Day 67: Beth Israel Hospital
Something is in my mouth . . . it's making it hard for me to breath or swallow. I feel like I'm underwater looking up at the world . . . everything is distorted . . . the colors run together . . . nothing has a definite edge. I feel like I'm choking . . . I want this thing out of my mouth, but my arms aren't responding to what my brain is ordering. Everything seems so surreal . . . it takes so much effort to even move my fingers . . . I feel like someone has placed a million little weights all over my body.
Every sound is amplified a ridiculously amount of time . . . my own breathing is deafening. There is a cacophony of loud beeps . . . I want them to stop, but I can't talk. I gasp for air . . . trying to bring my fingers to my lips . . . I want my mouth to be empty. I try to scream, but I can't . . . I want Woody here, but I don't even know what here is.
Woody's POV
I watch the news with Jordan every evening . . . I tell her about the cases that Eddie is working on. I try to talk to her about things I know she likes . . . Red Sox . . . Celtics . . . forensic science. My mom reads to her . . . we found a bunch of old books in Jordan's apartment . . . Dickens . . . Dickinson . . . Poe. Mom reads a few chapters to her every afternoon . . . Mom spends the rest of the day crocheting afghans. She's made one for Jordan . . . a deep maroon . . . Mom said the color made her think if Jordan . . . the intensity in her eyes. Mom is making another afghan for Jordan's nurse, Kimberly . . . she wanted to thank her for caring for all of Jordan's family.
Mom and I would play cards for the rest of the day . . . walk down the street for sandwiches for lunch. We were staying at Jordan's apartment . . . Max offered to let us stay at his house, but I couldn't be there . . . it would have been torture . . . knowing what happened there. I hadn't been back to my apartment or work . . . I spent most of my days at the hospital . . . Mom divided her time between taking care of me and taking care of Max and Garret. We normally all ate supper together at Jordan's apartment . . . it gave Max a break from the hospital and Garret a break from the morgue . . . my mother insisted that they ate at least one home-cooked meal a day. Dad said that she should stay in Boston until Jordan was out of her coma . . . Dad said the neighbors were helping out at the farm . . . Mom said that she would stay as long as I needed her.
Nigel had been to see Jordan only a handful of times . . . he felt so guilty . . . spent most of his time apologizing to me. I told him that he did what he could . . . I felt just as badly as he did. His wounds were healing quickly . . . he was the source of the only description of the perpetrator . . . average height, medium build . . . light colored hair . . . light colored skin.
Today, I was telling Jordan about last night's baseball game . . . I swore that I saw her eyelids flutter . . . this had happened once before . . . the doctor said that Jordan might just be in REM sleep . . . at least someone was getting good sleep.
"Mom, she's squeezing my hand," I said as I saw her eyes open . . . her ventilator was beeping loudly . . . I could feel my heart pounding . . . it looked like Jordan was gasping for air. The nurse ran in and ushered us out . . . doctors and medical students flew past us into the cubical. It felt like we were standing out there for hours before everyone began to file out of the cubical.
"Jordan is awake . . . she's very disoriented. I took her off the ventilator. Mr. Hoyt, she's well on her way to recovery . . . this is a huge step in her recovery," her doctor said . . . he looked extremely relieved, "Just try not to overwhelm her right now . . . one visitor at a time . . . keep her calm."
"Go. I'll call Max and Garret," Mom said as she kissed my cheek.
"Hey, you decided to wake up," I said as I held her hand.
"Woody . . . please help me," Jordan whispered . . . her voice was so hoarse.
"You're okay . . . I'm right here. Max and Garret are on their way," I said as I nervously began to stroke her hand.
"Woody . . . where's Nigel?" Jordan asked . . . sounding a little incoherent.
"He's okay . . . just needed some stitches. He came to visit you yesterday . . . he said he misses you," I explained . . . I wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Am I okay?" Jordan asked . . . her eyes were darting around the room.
"You will be . . . you are a very lucky lady," I said trying to stay optimistic.
"What time did the gas station open?" Jordan asked . . . it struck me as an odd question, but maybe it was the pain medication talking.
"What gas station?" I asked.
"The one on Mill Road . . . it's where the guy stabbed me," Jordan replied . . . sounding more serious . . . looking my direction.
"Jordan, I didn't find you there," I replied . . . thankful that there was the distinct possibility that she would not remember the sexual assault.
"Where did he dump me?" she asked . . . I didn't want to answer her . . . I let the cubical fill with silence.
"Jordan, you should rest . . . you are safe now. Don't worry about anything besides getting better," I replied trying to divert the conversation to something safer.
"Woody, did he dump me in Dalton Park?" Jordan asked.
"No, Jordan . . . let's not talk about this," I replied.
"Woody," Jordan begged . . . I knew she was trying to ask if this was in any way linked to Ellington.
"Jordan . . . I found you . . . in the hallway in my apartment building, but you were lucky . . . that's what's most important," I replied as I kissed her cheek . . . she was trying to cry, but her body was still so tired that the tears wouldn't come.
"I'm so sorry," Jordan whispered . . . she knew what it was like to 'find' someone you loved.
"You shouldn't be . . . I'm the one that's sorry. We can talk about this some other time . . . right now, I need you to work on getting out of this hospital," I whispered . . . I kissed her hand.
"I want to go home," Jordan said . . . she turned her head to look at me.
"I want you to, too," I whispered, "My mom came to see you."
"Did you take her to the ocean yet?" Jordan asked . . . I couldn't help but to smile at her.
Day 67: Gas Station on Mill Road (Nigel's POV)
"Nigel, you don't have to be here," Bug said as we combed the area behind the gas station . . . Peter and Garret were searching the drainage ditch a few yards away.
"Bug, I need to be here. Jordan needs us all to be here," I said . . . I saw something shiny out of the corner of my eye, "Bug, I found her earring . . . it's the one I got her for Christmas."
"You guys exchanged presents?" Bug asked sounding a little offended.
"Not really, every year I send something to the morgue . . . anonymous. Something to make the holidays easier . . . I don't think she knows," I said as I put the small bauble into an evidence bag.
"Nigel . . . Bug, we've got a knife . . . same kind Max said was missing from his house," Peter yelled.
"I'll take it back to the morgue . . . I guess it's my time to shine," Bug said . . . promptly heading over to the ditch . . . ready to get started . . . see if this was weapon . . . we needed some sort of break.
Garret didn't tell me much about the case . . . I had to spend most of my time snooping to figure out what happened that night. I spent hours at night going over the case file . . . the pictures of where I laid on Max's kitchen floor . . . the blood against the linoleum floor. The pictures outside Woody's apartment were more gruesome . . . the sheer amount of blood on the cream colored carpet . . . it made my stomach turn.
I spent hours pouring over the DNA evidence . . . the skin matched the semen . . . XY chromosome. I checked the results against the national database and the databases of other countries. The knife . . . it was probably Jordan's blood, but that wouldn't lead us to a suspect.
Our best hope was the surveillance tape . . . I said I would take care of that. Dr. Macy told me that Peter was going to help me . . . I didn't want to help . . . I just needed to be alone. I wanted to work through all this alone . . . but if I did need to work with someone, I wanted Peter . . . he didn't ask the same questions that Bug and Dr. Macy asked me . . . he didn't know me well enough.
Peter and I drove the morgue . . . he insisted upon driving . . . he said I looked like I needed a break . . . couldn't argue with that. Peter said that Dr. Stiles was snooping around the morgue again . . . he was looking for me. Peter said Dr. Stiles cornered him yesterday . . . wanted to know how he was coping . . . Peter said that he wanted to help make an arrest . . . he channeled his anger into his work. I said something about wanting to feel like I did the day that we went to the capitol building . . . I had never felt that good about my work before . . . I felt proud . . . the void I carried with me felt full.
Jordan and I weren't too different. My family was just as fragmented as her own . . . I grew up watching my father beat my mother . . . he would beat me only when he was extremely drunk. My mother was a saint . . . she took care of my father every time he got dangerously close to dying from alcohol poisoning. She died last year . . . cancer . . . my father didn't want to spend the money to get it treated. I sent her part of my paycheck each week . . . he probably stole the money, but in my imagination, Mum was seeing a doctor and taking medicine to at least ease her pain. Realistically, Dad probably stole my money . . . probably used it at the pub or the gentlemen's club. I no longer had a reason to go home to England . . . I was happier here in the States . . . Jordan was willing to help me get my citizenship . . . just as Bug had last year.
Peter and I poured over the tape for hours . . . the first camera was useless . . . it was inside the store . . . the second camera was in the employee break room . . . . I had to wonder what the use of that camera was. The third camera . . . it was of the small loading dock were Jordan had been assaulted . . . we watched the entire attack . . . the man kicked her in the ribs . . . beat her over the head with part of a broken palette that was nearby . . . he didn't stab her . . . he just slashed her skin . . . tortured her. The attack made me think that he wanted her to suffer as much as possible before she died . . . his plan had gone perfectly accept one problem . . . Jordan didn't die.
I couldn't watch the rape . . . I became horribly nauseated . . . my head hurt. I could hear Peter gagging . . . he left the room hurriedly . . . disappeared into the men's room. I called Dr. Macy . . . said that we had ample footage . . . asked if we could send it out for analysis . . . said it was extremely graphic. Dr. Macy said he would call around . . . he was not excited about putting the tape in transit . . . where it could be intercepted.
I watched the man rape Jordan . . . I managed to get two really good head shots. I blew up the face . . . called Dr. Macy back . . . he said to call Eddie . . . make sure that that picture got out to every television station in the northeast. Eddie was ecstatic . . . I faxed him the pictures . . . if he hurried, he could get the pictures to the news stations before the 10 pm report.
I looked for Peter . . . he was in the office he shared with Lily . . . moonlight flooded in from the window. Peter shuffled papers from one corner of the desk to the other corner.
"Are you okay?" I asked him . . . as I leaned on the door frame.
"I'm sorry . . . I couldn't watch anymore," Peter apologized.
"I found two good head shots . . . I was able to clean them up pretty well," I replied.
"That's good . . . we could all use some good news," Peter replied.
Day 70: Beth Israel (Woody's POV)
He collapsed lung has healed . . . the doctor removed the chest tube this morning. Jordan is trying to be much more active than she should be . . . wanting to get out of bed . . . begging to come home. She asked me to stay the night . . . she was afraid to be alone . . . I told her that I would stay . . . slept in a chair next to her bed waking up every few hours to make sure that she was okay. Max took Mom to Jordan's apartment . . . I told Jordan that we were staying there. Jordan said she understood . . . said that I should stay there permanently.
"The last thing I thought about was you," Jordan commented.
"Jordan," I replied . . . I didn't know what to say . . . maybe 'I'm sorry I didn't stay with you' . . . or 'I'm such an ass for blowing you off.'
"Woody, you get frustrated with me because I don't talk . . . why won't you let me talk to you now?" Jordan asked . . . she looked so bewildered . . . confused . . . scared . . . like a small child trying desperately to figure out what she did wrong, "They aren't investigating you, are they?"
"No, it's not that . . . my alibi checks out . . . Eddie is only following procedure by questioning me and asking for a sample of my . . . ," I cut out abruptly . . . she did not need to know that she was raped . . . she didn't remember it . . . I knew someone needed to tell her . . . it would come out at a hearing . . . she would hear about if we ever watched the news or read the newspaper.
"Eddie asked for what?" Jordan asked . . . she knew damn well what I was asked for . . . she just needed to hear me say it to make it real.
"Jordan."
"Did Eddie ask you for a DNA sample?" Jordan was yelling now . . . she looked distraught . . . she knew why I was asked . . . it wasn't because my skin was under her fingers . . . it wasn't because my DNA was on the knife . . . she knew . . . I could tell from the look in her eyes.
"Jordan, he did . . . Eddie asked me for a DNA sample. I'm so sorry . . . I should have been with you that night . . . I'm sorry I let you down," I said looking at the floor . . . the tears threatening to fall down my cheeks.
"God, why didn't anyone tell me? I had the right to know," Jordan yelled at me . . . I could hear her sobbing.
"Jordan . . . I didn't want to set back your recovery . . . . you are just starting to get stronger . . . the doctor told me to keep you calm," I replied softly . . . I wasn't sure if she heard me over her sobbing . . . she rolled over in her bed . . . turning so she wouldn't have to face me.
"You should go," Jordan said coolly.
"Jordan, I love you. I didn't do this to hurt you," I said as I stood up from the chair . . . I didn't have anywhere to go.
Jordan's POV
I hadn't even dreamed that I was raped . . . I would have liked to have thought that I was just severely between and left for dead . . . that seemed less personal. Rape was so personal . . . this man . . . he took something from me . . . without asking.
I know I'm not a saint . . . I've had one-night stands . . . I've been the other woman . . . I've lead men on. I don't deny any of that, but I don't see how the punishment fits the crime. I've spent so much time working to keep people out . . . to keep them from hurting me . . . no wall was thick enough to prevent this kind of hurt.
I feel bad for asking Woody to leave . . . it wasn't his fault. I remember my internal medicine rotation in medical school . . . I treated a girl that was raped. She was beaten so severely that she was hardly recognizable . . . her face looked inhuman. She was hooked up to machines for days . . . on the day that she came out of her coma, the attending instructed us not to tell her about the rape . . . it was set back her recovery. The psychiatrist was called in a few days later . . . when her memories started coming back.
I strained to remember what happened at the gas station, but I couldn't remember anything that I thought was important. Eddie was frustrated with how little I did remember . . . I remember a vague description . . . I did see him under the lights at the gas station, but coma had blurred these memories. Maybe it was a blessing that I would never have nightmares about being raped . . . it was more like a footnote to my story . . . easily overlooked.
This was the first time that I was alone. I didn't like it . . . I wanted Woody to come back. I knew what survivor's guilt felt like . . . he was handling his guilt much more gracefully than I ever had. I needed to ask questions . . . I needed to find out what happened to me . . . more importantly, I needed to find out who did this to me.
I picked up the telephone . . . dialed the number frantically . . . I didn't actually know the number . . . my brain had it on speed dial somewhere. I grew more and more antsy as I listened to the phone ring . . . I wondered where the hell he could be.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Stiles . . . could you come see me? I need to talk to someone," I said.
"Jordan, I'll be there as soon as I can," Dr. Stiles said . . . the phone hung up.
I stared out the window at the moon as I waited for Dr. Stiles . . . I wasn't sure what talking would do . . . make me feel better . . . make me relive being stabbed . . . make me ask questions that had answers that terrified me.