HEROES AND VICTIMS

Chapter One

"But aren't you afraid? I mean, crazy people. Who knows what they'd do?"

She hated this reaction, which almost always followed the revelation that she was a psychiatrist. She usually took a sip of her drink, straightened her back, and quietly explained that the huge majority of mentally ill people were usually the victims of crime and the dangerous ones were a very small minority, a number so small that it shouldn't matter. The person she was speaking to would inevitably smile and say something about the latest incident where a deranged young man—it was almost always a young man—murdered his family or massacred a dozen people at a shopping mall. She would point out that in nearly every case the attacker had some history of mental problems and even received treatment which had been ended because of insurance or state or federal regulations or lack of followup.

"If," she'd say. "Our society would be willing to pay a few dollars more, things like that could be avoided. And while we're on the subject, if you want to help end the homeless problem..."

It was at this point that the other person in the conversation's eyes would glaze over, and she knew the conversation was over.

She wasn't afraid. Certainly never of her patients, even when she interned at a state facility which housed some of the most delusional of patients. When she dealt with the most dangerous patients she followed all the procedures. She was never afraid.

Until now.

Until a very angry man stood between her and the sanctuary of her office. A very large, muscular young man fingering something in his pocket, something that might be a gun or a knife. She usually was very aware of her surroundings, and the building was safe, but the the man appeared from the stairwell after she left the elevator. Her first instinct was to rush back to the elevator, but the doors had already closed.

"Are you the bitch that made my woman leave me?"

She swallowed. Her cell phone was in her purse, and she cursed the rules that made women carry their stuff in a bag and not readily accessible in their pockets, that is, if their slacks had pockets. And she hated the shoes she wore, although she doubted she could outrun the man even with running shoes. She could scream, but she was fairly sure no one was in the building. She could only hope her patient was early.

"I asked you a question, bitch!" He rushed at her with terrifying speed.

"I'm sorry." She hoped she might be able to use her strongest skills and talk her way out of this. "I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about. Please, can you tell me..."

As she spoke, she moved slowly towards the elevator and pushed her bag to her front. She reasoned the elevator might stop and offer rescue from someone or escape.

"Shut up! Don't try any of that shit with me!" His hand flew out of his pocket and waved a knife in front of her face. It looked huge and inches from her face.

"Please," she said as she desperately tried to think of what patient was having serious trouble with a husband or boyfriend. "I don't know..."

Before she realized what was happening, he shoved her and slammed her against the wall. "You know what I think?" One of his hands seized her jaw; the other pressed the knife against her stomach. Her purse offered her slight protection. She tried to wrench away from him, to knee him, but he was too big, too strong. "I think you're a bitch who doesn't have a real man. Who hasn't had one in a long time. I think me and you should go into your office and have a little session of our own."

She opened her mouth to scream. He slammed her head against the wall, and stars exploded in her brain. He took advantage of her stunned state to slam her fist against her face. She slumped and slid down the wall, and he jumped on top of her.

"Or better yet, let's just do it out here." He grabbed under her skirt and yanked down her panty hose and panties. His fingers clawed her skin. "Nobody's going to interrupt us this late. They'll find you out here. The way you should be, bitch."

She tried again to scream, but her mouth was full of blood. Her head spun and swam from the blow she'd received. He ripped her blouse, and she struggled to fight him. He swung the knife at her flailing arms, and she cried out as the it slashed her right arm.

"Oh, God, no," she thought. "I won't want to be raped..."

And then he was gone with a yelp of pain and surprise. A large, dark figure swept over and past her. She heard and sensed a scuffle near her. There was another cry, a shot of anger and pain from a familiar voice, and then the babbling, frightened voice of her attacker.

"Don't hurt me...Please don't hurt me..."

"Shut up! Be quiet!"

"Detective Goren," she thought through the pain and haze. She shamefully realized how exposed she was, and her arms flew up to cover her breasts.

"Dr. Gyson." Goren knelt beside her. "It's all right. He won't hurt you any more. Here...Put this over you." He shed his jacket and carefully placed it over her shoulders. He lifted his cell phone, and she saw blood on his white shirt. She wondered if the blood was hers, Goren's or from the man who attacked her.

"I'm calling the police and for an ambulance," Goren said calmly "Don't worry. Everything is going to be ok."

Through a fog she heard him call the policy, identify himself, and ask for an ambulance. She slowly turned her head and saw the man who'd hurt her sitting on the floor. His hand were behind his back, and she guessed he was handcuffed. He was white and wide-eyed with fear. He suddenly looked very small. A cold shudder took her, and she clutched Goren's jacket to her body.

The man whimpered, but Goren glared at him. If that glare had been directed at her, she would've shut up as quickly as the man did. Goren knelt by her again, and the change in his voice and expression stunned her.

"They'll be here soon." His voice was soft and warm and gentle. "It'll be ok."

She looked up at the dark chocolate eyes.

"Thank you," she managed through the swelling bruises on her mouth. "I...I'm ruining your jacket."

"Not a problem. I'm helping to send my dry cleaner's kids to college." He smiled and winced.

"You're hurt..."

"Nothing," He shrugged. "A couple of stitches at worst."

She shivered violently, and he sat carefully next to her.

"It's all right. Just take it easy. You know as well as I do...Better...You're suffering from shock..."

His voice was wonderfully reassuring, and she realized it was one of the reasons he was so good at his job.

"Police!" A shout came from the stairwell. Goren lifted his hands, his left holding his badge. Blood soaked his right shirt sleeve.

"Goren," he called. "I'm on the job."

"He's good at this," she thought. "Very good."

Two uniformed officers, their guns drawn, moved up the hallway. The apparent leader was a black woman in her thirties; a younger, brown haired man followed her. The older cop gestured for the younger to deal with the now whimpering man who attacked her. He was a pathetic figure, and she wasn't ashamed of the sense of triumph she felt as she looked at him.

"Detective," the female cop said. "A bus is on the way. And SVU..."

"I wasn't raped," she struggled to say through her swollen face. It was suddenly important that everyone know this.

Goren gently squeezed her arm. "They're good. The best. It'll be better with them. I promise you."

She didn't know when he'd taken hold of her arm, but it was warm and comforting.

"It'll be ok." His voice was calm. "The SVU cops will take good care of you...And him." He nodded toward the quivering man who was being read his rights.

The older officer leaned down. "I've let your captain know about this, Detective."

"Great," Goren sighed. "He'll love this. Could you also let my partner know..."

The officer nodded. "Your captain said he'd take care of that."

"Good...Good."

In spite of the growing pain and the strange sensation everything came to her down a long tunnel, she noted both the calm that came over Goren when he spoke about his partner and the strain entering his voice. She saw a dark crimson stain growing on his shirt.

"Detective," she mumbled. "I think you're really hurt. You're bleeding..."

Goren stared down at his shirt. "Oh, damn."

"Here, Detective." The older cop appeared with a first aid kit. She wrapped a bandage around Goren's arm.

Gyson looked at Goren closely. He was very pale. "Detective..."

"It's not that bad," he insisted.

The elevator doors opened to reveal EMTs and their gear. The handcuffed man on the floor whimpered something about police brutality, but the younger cop glared at him.

"Shut up," the cop siad. "That won't fly. Not with what you did to the doc and Detective Goren."

"Take the doctor first," Goren insisted. "And make sure the SVU detectives know where she is."

She tried to protest, but a wave pain hit her as the EMTs started to move her.

"Everything will be all right, Doctor," one of the EMTs said.

"Detective Goren," she slurred.

"We'll take care of him too. Don't worry."

She struggled again to protest, but she was suddenly very tired in addition to the pain and fog she felt. As the EMTs eased her on the stretcher, she turned to look at Goren. Two grim faced EMTs hovered over him. Goren was very pale, and his eyes blinked rapidly She wasn't a particularly religious or spiritual woman, but she began to plead with something she might believe in to take care of this good, brave man.

END CHAPTER ONE