Lullabies and Nightmares
Part Five
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She scrubbed hard. Twenty times over every inch of her dirty filthy skin. The blood was gone, but the bleeding continued; evident only by the faded red puddle near the shower drain below her legs. The cheap washcloth, compliments of the cheap motel, was now ragged and stained red. A few spots were wearing thin and holes were beginning to appear. But Rachel didn't care. She just had to keep scrubbing. She just had to get rid of the filth.
The worst part was that she could barely remember it happening at all. Or maybe that was for the better.
She'd been too stoned to care what was going on. The loud sounds, voices, rough touches, all played a backdrop to her world of hazy spinning walls and pleasant euphoria. But the experience had been anything but pleasant.
Rachel had woken up with the sun in her eyes and somebody knocking hard at the door. At first she could barely tell what was real and what was part of the drug-induced fantasy in her head. Then the voice became familiar. It was her landlord.
"Open up! I know you're in there. If you don't get out here and pay your bill I'm calling the cops!"
She touched her aching head with her hand and moaned. Slowly reality sank in. In the real world bills needed to be paid, laws obeyed...and dealers appeased. In the real world pain and loss existed. She was back in the real world again, and the pain was sorely evident.
She slowly stood, with the help of the bed, and felt her way along the wall towards the door.
"I'm coming!" She yelled, but she found that her voice was only a squeaky whisper. She took her free hand from her head and covered her mouth with it. Her eyes widened in shock. What was wrong with her? Where was this pain coming from? She needed a hit, bad.
After much effort, she made her way to the door. She leaned against the wall for support and slowly unleashed the chain from the lock attached to the wall. She turned the dead bolt and pulled the door open. Outside stood the tall husky man with red angry cheeks and muscles. He was in his sixties, but old age had not treated him well.
"What the hell happened to you?" He said, eyes wide. Rachel just looked back and forth and wondered at his surprise. "You'd better not be getting blood all over my carpeting!"
Blood? What blood?
She looked down and noticed for the first time, that her clothes were torn apart. Her shirt was hanging loosely off her shoulders and her bra was plainly showing. She was no wearing pants, only the long shirt she wore covered her lower regions.
And there was blood. Lots of it. Her white shirt was covered in it and there were large streams running down her bare legs to her feet.
Mesmerized by the blood, she reached down and touched the stream with her fingertips. She brought it back up and watched as it slid down her finger. It was still very warm. Then she noticed something else mixed with the blood.
"Hey kid, you want me to call the cops or somethin'?" The old man asked her. Suddenly his eyes were less angry, and he seemed to show a small amount of sympathetic compassion.
"W...what?" She raised he head suddenly and coiled at the pain. "No, no I'm fine." She pushed herself to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a credit card. She limped back to the doorway and thrust the card at his face. "Here. Take whatever you need. Just don't tell anybody about this."
She slammed the door in his face and leaned against it. Slowly, she slid down to the floor and winced painfully as she reached the ground. Even the slight pressure of carpet sent crippling sensations up her body. But she didn't cry. Rachel hadn't cried since the day her father had died. She vowed never to cry again.
But it hurt so bad. She felt so dirty.
'That's it. I'll clean myself up. Then it'll be better. I'll be fine.' She crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom, leaving a vast blood trail behind her. She reached up to start the shower and crawled inside. She sat on the floor and let the icy water run over her. Slowly the blood and filth washed off, but the pain was still there.
So she picked up the washcloth and scrubbed.
Two hours later found Rachel lying in a fetal position on the sand paper comforter. In one hand was a straw, which she'd used to snort cocaine just moments before. In the other hand was a handful of pearls, which she'd picked one by one off the bloody floor. The string that once held them had disappeared. She also clutched a tattered piece of paper with a phone number and a name: John Carter.
This was how the police found her three hours later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carter watched as the teenage boy was taken away by the police. A drug dealer and a gang banger, the boy had been shot in the arm. They'd fixed him up quickly enough and shipped him off to the local jail. Now all that was left was a dead toddler, shot with a stray bullet, and his injured but much alive father. The father had been the target.
So it goes.
He was just about to find Susan and suggest some Doc Magoo's for lunch, when Chuny tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey Carter. There's a police officer who wants to talk to you." She gestured to a rather large man wearing a police uniform, who at the moment was hitting on a young patient.
"Knew I shouldn't have stolen that cable." John joked and half smiled. Chuny grinned.
"He didn't say what it was about, but I think its more serious then faulty wiring." Carter frowned. He had a bad feeling about this. One person came to mind, but it couldn't be. Then he stopped himself. Of course it could be. Rachel was on drugs, anything could happen when you were on drugs. He of all people knew that. He braced himself and strode towards the cop.
He cleared his throat as he approached and the man smiled at the patient one last time before meeting him half way.
"Dr. John Carter?" He asked. His voice was thick and accented.
"That's what the ID says." He pointed to his name tag. "What's this about?"
The man looked perturbed, and casually glanced around the room. Patients and doctors hustled about, but it was just a normal day at County General.
"Perhaps maybe we could discuss this in a more private setting?" He gestured around them. Carter shrugged.
"Sure. I was just about to go across the street to get some lunch. You can join me. They have great coffee." He said casually. It was safer this way, for now. Just until he knew what this was really all about.
They reached Doc Magoo's and Carter ordered his usual black coffee and egg's benedict. The police officer just had coffee, black.
After their drinks were poured, Carter spoke. "I didn't catch your name."
"I'm sorry, I'm officer Andy Wilkins with the Chicago Police Department. We've been looking for you all morning Dr. Carter."
"Is that so? What's this about?" He questioned. He set his hands in front of him and listened intently. The officer cleared his throat.
"This morning our department got called to a local motel by the manager. He had a young girl there who appeared to be beaten very badly." Carter held his breath. He knew what was next. "When we arrived on the scene the girl had ingested a fair amount of cocaine and was bleeding very badly. Next to her we found a scrap of paper with your name and number written on it."
Carter licked his lips and nodded. "How is she?"
"We transported her to Mercy Hospital. She's being treated there, however we don't have any ID on her."
Just then the waiter came by with the plate of food and the silence was deafening. Finally, Carter spoke up.
"What were her injuries?"
"Well that information is confidential unless you can tell us..." He began, but Carter interrupted.
"Rachel. Her name is Rachel Greene. What were her injuries?"
"I see...and how do you know this girl?" The officer replied. Carter became irritated and pulled out his wallet. He set a twenty dollar bill down on the table and started for the door. "Dr. Carter?" The officer chased after him.
"If you have any questions I suggest you get in your car and follow me to Mercy Hospital."
TBC
Part Five
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She scrubbed hard. Twenty times over every inch of her dirty filthy skin. The blood was gone, but the bleeding continued; evident only by the faded red puddle near the shower drain below her legs. The cheap washcloth, compliments of the cheap motel, was now ragged and stained red. A few spots were wearing thin and holes were beginning to appear. But Rachel didn't care. She just had to keep scrubbing. She just had to get rid of the filth.
The worst part was that she could barely remember it happening at all. Or maybe that was for the better.
She'd been too stoned to care what was going on. The loud sounds, voices, rough touches, all played a backdrop to her world of hazy spinning walls and pleasant euphoria. But the experience had been anything but pleasant.
Rachel had woken up with the sun in her eyes and somebody knocking hard at the door. At first she could barely tell what was real and what was part of the drug-induced fantasy in her head. Then the voice became familiar. It was her landlord.
"Open up! I know you're in there. If you don't get out here and pay your bill I'm calling the cops!"
She touched her aching head with her hand and moaned. Slowly reality sank in. In the real world bills needed to be paid, laws obeyed...and dealers appeased. In the real world pain and loss existed. She was back in the real world again, and the pain was sorely evident.
She slowly stood, with the help of the bed, and felt her way along the wall towards the door.
"I'm coming!" She yelled, but she found that her voice was only a squeaky whisper. She took her free hand from her head and covered her mouth with it. Her eyes widened in shock. What was wrong with her? Where was this pain coming from? She needed a hit, bad.
After much effort, she made her way to the door. She leaned against the wall for support and slowly unleashed the chain from the lock attached to the wall. She turned the dead bolt and pulled the door open. Outside stood the tall husky man with red angry cheeks and muscles. He was in his sixties, but old age had not treated him well.
"What the hell happened to you?" He said, eyes wide. Rachel just looked back and forth and wondered at his surprise. "You'd better not be getting blood all over my carpeting!"
Blood? What blood?
She looked down and noticed for the first time, that her clothes were torn apart. Her shirt was hanging loosely off her shoulders and her bra was plainly showing. She was no wearing pants, only the long shirt she wore covered her lower regions.
And there was blood. Lots of it. Her white shirt was covered in it and there were large streams running down her bare legs to her feet.
Mesmerized by the blood, she reached down and touched the stream with her fingertips. She brought it back up and watched as it slid down her finger. It was still very warm. Then she noticed something else mixed with the blood.
"Hey kid, you want me to call the cops or somethin'?" The old man asked her. Suddenly his eyes were less angry, and he seemed to show a small amount of sympathetic compassion.
"W...what?" She raised he head suddenly and coiled at the pain. "No, no I'm fine." She pushed herself to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a credit card. She limped back to the doorway and thrust the card at his face. "Here. Take whatever you need. Just don't tell anybody about this."
She slammed the door in his face and leaned against it. Slowly, she slid down to the floor and winced painfully as she reached the ground. Even the slight pressure of carpet sent crippling sensations up her body. But she didn't cry. Rachel hadn't cried since the day her father had died. She vowed never to cry again.
But it hurt so bad. She felt so dirty.
'That's it. I'll clean myself up. Then it'll be better. I'll be fine.' She crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom, leaving a vast blood trail behind her. She reached up to start the shower and crawled inside. She sat on the floor and let the icy water run over her. Slowly the blood and filth washed off, but the pain was still there.
So she picked up the washcloth and scrubbed.
Two hours later found Rachel lying in a fetal position on the sand paper comforter. In one hand was a straw, which she'd used to snort cocaine just moments before. In the other hand was a handful of pearls, which she'd picked one by one off the bloody floor. The string that once held them had disappeared. She also clutched a tattered piece of paper with a phone number and a name: John Carter.
This was how the police found her three hours later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carter watched as the teenage boy was taken away by the police. A drug dealer and a gang banger, the boy had been shot in the arm. They'd fixed him up quickly enough and shipped him off to the local jail. Now all that was left was a dead toddler, shot with a stray bullet, and his injured but much alive father. The father had been the target.
So it goes.
He was just about to find Susan and suggest some Doc Magoo's for lunch, when Chuny tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey Carter. There's a police officer who wants to talk to you." She gestured to a rather large man wearing a police uniform, who at the moment was hitting on a young patient.
"Knew I shouldn't have stolen that cable." John joked and half smiled. Chuny grinned.
"He didn't say what it was about, but I think its more serious then faulty wiring." Carter frowned. He had a bad feeling about this. One person came to mind, but it couldn't be. Then he stopped himself. Of course it could be. Rachel was on drugs, anything could happen when you were on drugs. He of all people knew that. He braced himself and strode towards the cop.
He cleared his throat as he approached and the man smiled at the patient one last time before meeting him half way.
"Dr. John Carter?" He asked. His voice was thick and accented.
"That's what the ID says." He pointed to his name tag. "What's this about?"
The man looked perturbed, and casually glanced around the room. Patients and doctors hustled about, but it was just a normal day at County General.
"Perhaps maybe we could discuss this in a more private setting?" He gestured around them. Carter shrugged.
"Sure. I was just about to go across the street to get some lunch. You can join me. They have great coffee." He said casually. It was safer this way, for now. Just until he knew what this was really all about.
They reached Doc Magoo's and Carter ordered his usual black coffee and egg's benedict. The police officer just had coffee, black.
After their drinks were poured, Carter spoke. "I didn't catch your name."
"I'm sorry, I'm officer Andy Wilkins with the Chicago Police Department. We've been looking for you all morning Dr. Carter."
"Is that so? What's this about?" He questioned. He set his hands in front of him and listened intently. The officer cleared his throat.
"This morning our department got called to a local motel by the manager. He had a young girl there who appeared to be beaten very badly." Carter held his breath. He knew what was next. "When we arrived on the scene the girl had ingested a fair amount of cocaine and was bleeding very badly. Next to her we found a scrap of paper with your name and number written on it."
Carter licked his lips and nodded. "How is she?"
"We transported her to Mercy Hospital. She's being treated there, however we don't have any ID on her."
Just then the waiter came by with the plate of food and the silence was deafening. Finally, Carter spoke up.
"What were her injuries?"
"Well that information is confidential unless you can tell us..." He began, but Carter interrupted.
"Rachel. Her name is Rachel Greene. What were her injuries?"
"I see...and how do you know this girl?" The officer replied. Carter became irritated and pulled out his wallet. He set a twenty dollar bill down on the table and started for the door. "Dr. Carter?" The officer chased after him.
"If you have any questions I suggest you get in your car and follow me to Mercy Hospital."
TBC