CHAPTER 4: SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH JORGE
Sunday, February 8
2:34 pm
"Hey, Detective, you're not gonna tell on me, are ya?" Jorge teased Rey as he lit up a joint in a fairly secluded spot in Central Park. He'd found a patch of ground that wasn't covered in snow and now he lay back, resting on his elbows, relaxing in the last few hours before he caught his plane back to Tucson.
"I'm not a detective any more, and no, I'm not," Rey muttered, sitting down next to him and looking away, wishing he could tell his brother that what he really wanted to do was have some himself. He knew it would provide a break from the constant low-level anxiety he'd been feeling for so long, knew it would give him at least a few hours respite from gnawing nervousness. But he'd promised himself he wasn't going to, and he was keeping count of the days since the last time he'd had any - just like an alcoholic or a junkie. Great. Marijuana wasn't even supposed to be addictive, not physically, anyway, but he knew anything could become emotionally addictive if it filled a need.
And it would fill a need. What would be the harm? He was craving it so badly, could almost taste it, feel the burning in his lungs. Knew that if he had just one joint he'd feel the blunting of emotions, the pleasant relaxation, the relief of not having to keep a lid on things, not having to work so hard just to stay in control, which had been getting steadily worse this week after he'd gone back to work and then had lunch with Jamie and Jack. He'd feel that blurring of time, softening of the edges... he shook his head, clenched his hands together to stop himself from reaching out for it. Took a deep breath, away from the smoke, blew it out.
He'd feel all of that, all right, but he'd also feel ashamed and weak and disgusted with himself. And he'd had enough of those feelings for this lifetime, thank you very much. Anything he could do to avoid them was a good thing, even something as simple as resisting the pull of an easy high.
"Whatsammatter?" Jorge was asking, peering at him through the smoke.
"Nothing," Rey looked down and silently willed himself to not want this any more. Knowing he couldn't even tell Jorge what he was feeling, since Jorge would, after he got over his shock, insist he not be an idiot and have some if he wanted it so much, and he would give in.
Late Saturday November 21, or was that early morning, Sunday, November 22. That was the last time he'd had any, which would make it... 78 days. Not much to be proud of, but these days he had to take what he could get. And not screw it up.
Jorge blew out some more smoke, wishing he and Rey could talk to each other, understand each other, frustrated that they couldn't. His whole visit had consisted of a series of clashes as their completely different life views collided against each other. He'd decided to try to make peace with his brother one last time before leaving, but as per usual they were making no progress. He'd taken out one little joint and there was Rey, looking like if Jorge weren't family he'd be arrested on the spot. Jorge frowned in frustration, and reminded himself that he didn't have much time left to make amends before he left for Tucson again.
"Rey..." he extinguished the half-smoked joint and put it away. "Look, I'm sorry we've been... not getting along again." Rey regarded him seriously for a moment and nodded.
"Yeah, me too."
"Most of the stuff I say, it's because it bugs me to see you living your life the way you're living it, you know? I just want you to be happy. And you're not, man."
Rey looked away. "I'm not real happy because I was in prison, Jorge."
"Bullshit," Jorge said bluntly, forgetting that he was supposed to be trying to make peace. "Bullshit. You were only in for twelve days. You're not real happy because your life is a piece of crap and you act like you got no choice but to accept it." Jorge hesitated for a moment, then plunged on. "I mean, first of all, Deborah - for Chrissakes, what the hell are you still doing with her? I know she's your wife and all that, but this is no way to live. She's got a disease, so your life is over too? It doesn't make sense. I mean, Lisa told me she was at a nursing home for a while. Why didn't you just let her stay there?"
"I didn't want a divorce."
"This isn't a marriage, bro. This is you being some kinda nurse or something. If you wanted that, you woulda gone to nursing school. You're just so hung up on The Church saying if you say a coupla words when you're twenty-four you gotta live with them till the day you die-"
"It wasn't just words. I meant them. I still do."
"Plus she's got you - she's always had you running scared. Ever since that one time you fucked up and you were human. It was seven - almost eight years ago, Nalo. And she's never let you forget it."
"We got over that years ago," Rey said, thinking if only his brother knew...
"You're so afraid she's gonna take off on you that you do whatever the hell she says. You're a man, be a man. Don't put up with her shit, bro. You'll do anything she says, like she's your boss or something."
"Where do you get that from?"
"She wants you to move out after you had that fling, you move out. She wants to go to counseling with a priest, you go. She wants you to transfer outta Homicide, you transfer, she wants to have that kid, you let her. It's like you got this big tattoo saying 'Deborah's Property' on you."
"What?! You are so far outta touch... most of that wasn't just her, it was what we both wanted. And the rest... you really don't see any difference between loving somebody and making compromises for her, same as she does for me, and being her property?"
"No, I don't. You're hers, like she owns you or something. Even now that she should just be grateful you're sticking around at all. She still runs things."
"I know the difference between being property and being married," Rey said grimly, rubbing his arm where Gonzalez had sliced it open.
"It's just a matter of degree, the way I see it."
"Then you're an idiot."
"I'm an idiot? You're stuck with a cripple for a wife and a retarded daughter and living hand to mouth in a tiny little apartment and I'm an idiot? You're gonna spend the rest of your life taking care of them and die old before your time, and poor and tired, and I'm an idiot?" He shook his head in disbelief.
"You're... look at her. OK? Just for once, look at her. Don't look at her and think of what she used to be, see her the way she is now. She used to be a real looker, very pretty, an athlete and all that, and I could see why she had you by the balls back then. But now... I mean, she's in a wheelchair, Nalo. She can't walk, can't read, can't even feed herself, you have to feed her like she's a baby. And I did some reading up on MS and I'll bet you anything she can't even go to the washroom like a regular person, and I'll also bet you this month's rent that she can't have sex any more. Most MS patients don't even want to any more, right? What about her?"
"That's none of your business."
"Fine. That's all the answer I need. So you got a wife in a wheelchair that you gotta feed and change like a baby, you can't even have sex with her, and you're still hanging on to her. She's still got you by the balls." Jorge lay back on his elbows, looking away. "I mean, shit, man, it's... it's pathetic."
"Pathetic..." Rey repeated thoughtfully. He considered that for a moment, then abruptly came to a decision. "Lemme tell you about pathetic, Jorge." He took a deep breath and looked out over the Park. "You wanna know what happened the night Mama died?" He leaned back on his elbows next to his brother, gathered himself and when he started to speak, his tone was casual, like he was telling a story about something that happened to somebody else.
"All you know is I was out when she died, and that's why I was a suspect. You wanna know where I was?" He took a deep breath. "Lisa had Deborah and the girls, so I went out to this bar. I met this girl, and we danced together for a bit, had a beer, and then she gave me a blow job." Jorge's eyebrows shot straight up and he gaped at Rey in astonishment. Rey chuckled at his expression. "Yeah, right up at the bar, she was underneath the bar and I was leaning against it, and uh, yeah, she went down on me, right there. And then we had another dance, and then I went to her place and did her on her couch," he frowned and then corrected himself. "Oh, no, wait, first I went down on her, then I did her. No, I'm not kidding Jorge. I'm not making this up," he said, laughing at Jorge's disbelieving look.
"Then we had two or three joints and some more beer, and then apparently I did her again - or she did me, whatever. I'm saying apparently 'cause I don't actually remember this part, but I bet it was really something and we probably had a great time," he smiled ruefully. Jorge narrowed his eyes.
"You're shitting me. Gimme a break. You, smoking pot? Doing some chick on her couch? Right!" he said in disgust, sitting up. Rey dropped his casual tone and became deadly serious for a moment.
"Georgie, I'm seriously not making this up. Read the court transcript - or better yet, I have the Public Lewdness charge filed away, I'll show it to you." He chuckled again at Jorge's stunned look, and nodded, continuing cheerfully. "Yeah, honest to god, Public Lewdness, I do have a criminal record, for, let's see if I remember this right, uh..." he glanced up, trying to recall the exact wording, "'intentionally exposing the private or intimate parts of the body in a lewd manner and/or committing a lewd act in a public place,' yadda yadda yadda, Class B Misdemeanor. Max is $500 and 3 months, but I got away with just $300, a real bargain, 'cause nobody actually saw us. That's really something to show the grandkids, yeah?"
Jorge stared at him, disturbed. Rey sat up too, and continued, still in the same cheerful, casual tone.
"And the pot - no, not kidding about that either. You ever wanna get some in the city, I can hook you up. Rosita's is the best place I know, cheap, easy, good stuff too. Some nights you can just get high off the place itself, walk in, breathe deep, start flying. There's a guy in my building too, in #21, but his stuff's a little dry sometimes," he wrinkled his nose, dismissing his building's dealer. "Anyway, after that I left her place and walked it off, but I was so drunk and high I have no idea where I went. That's why I didn't have an alibi for three hours. That's why I was arrested."
"You're serious. That's what you did the night Mama died?" Jorge asked cautiously, still partly convinced this was a joke. Rey nodded. "Holy crap, Nalo," Jorge shook his head, bewildered. He slowly smiled, "Little brother, I had no idea you had it in you."
"Yeah, pretty good night, huh? Oh, and," he added, pointing at Jorge to emphasize his point, "And, the kicker of it was, I didn't even know her name. I knew it ended in 'ita', but I couldn't have told you for sure if it was Rita, or Anita, or hell, who knows, Frita or something. I had to describe her and point out her building to the cops later, otherwise I woulda had no alibi at all." Jorge laughed. Rey looked at him for a moment, then frowned and dropped the storytelling manner.
"Now that's pathetic," Jorge glanced at him, losing the smile. "That's a real human being, Jorge, somebody's daughter, and I used her like a piece of Kleenex," he said in self-disgust. "And she used me the same way, and I let her. I met her afterwards, at the trial as a matter of fact. She seemed like a nice person. But I didn't know a damn thing about her. I got off three times in one night with her, apparently, and if it hadn't been for the trial, I woulda forgotten her just like I forgot every other woman I was with for the last year or so. That's pathetic."
"What every other woman?" Jorge asked, confused.
"That's what I did almost every last Friday of the month."
"Naw, come on," Jorge protested.
"Yeah, Lisa would come down, take care of Deborah and the girls, and I'd go out and pick up. Usually I'd get really drunk or high, too. I failed a drug test at my precinct, coulda got fired for it. The only thing different about that night was our mother died, and the thing at the bar - I never did that before. Or since."
"Did Lisa know what you were doing?"
"Oh yeah, she knew. So did Deborah."
"What?!"
"I didn't know she did, but yeah, she knew. She didn't say anything. Figured it was only fair, since she couldn't."
"Deborah let you get away with that?!"
"Yeah, once a month, for over a year. Olivia even knew - she found some condoms in my wallet. Didn't say anything. Oh, I was just like Pop - new woman every month, wife and kid putting up and shutting up... he woulda been so proud," he said bitterly. "And it was pathetic," he said vehemently. "I didn't know anything about them, I didn't feel anything for them, and half the time I didn't even remember them the next day." He swallowed hard and looked down.
"It's not like that with Deborah. When I'm with her, I thank God for every moment we have, for everything we do together, and I don't forget. When it's over, and I go to sleep next to her, it's like nothing else. I feel peace. I'm happy with her." He paused for a moment, twisting his wedding ring thoughtfully, briefly thinking about how long it had been since he'd wanted to be with her that way. Well, maybe some day he'd want to, and at least in the meantime he was slowly getting used to touching her again. He looked back up at Jorge.
"You know, it doesn't matter that it's nothing the Playboy channel would wanna film. You see a cripple, you see half a woman - I don't see that, and it's not because I'm fooling myself. I see that she makes me a lot happier than a dozen other women who can still walk and have sex and do all kindsa things she can't. And I should know, 'cause I've been with enough of them. I see that we belong together. That's what you don't understand."
And how could he. Jorge didn't have anybody like that in his life. Rey realized that part of him actually felt sorry for his brother.
"I know you think my life's a piece of crap. And I'm not too thrilled with it a lot of the time either, 'cause it's not easy. But I'll take mine over yours any day, bro."
"You're serious."
"Yeah, I am. You're right. The best I can hope for is that I'll get to take care of my wife and daughter for the rest of my life and die poor and tired. I wish it didn't have to be that way, but I'll take that over losing either one of them."
Jorge was silent for a few minutes, trying to get his mind around all of this. "So... you really have a criminal record?" he asked slowly, feeling more and more like an idiot for having been so out of the loop. For over a year. Actually, now that he thought about it, probably for a lot longer.
"Yeah," Rey sighed. And what a damned humiliating charge. Really something to tell the grandkids about.
"And they still let you be a cop?"
"Well, it kinda pushed the envelope - that and the drug test, and... other stuff I've done. I'm so seriously on probation if I sneeze in the wrong direction I'm out with no pension, no nothing. But it's a misdemeanor, not a felony, and I'm just a desk cop now, so it's OK."
"Jesus. I never woulda thought you had it in you."
"Pretty impressive, yeah?"
"Jesus." Jorge shook his head in bewilderment, feeling like somebody who's been shown one of those reversible drawings. One minute it's a pair of faces, and the next it's a vase. And you don't know quite what happened. "So what happened? How come - how come you're not going out any more?"
"I was only going out because things were bad between me and Deborah. After I was arrested... we just, we worked things out. We're OK now."
"You really want to stay with her? With all of them?" Rey nodded. "Even though she's sick?"
"You don't stop loving your wife just because she gets sick, Jorge."
Jorge sat back, thinking about his sister-in-law, whom he'd always seen as a controlling bitch, dragging Rey down, ever since their separation seven years ago. For some reason, he actually wanted to be with her. Stayed with her, of his own free will. And not just because he didn't know any better - to hear him tell it, he'd seen what plenty of other women had to offer and didn't want it.
He looked at his brother, rethinking what he'd been observing in his tired eyes, his withdrawn manner, his brooding introspective look. The look of somebody who hasn't had enough sleep in a long time. If this wasn't about being stuck in an unhappy home situation... what was it about? Was it actually about prison? All his family would tell him was that Rey had been knifed, and he'd just assumed that it was something akin to a bar fight. But...
"What the hell happened in prison, bro?" he asked abruptly.
Rey shook his head.
"Lisa and Deborah won't say anything to me about it."
"That's because they don't really know anything."
"Why won't you tell them?" Silence. Jorge felt a prickle of apprehension. "The guy that cut you - did he hurt you? More than just cutting your arm?" Rey looked away. "Rey, what did he do that's so bad you don't wanna tell your wife?" Rey shook his head again. No. If he told, that would make it more real.
"Rey, it's me. You can tell me. I'm sorry, I've been an idiot, but you can tell me what happened. You could always talk to me when we were kids."
Rey bit his lip. "I had to jerk him off," he heard himself tell Jorge before he realized he was going to say anything.
Jorge drew in his breath sharply, then gripped his brother's arm compassionately. Rey sighed and put his head down and Jorge put his arm around Rey's shoulder, like he used to when they were little and Rey would tell him about getting in trouble at school. Rey rubbed his forehead, tired of avoiding the subject. 'Make it more real' - hell, it was real. Not talking about it hadn't made it go away.
"He... he came and sat down next to me. This guy, he'd... he'd tried to... tried to rape me the day before, knifed me... he was just sitting right next to me, in the common area, playing cards. And he said if I wanted to stay there and not be bothered for the rest of the day... I had to pay a toll. Jerk him off. Otherwise he'd... and I knew he could, I knew the guards wouldn't protect me... so I did. I tried to pretend I wasn't even there, it wasn't really happening... but it did."
"Jesus, Nalo."
"And, and then, the next day, he... he threatened that if I didn't lie down and let him do whatever he wanted - if, if I didn't do that voluntarily, him and three of his friends would - and, and that after they were all done with me he'd probably kill me - so I did. He didn't do much, 'cause after about a minute I kinda panicked and tried to get away and then they threw me on the floor and, and almost... but... but before that, I lay down on that bed and let him..." he shook his head, unable to continue.
They were silent for a moment while Jorge tried to work his mind around this too. God, and he'd joked about it. Tell me, bro, are all those prison horror stories true?
"He... he knew it would eat me up, the fact that I... that he didn't force me. I - I know I didn't really have a choice, he said he'd kill me otherwise. But..."
"How'd you get away from them?"
"I didn't. A guard showed up, thank God. Otherwise..."
"That's what you don't wanna tell your wife?" Rey was silent. "Why not?"
Rey withdrew a bit, sitting up and looking away. "I love her, man. I'm her husband, she's supposed to... she's not supposed to pity me. I don't want her to look at me and see... a victim." He swallowed, paused for a moment, "See a sexual assault victim," he finished, looking down, his voice low. Jorge winced at his younger brother's pain and squeezed Rey's shoulder comfortingly.
"Nalo..." Jorge waited until Rey met his eyes again. "That's stupid. That's not all you are, that's not all she'll see. I mean... you've - you've done stuff for her that's a lot more than most guys do for their wives."
"I know..."
"And you don't think less of her. You just got through telling me that you don't even see her as a cripple."
"No, I don't."
"So why are you afraid she'll think less of you? Why are you afraid she won't be able to see all of you instead of just one part?"
Rey was silent for a while. "Because I do," he admitted.
Jorge gazed at him with compassion. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Rey breathed out. "Ever since I was released... I've felt like there's almost nothing left of me except somebody who, who let himself get used. That's all I remember every night, that's what I keep being reminded of during the day... I don't want her to see that."
"That's your problem though. She won't see it that way," Jorge reassured Rey, realizing that in the last few minutes he'd had to rethink what he'd observed of Deborah's manner towards Rey as well. Not the controlling bitch she'd always seemed to him, but somebody who loved Rey and was worried about him. For good reason.
"I don't want... I don't want anybody to think about what happened to me. But... but I've got these cuts, and I keep having flashbacks... I worked so damn hard to get back to halfway normal after the arrest, and after six days in Sing Sing I'm right back to where I was, even worse."
"Why, how were you when you were arrested?"
"Depressed."
"Yeah, of course. What an awful thing to have happen right after Mama's death."
"No, I mean actually clinically depressed. Since before she died."
"What?"
"Yeah, the whole shebang, weight loss, difficulty sleeping, irritability, difficulty at work and personal relationships, on and on and on I fit just about every criteria in the DSMIV - I looked it up after I was diagnosed." Jorge gaped at him. "I thought you knew."
"Are you kidding? How would I know? Lisa never says anything bad about you. Neither did Mama. You're the golden boy, you can do no wrong. I'm the fuck-up in this family."
"Georgie, I don't mean to step on your toes but you're not the black sheep any more. I think I have a better claim now."
"Jesus Christ, Nalo." Jorge shook his head, heartsick. His little brother, whom he admired and resented because he'd always been so perfect. "Jesus. No wonder Lisa and Deborah are being so over-protective. Christ, I'm sorry. I've been such an asshole. I didn't know any of this." They were silent for a moment, and Jorge asked hesitantly, "Nalo... are you getting any help for this?"
Rey shrugged. "I've kinda been avoiding the whole topic."
"That's working wonders, I can tell," Jorge said acerbically. "What about that priest you and Deborah went to counseling with? He's still around, isn't he? You could talk to him, couldn't you?"
Rey shrugged again. No, Father Morelli wasn't still around, not really. He'd been away a hell of a lot, and when he wasn't away, things seemed changed. Rey had gone to confession a few times but Morelli seemed very hesitant around him, very unsure of himself. Neither one of them really seemed to know what to say to each other. And he didn't know what to do about it.
Even if he wanted to talk, there really wasn't anybody else to talk to. He hadn't had time to keep up friendships in the last few years. And the few friends he had left, he'd leaned on too much in the last few months. Especially Lennie. He'd actually been avoiding Lennie lately, he realized, not wanting to keep going to him with his problems. Not wanting to keep feeling so damn dependant.
"What about a shrink?"
Rey sighed. "I'm on a waiting list. I'll probably get to see somebody in a couple months."
"Months? Shit. That's victim's services for you, totally useless," Jorge said in disgust.
"No, it's through the NYPD."
"They don't have victim's services here? They do in Tucson."
"I haven't pressed charges."
"What?! Why the hell not?!"
"I wanna put it behind me, not dwell on it."
Jorge stared at him. "Rey. You have to. Come on, hermanito, you gotta do this. You can't let somebody get away with doing that to you. You can't." Rey looked at him uncertainly. "It's one thing to not wanna talk about it. But... not even pressing charges? Just letting it all get swept under the rug? Come on. That's not you. I don't care what you've gone through, how much you've changed, that's not you. You know better."
===
Tuesday, February 10
6:45 pm
"The doctor who was on that night was willing to talk to us," said Jack. "So was the nurse. And an orderly named Mark Stephens." Rey had finally told him that he might be willing to give a statement, but he wanted to know what other evidence they had first. It skirted the line of proper protocol to let a witness know this much detail on the State's evidence, but considering how skittish Rey was about making a statement at all, Jack was willing to overlook the slight impropriety.
"Mark? That's his first name?"
"Do you know him?" Jamie asked.
"Yeah. I worked with him a couple shifts."
"The rest of the staff was less than eager. They've been rather evasive. But I did get your medical records," Jack took out a file.
Rey picked up the file slowly and opened it up. He was quite familiar with medical reports from his work in Homicide. Only difference here was that the name up top was his.
No problem. He didn't really remember much, so it shouldn't be that bad to read through. He started to read. First admission, Saturday, December 27, 2003.
He read for a few minutes. No surprises. Twelve stitches, left forearm, patient sedated during stitching... OK. That wasn't so bad.
He moved to the next reports, the ones on his admission after he cut. Patient brought in with severe bleeding from both wrists, agitated - he snorted at that, he hadn't been 'agitated', from what little he remembered he'd been completely freaked out, fighting to get away and yelling at them to let him go, totally panicked. He'd heard quite a few curses from the guards and nurses who'd been trying to get him into the restraints. 'Had to be restrained and sedated'... yeah, no kidding.
He read for a few more minutes, then looked up in slight surprise. "They took blood samples?"
Jamie nodded. "They were checking you for drug use."
"Yeah, yeah, I see that. I just - I didn't know they did that."
"They did it after you were out. It's standard when somebody cuts," Jack informed him.
Rey nodded. That made sense. He looked closer. "There's an HIV test here too. And Hep."
"Standard with any blood test done on an inmate."
He supposed so. A little disturbing, but it did make sense. He read on. "They recorded the injuries. I didn't think they'd bother." Arms: cuts, abrasions on hands and elbows, torn fingernail on index finger of left hand; face: bruising, cut lip, swab from the inside of his mouth-
"Oh my god," he swallowed convulsively as he abruptly realized what that meant. He quickly flipped through the folder. "This - this is a rape kit." Fingernail scrapings... physical exam... "Only thing they didn't do was the pictures."
"Apparently that's standard too. They check for evidence of drug use and sexual assault," Jamie replied calmly. Jack glanced at her, then back at Rey's ashen face, concerned. Rey hadn't known a rape kit had been run on him?
"While - while I was unconscious?"
"They couldn't wait until you regained consciousness. Any evidence might have been gone by then."
"I - I didn't consent to that. I wouldn't have." He set the file down, feeling sick. He'd been unconscious while people were doing things to him that he wouldn't have allowed if he'd been awake. Medical rape.
"Rey?" Jack's voice was worried.
"I - I didn't know they did that." Rey swallowed a few more times, forcing down his emotions and looking at this logically, like a law enforcement officer. Nobody had done anything wrong. Not in the infirmary, anyway. Whatever they did, it was for a good reason. It was OK. He wasn't conscious throughout it and he had no memory of it. Something tugged at the back of his mind, but he firmly pushed it away and looked back at the file, quickly scanning that section of the report, ignoring his irrational outrage and sense of violation. No evidence of sexual trauma, no traces of semen, OK, he flipped back to the external, found his place where he'd stopped reading to flip through the contents of the folder. Bruises found on more detailed physical examination after they removed his uniform-
"Hang on," he frowned and re-read something.
"What?"
"'Bite mark, right side of the neck near the juncture of the shoulder, not through the skin-'" Rey read out loud, then broke off, "They musta confused me with another patient."
"What?"
"I wasn't bitten."
"They recorded a bite mark on your neck," Jamie said.
"They confused me with somebody else. Another guy came in while I was there, a blond guy - they must've gotten us confused."
"I don't think so."
"On my neck? I woulda seen it in the mirror, wouldn't I?"
"Not unless you were looking."
"Look, the, the pictures your guy took - there wasn't a bite mark, was there?"
"The bruises were a little faded. There was one on the side of your neck, but it was hard to tell what it looked like when it was new."
"I wasn't bitten," he insisted, not knowing why it made a difference.
"Are you sure?" Jack looked at the report.
"Jack, I think I'd remember if somebody bit me."
"The state you were in? You might not."
He touched the side of his neck thoughtfully. No, if it had happened, it would have happened earlier in the day, before he cut and was in a 'state' for a couple days. It would have been when Rico and his buddies - suddenly he felt the blood drain from his face.
"What?" Jack asked. Rey looked like he was going to lose his lunch.
"Yeah, I was," he said slowly. "I just forgot."
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah. Fine. No. I think... I'm gonna be sick." He was staring at the table in front of him with unseeing eyes, and Jack felt a growing sense of alarm.
Rey put down the file and stood up unsteadily. "Um, I'll be back - no, don't, don't come with me, I just - I need to get some air." He left quickly, leaving Jack and Jamie looking at each other in concern.
He walked off the nausea, feeling hollow. Sounds were muffled and the hallway seemed very long. He remembered lying on his cellmate's bunk bed for about a minute while Rico groped him, before he snapped and pushed him off. He'd completely forgotten that at one point Rico had bitten his neck, hard enough to bruise. He'd been trying so hard to not think about or react to what was going on, and in so much pain from his cut forearm and damaged ribs and Rico pawing at him with no regard for his injuries, that the bite had barely registered. And later, he could vaguely remember a sore spot on his neck, but with the pain of the ribs and the restraints and the cuts, it hadn't made much of an impression. He'd completely buried it.
He'd been bitten. The sick son of a bitch bit him. And he was so traumatized that he'd forgotten it completely. He made himself go back to the room where Jamie and Jack were waiting for him.
"Um, I'm sorry, I have to get the hell outta here."
"Are you going to be all right?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, yeah, fine. We'll finish this some other time, OK?"
"OK."
"Um... is there anything else in there I should know?"
"I don't know. I don't know how much you remember."
"Just give me the highlights."
"Uh... you asked for your wife a lot. Seemed to be in and out of consciousness and having nightmares. You became agitated when touched. They kept you in restraints because you kept pulling out the IV. They stopped giving you painkillers and sedatives the second day you were in, but you requested them many times. There seems to have been some discussion between the doctor and nurse about whether you needed them or not."
"That's it?" Jack nodded. "OK. Uh, can I take the file with me?"
"Of course."
"It's not the only copy, is it?"
"No."
No point in burning it, then, Rey thought.