Dreams of Concrete, Sanctuaries of Abstract

by NDV

repost, complete When a patient brings up memories of past abuse, Kerry, Carter, and the rest of the team fight to save her.

Dreams of Concrete, Sanctuaries of Abstract

Liza - lizaausten@tri-countynet.net

Inspired by the song Concrete Angel by Martina McBride

Warning: Deals with subject matter that may be sensitive to some, physical and sexual abuse, mostly in the realm of child mistreatment.

Pairing: This one's Carter/Kerry too, sort of. I'm not sure about romance yet, but friendship, definitely. Also, Kerry/Jeanne friendship, and there may be some Luka. I love Luka. I want Luka. Sigh...

Rating's PGish right now, might be a little stronger later on. I'm doing this in 1999 b/c I don't know whether I plan to include some people or not. Jeanne never left, though, so she'll be in this one… Originally, I was going to do this as a 'delve-into-Kerry's-past' independent piece, but since I promised a sequel to a few readers of Enfant D'espoir, consider this it. It takes place about a week after ED finished. It will deal some with Kerry's past, the Kerry-Carter dynamic, and a few other things.

Note: "Amnesia for childhood sexual abuse is a condition. The existence of this condition is beyond dispute. Repression is merely one explanation – often a confusing and misleading one – for what causes the condition of amnesia. At least 10% of people sexually abused in childhood will have periods of complete amnesia for their abuse, followed by experiences of delayed recall."

-Dr. Jim Hopper, Ph.D.

To MR – because I heard this song and thought of you.



Prologue

Emergency Room

Cook County General Hospital

March 29th, 1999

Luka shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, coming to stand before Kerry and her computer at the front desk. There was a patient he couldn't see, one who couldn't bear to see him, awaiting some form of healthcare sitting on a bed in Curtain Four. When he'd neared the girl, she'd flinched and jerked backward, nearly tumbling off the other side of the hospital bed and narrowly missing cracking her head on the IV stand that was stationed nearby. He'd noted the bruises crossing her jawline and the clenched fists that were firmly planted at her sides. Her entire body radiated "Stay away. Stay away from me," but her eyes welled with fear and tears.

For some reason, seeing the tiny girl with curly blond hair had frightened him. Perhaps it had brought out the father in him, reminded him of his own children, or perhaps it was the rage that filled her tiny body, the fear that emanated from her. And for some reason, when he'd realized she wouldn't, couldn't, allow him to treat her, he'd thought, "Kerry can handle this."

The aforementioned doctor looked up from the computer screen into Luka's face, raising an eyebrow and asking, "Yes, Luka?"

He cleared his throat, firmly planting both feet on the floor, "There's a patient…" as soon as the words passed his lips, she'd started around the desk and together they began venturing in the direction he'd come from. After a short pause, he added, "An abused child. She wouldn't allow the ambulance attendants to look at her, apparently put up quite the fight. Looks like she might be a little hypothermic, I think she was locked out of her house. She's barely clothed, pretty extensive facial bruising but no lacerations. I thought she might respond better to a woman."

Kerry nodded, straightening her lab coat. "Evidence of sexual abuse, psychologically?"

The night was slow and it was nearing the end of the month, the budget deficit was favorable and she had finished her paperwork. It had been a good day, slow and quiet. But child abuse cases made something inside of her twist, her gut knot, her heart hammer. She'd seen too many.

"Possibly," he nodded, once again appreciative of her ability to assess a situation with even minimal knowledge. He'd done his psych rotations years ago and noticed the signs after a few seconds of looking the girl over, the unaproachableness, the obvious fear, withdrawal, distrust of men. "I'll call for a psych consult."

"Give me a few minutes to see if I can get her to talk, assess her condition. Then place a call to DCFS and upstairs. I'll let you know," she responded, nodding before pulling the curtain back to reveal the still- cowering child.

The girl's widened eyes were immediately drawn to the crutch at Kerry's right arm. She tore her gaze from the crutch, to the doctor's face, back to the crutch, then beyond to where Luka still stood.

With an understanding born from years of medical training, Kerry pulled her arm loose and propped the crutch against the wall, limping weakly toward the bed. Her leg had been worsening in the last few days, and each step resulted in a visible wince.

"Hi there," her voice was kind and gentle as it always was with patients, "I'm Dr. Weaver, and I'm going to take a look at you and see what's wrong, okay? Why don't you tell me your name?" she began, and the girl looked over her shoulder as the curtain closed, leaving the girl alone with the older doctor.

She visibly had to acclimate to the atmosphere, and after realizing that Kerry wasn't a threat, she let her hands unclench and scooted farther up the bed. "Okay," she answered softly, eyes finally focusing in on her, "Hailey."

"Hailey, that's a pretty name," Kerry smiled at her, "Now Hailey, why don't you change into this hospital gown so I can take a look at you and see what we can do to make you feel better?"

The girl pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded after another moment.

"I'm going to go right out here and get a few things and then I'll be right back." With that, Kerry stepped outside the room with her crutch back in position, called Lydia over, and began riddling off a list of things they'd need. "Get me a thermal blanket, run the standard tests, a saline drip on IV, and I'll be right back." She proceeded to the desk, nodded toward Luka, and mumbled at him, "Ten minutes, and I should have something to go on."

Upon returning to the room, Kerry loosened her crutch and again propped it against the wall, then proceeded to sit on a stool near the edge of the bed. Hailey was tightly wrapped in a hospital gown, and stared at the doctor with a blend of fear and cautious trust.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked carefully, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and smiling placidly at the child. It was the cases like these that she hated.

Hailey shook her head, clutching the shoulders of the gown.

"Okay, you don't have to if you don't want to," Kerry acknowledged, "That's fine. I'm going to need to give you a physical exam though, and I'm going to have to ask you some questions that might make you a little uncomfortable. If anything I say or do makes you feel bad, I want you to tell me right then, because I don't want you to hurt, okay, Hailey?"

The girl studied her, then nodded somewhat slowly. "Okay," she whispered, ducking her head and letting her hands fall to her side.

"Good, now scoot down here and lay flat, this cut on your calf is gonna need a few stitches, but you're in luck, I've always been pretty good at this sort of thing, so you won't even have a scar. How's that sound?" she kept her voice light, soft, understanding. The girl nodded again, and Kerry made quick work of stitching the cut after the few necessary injections left the area numb. Minutes later, she proceeded with the conversation and exam, "Now Hailey, why don't you tell me how old you are?"

"Nine," she answered quickly, sinking back into silence.

"Oh, almost grown-up then," the ER Chief nodded. "Have you ever been admitted to the ER before?"

Again, the child nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Silence closed in on the room as Kerry palpated the bruises on her face and upper arms. No breaks, no fractures. After a few moments, the child whispered, "I made him mad."

For a few seconds, the woman wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault, sweetie," she finally settled on, looking the child in the eye.

"It was, he said it was. I always make him mad since Mommy left. She left because I was bad and Daddy gets mad because I'm bad and I made Mommy leave!" the words left her in a rush, and her small chest heaved as if a weight had fallen from her lungs and she was finally able to breathe.

"Why do you think you're bad, Hailey?" she sat back and asked, momentarily wondering if she should leave this to the people upstairs and social services. Neither Kim nor Adelle would be very happy with her meddling if it caused trouble or cost the child. Then again, neither would she.

"Because Daddy says so. He said I made her leave and that I have to be just like Mommy or he'll leave too. All I have is my Daddy." The child seemed to sink further into the pillow at the head of the bed.

"What do you mean, you have to be just like Mommy?" she questioned, hands clutching the edge of the bed as her mind jumped to a conclusion she was almost afraid to make. Lydia had slid inside the curtain but stood at the far end, seemingly afraid to break the spell that had been cast over the room. A heaviness, a fog of sorts, had settled over them all, forcing them to bend beneath the gravity of the situation. And so, the nurse chose to say nothing.

Hailey didn't answer, instead turning her face away, then back again, then settling on staring at the ceiling. She wasn't sure whether to cut off the conversation and return to the way things were, or continue struggling, cry out for help, for freedom.

Again, Kerry prodded, "Cook and clean like Mommy, or other things?"

Finally Hailey sat up and pulled her knees beneath her, turning to look at the doctor with childlike worry and a nightmarish sort of fear, "Other things. Bad things I don't like."

"Hailey, does your Daddy touch you in private places?" she asked cautiously, looking tenderly at the girl, trying to keep her connected, keep her from closing off. The only way to help the child would be what she said and whether she was strong enough to say it.

"I don't want him to," she answered honestly, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, "but he says it's my fault 'cause I made Mommy go away I was so bad!" The final words were a wail, and the girl wiggled into Kerry's arms.

"It's not your fault," she whispered to the child as she slid off the bed and onto the stool, into Kerry's lap. She could feel the child's every bone, every joint as she curled herself closer, sobbing into her neck. She was malnourished, abused, broken; all things the ER staff had seen too many times in too many situations, each different, each heartwrenching.

For some reason, this child was different, touched both women deeper, tugged at Kerry's heart and memory.

"It's not your fault," she reiterated, rocking the girl. Over Hailey's head, she mouthed to Lydia, "DCFS, call DCFS," and the nurse was out the door before she'd repeated herself again.

"I didn't mean to be bad," the child whispered again, and Kerry kissed the top of her head, allowing her the small comfort.

"You weren't bad. No matter what anyone says or does, no one deserves that, okay? This is not your fault."

Shortly, Lydia returned with Luka in tow, and the girl was still cradled in Kerry's arms, sobs subsiding. "Hey," she said, seeing them standing across the room, "why don't you crawl back up on the bed so we can get this over with? I bet you're one tired little girl."

"Don't make me go back, I'm not tired, I don't want to go home!" her voice was near panic.

"No one's making you go anywhere, Hailey," she promised, "Now pop right up here so we can finish this up, okay? I'm going to finish up your exam and write on your chart, then we'll be done, and a lady's going to come talk to you about what you've said to me, but you won't have to go home, and you won't get hurt again."

"I don't want to talk to anyone," she said stubbornly, crawling back up on the bed, "I talked to you."

"Yes you did, and I'm very happy that you chose to talk to me, but saying those things to this lady will make things better. She'll be able to find you somewhere to live where no one can hurt you, where you'll be happy."

The child seemed to weigh her options for a moment, and Luka disappeared behind the curtain in search of the DCFS agent that should have arrived. "How do you know I'll be happy?"

"I just do," Kerry responded, smiling down at the child as she lay back on the bed. "Now, let's finish this up so you can talk to that lady."

Cautiously, the child agreed, and Lydia stepped forward to assist as Kerry fought the urge to fade into the background as she always had before, become invisible, as she knew the girl wished she could be.



Part One

"Hey, bad day?" Carter asked, voice low as he observed the more pronounced limp. He walked around the couch where he'd been sitting and helped her remove her coat, then her crutch, before they proceeded to the kitchen where they sat adjacent each other.

She sighed and leaned forward in the chair, placing her chin on a clenched first, weariness etching lines into her face as the sun sank beyond the horizon and Carter's eyes filled with concern.

"Yeah," she finally whispered, offering nothing further until his hand came to rest over hers.

"The baby okay?"

"She's fine," Kerry smiled slightly at him, then leaned her head closer to his. "It's been a long day, John."

"You shouldn't keep working these long shifts, Kerry, you're gonna work yourself into the ground." He returned to this only because he was unsure what else to say. Something hurt her, something bothered her, but he knew not to press.

She'd taken to calling him John at home, when they were just Kerry and John and she wasn't afraid of emotions or reality. She'd tell him what was bothering her, because she knew he would listen and would empathize.

She grunted, quiet again for a few moments. "Hardly," she finally verbalized, "Could you pour me some juice or something?"

He nodded, realizing that this was the prelude to a conversation that would no doubt be emotional. That's how she always began those sort of things, offering a drink. It was when she asked that he really worried, as it usually meant she couldn't stand to pour it on her own. "It must've been horrible," he wanted to say, but wisely chose to wait as he returned with a glass of apple juice for her and water for himself.

She gulped the drink, then closed her eyes, taking a deep and almost shaky breath, "I had to do a sex crimes kit on a nine year old today." The words were whispered, tense, anguished almost, and his hand came to rest upon hers as he was afraid to do more. "Her father… beat her, raped her, locked her out of the house. Told her she ran her mother off so she had to be just like her… had to be her mommy. Jesus, John!" Her eyes opened then, squinted in the dim light and glazed with tears and anger.

He reached forward and slipped an arm around her shoulder as she slammed the glass onto the tabletop. Pulling her upward, he kissed her forehead then replied, "I know, I know. Why some people are blessed with children…" he began, then shook his head. "I used to think that my childhood was so horrible because of my brother, because I was ignored and always left behind. But now, you know, seeing all these kids being brought into the ER, traipsing in bruised and battered," he let his train of thought trail off, and she sighed, her breath warming his neck.

"Let's go to bed, huh? I know you're tired… I'm going to walk you upstairs then head back downstairs and turn myself in for the night," he added, hoping he didn't sound overeager. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off so soon.

He led her up the stairs and helped her to sit on the edge of the bed, observing as she fought a yawn and a few tears finally streaked down her face. "I know you're tired, and I know…" Carter began, but she interrupted.

"How is that fair? How is it fair that men like Hailey's father and men like Ellis father children then do the things they do? Why?!" She felt torn, angry, hurt, scared like the little girl in Curtain Four must've been.

"I don't know, Kerry," he whispered, sitting beside her, moving his thumbs upward to wipe the hot tears from her face. Shaking his head, Carter repeated, "I don't know."

After a moment, she pushed herself backward onto the bed, leaning into the pillows, tears falling quickly and acidly down her face. Kerry seemed to ignore them, as she always ignored what she considered to be signs of weakness, her faulty emotions. And she would not let them win, thus opting to focus on the face of her best friend, laying a hand on his upper arm as he seemed poised to move. "Stay with me, now," at first her words were spoken in her typical once-was-the-ER-Chief-voice, but as she continued, the words were spoken with an uncommon vulnerability, "please. We can pop some popcorn or eat those cookies or something, maybe watch a movie? I'm not very tired yet, but if you are, I understand. I just…" her words were rushed, low, but even in the dark lighting she could see Carter's lips lift in a grin, and soon felt his mouth pressed softly against hers.

"Movie's in the VCR already," he chuckled, "and are you sure you want crumbs in your bed?"

"I don't mind," she mumbled, squirming to settle herself in a position that didn't cause her back to ache or her stomach to roll.

Carter eased back onto the bed beside her, sliding one arm beneath her shoulders and the other over her waist as he pulled her closer, into his arms. "What are you scared of, Kerry?" he whispered, nuzzling his head into her neck.

At first, he thought she hadn't heard him or maybe she just refused to answer, but when she spoke, he realized that she hadn't answered because she couldn't. "Nothing, Carter, nothing that can hurt us now." He didn't miss the usage of the 'us', and his lips fought from quirking into a grin again as he realized the 'us' didn't just include her and the child. Reaching around her, he grabbed the remote, scooted toward the center of the bed with her still firmly positioned halfway on his chest, and flipped on the television.

"I thought you might like a good drama," Carter offered, smiling into her hair just before she propped herself up on her elbow.

"This is not drama, this is comedy," she replied with a smirk as the opening credits for Thelma & Louise began to roll. "But it's excellent either way. Thanks," Kerry nodded, then let her elbow fall beneath her as she settled her cheek above his heart, relishing the sound of his heartbeat as it echoed beneath her ear.

---

Kerry Weaver's Home

March 30th, 1999

Early Morning Hours

I am Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last.

He quoted the Bible frequently throughout the gatherings as they feasted on barely cooked meals at wobbly wooden tables. The building would never have passed building code had the area a modernized government that could establish such regulations. The children were packed into three bedrooms, girls, boys, babies. The disabled were to fend for themselves, the crippled, the blind, the deaf. Most never made it past age six, for the epidemics were rampant in the tiny compound. Muddy stream, leaked sewage, uncooked food, pestilence, plague, famine. The country was dry, the crops destroyed by insects that could not be controlled, the children riddled with diseases that left many dead, others immune to a multitude of frightening things.

She'd been left there at birth, left to fend for herself, one of two white children in a five room orphanage – kitchen, three bedrooms, gathering/reception room – that housed 47 children. They slept on straw mats, sometimes two to one, coughing and crying, never loud enough for the head mistress or the master to hear for they feared their punishments. When he didn't like one, he was beaten or strangled or cast out from the compound, left to flounder where no one else dare abode.

The land was barren.

When the headmaster liked one, she was his personal favorite for the remainder of her time, whether a family took her, which wasn't often, or death stole her away to a better place. Several girls were killed during their time there, some with knives, one with the Colonel's hidden gun. The words 'suicide' and 'she's better off' were sometimes murmured by the nurses, but the children never understood the language, instead they watched bodies lowered into dusty ground beyond the muddy water, crops crumbling beneath the breeze.

The desert was barren, but they were far from the it. Droughts consumed the land as the anger and the hatred consumed many of their souls.

Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me.

The two girls were kindred spirits by the time the youngest was three, sharing their mat and giggling late into the night when the headmaster was asleep, fumes of scotch rising into the air around him, though the children knew not what it was. Kerry and Jessie were their names, and they were as close to sisters as they could become without sharing blood. The older girl had known her parents, had seen them die in a futile accident, had shared her memories of beautiful times and kind family with the smaller, lame redhead. She was bubbly and beautiful, and by age eleven she had become one of his girls, and she was the first and the last to reach into his locked dresser drawer and end her own life with a gun she only dared to hope was loaded. She never told her little Kerry goodbye, and thus, the child was left alone and afraid, knowing that should he take another child, she would be the next.

And at the tender age of seven, she became his favorite, and she was taken into his arms and his life and his bed, knowing only that survival had become first instinct and that she could not run because her leg could not carry her far enough away. When they took her away, the ones she came to know as her parents, thirteen months later, she was bruised and battered and terrified of her father, and it was long before she did not fear the act of bathing.

And in her dreams, she felt him, hands callused and rough, angry and searching, always pinching and prodding and touching and grabbing, and she feared his angry eyes, white surrounding brown the only light color that was a part of his body. When he had first 'inducted' her, he'd told her that it was safe, that she would not be harmed as long as she understood the process, understood the secrets. And so, she built herself a hidden place, a garden that was an ocean away and far from where they black man stood towering over her, pushing up her dress and pulling away her stockings.

Honor thy father.

Somewhere deep within her, she'd been lost then, hiding beneath the foliage of a secret garden none knew how to wind their way through the maze too. She did not trust, she did not love, she did not risk.

And 27 years later, she finally began to dream, let herself remember.

---

She woke then, a thin sheen of sweat covering her face, bladder full, his tenderly smiling, sleeping, face inches from her own. It was in moments like those, when she dreamed and she feared and she wondered exactly why she was still alive and so many were not, that she was thankful, because she'd finally given someone a chance, and things seemed to be turning out in her favor.

Kerry hoisted herself from the bed to head toward the bathroom, never noticing that Carter's eyes had opened, squinting in the low light. He'd felt the wetness of her skin, heard the sharp intake of breath when she'd woken, seen the rapid heaving of her chest and the way the past shadowed her eyes, clouding them.

But he would not push, because he wasn't sure how.

Soon she returned to the room, skin dry and face shining, one hand grasping the wall as she worked her way back to the bed, the other resting lightly over her slightly swollen belly. Lowering herself into the bed, she smiled meekly at him, eyes caressing his face before her hand followed, and soon he drifted back to sleep as she watched him, not quite afraid and not quite secure.

And when she finally gave into her instincts, Doctor Weaver fell into a restless sleep facing her younger love, one hand at his jawline, the other cradling her child, their child, and she dreamt of Hailey and children like her, garden swings and clear water, the ways in which things could be better, the times they had been worse, and the blessings her child would be given. The gift of security, the gift of freedom, the gift of love, and the gift of family.

They would do what they could, and she hoped that it could be enough.



Part Two

~She walks to school with the lunch she packed

Nobody knows what she's holdin' back

Wearin' the same dress she wore yesterday

She hides the bruises with linen and lace~

~The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask

It's hard to see the pain behind the mask

Bearing the burden of a secret storm

Sometimes she wishes she was never born~

March 31st, 1999

CCGH

Outside Room 413

"Excuse me, I'm here to get an update on Hailey Garcia's condition," Kerry stopped a nurse several doors down from the girl's room. "May I ask who the man in the room is?"

"Doctor Weaver," the nurse acknowledged, nodding with pursed lips. She leaned forward, and with strict disapproval muttered, "It's her father."

"Her father?" Kerry asked, more of herself than the nurse. She nodded back to the woman, who continued toward the nurse's station. "Dammit, dammit, dammit! Why didn't she talk to Adelle?"

She walked purposefully, stabbing her crutch angrily into the linoleum, down the hall and knocked briskly on the door before entering. "Excuse me, I'm here to do a quick examination on the patient," she pulled the chart from the foot of the bed, "if you'll…" she gestured professionally toward the door, yet still not attempting to disguise her distaste for the man.

The girl stared up at her with wide-eyes, uncomprehending but unafraid. She averted her gaze from her father valiantly, focusing on the redhead who'd tried to assist her before. She wasn't strong enough, good enough, brave enough, and she was terrified she'd ruined everything, her father, herself, the doctor before her. She couldn't speak, then, couldn't tell the 'nice lady' what had happened, because of these fears, these worries. She simply couldn't breathe.

Meanwhile, the man bristled somewhat angrily at Doctor Weaver's mannerisms, and she could feel the tension in the air as it grew almost tangible. "I'm her father," he attempted to argue, but she narrowed her eyes and pointed to the door, explaining that it was policy and that he would have to wait outside of the room or leave, whether willingly or by force.

So, with a huff of outrage and an angry glare with narrowed eyes, he disappeared, muttering something about returning to work, where 'he'd rather be anyway'.

And then, Kerry replaced the chart, waiting for the door to click shut behind the man. She sat on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands together, studiously observing the small child. Perhaps the most frightening element of the case was that she understood, that she connected, and she knew how it felt to not tell, because unlike little Hailey, she'd never worked up the courage to tell anyone, and it had been nearly three decades for her, only three days for the child.

"You didn't talk to Adelle," she stated, her eyes sympathetic and her smile relaxed and understanding. She'd do what she had to do to get the child to continue, to get enough information, enough strength, enough evidence. The state would file charges against the father if she could just get the child to say the words, but she had yet to accomplish that. And if the state filed charges, Hailey could be taken somewhere safe, a place where she'd never be hurt, a sanctuary that was real and concrete, tangible rather than ghostly and fantastic. She had the Social Worker's oath that she knew the woman would not break, a vow that the child would be protected, would not suffer at the hands of another malicious parent, teacher, authoritarian. Never again.

Hailey shook her head after a few moments, tears clouding her vision, and Kerry reached a hand up slowly, her motion advising the child that she was going to touch her, and wiped a tear from her cheek, still kindly smiling at her. "It's okay," her eyes seemed to say, but her lips formed no words. Instead, she waited.

"I was scared," she finally whispered, "I didn't want to tell, I don't want to go back but I don't want to go away either. What if nobody wants me and nobody cares? What if nobody sees me at all? At least Daddy knows I'm there and he feeds me and lets me sleep at night and most times I get to stay inside, too. I was scared nobody would do that and that it would be even worse, 'cause I've seen things like that before, on television and stuff. What if nobody cares and I just die? He wouldn't let me die," the girl's words were rambled but thought-provoking, and Kerry could feel her heart tug, tear, and bleed.

What if nobody sees me? What if I'm just invisible?

Would that be so bad?

"I know you were scared, Hailey, and those are very viable…" she paused, rewording her response, "those are very normal things to be afraid of. But I promise you that Adelle," again she collected her thoughts, "and I won't let that happen. I already spoke with her, and she said if you'd give her chance, she could help make things better for you and your daddy, that way no one would be hurt again. You could live somewhere you wouldn't be hurt, or touched in bad ways," she was sure to add in, for that seemed to be what the child feared most. And really, who could blame her? Kerry reasoned. Sometimes, that seemed to be what she was most frightened of, being touched, being held too close or too tightly by those she would not or could not trust, being forced to feel things she didn't want to or forced to relate to those that did, as well. Even at her age, so many years between reality and memory. "And you'd have a new mom and a new dad who would do all of those good things for you, but not the bad ones. Does that make sense?"

Hailey nodded, her eyes clouded and her knees drawn up to her chest. She seemed to be weighing her options carefully, afraid saying what she really wanted would scare her new friend, her Doctor Kerry, away. "I don't want to go back, but I don't want to leave either," she waited to see what the older woman's reaction would be, and when she did not falter, did not waver, she whispered guiltily, "it wasn't always so bad. Sometimes it didn't feel bad." The girl hung her head, sniffling quietly, arms wrapping around her knees as she began to rock back and forth, reminding Kerry of a child she'd once seen that had grown up with detrimental physical and emotional health due to FAS.

"Not everything that is bad, feels bad, Hailey," Kerry assured her after a few moments of silence, and she laid a hand on the back of the girl's head carefully. At first she flinched, but then she relaxed, reconciling herself to the comforting gesture. "It's okay to think that way, you know. A lot of people do, and I understand." After a few more seconds, she stroked the child's hair and received no adverse reactions. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel bad for, understand? You didn't do anything to warrant this…" she again attempted to rephrase her word's to the child's slightly above-average level, "you didn't do anything that made you deserve any of this, okay? And it's going to be okay, because when you're ready, Adelle, the lady from DCFS, is going to talk to you and she's going to figure out how to help you."

Finally raising her head to reveal red-rimmed and withdrawn, hurt- filled eyes, Hailey pondered aloud, "Can she really help? You help, why can't you help? I don't mind talking to you, you won't hurt me. Why can't you help me?"

Kerry looked away, focusing on the false wood of the door, "I'm a doctor, Hailey, I help people who have been hurt physically heal physically. Adelle works with children who have been hurt physically, emotionally," she paused for a second, refusing to give in to the inner voice that was struggling with her, saying 'help her, why don't you help her? The girl's right!', though the voice knew it spoke falsely. "And sexually. She can help fix home situations, find you a new home, and put your daddy in a program that will make him get better."

"Will he go to jail?" she finally asked, obviously not sure of her own intentions, little less anyone else's. If she noticed the doctor's inner battle, she did not acknowledge it.

"Yes. What he did was wrong, Hailey. Against the law. Parents aren't supposed to hurt their children in any way, especially not the way he hurt you. Understand? What he did was wrong, sweetheart. You did not deserve it." Kerry removed her hand from the girl's longer locks, and patted the girl's fingers, still curled around her knees, though she had long stopped rocking.

The room was quiet for a moment, and Kerry sighed, she'd done what she could, and there was nothing left for her to say or feel or do. She was exhausted, her heart ached, her stomach was unsettled. She needed something to eat, and she rubbed her hand over her seemingly suddenly visibly swollen belly unconsciously, comforting the child within through her motions.

"Do you think you can talk to Adelle, now?" she asked quietly, her hand poised over her stomach as she pushed herself up with the other, limping heavily across the room to slip her arm through the cuff of her crutch.

Uneasily, the child nodded. "Would…?" she began, chewing on the side of her bottom lip, "Would you come back when she wants to talk, so maybe I won't be so 'fraid?"

Kerry smiled tiredly at the child, "Yes, I will."

"Be good to your baby," the girl said suddenly, "I know you will, but I wanted to say that anyway. Love her forever, and don't let her daddy treat her bad."

Doctor Weaver paused at the door, startled, and turned to look at the child with an examining eye. Her gaze paused over the girl, and slowly, her usual expression turned to yet another soft smile, and she dropped the hand that was positioned on the door to her belly yet again. "I will, I love him or her very much," she spoke, not quite sure why she was telling the youth things she said only to Carter, her John. "And her daddy does too," for the first time, as she said 'daddy' in reference to her own child, her vision neither clouded nor narrowed. For the first time, she'd thought of John rather than Ellis, and it felt right, settled. Peace had settled over her in a calming wave, and she smiled at the girl one last time before exiting the room, her crutch thudding against the slippery tile.

Her shift had yet to begin.

---

~Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where she's loved

Concrete angel~



Several Hours Later

CCGH

"We've almost completed the investigation against Mr. Garcia, actually, and with the evidence from the rape exam you performed and other physical evidence, as well as testimony from two teachers, a fellow student, and two neighbors, the deal's pretty much sealed. All we have to do is talk to Hailey and get her to say to me what she's already said to you. That'll close the investigation fairly quickly, and we should have charges filed by morning if all goes well," Adelle explained, walking slower than she ordinarily would to accommodate Kerry's unusual – even for her – encumbered pace. "Of course, it will help if you're willing to discuss your findings from the rape kit and physical examination on the stand."

"Of course," Kerry nodded, as they arrived at the elevator. Her mind was elsewhere, Adelle knew, and coaxing her back seemed to be next to impossible.

"Are you okay, Doctor Weaver?"

"Yes," her lips were pursed, "Just tired, very tired." She hated admitting weakness, as everyone knew, but sometimes things one would ordinarily deny either just slipped out, or somehow seemed appropriate. Her hip throbbed, her knee ached, she felt nauseous, and a headache was slowly building behind her eyes. It would no doubt reach migraine status before the end of the afternoon, and she had a feeling that a trip to the ladies' room would soon be necessary, as her stomach was rebelling quite actively against her lunch. Being tired was the least of her worries.

Adelle hit the button for the fourth floor, and the elevator quickly ascended, the doors opening with a 'ping'. In moments, they were at the nurse's station.

"Is Hailey Garcia awake? Room 413," Kerry queried one of the nurses.

"The little blond girl? Her father checked her out about half an hour ago, I believe," the petite nurse replied, sliding her chair over to the computer where she brought up the record of check-outs for the day. "Yeah, it was about thirty-five minutes ago."

"What?" Kerry asked, astounded.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Kerry stabbed her crutch into the floor and shoved off, heading towards 413, where she found an orderly fitting the bed with clean sheets for an incoming patient.

"Goddammit!" she let loose, Adelle on her heels as she marched back to the admit desk. "Why did you let him check her out?"

"He was listed as her father, he provided identification, filled out all of the paperwork…" the nurse explained, cautiously, worry beginning to build in her eyes as Kerry's temper escalated.

"Jesus Christ! He's a fucking child molester!" she growled, anger melding with all else as her stomach begin to lurch more violently and her head began to throb, beads of sweat forming along her hairline.

"Dammit," Adelle swore behind her, "Dammit, dammit, dammit." After a second, she pulled Kerry away from the nurse, "He doesn't know we've begun an investigation in case any of our informants have spoken to him, and the general procedure is that any investigating agents ask that no one speak to the accused," she spoke quietly, "We know where he lives, we can go pick him up and take her to DCFS headquarters and talk to the girl, okay? Don't kill the nurse, she didn't know. This was kept very quiet, remember?" Adelle attempted to calm. "May I see the phone?" she asked of the nurse, while Kerry furrowed her eyebrows and swallowed the bile rising in the back of the throat.

She walked around to the edge of the desk, and leaned against it, thumping the crutch against the ground as she listened to the Social Worker explain the situation to her superiors, then hold down the receiver before beginning another call.

"I'm calling the Garcia house, see if he's there yet. They only live about ten minutes from the hospital, assuming he didn't take her elsewhere or stop." A few seconds later, she swore again as she hung up the phone. "The phone number's out of order, shit! It was working last night, he must've canceled it. Shit."

Kerry watched her from where she stood, a mask of horror painted across her features. The phone line was disconnected, the father took off from work to discharge the child, the girl had just begun to talk, enough evidence had been gathered, he'd be charged by morning, he'd go to jail, she'd be safe…

He had known all along that they'd be coming for him.

Kerry doubled at the waist, the anxiety too much as she began to heave and vomit on the floor.



Part Three



"I threw up at the nurse's station on the fourth floor," she unceremoniously informed Carter, dropping down on the couch. He'd already heard that the girl had been checked out of the hospital, as Adelle had called and explained it after she put an equally exhausted, pained, and nauseous Kerry Weaver into a cab and sent her home.

"I heard," he whispered, reaching forward and placing a hand behind her back to sit her up. "Let's go upstairs, okay? This couch isn't very comfortable to sleep on, especially for the baby."

She said nothing, lost in her own memories and regrets. He knew she wouldn't talk yet, wouldn't want to explain the effect the small blond girl had had on her, wouldn't feel right discussing her case or her life. That didn't stop him from wondering, from worrying, but then again, he reasoned, what would?

In a few minutes, they'd completed their track upstairs and he had eased her onto the bed where she flopped backward, squeezing her eyes shut against the light. Taking the hint, Carter closed the blinds and drew the curtains, then knelt at her feet and removed her shoes, moved upward and unbuttoned her blouse and slacks, then pulled them off carefully, no protests or comments audible from either party. Finally, his task completed, he eased further up the bed, lying on his side, and let his hand trail over her jawline, cheekbones, forehead. He wiped at her damp hair, and retrieved a cool rag to place over her forehead to absorb the sweat. "Migraine?" he whispered after a few moments, and she whimpered in response.

"Yeah," she had answered, her voice almost a whine when she finally managed to force the words out, "it hurts."

"What?" he had questioned, fear suddenly gripping him as he allowed a hand to trail down to her stomach.

"Everything," she'd responded, then felt his hand pressed flat against her rounded stomach. "Everything but her, baby's okay," Kerry whispered then, and he sighed into her hair.

"I'm going to get you some Tylenol," he whispered back, then grimaced as he stood, "I hate it when you hurt," he'd just barely muttered, but she heard and couldn't contain a tiny smile. As he exited the room, it finally occurred to her that he had undressed her, and that she was lying in bed in a bra and panties on top of the covers.

"Oh, well," she sighed to herself, "if I can get him as undressed, we'll be getting somewhere," her thoughts were mischievous even as the jackhammer reverberated against her skull. "Too bad I feel so terrible," she thought, forcing her thoughts away from where they kept attempting to drift.

Hailey.

She was gone and he was gone and Kerry had promised it would be okay, but all chances for that had passed, now, because she hadn't been smart enough, hadn't acted fast enough. But Adelle had sworn they'd find him, so maybe, just maybe, they would. And maybe they'd find him before it was too late, before Hailey was dead, or worse.

Or worse. That was what frightened her most. She knew what the 'or worst' was.

As she pondered the child, hot tears glazing her eyes, Carter returned with a glass of water and two tiny pills. "I know it won't help much, but it's all you should take that we have here," he whispered into her ear, not wanting to cause her head to pound louder with the noise. "I can go down to the pharmacy…"

"No, no it's good. It's okay, it helps," Kerry whispered, her hand sliding across the sheets to find his, tugging gently on it and pulling him down onto the mattress with her. "Don't leave, please don't leave."

"Okay," he whispered simply, his free hand reaching upward to brush away her bangs as he moved the cloth over her face, the cool rag soothing the fire under her skin.

After a few minutes, he pulled his hand free, "I'm going to get a tub of water, but I'll be right back." He didn't wait for a response, instead drifting into the bathroom then returning with a small bucket of water and a trash can in case her stomach should revolt again. He placed the can on the other side of the bed, nearest to her hand, and the tub of water on the nightstand, placing the cloth in it, then ringing it out.

"It's okay," he soothed, "Go to sleep, Kerry, you'll feel better when you wake up."

She sighed, wiggled closer, and with as much humor as she could muster, replied, "You're really overdressed, John, and I'm hot." If she'd had the energy, she'd have waggled her eyebrows suggestively, but it just wasn't going to happen.

He chuckled despite the situation, but then became gravely serious again, standing and quickly removing his t-shirt and jeans, then dragging the cloth over her face and neck, down to her chest and stomach. The cool water soothed and made her shiver at the same time, and she pointed toward the foot of the bed. "Sheets, please."

Carter pulled the bottom cover upward and placed it in her hands, and she folded it over her legs, leaving everything above her panty-line exposed to his eyes and the cloth. "Thank you," she whispered, as the again wet cloth was run over the skin of her chest. "Tired."

"Go to sleep, Kerry. We'll talk about everything later, go to sleep and have sweet dreams. I'll be right here, I promise." His words were like a parent to a child, calm and gentle, an underlying tenderness she never would have expected.

'He's so good to me,' she thought, and as she began to drift off into sleep, she thought she might have said, "I love you," but she wasn't entirely sure.

---

When she met him, he frightened her. Sooty dark skin and dry, wiry locks of hair pulled into messy dreadlocks, he walked with a swagger and a teeth-baring grin, tattered shorts worn just above his hipbones. She had been curled beneath a tree, soaking the shade through to her bones, and sealed eyes snapped open when she heard the slop of feet flipping mud. They'd stared at one another, her seated and him standing with a caribou- skinned bag thrown over one shoulder.

Foreign, different, both wide-eyed with fear. Eventually the spell was broken, his eyes never quite torn from hers, and he smiled a closed smile and bowed as his traditions, his customs, mandated, and greeted her in a language she knew little of. With his solemn salutation, she had broken into a grin herself, whispered the words in return, and stood to her feet, bowing in response.

At first, he had reminded her of The Devil and Tom Walker, a tale wound in a country she was born in but had never walked, him being the devil and her the shrew. Only, though she was often called a shrew, a tart, different, she felt that she wasn't as bad as they said, though she wasn't entirely sure what the words meant in her nine years. But he would have been the devil, covered in soot and carrying a deal that would result in death and pain for many, and she would have been the one he carried away, and in her fantasy-land that wasn't quite so bad. However, she learned quickly that he was far from the devil, more like a saint, and that his toothy grin and darkened skin were such a grand part of who he was, of that sainthood and innocence she admired.

She'd been weak from birth onward, possessing a lame leg but a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, and together they'd become to the other what the one was lacking. She was his cultural perspective and he was her legs.

He was fifteen years old and she was frightened of everyone else, but for some reason he comforted her and he cared for her, and he was the brother she'd never had and the friend she'd lost to a suicide that resulted from mercilessness. He would have been the same age as Jessie.

"They hit me at the orphanage," she told him once, and he'd looked at her with a kindness she'd never before seen.

"I remember," he'd told her, and then she remembered where she'd seen him before. He'd been there, he'd seen and he'd prayed in his language, one so foreign to her at the time, for the child that she was and the child that she had been. He'd even tried to help her once, beaten and lashed, and she'd never forget the day she'd seen the scars, the marks, left on the skin of his back.

"They did bad things at the orphanage, worse than hitting," she'd told him again, later, and he'd kissed her cheek and hugged her as one would a child.

"I know that, too."

And then, she'd forgotten so many of her fears, because he told her those things would never happen to her again. How wrong he'd been, though neither of them knew it then, because the dreams would begin again and it would be much the same as it had been before, because dreams cannot be tamed, and one never truly forgets what they come from.

He'd been so very far from the devil, then. He always had been.

And then, the dreams began again, and he was gone, off to the University, and she was alone with devils that were so much scarier than he'd been in that instance when she'd first seen him. She was alone, and they tore at her and reminded her, and she'd never forget the last blue dress she'd worn and the way it had been ripped the first time he'd chosen her. She'd been Chosen, and for the rest of her life she would be marked as Chosen, and it would drown her in the end.

And, her heart had begun to bleed in Adiare, the orphanage, and in her dreams she wondered how much blood the human heart could contain.

---

Part Three-B



Carter woke after her, the room dimly lit though it was almost time for sunset, to the sound of retching, something he thought they'd managed to get through a month before. Rolling towards her, he sat up carefully, hoping the movement wouldn't cause her to feel more nauseous, and reached a hand around, pulling her bangs and hair away from her face, and allowing the other hand to rub her back.

Tears were sliding down her cheeks, and she muttered, "I'm sorry," between fits, the sobbing only causing her to heave harder.

"It's okay, don't be sorry," he'd whispered several times before she finally leant back into him, having wiped her mouth and spit one final time in the waste basket. His arms wound around her, and she turned into him, the pounding in her head a dull echo of what it had been before. Her skin was pale, clammy, eyes sunken and lost.

"You were dreaming," he quietly told her, "I could hear you, feel you, but I didn't want to wake you up. I thought maybe if you got whatever it was out of your system, then it wouldn't bother you again."

At his words, her eyes again welled with tears though she did not feel the need to lurch toward the can again. Soon, he felt the tears dripping again onto his arms, but she cut him off before he could question her on what was causing her emotional upheaval.

"It'll always bother me, John, always, always," she shook her head, then turned her face into his neck. "We let him take her, we didn't work fast enough," she sighed, the tears having ended as quickly as they had begun. "We were too late to save her this time, and who knows if she'll have a next time, huh? She may come into the ER dead next time, or she may not make it in at all."

"You did the best you could, Kerry, that's all anyone can ask for," he reassured her, holding her stationary against him.

"It wasn't enough." The pounding in her head had disappeared to nothing, the migraine having hit suddenly, ending much the same. "It's never enough."

"Kerry," he shook his head, "You can't save the world, you can only try. You may have given her courage enough to run to somewhere that she can be helped, or the courage to fight back. You never know just how big of an effect you've had on some, or how little on others. I have a feeling you got through to that little girl, and that she's going to be much better off, for it."

"She was only nine years old, John. How much fighting can she do?" she whispered back, pushing herself from the bed slowly, then departing for the bathroom to empty the basket and brush her teeth.

After a few minutes of silence and running water, he ran his hand through his hair, wishing he could find the words to supply the comfort she needed.

"You're going to be a wonderful mother," he finally settled on, "because you care about a child you don't even know, because you worry that you've never done enough, because of the way you guard them and speak to them and cherish them, children. It's also what makes you an excellent doctor. You put yourself on your level, give them options and not ultimatums, you're fair and unwavering and sympathetic. You gave that child something of yourself, and she'll carry that with her when she needs friendship or sympathy or a good memory to carry with her. That's all we really can do in the end, Kerry. Give them of ourselves when there's nothing else to say or do. That's what makes us doctors, right?" he waited for her nod as he watched her spit out her toothpaste. Wiping her mouth, she turned to look at him fully, and cocked her head, smiling slightly, murmuring an affirmation. "DCFS and the police will handle it from here, and you'll go to his trial and tell them what a monster he was and explain all the evidence the best way you can, as a doctor. Charges have been filed with the state, and that's all we have to wait for now, right?"

"Yeah," she paused, "I know, I know. But it's not…" she walked over to him, still in her underclothes, and placed a hand on his bare chest, "it's not the same. I didn't… it feels like I didn't do enough, fast enough. Never enough," Kerry shook her head, then slid past him into the bedroom and reached for her robe. She forced her thoughts to everyday things, and asked, "Want some dinner?"

This time, Carter shook his head, looking at her thoughtfully. "I love you too, Kerry," he finally said, his voice low, his eyes honest and concerned.

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing softly. "I did say it, then?" Kerry spoke, mostly to herself, though he nodded. "Good. Good, I love you and you love me and… and I need you."

"I need you, too," he smiled, "and I need you to know… that you did your best today, that I'm proud of you."

"I know, I do know, it just feels wrong, John. Like I should've done something more."

"Doesn't it always?" he asked, memories clouding his own eyes. "They'll find her," he finally spoke after a few moments of silence, "they have to."

"Yeah," she responded, leaving her robe on the chair and turning back to him, crossing the room and placing her hands on his shoulders. "Let's go to bed, okay?"

"You're still tired?" he asked, wrinkling his brow and not quite understanding where she was heading with the conversation.

"No," she replied, her eyes meeting his, determined and single- minded. "I need you, to feel you, and you know now, that I love you, that's all that's important, right?"

"You…"

"Yes," she whispered, dropping her hands and turning to go back to the opposite side of the bed. "Come to bed, John," Kerry finished a few minutes later, leaning her crutch against the nightstand and sliding into bed, pulling the covers farther up as the room had cooled off a bit. "Come to bed."

"I don't want to do this because you want comfort, this has to be…" he struggled, stepping forward against his own will. "Because you…because…"

Firmly, she reached across the bed and tugged on his hand, pulling him closer. "I want you to make love to me because I love you, and that's it, that's the end of it. Just because."

"Okay," he chuckled at her simpering. "Okay," and then, he crawled into the bed beside her, his hand trailing to her lips. She smiled up at him then, and it began.



Part Four



"The whole of Chicago is under an advisory for icing and possibly even a few flakes of snow, tonight," the radio announcer droned on. "A little unusual for this late in March, but I suppose it gives the kids a last chance to play in the backyards with their snowmen!"

She was digging herself deeper and deeper. Letting Hailey be taken away, using John for comfort, letting herself fall for him. Things were going to get more difficult before they were easier, she knew, but it seemed to only make the reality less explainable.

She was wrapped in a robe, standing before the kitchen stove, flipping bacon. Intermittently, Kerry glanced up at the phone, shifting on her feet with a grimace every few minutes, wondering if she should call, if she could call, if she could bear to hear what Adelle might say.

The little voice behind her heart seemed to whisper, "Call, call, call. Yell at them in your best ER tone, make them work harder, faster, make them find the girl!" But even as that voice screeched at her, Kerry bowed her head and put the lid back on the bacon, hands fastening on the edge of the counter.

Yelling would do no good, for they were doing all they could, and all they could do may not be enough. She had failed the child, the little blond girl that reminded her so much of the child she'd grown up in Adiare with, the angel that died rather than suffer any longer. Had she possessed the courage, Kerry wondered if she might have followed her. In the end, were the memories worth the life she'd chosen to lead?

They haunted her, now. They had haunted her for years.

Doctor Weaver had attended a seminar about eight years ago, long before she dreamt of becoming a Resident at Cook County General, about survivors of child abuse. A man had spoken, through experiences of his own or that of his patients or research that had taken years, she did not know, but his words had struck a previously unused chord with her, and she'd dug her fingernails into her arms to keep from crying.

"Ten percent of victims of childhood sexual abuse suffer from some sort of amnesia, for many it takes a decade or longer to begin to recall the memories. The mind protects itself, forcefully forgetting things that cannot be dealt with, pushing away traumas until the person is strong enough to heal from the old wounds, to understand them."

Ten percent.

Ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, would Hailey just begin remembering the things her father had done to her, or was it too late to grant her even that bit of peace?

With that thought, Kerry turned the fire on the burner down lower, grasped the phone, and dialed the number for DCFS.

---



~Somebody cries in the middle of the night

The neighbors hear, but they turn out the lights

A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate

When morning comes it'll be too late~



CCGH

Three Hours Later

"It's been twenty-four hours," Adelle spoke, interrupting Kerry's concentration. She was sitting behind the desk, vigilantly staring at a chart, attempting to make out the chicken-scratch Malucci called handwriting. An Egyptologist probably couldn't make out his scribblings.

Kerry granted the Social Worker a quick once-over, ascertaining her mental and emotional condition, then bent her head to again look at the chart.

"They're still looking, he hasn't returned home yet," she continued, unsure what the doctor was attempting to do by ignoring her. "Doctor Weaver? Kerry? Are you listening to me."

"Yes, I'm listening," she replied a moment later, closing the chart and moving on to the next one. She moved to flip the cover, but the other woman's hand came down, trapping it shut.

"Then look at me, will you? We can't find her, Kerry. The police have checked his family's homes, past residences, with his last employer, everything. Did she say anything to you, at any point, where he might take her, where he might go?"

"No, she never mentioned places, not real ones, anyway," she paused, sliding Adelle's hand off the chart and flipping the cover successfully. Randi slipped down the desk and grabbed the completed files, glancing over both women and the stiff posture of the social worker, the reluctant attention given by the doctor.

She knew they were talking about the child Doctor Weaver had, for some reason, grown quickly and intensely protective towards. "There's a story there," the woman had first thought, but then began to educate herself with the case, quickly sharing flashes of sympathy with both the child and the doctor.

Some people certainly were dealt rotten hands in life.

"What do you mean, 'not real ones'?"

"I mean… she went somewhere in her mind when he was…" she paused, looking for the word that would express the atrocity but finding none suitable, "molesting her. He never took her anywhere in particular that she told me about. She mentioned things, mostly, things he'd told her, things he made her believe."

"Like…?" she knew she was fishing, but if she could get something, anything, then perhaps she could find the child before it was too late.

"He told her it was her fault her mother left, that she'd sent her away, that… that she had to be like her mother. Had to be… his. She said she didn't want to die, that she was afraid to talk because she was afraid no one would listen, or that they would and then they'd all forget her. She was afraid she'd be invisible," Kerry sighed, eyes again foggy, remembering the tight clasp of Hailey's smaller hands, the way she gnawed at her bottom lip, the tears she'd cried.

"Her mother died, Kerry. Years ago, her mother was poisoned. Originally it was ruled a suicide, overdose on painkillers, but I wonder about it now, really," Adelle shared, eyeing the doctor carefully.

"Dead?" Kerry asked, eyebrows knitting together as she finally pushed herself to her feet. "That sounds…" she shook it off, then continued toward the lounge. "He killed her, didn't he? The mother?"

"I don't know, Kerry," Adelle said, again using her given name rather than her title.

"Probably," she answered herself, seeming to have not heard the social worker. "And he'll kill her too, won't he? Isn't that how it always ends?" These questions were directed, again, more toward herself than the other woman, though she pondered them anyway.

"It's not too late, it's not. We still have time to find her. And who's to say he'll kill her? He likes… using her, and if she dies, then who will he have left?" she was grasping at straws, but Adelle didn't want to accept that the child may likely be killed either. After all, she had talked, had provided physical evidence of the things he had done, and there was an APB out on him. There was no doubt that he'd be angry, looking for a release, a fix that no other addiction could sate.

"It'll be my fault," Kerry's voice was low and ragged, "If she dies, it'll be my fault. I should've never allowed him to see her, and I should've gotten her to talk to you the first time."

"You can't make someone talk about something like this, Kerry. She would talk when she was ready, and not a moment before," she laid a hand on the doctor's, attempting to comfort her. Finally, Kerry sat on the lounge sofa, shaking off the hand and running her fingers through the back of her hair.

"She would have talked if I had stayed. She said as much. Oh, God," she whispered, "This is all my fault."

"It's not your fault, Kerry, Doctor Weaver. And it's not too late. Don't give up, okay? Don't give up." Adelle attempted to comfort, to reach out, but she shrugged away again, staring toward the wall. Finding nothing else to say or do or gather, she stood to her feet and whispered, "I'm going back… I'll see what they can do with what you've said. He might hurt her, but I don't think he'll kill her."

"Not yet, anyway," she wanted to add, but instead, finished, "I'm sorry we didn't act faster, Doctor Weaver, but this is in no way your fault. It's small comfort, I know, but it's the truth."

With that, Adelle left the lounge, nodding to Carter as he entered. It took only moments for him to realize what had happened, connecting her with DCFS and Hailey.

"They haven't found her?" he asked, sliding down beside her and slipping a hesitant arm around her shoulder.

"No."

"How are you? Migraine threatening?" he attempted a few minutes later when she said nothing more, moved little, breathed less.

"Fine, no." Her words were curt, anger concealing the hurt and vulnerability she was fighting. After a short silence, she added, "I'm sorry, John. For all of this, for using you – last night – and for falling apart on you so frequently. I'm sorry."

"You weren't using me," he replied, "and you can fall apart all that you want. That's what I'm here for, isn't it? And lastly, quit being sorry."

"I needed comfort," she responded, eyes watery and voice hoarse. Quickly she closed her fists and rubbed her eyes, then squinted in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"Maybe I did, too," he responded, turning and kissing the side of her head. "It's okay to need comfort, you know, and to fall apart every once in a while. I don't mind it."

Again, all was silent for a matter of minutes.

"Thank you, for letting me… be used," he added, nudging her a bit as he chuckled. Ruefully, she cracked a grin.

"Anytime," Kerry sighed, granting him a small smile. After a few more moments, she added, "They haven't found her yet, John. Who's to say that they will?"

"Who's to say that they won't?" he countered.

"Four car pile-up! ETA two-and-a-half minutes!" Luka called from the now open doorway, "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got four majors and five minors coming in. We need you both."

Kerry nodded to Luka, then to Carter, and he placed a hand at her elbow to assist her as she stood, though she didn't quite need it. The door slid shut, and he placed a hand on her face, bringing her closer. "It's going to be okay, you know," he breathed against her lips.

"Yeah," she whispered back, "I guess it will be, huh?"

And then, his lips descended on hers and tongues intertwined, instinctively dueling. After a few seconds, she pulled back, still on the tips of her toes and grasping his arm for support, and placed one last, almost chaste, kiss on his lips. "We should go, out there," she waved toward the door.

"Yeah," he agreed, and watched as she walked the few steps past him to the door.

Turning slightly, she asked him, "Can we… talk, later? There are some things I think I want to say, and I want to say them…to you," Kerry paused, pursing her lips pensively.

"Sure," he smiled, placing a hand at the small of her back as they exited the lounge and headed toward the ambulance bay. "You know you can trust me, right?"

"Yeah," she smiled up at him, tired both emotionally and physically. "I do," she whispered up at him, and his grin grew broader as he replied with much of the same.

"Here we are, folks!" Kerry bellowed as they reached the ambulance bay the moment they began unloading.

"Let's have it," she told one of the attendants as she crutched along side the gurney. "Carter, Kovac, take the second one. Mark, divvy the lesser of them up among the others!"

Though the hospital was a place built and equipped to sustain life, she mused just before Zadro began speaking, it was rare that personal lives ever got sorted out beyond the hospital walls – or within them.



Part Five

"Doctor Weaver?" Randi called, pushing open the door to the lounge. The subject of her search was half-sprawled across the lounge sofa, and she stifled a chuckle at the sight.

"Yeah?" Kerry replied, shifting to a more professional seated position.

Now that she'd found her, Randi wasn't quite sure what to say. She stepped into the lounge and waited for the door to close behind her, then hesitantly shifted on her feet, finally moving closer and sitting on the other end of the sofa.

"I saw how you were, with the girl who'd been molested," she began, her words cautious but sure, "not many people could've handled a situation like that so…competently."

After a second of surprised examination of the younger woman, Kerry nodded, "Thank you, Randi."

"Yeah," she offered a small smile, "I mean it though, and I can't help but… well, do you think they'll find her? The little girl?"

The doctor sighed, her head bowed, "I don't know, Randi. It's like she and her father have just…disappeared. The police have yet to locate them, there've been no further records of her being admitted to hospitals anywhere in the county. DCFS has talked to anyone who might know where Hailey is…nothing." With that, Kerry moved her hands to her lips, obviously as surprised as the clerk that she'd spoken so much about the child's status.

Hesitance again obvious in her movements, Randi awkwardly patted her superior's hand. "I understand." When she received no response, the younger woman continued, "My younger sister…" she began, letting her words trail off.

"You have a sister?" Kerry began after a moment, then cocked her head to the side, "I'm sorry. I really don't…"

"It's okay," she waved her hand, "I had a sister; she was killed over a decade ago, by the same man that raped her," Randi shrugged. "It's weeks like this one…"

The doctor nodded.

"Hey, Doctor Weaver?" Randi spoke again after a moment, standing to her feet and moving toward the door, still making an effort to catch the older woman's gaze. When Kerry finally looked up, she sighed, "I hope they find her. I understand how it feels, to wait. And," she paused, continuing somewhat cautiously, "I think you do too."

Then, Randi passed through the door, left to ponder just what Randi had meant.

---

That Evening

Kerry's Home

"Hi," Carter grinned upon entering the kitchen. Kerry was poised before the stove, balancing on one leg and the counter as she twirled her other ankle around several inches above the floor. It suddenly struck him that she looked like a little girl attempting some sort of ballet pose, and that only made him grin wider.

"And what are you so cheerful about?" she groused, placing bout feet on the floor and turning with spatula in hand, waving it in a threatening manner. "I didn't cook dinner, so to speak, I've been craving pancakes," Kerry finished, as if it explained away all of the problems in her life.

Chocolate chip pancakes, at that.

"Mmm, well, you won't hear me complaining," he chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning over the frying pan, shortly after she turned back to the meal at hand.

"Be careful, the oil is hot," she warned, leaning back into him.

Though he knew she wasn't watching, he nodded and turned to head back to the bar, calling over his shoulder. "Hey, you said there was something you wanted to tell me, earlier today. It's been nagging at me all day, actually, I have to admit I was kind of worried."

Kerry didn't respond, flipping the pancake instead. "Just a minute," she finally said, turning off the burner and placing the pancake on the stack. She limped over to the table and placed the plate in the center, then urged Carter to take his seat. Ever the gentleman, he seated her first, then took the chair across from her.

"I've been dreaming lately," she began, taking several of the pancakes for herself, "and this really isn't a dinner conversation," the doctor shook her head.

"I don't mind. I'd like to know what's on your mind." His eyes were filled with concern, the kind that made her feel as if she was caught between melting and crying. Whether it was the hormonal changes her body had yet to grow accustomed to or her nature, she wasn't sure.

"I've been dreaming of things I thought I'd forgotten," she added, several seconds later, refusing to look at him, as she sliced through the pancakes. "Bad things, from my childhood."

"Your parents?" Carter asked, tilting his head as he observed her. Head bowed, eyes focused on her food – which wasn't altogether uncommon, as she'd grown extremely food-oriented in the last few weeks – and a frown deeply etched into her face. He felt as if the bottom were about to drop out, and instead of following her lead, he dropped his knife and fork to the side, allotting her his full attention for however long the conversation took.

Whatever it was, he knew, it couldn't be good, not if she seemed almost… afraid to face him. "You can tell me, you know."

"I know," she sighed, finally placing her knife on her napkin, glancing up at him, then reaching for the syrup. "This is difficult, I've never… talked about it, before. Except to mention it to Mlungisi almost thirty years ago, and he was there. I mean, he already knew." Again, Kerry glanced upward, a little unnerved by the way his eyes focused on her and nothing else. "Your food's going to get cold," she gently chided him.

"My food's not as important, right now."

"Hailey… I think I started remembering when I saw Hailey. I think that I never really forgot, just pushed it away, really," she paused, "And I think you're already beginning to understand what I'm about to say, aren't you? Mentioning her… gave it away. Not that it's particularly big or anything. I just, I wanted to share it with you because I felt like you should know, should understand. I'm even less…" she struggled for her words, eventually opting to let the sentence drift off. She folded her hands over her lap, and looked down at them, but Carter refused to let her turn away.

"Look at me?" he requested, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but raised her head. "Whatever you say, it's just between us. And I won't judge you, or feel any differently toward you, Kerry. You know that."

Her head tilted to the side as she realized his words were quite true. Perhaps she wasn't as afraid to tell him because she knew he wouldn't judge, he wouldn't be terribly disgusted – at least not as disgusted as the others would have been.

"When I was an infant, my parents left me at an orphanage in Adiare, near the border. In Africa," she clarified. "It was run by two women and a man, the Colonel he was called, I guess because no one knew what else to call him," she shrugged, "There were around four dozen children there, in five rooms – three bedrooms. No indoor plumbing, the bathroom was the same river the children bathed in. It was terribly unsanitary, disease was rampant," she glanced down at her leg meaningfully, and Carter caught the glare. "The Colonel had this penchant for hard liquor, strange weaponry, and little girls," she paused again, taking a sip of her water and setting the glass back down with shaking hands. "He always picked favorites."

"There was only one other Caucasian child, another girl, she was 6 years older than I was, and I remember her as very beautiful and kind. She was like an older sister, always protecting and sheltering. When I was five, he took her, made her his girl. She killed herself a little less than nine months later, never told me goodbye."

Shakily, she looked up and swallowed, and Carter's hand came to rest above hers. "And then, when they said I'd turned eleven – I've never known my real birth date, did I ever tell you that? I chose my own, basically – or rather, right after I turned eleven, he took me to the back of the house and out to his quarters. It was a little," she waved her hands around, "cabin sort of thing at the corner of the property. It was cleaner than the orphanage but it smelled like scotch and… stale cigars. I've never forgotten that smell, I don't think I ever will," Kerry's pallor seemed to be shifting, and Carter's eyes grew more concerned as she paled. "I was molested, ongoing for thirteen months."

The room grew quiet, and she again bowed her head, hands shaking even as Carter's enveloped her own. Slowly, he dropped her hands and she flinched at the loss of contact, afraid he was disappointed or ashamed of her, but then he had walked around the table and was lifting her chin. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of or worried about. I don't care what happened twenty-some years ago," he finally said, and her eyes flitted nervously around the room. "You're a wonderful person who has so many gifts, and one of them is the gift of understanding," he smiled slightly, "And I think that… what you just told me, might have helped you understand Hailey, help her. And before you say anything, you did help her, as best you could."

She watched him, eyes wide and hazy with a coating of tears that she refused to shed. "Thank you."

"Thank you for trusting me," he added, then slipped his arms around her, wondering exactly how he could comfort her, and why it seemed that, though both possessed the skills of the greatest physicians, healing was beyond their grasp. He'd heard her words, but he knew they hadn't settled in yet, hadn't really affected him. When they did, he had a feeling anger would be the predominant emotion. He wanted to kill the bastard, wanted to scratch his eyes out and castrate him with a dirty scalpel, but it would get worse, he knew, because he'd felt that kind of rage before. And beyond the anger would be an even more intense hurt than he felt at the moment he'd enveloped her in his arms, the kind that would make his heart clench and his eyes water, for all that she'd endured and the things she could never forget. If he had, at any point, doubted his devotion to her, the words she'd spoken had reaffirmed it through the level of emotion he felt. Carter understood, though he didn't truly understand her the way she did Hailey, and for that he was almost grateful. When it hit him, when it really sank in, he would hold her for his own comfort more than hers, and he'd hope she'd accept it for all that it was, and never fear him.

Somehow, the doubts she'd never expressed verbally but had emoted through her eyes seemed to make sense to him, and Carter wanted to cry, "Oh Kerry," but he would not.

Eyes squeezed shut as she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, Kerry could almost see the cabin, the older girl, and the blond hair that had fallen in a trail of blood. It had been she that found Jessie, but that was a story she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to tell, an image she'd never forget.

Just like she'd never forget the fear on the childlike face of Hailey, and the way she'd had to leave even her crutch behind to near her. "It's okay," she'd said, but even she had doubted her words.

And looking back, it seemed she had good reason to do so.



Part Six

April 5th, 1999

CCGH

Doctor's Lounge

"It's been a week," she muttered, idly stirring milk into her caffeine-free coffee. When she received no response, her shoulders slouched. "I don't know if they'll find her now. I was so sure of it, before…" she sighed, bringing the cup to her lips.

"It's not too late," Luka reminded her, "not yet."

Kerry acknowledged his words with a barely visible nod. And the doubt continued to nibble at the edges of her consciousness.

"You keep walking down the same damn road, Kerry, and you keep coming up with the same damn answers," the annoying stream of coherence seemed to shout.

Uselessness and a sense of futility were almost tangible as they fell around her.

"You helped her, don't beat yourself up for what you couldn't do or haven't done yet. Now, the girl knows that what was being done to her was very wrong, and that there are people who do care and who will help. It may not be all you wanted to say or do, but it was enough to give her the strength to fight."

"It won't be enough until she's safe," the other doctor contradicted, "if it's not…" her voice trailed off, and her eyes fell shut as she envisioned a bloody girl lying with her hand on an old English revolver, almost naked and clearly bruised. It had been so long ago, but was so fresh an image in her mind. This time, however, the child she found was not her friend from the tiny African orphanage, but the child she'd treated so few days before.

She had failed to save another little girl.

She had failed to save herself.

And now, the memories had begun to assail her though she thought she'd left them far behind, and it was too late to save herself, and too late to save the ones she had left behind.

She could not sleep.

As if he could read her mind, Luka began to speak, his tone cautious and controlled, "Have you ever considered speaking to a therapist? I'm not suggesting that you have any problems or even that you need to, but perhaps speaking to a psychiatrist or some sort of therapist would make you feel better? More at ease with your feelings toward the child and the things that happened to her?"

"I don't need to speak to a therapist, Luka. I'm just angry." It was as if he could see through her, could see her secrets and her sins, could feel her shame and see her memories. "He can't know," she thought, and breathed deeply as she calmed herself with the knowledge that Carter would not share her secrets. After a moment's pause, she continued somewhat cautiously but more as an effort to change the subject, "How does this make you feel? You had a daughter…"

"If anyone ever laid a hand on her…" he began, his voice a quiet almost-roar, then fading to a normal tone as his eyes fell closed, "I would have killed them. I will never understand how any man can hurt his own child… like that."

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Kerry calmly admitted a few moments later, "those are your memories, not mine to meddle with."

"It's fine," he insisted, moving toward the refrigerator to fetch a bottle of water.

She nodded back as the room fell quiet once again.

"We've got a GSW rolling in. Sounds bad," Haleh added, poking her head in the doorway and looking back and forth between the two. "We need you Dr. Kovac, Dr. Weaver."

Luka nodded to the nurse, then Kerry, before departing from the room, the women following behind. As Kerry rushed towards the ambulance bay, Haleh idly commented to Jeanne, "She needs to eat more, move slower," the nurse shook her head, and Jeanne's eyes flitted upwards to settle on the subject of the gossip.

"Okay, here we go," Kerry nodded to the paramedic, hurrying along the gurney as it was forced through the door.

"Male in his early forties found in the park while it was raining, close range bullet wound to the mid-temporal region, lung sounds are bad, more than likely has fluid on his lungs. Vitals are shaky at best, BP's 78 over 40, pulse is 120. Lost at least a pint of blood at the scene."

"He looks familiar," Kerry muttered to herself, and Luka's head shot upward.

"I'll take this one, Dr. Weaver," he smiled, "go finish your coffee."

"This is a major trauma, Luka, you need more than one doctor…"

"Hey Carter! Get over here," Lydia called, and Kerry's eyebrows rose as her lips tightened.

"Help me with this one?" Luka requested, then began to brief him as Kerry, posture tense and eyes angry, stood watching.

"What the hell!" she felt like raging, instead she turned on her heel and headed back toward the desk to begin chart reviews, perhaps channel her anger into something productive.

Seconds later, upon reaching the desk, Jeanne's hand fell upon her own, and her eyes shot upward, settling on the PA. "I'm fine, Jeanne," Kerry assured her, voice harsh, and she shook off her friend's hand. "I'm fine."

And she turned on her heel and limped toward the lounge, charts balanced in one arm, wondering exactly why Luka thought he had to protect her from a trauma in her own ER.

She had yet to realize that what he'd seen in her eyes had frightened him, for it was something he'd never seen in her before. A boiling rage, a sort of unknown recognition, and an acquiescence to her fears.

Moments afterward, her crutch dropped to the floor, and she cried out as a pain seared through her leg. "Shit!" she cried out, then began to curse.

---

Abby had heard her while approaching the lounge, and so, she charged through the door to find her bent over, leaning heavily on one leg, and cursing beneath her breath.

"Oh. Doctor Weaver, what's wrong? Is it the baby or your leg?" the words tumbled from her mouth at a rapid speed, and Kerry waved a hand at her side which Abby quickly grabbed.

"It's okay now, I'm fine, it was just… cramp," she winced, straightening up after a few moments of silence.

"You need to be checked out right away," the medical school student insisted, reaching upward and taking the doctor's forearm.

"Tell Carter…"

"I will, he's in the trauma, right?"

"Yes, listen to me!" she interrupted quickly, "Tell him that the man he's treating is Hailey's father, the little girl brought in about a week ago, that's him."

"The child molestation case?" Abbey asked, leading her toward the lounge couch, "I'm going to go find a gurney or a doctor, something," she added, heading toward the door, "I'll pass the message along."

"No, it's fine Abby, it was my leg, it does that sometimes."

"I should get Carter," she muttered nervously. The Doctor Weaver they'd always known never spoke of her leg, never acknowledged the fact that she had a disability, and the fact that she had slightly unnerved the nurse-turned-medical-student.

"If you want to help, call Adelle at DCFS and the police, tell them that Peter Garcia is here, but Hailey isn't, she wasn't brought in with him."

Abby nodded, open door between her hands, as Kerry continued. "Thank you for your concern, Abby, but finding Hailey is of the utmost importance. If her father was more than likely fatally wounded, anything could have happened to her," she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling. "She could be dead in the park or he could've dropped her somewhere else. There's no telling what's happened," she muttered more to herself, brow furrowed with worry, and Abby allowed the door to close and headed for the desk.



Part Seven

"This is highly amusing," she chuckled, propping her crutch against the hall table before slowly making her way into the soon-to-be nursery. Fighting a grin, Kerry sank gratefully into the rocking chair that sat in the middle of the room.

Carter stifled a smile of his own as he rolled his shoulders, turning slightly to peer at her, paint brush still in hand as he worked around a window sill. "So, I amuse you?"

"Very much," she laughed, resting her hands over her stomach and crossing her legs at the ankles. "Better than television."

"Oh?" his tone quasi-serious as he rolled the pale yellow paint up the wall in a broad sweep. "So you just keep me around for the entertainment value?"

"Certainly not for your cooking skills."

"Hmm," he muttered, dipping the paint and flipping it too quickly, paint splattering down the length of his jeans.

"Nice," she laughed, wiggling in her seat, runners sliding back and forth along the hardwood floor.

Chuckling, he dropped the brush with a plop, three walls evenly coated in beige pant, and descended the makeshift ladder again.

"Watch the – " she began, inwardly wincing as he missed the last step.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he sighed, wiping his hands on his pant leg, then bringing them to his face and unknowingly streaking it with paint.

For a few moments, she successfully managed to retain a straight face. But then he reached up and swiped a streak of yellow down her nose, and she glared as he laughed.

Finally he dropped to the portion of floor covered with newspaper at her feet. "Good day?"

"Good day, no traumas," she smiled back, running a hand through his yellow tipped hair. "You've almost finished it," Kerry nodded to the room, "it's beautiful, thank you."

Gracing her with a grin, Carter's face softened as he finally asked, "Any word?"

"On Hailey?" her tone was clipped but expected. "Nothing. Her father never… well, he never regained consciousness," she paused, "he was brought in over 24 hours ago. The police, "she rubbed at the drying paint on her nose, a frown creasing her skin, "uhm, they think she's probably dead. It's been eight days since she was discharged."

Carter hung his head, reaching upward to clasp her child-sized hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered, standing and molding himself around her, breathing into her light auburn hair.

"Me too," she sighed, sagging tiredly against him, as her eyelashes fluttered in the path of expelled breath. "Me too."

---

Next Day

6:00 pm

Kerry's House

"Where did you find southern-style food?" she demanded, leaning her head back against the wall. "This is excellent, John."

"Only the best," he offered a lopsided grin and she chuckled around a mouthful of chicken. Somewhere along the way, her shifts had slacked off to mostly day-only, sometimes as short as seven hours, and he'd grown accustomed to attempting to find new and more interesting restaurants that met her cravings or desires. Strangely enough, he'd taken to anticipating them and doing an excellent job at it.

He turned to the only blank section of wall, paint roller in hand. "You really got daring with the dark beige paint, Kerry," he mocked, "perhaps next time we'll try tan?"

She glared at him as she lifted her fork from the plate, shifting it to the side as she crossed her legs. "Do you want to sleep on the couch?" she deadpanned, and he quickly and almost meekly repented. "I'll forgive you, sort of gratitude for the food." The attending watched him nod, rolling the paint roller up, then down, then up again. A few minutes and a light silence later, she sat the plate to the side and stretched against the dry wall, yawning tiredly.

"I can finish this without supervison, you know," he commented, rotating about and sliding the instrument through the pan. That was her Carter, always worrying, even over slight things such as a yawn. "You're tired, go rest."

"I'm not tired," she argued, "and I'm waiting for that phone call."

"Adelle?" he questioned, recalling easily the constant state of worry and near-panic she'd been in and had just managed to escape – and was now falling rapidly into, again. The little child, Hailey, had easily gotten under her skin. Whether this was because of the pregnancy, her own abuse issues and the memories she was just beginning to recall, or the oath she'd taken years ago before accepting responsibility for the lives of others, Carter wasn't quite sure.

Not that he didn't understand.

He'd heard her, felt her struggling at night as she fought repressed dreams, her own demons, and when she'd cried, though detached, as she shared her memories of childhood physical and sexual abuse, he'd fought back tears all his own and finally realized just how ugly and black murder appeared, for the irrational side of his brain longed to commit it. And then, as they each drifted off to sleep during nights on which they shared she same shifts, he'd let his hand rest and circle over her abdomen and wonder just what kind of monster would hurt a child – especially his own.

What drives a man to commit murder? –he'd once wondered, but as he blearily drifted off to sleep, most nights, and pondered over exactly how lucky he'd somehow become, he realized he'd known the answer all along.

"Yes, Adelle," she answered, running a hand through strawberry blond hair. Two days before, Hailey's father had been rushed into the ER with several fatal gunshot wounds. Two days before, the gun had been located with a smear of blood and a tattered handkerchief, but the child had yet to be found, and it would be days before conclusive DNA testing on the blood would return.

Hailey had been missing exactly nine days.

"Okay," Carter nodded, "go on and rest, and I'll get you if Adelle calls," he smiled at Kerry, "go. You need the rest."

She seemed to ponder it for a moment, then smiled gratefully up at him and pushed herself upward, plate in hand. "Okay."

"Okay," he nodded, grinned, then returned to his painting, the room quickly coated in beige. The trim would be done the next day – animals of Africa and monsoons of India. Like the child, it would be exotic and beautiful, like the mother, it would be a mystery, always leaving some stone embedded in the dirt.

---

"Adelle…" Kerry sighed, the look of a lost child painted on her visage. "Adelle got hold of the ballistics reports and the crime scene analysis for the… you know, the murder and all that," she finally replaced the phone into the cradle. He'd woken her only minutes after she'd fallen asleep to tell her twice that Adelle was on the phone, and then she'd jerked upright and listened intently for several minutes as her face fell, finally hanging up when she could stand to hear no more. "It wasn't her blood."

She ran a hand over her face, then down to her stomach. As promised, he'd waited paint-splattered and patiently as the women spoke.

"Jesus, John," she finally began again, "the fingerprints… she was registered at her school in case of this sort of thing – missing persons, kidnappings – she was registered so they could find her, but all they've found is her prints on the gun. She killed him John, they're saying… they're saying she killed her father."

"Oh Hailey…"

---

Following Afternoon

Cook County Hospital

Day Ten



~A statue stands in a shaded place,

an angel girl with an upturned face;

A name is written in a polished rock,

A broken heart that the world forgot.~



"Excuse me, Miss," an older man called to Randi, shifting the bundle in his arms, "I'ze told that Dr. Weaver's still here, and this one," he gestured downward, "insists on seeing her. I think her leg's broken or something." He looked like a kindly old fisherman, but the clerk was tired and rolled her eyes.

"Have a seat over there," she waved flippantly toward the waiting area, "and I'll see if I can," she looked up, finally noticing the blond hair and eerily pale blue eyes, "Oh, dear God. This must be Hailey," and then Randi headed for the lounge at a near gallop.

A few seconds later, she burst through the doors and Kerry lifted her forehead from her locker, tears long since dry as she recalled the past few days, the look of understanding Carter had given her the evening before, the way he held her when she cried. There were no happy endings, she'd come to believe, even though she had once thought otherwise. There were no happy endings, because once she reached the happily ever after, something seemed to hold her in place long enough for another storm to move in her direction, their direction. Just when Kerry thought she'd dealt with life and all of its mysteries and miseries, another memory surfaced and another heartbreak occurred. She only hoped Carter was strong enough to hold her down when she felt like running, and hold her up when she felt like falling, because she wasn't completely certain she could hold herself up any longer.

The doctor turned slowly as Randi quasi-yelled, "They found her, Dr. Weaver, an old man brought the girl in, Hailey. They're waiting in Chairs."

For a moment, it appeared that she was frozen in place, much like a stone, unsure whether to move, laugh, or cry. The child was alive, but would she survive all of the trauma life had pitched upon her, Kerry wondered, then flew into action and pushed herself through the door. It had been ten days.

"Curtain Two," she curtly informed Lydia, then tapped the grey-man's arm, leading him to the room. Shortly, he deposited the blanketed child on the gurney as per the doctor's instruction and shuffled toward the door. "Wait," she finally called, unwrapping the unconscious child, "wait a second." She flicked the light over her eyes, palpated, prodded, and quickly examined the child. "We need the basics, and an x-ray, her leg and hip…" she paused, "There's no further evidence of sexual assault, so no rape kit seems necessary." She glanced upward at the nurse, then headed for the door. "Have me paged when you get the results or if she wakes up. I'll notify DCFS," then Kerry sighed, turning to the cloaked man. "Come with me, sir."

Once they exited the room, she began again. "The police will want to speak with you, would you mind staying for that?"

Tweaking the collar of his raincoat and snuggling deeper into the hood, he smiled down at her, "Not at all, Miss," eyes never leaving her face, never moving downward, never reaching her crutch. Slowly, he followed her to the desk, where she tapped Randi on the shoulder and requested she call Adelle and the police again, this time with a positive update. "She was in the cemetery, down from the park," his voice had a foreign undercurrent, perhaps Scottish, "she was just laying there, quiet as a lamb, in front of a grave, a woman's grave," his eyes sort of unfocused as he seemed to drift backward to his own time. "Her mother, I suspect," he finally said, head cocking to the side as she watched him intently. "She was crying, holding to her leg. Wouldn't let me help her at first, scared little thing. She just kept shaking her head and holding onto that angel."

Kerry had been examining him rather conspicuously throughout his dialogue. She felt almost as if she were in shock, for she'd nearly given up, probably would have if it hadn't been for the child in her own belly. The Doctor in her was cynical, well acquainted with the lesser side of human life; the woman in her had nearly held vigil for the child, praying to whatever god would listen. "The angel?"

"Don't you know?" he asked, turning frighteningly light blue eyes on her, "The memorial," his face was graced with the slightest of smiles, "'twas a stone angel girl."



Epilogue

Seven Weeks Later

Kerry's House

Smiling somewhat sadly, Kerry lifted her eyes as she slid the envelope across the table. The letter was halfway tucked inside, two pictures peeking from behind it. The childish scrawl belied the written words and Carter nodded as he glanced over the short note.

"She's okay," Carter sighed, and this time it was she who nodded.

"Yeah," a pause, "she's in a home, John. A home for emotionally disturbed children," a grimace visibly set itself upon her face.

"They're trying to help her," he reminded her, though he knew his words would go unheeded.

"She's not…" she began, halted, then continued after pondering thoughtfully, "Wouldn't you be a little emotionally disturbed if your mother killed herself and your father had been molesting you for years? I think she has that right."

"The counselors will help her, Kerry. She'll be eligible for adoption, foster homes…"

"That's a lot better," her voice was edged in sarcasm, "I've been to better places, Carter, the orphanages and homes, and I've got to tell you…" her irritation was palpable.

"Hey," he laid a hand on her arm, "that won't happen. This is America – not that these things don't happen, but it's more… regulated – and we'll monitor her, we'll stay in touch, make sure she's okay." He sighed, fingering the edge of a picture, a blond child holding a soccer ball as she stood in front of a stand of trees, laughter peeling forth.

"It doesn't fix things, though, Carter. It doesn't make her okay, fix her past." After a moment, she relaxed into the arm that had been slung across her shoulders.

"Doesn't fix me."

---

She took the proffered tablet and sat back with the psychiatrist, crossing her hands one over another on top of her stomach. "First Rhogam treatment," she explained, downing the rest of the bottled water. "Twelve weeks to go."

"I wasn't aware that there were concerns over an Rh factor incompatibility," he nodded toward the placing of her hands, the smallest of smiles gracing his expression.

Chuckling to herself, Kerry's eyes twinkled as she replied, "You're not aware of many things, Carl."

He shared a grin, then allowed his expression to grow more solemn, "I'm aware of Hailey."

"Yes," Kerry nodded, she too falling somber. Her eyes slid to the side with a bit of a far-off expression as she turned inward to her own memories – both of Hailey and herself.

"Why don't you tell me about her?" the psychiatrist, her colleague, prodded.

Kerry's eyes flicked upward as she caressed her abdomen and the fluttering beneath.

And then she smiled and whispered, "Okay."