Closet Monsters
by TheBucketWoman
Disclaimer: I do not own Life with Derek or anything else I may reference herein. No profit is being made nor is any infringement intended.
A/N: I was going to post this rated "T" but I'm paranoid. There is going to be some violence, mostly offstage, and reference to an attempted sexual assault, along with a certain amount of language. So, just in case you've stumbled on this accidentally, I should warn you that if any of these themes upset you unduly, this is not the fic for you.
Part One: Lizzie.
This has to be a new record, Lizzie McDonald, 14, thought as she waited for the #20 bus. She'd been waiting for it for about forty minutes.
Your own stupid fault, she told herself. If you'd just started walking twenty minutes ago you'd be home already.
The problem was, her shoes weren't really made for that. Which was why she'd waited.
She shook her head and started walking. It was 7:00 and just starting to get dark out, and even though nobody was expecting her for dinner, with the parents out of town, and Marti with her Mom, it was starting to get cold and her denim jacket wasn't cutting it.
After three blocks, she was really cursing her decision to wear sandals. This had been the first warm day, and the sandals were cute, so she hadn't been able to resist.
But, she decided, no more sandals ever. The chafing just isn't worth it. Damn chafing shoes of evil.
Around block four, there seemed to be fewer people around as she got further and further away from Walnut street and closer to Elm, where the strip malls ended and the houses started up again.
"Wussup, baby," she heard behind her. She walked the tiniest bit faster, trying not to look intimidated.
"I said 'wussup'. What's your problem?" the voice said. "I'm talking to you—in the flowery thing. Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"
Because yelling at random people in the street is the height of class, she thought. This is why I don't wear dresses. The creeps come out of the woodwork. She could see the guy's shadow, walking exactly as fast as she was. Running was an impossibility in those shoes, so she hung a right.
Smelly Nellie's was only three blocks away. Maybe if I bug Derek, he'll lend me enough for a cab. The blocks that surrounded the little restaurant were lit better than this one anyway.
She got half a block—as far as the New Lotus Chinese takeout place before the guy grabbed her.
Part Two: Derek.
There was a yuppie type at table four grumbling about the black hole that must have swallowed the veggie wrap he ordered because it certainly wasn't in front of him. His date kept shooting apologetic looks at Derek, who'd taken the order, her face saying, "Don't worry, he will be punished."
But Derek wasn't a worrier. The damn veggie wrap would be ready when it was ready; really he had no control over it. He was happy to smile, apologize for the delay (even though he'd only ordered it five minutes ago) and accept whatever jingling change the asshole decided to leave for a tip. Just as long as he went away in a timely manner.
The guy was just lucky that Derek wasn't one to spit in people's food. He was thinking of this while giving the old lady at table five extra whipped cream. She came in every other day for chocolate, occasionally cappuccino, and a brownie. And she tipped 25 percent. He winked at her and she winked back right before his cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
"'Scuse me, Mrs. Lieberman," Derek said. "Be right back with that brownie."
"I'll be here," she said.
He walked toward the prep area and flipped his phone open.
"Yeh-llo," he said.
"Is this Derek Venturi?" a female voice said.
"Yeah," he said. "Who's this?"
"I'm calling from Mercy Hospital, Mr. Venturi. I need to know if you are a relative of Elizabeth McDonald?" the voice said.
"Mr. Venturi?" the voice asked.
"My stepsister," he answered. He heard Pablo ring the bell and say that the asshole's veggie wrap was up.
"Mr. Venturi, we were unable to reach your parents, so we will need you to come to the emergency room so that we can release her to you."
"Sally!" Pablo yelled ringing the bell again for emphasis. "Veggie wrap and Portobello burger to table four!"
"That's Derek's—" Sally began as she walked over to the kitchen. She glanced at Derek and paused. Then she picked up his orders without another word.
"What happened?" Derek asked.
"We can explain better face to face, Mr. Venturi, but as I said, we can release her as soon as you can get here. And she asks that you bring a change of clothes, if possible."
"Um" Derek said. "A change of clothes?"
"Yes sir, a full change, and shoes."
"I'll be right there," Derek said. As the assistant manager on duty, he was supposed to be closing tonight, which meant that he was supposed to be there for a good hour and a half more, but that so clearly was not going to happen. He looked around the prep room, then back toward the kitchen.
"Do you need to go?" Sally asked.
Derek nodded.
"So go," Sally said. "I'll get Bobby to cover you."
He babbled some stuff about punching out and getting Mrs. Leiberman's brownie, but Sally gave him a light push toward the lockers in back.
"I got it," Sally said. "Just go."
He drove the few blocks to the empty house and ran directly upstairs, flicking on lights as he went. He tripped several times and knocked a few things over, but he didn't notice. The next day there would be a huge purple bruise on his right shin and he would wonder where it came from. He walked directly into Lizzie's closed door before he thought to use the knob.
He opened random drawers, pulling articles of clothing out. Casey really would've been better at this. He didn't know what to take. He pulled out some sweatpants, some sneakers, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, stuffing them into the first bag that his hand touched, a tote bag with the World Wildlife Federation logo on it. He headed out of her room, then he remembered that the nurse or whoever had told him to bring a full change of clothes.
Which might mean underwear.
Pulling out the top drawer of Lizzie's dresser felt like the single grossest invasion of privacy he could think of. He wasn't exactly a stranger to women's underwear, having seen Casey in it (and on a few memorable occasions, out of it) and he used to change Marti's diapers, but Lizzie's stuff felt like none of his business.
But if she needed it, he'd bring it.
He didn't let himself wonder why she'd need it, because if he had, he wouldn't have been able to drive. As it was, he cursed at every red light and every other car that had the misfortune to be on his road the whole way to the hospital. But he managed to get there in one piece.
He parked in the emergency lot and made a run for the entrance, bag in hand. He swished through the sliding doors and went for the receptionist's desk, and finding nobody behind the protective glass, he rang the bell.
"Lizzie McDonald," he said, as soon as the nurse appeared. She was about his mom's age, and looked completely calm. That alone made him want to scream at her.
Even though she clearly didn't know what to make of him. Get with the freakin program, lady, he thought.
"My stepsister," he clarified. "Was brought in here. I need to pick her up?"
"Okay," she said. "Okay. We spoke on the phone." She held up one finger and left her station.
He didn't wait to see where she was going. He swished through the next set of automatic doors, the ones marked "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT."
"Hey!" the nurse said.
She grabbed his arm just as he started to move a little faster. He shrugged it off, but it slowed him down enough for her to get his attention.
"I was coming to get you," she said. "Don't you think it would be easier if I took you to her?"
He stopped.
"That's better," she said. "Now, take a breath."
He rolled his eyes. This woman's one mission in life seemed to be to waste time.
"I mean it," she said.
"Can you just show me where my sister is?" he said. He didn't notice that he left the "step" part out. She didn't bring it up.
"Mr. Venturi," she began. Then she looked at the name tag that he still wore. "Derek. You have every right to be frantic right now. We both know this, okay? But you really need to calm down before you go see her."
"What happened to her?" Derek asked.
"Dr. Bilson was her physician," she said. "She will be able to answer whatever questions you have."
She led him down a corridor. "Jennifer," she called.
A middle aged brunette turned around.
"This is Lizzie McDonald's stepbrother," she said.
"Okay, great," Dr. Bilson said. She smiled at Derek. "Thank you, Mandy."
The nurse left them alone as Dr. Bilson led Derek to a cubicle.
"She's okay," the doctor began. "She has some scrapes, some bruises, possibly some muscle strain, that she'll feel in the morning. There was an altercation."
"You're telling me that she got into a fight?" Derek asked.
"In a manner of speaking," she said. "Your stepsister was attacked tonight."
She led him to a nearby chair before he had a chance to hit the floor.
"Attacked!" Derek said. "Define 'attacked.'"
"Mr. Venturi," she began. "Derek. Listen to me. She is shaken up—"
"Yeah, calm down," Derek said. "Everybody wants me to calm down. I get it."
For a second it seemed like he would.
He got up and kicked over a plastic trash bin.
Dr. Bilson bent down and righted the bin, adjusting the lid, and returning the styrofoam container that had fallen out like she did this every day.
"Okay?" she asked.
"No," he said, a little guiltily.
"A little less likely to climb the walls in her presence?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm sorry."
"It's plastic," she said.
She led him to an exam room and opened the door to reveal a large male cop who was busily scribbling in a note pad as a female one looked on. The woman had her hand on Lizzie's shoulder.
"What is this?" Derek asked.
"Derek—" Lizzie began.
"You're questioning her?" Derek squeaked. He moved toward her.
"Sir," the female cop said, holding him at arm's length and looking to the doctor for an explanation.
"He's the stepbrother," Dr. Bilson explained.
"We're taking your stepsister's statement," the male cop explained. "She's not under arrest."
"Jesus," Derek said. He crouched down on level with the bed and tried to hug her.
"Ow," Lizzie said. "Ow, ow, ow."
"Shit," Derek said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Won't happen again. Kick my ass later." He stood up and suddenly had no idea what to do with his hands. They went into his hair, then he tried stuffing them into pockets.
He crouched down again. "This just isn't your day, is it?" he asked. One of her eyes was swollen, that side of her face scraped. Her elbow and both knees had band-aids on them, and when he had stood over her, he caught a glimpse of her back, which was mostly purple.
Her mouth was a little swollen, but her lip was unsplit, and she managed to crack a smile.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"So they tell me," Derek said, smiling back a little.
"Jesus Christ, who did this to you?" he said after a minute.
"The alleged assailant is being processed as we speak," the male cop said. "From his hospital bed. See, Miss McDonald was able to effectively disable the perpetrator before any further injury could occur."
"Disable?" Derek asked.
"She tells us that she has a purple belt in Taekwondo." The female cop said.
"Yeah," Derek said.
His eyes widened as he put two and two together.
"You beat the crap out of the guy, didn't you?" Derek asked.
It was the wrong thing to say. Lizzie burst into tears.