A/N: Thanks to Star Elf and the anonymous reviewer. I appreciate your
reviews!
Ch. 3: Trouble
Renée's attendance was pretty good from then on. She might miss a day here or there, but she visited most afternoons. One Saturday morning a couple weeks after she'd started coming, Renée showed up at my room. I was still in bed, since no one had come in yet to get me up, even though it was 10:30. The girl had obviously been beaten.
"Come sit down, Renée. Did he do this?" She nodded her head yes, and I muttered something not entirely polite in Sindarin.
"What language was that?"
"What?"
"I need a distraction. What was that language? I don't recognize it?"
"It's called Sindarin. No one speaks it here except me."
"How'd you learn it?"
"My…my friend taught me. It really is a beautiful language, but there are no people anywhere in this world that speak it."
"Then how did he learn it?"
I hesitated a long moment before speaking. Eventually, I decided to tell her the truth. "This will sound ridiculous to you, but the universe is not limited to this world."
"I'm not stupid. I know about space and galaxies and stuff."
"That's not what I mean. There are other realms, other planes of existence, that you can't reach by travelling, no matter how far you go."
"And yet you're telling me you've been there, even though you can't get there." She was sharp. I had to give her that.
"It's something like that."
"I think I need another drink. At this point, even Joe makes more sense, and he…he…" She choked up and trailed off.
"Did he hurt you? Force you?"
She nodded weakly before dissolving in tears again. I wished so much I could move so I could hold her as she cried. Once the tears subsided, I started quietly telling her tales of Middle Earth. She listened quietly, the stories a distraction, something to get her mind off the night before. Eventually, she seemed composed enough, and I brought it up again. "Renée, have you gone to the police? Have you told anyone except me?"
"No. They wouldn't do anything. They'd just say I brought it on myself. My stepmom's boyfriend beats her, and she thinks she deserves it, and she'll say I deserved what I got, too."
"Do you have a father?"
"He disappeared a long time ago. He left me with his girlfriend. I call her my stepmother because she's all I've got. My dad doesn't want anything to do with me. I just wish I could start over."
My heart broke to see her in such pain, but there was little I could do. Most likely, the police wouldn't believe her, and by the sound of it, she'd get no help from what little family she had.
There was a knock on the door. Peter, one of the nurses, was there. He's a slender, blond guy, but stronger than anyone would have guessed. Like me, he didn't really show his age. He could have been anywhere between 20 and 40, but I knew this wasn't his first job since finishing nursing school, so he couldn't be too young. "I'm sorry, you've got company. I'll come back later."
"No, that's OK, Pete. Come on in. No one has come in yet to get me up. Would you mind lifting me into my chair?"
"Sure." He picked me up and set me gently in the chair. He glanced over at Renée. "Are you all right, miss?"
"I'm fine." Renée was sullen again.
This wasn't going to work, so I stepped in. "Pete, Renée was in a bit of an accident. Would you have time to help her clean up a few of those cuts?" Peter was probably the only one around here I'd ask something like that. He'd been at the home for about five years now, usually working overnight. He actually cared about the patients and he was willing to go the extra mile for us.
"Sure. I'm off in about half an hour. I'll come back then. Do you want me to send someone in to get you dressed?"
"Yeah, why don't you. They tend to forget I'm here if no one reminds them."
A few minutes later I was dressed and back in my chair. The girl who had come in to dress me had been less than happy about the task. Renée had left the room while she was dressing me, but came back in after she left.
"Do they ever brush your hair?"
"Only very occasionally, and I practically have to beg. They keep trying to make me cut it, but I like it long. They figure since I refuse to cut it, they don't have to deal with it."
"Let me." She picked up the brush on the sink and gently brushed out my hair. It felt so good to have it brushed. It is naturally wavy, and it tangles easily if it isn't brushed. I'd had it washed the night before last, so it was actually pretty clean, too.
When she finished, Renée stepped back, amazed. "Wow. You look…amazing."
I laughed. "It helps when someone actually helps with my hair. I turned my wheelchair so I could see the mirror. The effect really was amazing. It brought up a lot of memories, and I choked up a little for a moment.
Pete came back just then with some antiseptic and bandages. I was glad for the distraction. He closed the door behind him. "The office gets a little cranky if they see me using this stuff for non-patients. It hardly gets used at all, anyway. More stuff expires around here than actually gets used." He got Renée to sit down and started gently cleaning her cuts. There wasn't much to do about the bruises. After a few minutes, he spoke, very quiet. "Whoever did this to you should be shot."
Renée looked up sharply, but Pete wasn't put off. He sighed deeply before speaking. "I worked in an Emergency Room for 5 years. I know the scenario. Don't worry. I won't say anything. I wouldn't even if it wasn't unethical."
Pete finished cleaning her up, then said, "If you don't feel well in the next few days or anything strange happens, go to the doctor. If you can't afford it, have Jenny get in touch with me and I'll arrange something. Take care, kid. If there's anything I can do, let me know." She nodded, and he slipped out of the room.
Renée stayed a little while longer. We made small talk, switching between English, Spanish, and French without much difficulty. I even taught her a few phrases in Sindarin. She left a little after noon, and I didn't see her again until Monday. Sunday, Pete came in just to chat with me. The incident with Renée really had him thinking. "Jenny, I've seen it so many times. I worked in an ER for years, and I've seen it many times before. I don't know what it is about her—she just seems so vulnerable. I've seen the two of you together, and she puts up such a front, but she's really hurting. I want to do something, but there's no way she would trust me." His perceptiveness amazed me, but Pete was quickly losing any professional detachment he'd had.
"Pete, be careful. She's taken a huge step trusting me as far as she does. I don't think she'll open up to anyone else right now." That surprised him. I don't think he realized quite how involved he was.
Renée and I fell back into our routine for the rest of the week. We didn't bring up what had happened to her, or Middle Earth, except when she asked me to teach her a little more Sindarin, which I gladly did. She often stayed until almost 5:00. She didn't say anything, but she clearly didn't want to go home.
Ch. 3: Trouble
Renée's attendance was pretty good from then on. She might miss a day here or there, but she visited most afternoons. One Saturday morning a couple weeks after she'd started coming, Renée showed up at my room. I was still in bed, since no one had come in yet to get me up, even though it was 10:30. The girl had obviously been beaten.
"Come sit down, Renée. Did he do this?" She nodded her head yes, and I muttered something not entirely polite in Sindarin.
"What language was that?"
"What?"
"I need a distraction. What was that language? I don't recognize it?"
"It's called Sindarin. No one speaks it here except me."
"How'd you learn it?"
"My…my friend taught me. It really is a beautiful language, but there are no people anywhere in this world that speak it."
"Then how did he learn it?"
I hesitated a long moment before speaking. Eventually, I decided to tell her the truth. "This will sound ridiculous to you, but the universe is not limited to this world."
"I'm not stupid. I know about space and galaxies and stuff."
"That's not what I mean. There are other realms, other planes of existence, that you can't reach by travelling, no matter how far you go."
"And yet you're telling me you've been there, even though you can't get there." She was sharp. I had to give her that.
"It's something like that."
"I think I need another drink. At this point, even Joe makes more sense, and he…he…" She choked up and trailed off.
"Did he hurt you? Force you?"
She nodded weakly before dissolving in tears again. I wished so much I could move so I could hold her as she cried. Once the tears subsided, I started quietly telling her tales of Middle Earth. She listened quietly, the stories a distraction, something to get her mind off the night before. Eventually, she seemed composed enough, and I brought it up again. "Renée, have you gone to the police? Have you told anyone except me?"
"No. They wouldn't do anything. They'd just say I brought it on myself. My stepmom's boyfriend beats her, and she thinks she deserves it, and she'll say I deserved what I got, too."
"Do you have a father?"
"He disappeared a long time ago. He left me with his girlfriend. I call her my stepmother because she's all I've got. My dad doesn't want anything to do with me. I just wish I could start over."
My heart broke to see her in such pain, but there was little I could do. Most likely, the police wouldn't believe her, and by the sound of it, she'd get no help from what little family she had.
There was a knock on the door. Peter, one of the nurses, was there. He's a slender, blond guy, but stronger than anyone would have guessed. Like me, he didn't really show his age. He could have been anywhere between 20 and 40, but I knew this wasn't his first job since finishing nursing school, so he couldn't be too young. "I'm sorry, you've got company. I'll come back later."
"No, that's OK, Pete. Come on in. No one has come in yet to get me up. Would you mind lifting me into my chair?"
"Sure." He picked me up and set me gently in the chair. He glanced over at Renée. "Are you all right, miss?"
"I'm fine." Renée was sullen again.
This wasn't going to work, so I stepped in. "Pete, Renée was in a bit of an accident. Would you have time to help her clean up a few of those cuts?" Peter was probably the only one around here I'd ask something like that. He'd been at the home for about five years now, usually working overnight. He actually cared about the patients and he was willing to go the extra mile for us.
"Sure. I'm off in about half an hour. I'll come back then. Do you want me to send someone in to get you dressed?"
"Yeah, why don't you. They tend to forget I'm here if no one reminds them."
A few minutes later I was dressed and back in my chair. The girl who had come in to dress me had been less than happy about the task. Renée had left the room while she was dressing me, but came back in after she left.
"Do they ever brush your hair?"
"Only very occasionally, and I practically have to beg. They keep trying to make me cut it, but I like it long. They figure since I refuse to cut it, they don't have to deal with it."
"Let me." She picked up the brush on the sink and gently brushed out my hair. It felt so good to have it brushed. It is naturally wavy, and it tangles easily if it isn't brushed. I'd had it washed the night before last, so it was actually pretty clean, too.
When she finished, Renée stepped back, amazed. "Wow. You look…amazing."
I laughed. "It helps when someone actually helps with my hair. I turned my wheelchair so I could see the mirror. The effect really was amazing. It brought up a lot of memories, and I choked up a little for a moment.
Pete came back just then with some antiseptic and bandages. I was glad for the distraction. He closed the door behind him. "The office gets a little cranky if they see me using this stuff for non-patients. It hardly gets used at all, anyway. More stuff expires around here than actually gets used." He got Renée to sit down and started gently cleaning her cuts. There wasn't much to do about the bruises. After a few minutes, he spoke, very quiet. "Whoever did this to you should be shot."
Renée looked up sharply, but Pete wasn't put off. He sighed deeply before speaking. "I worked in an Emergency Room for 5 years. I know the scenario. Don't worry. I won't say anything. I wouldn't even if it wasn't unethical."
Pete finished cleaning her up, then said, "If you don't feel well in the next few days or anything strange happens, go to the doctor. If you can't afford it, have Jenny get in touch with me and I'll arrange something. Take care, kid. If there's anything I can do, let me know." She nodded, and he slipped out of the room.
Renée stayed a little while longer. We made small talk, switching between English, Spanish, and French without much difficulty. I even taught her a few phrases in Sindarin. She left a little after noon, and I didn't see her again until Monday. Sunday, Pete came in just to chat with me. The incident with Renée really had him thinking. "Jenny, I've seen it so many times. I worked in an ER for years, and I've seen it many times before. I don't know what it is about her—she just seems so vulnerable. I've seen the two of you together, and she puts up such a front, but she's really hurting. I want to do something, but there's no way she would trust me." His perceptiveness amazed me, but Pete was quickly losing any professional detachment he'd had.
"Pete, be careful. She's taken a huge step trusting me as far as she does. I don't think she'll open up to anyone else right now." That surprised him. I don't think he realized quite how involved he was.
Renée and I fell back into our routine for the rest of the week. We didn't bring up what had happened to her, or Middle Earth, except when she asked me to teach her a little more Sindarin, which I gladly did. She often stayed until almost 5:00. She didn't say anything, but she clearly didn't want to go home.