, annoyed.
"Move over a little bit." Nora reached between the two mattresses, pulling out a 9mm. Jamie's eyes widened.
"You have a--"
"Shh," Nora whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Just stay here, and if anyone you don't know comes in, run like hell to the nearest phone and call 911, okay?" Please, Jamie, be old enough to understand this, not ask questions right now.
Jamie nodded under the hand.
"Good. I'm going to go find out what that noise is." Oh God, please don't let it be what I think it is.
Nora slipped outside, completely silent. Looking from side to side, gun raised, she saw nothing. Slightly lowering it, she proceeded to sweep the area, going from side to side, in a grid. Wish I had brought a flashlight or something--it's pitch-black out here. How am I even going to see someone if they--
Suddenly, a figure appeared in the shadow. Slowly, it creeped towards Nora.
"FREEZE!" she yelled, swinging the gun towards the person's head. "I have a loaded gun, and trust me, I'm not afraid to use it!"
Who the hell is this? What is this? Oh my God, if he knocks me out, he's got a clear path to Jamie. Who is it? Is it just a robber, or is there something--
Nora was cut short when a hand reached across the back of her head and cut off her breathing, yanking her back into the shadows.
No! Oh God, no! Help! Please, help, someone!
Quickly, Nora pulled off two shots from the gun.
Did that even hit anything? I can't...Jamie...acting...help...detectives...spinning...
Nora's limp body fell into the arms of the person behind her.
Oh shit. Not again. Please, no. Not another damned nightmare...wait. What's that noise? It sounds like...like radio chatter. Police? Did Jamie make it out and call the police? Oh God, I have to get up. Oh my God, I can't move. Why can't I move? This is bad! Where'd the feeling go? HELP! HELP!
Though she was screaming in her head, no sound was coming from Nora's mouth. In a panicked fearful state, she blacked out again.
Thankfully, a uniformed officer found her barely a minute later and called for the ambulance.
"I'm fine!" Nora screamed, sitting straight up.
"Hello to you too," the doctor said, checking her pulse.
Wait...fuck. This is most certainly a hospital. This can't be good. At least I can move again. Right? ...Yes. I can move. And talk. This is an improvement. Oh, shit! Where's Jamie?
"Uh, was there a girl who came in about the same time as I did?" Nora asked the doctor. "About seven years old?"
"Yes, your little friend? She's fine, but she refuses to give us anything, no name, address, family, not a thing. By the way, you gave her a good fright pulling out a loaded gun from between the mattresses."
Nora winced. "I'm sorry...it was only for protection, it wasn't like we were using it to get drugs or anything. Both of us are clean, I swear to you."
Oh, Jamie, thank God you didn't tell them anything. Okay, here's where we fix this. Once and for all.
"What's your friend's name?" the doctor asked.
"Harper Delay." Yeah, like I'd tell them who we really were?
"Okay, then, and yours?"
"Karen Delay." Alright, we're going to need to get out of here FAST. "Uh...with the gun...did I--?"
"Shoot him?" the doctor finished for her. "Not quite. But you targeted the hell out of the opposite building's wall, shook the people inside up really well."
Damn it, I can't even shoot properly the one time it really counts? That's pathetic.
"Fortunately, the police have the man in custody as we speak, and it was your lucky day--the video camera meant to catch people inside that store across the street? The owners installed it backwards. Caught the entire thing."
"Will the police need Ja--Harper and I again?" Keep it going, "Karen". You can do this. Just a few more minutes.
"Nope. You two are free to leave."
"Thank you very much, I'll have my mother check us out." Or not...but they never need to know, do they?
"You have a nice day!" the doctor called over her shoulder to Nora as she left the room.
"Jamie!" Nora whispered. "Jamie! Get up, we're leaving!"
"Wh--Why?" Jamie wasn't fully awake yet.
"We're going back." Nora lifted Jamie's body out of the bed and started dragging her towards the door. "Back home."
"Okay..." Jamie was awake, but not understanding.
"Out here." Nora pulled the younger girl through a side door and they slipped back into the blur of city life, once again completely anonymous.
Fin.
