Chapter 6
"Butterflies Are Free"
*************
"You look great," Carter said, his reflection appearing behind Abby in the full-length mirror and making her jump.
"I look like Two-Face." Abby twisted her head from side to side, scrunching up her nose at the side of her face where the bruise had faded into an oh- so-lovely shade of greenish-purple. Gurple.
"Who?"
"Two-Face. You know?" She turned to Carter. "From that one Batman movie. Tommy Lee Jones? One half of his face is fine, the other half is all-"
He was looking at her like she was nuts.
Abby rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever watch movies?"
"Not the ones that are meant for twelve year olds."
"Batman's a classic, it transcends age."
Carter grinned. "You're full of it." He tilted her chin up with his finger, studying her face. "And you are *way* hotter than Tommy Lee Jones."
Despite the light, teasing mood, Abby noticed something serious in Carter's eyes. She caught herself returning the gaze and quickly tried to continue in the safety of Batman. "Well, thank God for tha..." The sentence faded as Carter lowered his face slowly towards hers. She scarcely breathed as their lips brushed lightly against each other.
The urge to kiss her had hit Carter suddenly and he gave into it before he could stop himself. When she didn't object, he slipped his hand behind her head, his fingers mingling with strands of her dark brown hair. Instead of a passionate pressing together of mouths, it was a tender, caressing first kiss. And it was cut short when Abby eased away.
She lowered her eyes from Carter's questioning gaze. "We should leave for work."
Carter attempted to hide his disappointment. He didn't take the rejection personally. He was, after all, overstepping some boundaries. Abby had been through emotional - and physical - hell the past week and a half, the last thing she needed was him romancing her. And there was Susan.
He stepped back guiltily. "Sure you're ready to go back?" he questioned, moving on and hoping Abby wouldn't avoid him because of what had just happened.
Abby wasn't sure about anything anymore, but she had to return to work eventually. It would help put normalcy in her life again. The pain from her injured rib had lessened some and the other visible signs of her attack were healing, so she had announced her desire to be back in the ER.
"Yeah."
They silently exited the room together.
*************
"She had to identify the body?" Randi leaned closer to Malik and Frank, her heavily made-up eyes wide as saucers.
"Yep," Malik confirmed with a nod. He was relating bits and pieces of a conversation he had overheard between Dr. Carter and Dr. Lewis.
"God, poor Abby."
Frank added his two cents, "She'll get over it."
The nurse and the desk clerk shot disgusted looks at the older man. He shrugged them off and urged on the story, "So did the husband do it or what?"
"That's what they think. The wife left the shelter to go back to him, next thing she winds up dead. Kind of a no-brainer. But they can't find the guy. No one's seen him since he attacked Abby," Malik concluded.
"He'll show up. Probably try to finish what he started with Abby," Frank said matter-of-factly.
Randi glared at him. "Doesn't Satan have some work for you to do?"
"I'm just speaking from experience. When I was on the force I saw this kind of stuff all the time. That guy crossed the line; he has nothing to lose now. And if he blames Abby for what happened... well..."
The three gossipers pretended to be busy when the topic of their conversation turned the corner. They weren't fooling Abby. She could tell they had been talking about her. It wasn't the first time today she had interrupted a discussion about her "situation". The point of coming back to work was to get past what had happened, but so far that plan had failed.
"Malik, Corday needs you in curtain 1," Abby announced, then spun on her heel and headed in the direction she had just came. Taking an unexpected turn, she found herself wandering into the empty ladies' room. She needed to sit, preferably someplace private, so she slipped into a stall, locked the door and dropped down on the toilet, not caring that her clothes touched the makeshift seat. Tears she'd been holding back all day finally surfaced, stinging her eyes. She let them fall freely, coursing down her cheeks in sporadic patterns and dripping into her lap. She hadn't counted on it being so hard to get back into the swing of things. She hadn't counted on seeing Joyce in each of the female patients that were brought in, or worrying that every man she was sent to examine might be Brian.
Even the floor tiles in the bathroom brought back bad memories as Abby stared down at them, blinking the moisture from her eyes. It reminded her of the floor at the morgue. That cold, unfeeling place that practically breathed death. She could picture Joyce's body lying motionless on a slab, partially covered by a sheet, the rest of her covered with bruises. It had been difficult to recognize the woman at first, other than the short red hair. Abby had confirmed it was her neighbor when she saw the butterfly tattoo on the corpse's arm. Days before that, when Joyce was hiding out at Abby's apartment, they had somehow began comparing tattoos. Abby didn't remember how, but she did remember the butterfly. Joyce was proud of it.
Sniffling, Abby pulled some toilet paper from the roll and blew her nose. She had cried like an idiot in front of Carter on the way home that day, too, pouring out the guilt she felt for Joyce's murder. He assured Abby that it wasn't her fault. The cops were told Joyce had left the shelter on her own freewill. It had nothing to do with the fact Abby gave Brian a small clue as to where Joyce could be found. Abby tried to believe that. So why, nearly two weeks later, did she still have to choke back a sob whenever she thought about it? Why did she feel responsible, and why did she feel such a strong connection to a woman she barely knew? Maybe it was because her life had been held in the palms of Brian's hands: the same hands that took Joyce's life. The bruises at Joyce's neck indicating she had been choked to death were the same bruises on Abby's wrists and shoulders, put there by the same sadistic man. She was connected to Joyce whether she wanted to be or not. And Abby couldn't help but wonder why she had survived and Joyce didn't. It kept her awake at night and ate away at her conscience every chance it got.
Abby was wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks when the bathroom door squeaked open. She listened to the footsteps as they crossed the floor and seemed to hesitate outside her stall. When they retreated to the next one, Abby slipped out the door of the stall and paused in front of the mirror to collect herself. Her eyes were puffy, cheeks a little red from crying. Bending over the sink, she splashed water on her face and grabbed a couple paper towels to pat it dry. A scream caught in her throat when she noticed the reflection of the man standing behind her.
"Butterflies Are Free"
*************
"You look great," Carter said, his reflection appearing behind Abby in the full-length mirror and making her jump.
"I look like Two-Face." Abby twisted her head from side to side, scrunching up her nose at the side of her face where the bruise had faded into an oh- so-lovely shade of greenish-purple. Gurple.
"Who?"
"Two-Face. You know?" She turned to Carter. "From that one Batman movie. Tommy Lee Jones? One half of his face is fine, the other half is all-"
He was looking at her like she was nuts.
Abby rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever watch movies?"
"Not the ones that are meant for twelve year olds."
"Batman's a classic, it transcends age."
Carter grinned. "You're full of it." He tilted her chin up with his finger, studying her face. "And you are *way* hotter than Tommy Lee Jones."
Despite the light, teasing mood, Abby noticed something serious in Carter's eyes. She caught herself returning the gaze and quickly tried to continue in the safety of Batman. "Well, thank God for tha..." The sentence faded as Carter lowered his face slowly towards hers. She scarcely breathed as their lips brushed lightly against each other.
The urge to kiss her had hit Carter suddenly and he gave into it before he could stop himself. When she didn't object, he slipped his hand behind her head, his fingers mingling with strands of her dark brown hair. Instead of a passionate pressing together of mouths, it was a tender, caressing first kiss. And it was cut short when Abby eased away.
She lowered her eyes from Carter's questioning gaze. "We should leave for work."
Carter attempted to hide his disappointment. He didn't take the rejection personally. He was, after all, overstepping some boundaries. Abby had been through emotional - and physical - hell the past week and a half, the last thing she needed was him romancing her. And there was Susan.
He stepped back guiltily. "Sure you're ready to go back?" he questioned, moving on and hoping Abby wouldn't avoid him because of what had just happened.
Abby wasn't sure about anything anymore, but she had to return to work eventually. It would help put normalcy in her life again. The pain from her injured rib had lessened some and the other visible signs of her attack were healing, so she had announced her desire to be back in the ER.
"Yeah."
They silently exited the room together.
*************
"She had to identify the body?" Randi leaned closer to Malik and Frank, her heavily made-up eyes wide as saucers.
"Yep," Malik confirmed with a nod. He was relating bits and pieces of a conversation he had overheard between Dr. Carter and Dr. Lewis.
"God, poor Abby."
Frank added his two cents, "She'll get over it."
The nurse and the desk clerk shot disgusted looks at the older man. He shrugged them off and urged on the story, "So did the husband do it or what?"
"That's what they think. The wife left the shelter to go back to him, next thing she winds up dead. Kind of a no-brainer. But they can't find the guy. No one's seen him since he attacked Abby," Malik concluded.
"He'll show up. Probably try to finish what he started with Abby," Frank said matter-of-factly.
Randi glared at him. "Doesn't Satan have some work for you to do?"
"I'm just speaking from experience. When I was on the force I saw this kind of stuff all the time. That guy crossed the line; he has nothing to lose now. And if he blames Abby for what happened... well..."
The three gossipers pretended to be busy when the topic of their conversation turned the corner. They weren't fooling Abby. She could tell they had been talking about her. It wasn't the first time today she had interrupted a discussion about her "situation". The point of coming back to work was to get past what had happened, but so far that plan had failed.
"Malik, Corday needs you in curtain 1," Abby announced, then spun on her heel and headed in the direction she had just came. Taking an unexpected turn, she found herself wandering into the empty ladies' room. She needed to sit, preferably someplace private, so she slipped into a stall, locked the door and dropped down on the toilet, not caring that her clothes touched the makeshift seat. Tears she'd been holding back all day finally surfaced, stinging her eyes. She let them fall freely, coursing down her cheeks in sporadic patterns and dripping into her lap. She hadn't counted on it being so hard to get back into the swing of things. She hadn't counted on seeing Joyce in each of the female patients that were brought in, or worrying that every man she was sent to examine might be Brian.
Even the floor tiles in the bathroom brought back bad memories as Abby stared down at them, blinking the moisture from her eyes. It reminded her of the floor at the morgue. That cold, unfeeling place that practically breathed death. She could picture Joyce's body lying motionless on a slab, partially covered by a sheet, the rest of her covered with bruises. It had been difficult to recognize the woman at first, other than the short red hair. Abby had confirmed it was her neighbor when she saw the butterfly tattoo on the corpse's arm. Days before that, when Joyce was hiding out at Abby's apartment, they had somehow began comparing tattoos. Abby didn't remember how, but she did remember the butterfly. Joyce was proud of it.
Sniffling, Abby pulled some toilet paper from the roll and blew her nose. She had cried like an idiot in front of Carter on the way home that day, too, pouring out the guilt she felt for Joyce's murder. He assured Abby that it wasn't her fault. The cops were told Joyce had left the shelter on her own freewill. It had nothing to do with the fact Abby gave Brian a small clue as to where Joyce could be found. Abby tried to believe that. So why, nearly two weeks later, did she still have to choke back a sob whenever she thought about it? Why did she feel responsible, and why did she feel such a strong connection to a woman she barely knew? Maybe it was because her life had been held in the palms of Brian's hands: the same hands that took Joyce's life. The bruises at Joyce's neck indicating she had been choked to death were the same bruises on Abby's wrists and shoulders, put there by the same sadistic man. She was connected to Joyce whether she wanted to be or not. And Abby couldn't help but wonder why she had survived and Joyce didn't. It kept her awake at night and ate away at her conscience every chance it got.
Abby was wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks when the bathroom door squeaked open. She listened to the footsteps as they crossed the floor and seemed to hesitate outside her stall. When they retreated to the next one, Abby slipped out the door of the stall and paused in front of the mirror to collect herself. Her eyes were puffy, cheeks a little red from crying. Bending over the sink, she splashed water on her face and grabbed a couple paper towels to pat it dry. A scream caught in her throat when she noticed the reflection of the man standing behind her.