Raped.
The minute the word left Susan's mouth, something tore inside him.
Raped. Abby.
He knew rape, of course; it was a lucky doctor who never saw a case of it, and having good luck was one of the few things he couldn't be accused of. In Croatia, during the war, and then in Bosnia, he'd seen countless victims. Too many to remember...or perhaps he simply didn't want to remember. He'd never been able to decide which were worse; the ones who were brought in yelling and crying from the enormity of what had happened to them...or those who were silent, dead-eyed, as though they'd been through so much that nothing really mattered anymore.
Abby...Abby was different again. Calm, composed, hiding the fear he saw in her eyes. Downplaying what had happened...
But Abby hadn't been raped.
She. Had. Not.
He simply refused to believe she had. She can't have been, he repeated to himself over and over as Susan gently sent him from the room. She would have known, ran through his mind again and again as he paced outside in the hall. With each repetition, he believed it less. The less he believed it, the more the emotions swamped him; sadness and fear for Abby, confusion towards the world at large...
And anger. Terrible, raging, at the one who'd done this to her. Who'd dared to...to...
He heard the door open. Susan.
Quickly, he rattled off the radiologist's report. He hesitated, then, wary of hearing what he was terrified he already knew, "Was she..."
No. No. She wasn't. Wasn't raped. Relief flooded him, cooling his anger for a moment. Then her battered face sprang to mind, and the rage flared up again.
She wasn't raped. Just brutally beaten and terrorized in her own home, where she should have been safe. That was all.
Susan, again, "...did they find this guy?"
"I don't know," he replied, quickly, automatically. Because it didn't matter if 'they' found Brian.
He would.
The minute the word left Susan's mouth, something tore inside him.
Raped. Abby.
He knew rape, of course; it was a lucky doctor who never saw a case of it, and having good luck was one of the few things he couldn't be accused of. In Croatia, during the war, and then in Bosnia, he'd seen countless victims. Too many to remember...or perhaps he simply didn't want to remember. He'd never been able to decide which were worse; the ones who were brought in yelling and crying from the enormity of what had happened to them...or those who were silent, dead-eyed, as though they'd been through so much that nothing really mattered anymore.
Abby...Abby was different again. Calm, composed, hiding the fear he saw in her eyes. Downplaying what had happened...
But Abby hadn't been raped.
She. Had. Not.
He simply refused to believe she had. She can't have been, he repeated to himself over and over as Susan gently sent him from the room. She would have known, ran through his mind again and again as he paced outside in the hall. With each repetition, he believed it less. The less he believed it, the more the emotions swamped him; sadness and fear for Abby, confusion towards the world at large...
And anger. Terrible, raging, at the one who'd done this to her. Who'd dared to...to...
He heard the door open. Susan.
Quickly, he rattled off the radiologist's report. He hesitated, then, wary of hearing what he was terrified he already knew, "Was she..."
No. No. She wasn't. Wasn't raped. Relief flooded him, cooling his anger for a moment. Then her battered face sprang to mind, and the rage flared up again.
She wasn't raped. Just brutally beaten and terrorized in her own home, where she should have been safe. That was all.
Susan, again, "...did they find this guy?"
"I don't know," he replied, quickly, automatically. Because it didn't matter if 'they' found Brian.
He would.
