Aftermath

Author's Note: In this chapter I have tried to deal with the emotional and physical repercussions a woman feels after being raped. This is not pleasant for either me to deal with, or you, as the reader to read and/or imagine, but unfortunately it's all true, as any woman (like me) who has been raped can attest to.

Once outside of the Agency Building, shock and pain came to her body and mind and Bronwyn started to tremble uncontrollably. She feebly wrapped her arms around herself in a hopeless attempt to get some warmth into her body, even though the night was a hot and muggy one.

She walked to the nearest bus stop and was just in time to catch the bus. Fumbling with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, she put more change than the usual fare price in the driver's fare collector, but Bronwyn hardly noticed. There were only a few people on the bus at this time of night, and thankfully, there was no one at the back, so she walked down the aisle close to the rear of the bus.

The agony she felt between her legs made it impossible for her to even consider sitting down. The intensity of it and the memory of the last two hours caused tears to come to her eyes, and she let them flow down her cheeks unchecked. And stop shaking, she told herself, but knew it probably wouldn't work anyway. She knew from long experience that the only solution for trauma induced shock was time, time and more time. Pills and booze never hurt either, she had discovered.

She felt almost naked standing there in the back of a dirty bus in her clothes, but not wearing underwear, and she was grateful that the bus was nearly empty. She kept her back to the front of the bus and hardly noticed her surroundings, only being dimly aware of the bus' progress by the frequent stops and starts as passengers got on or off, depending on their needs.

She discarded the idea of going to the authorities, for she knew that with all his probable resources, Smith could buy his way out of any legal difficulties with ease. If that bastard ever comes near me again, I won't take it just lying down; I'll kill that motherfucker any way I can.

With horror, she felt moisture leave her ragged and injured vagina and start to run down her leg. She looked over her shoulder to determine whether or not anyone had seen what had happened, but no one was paying any attention to her. She reached down and saw her fingers were stained with blood. Taking her purse, she reached in and wiped her soiled fingers on her panties, feeling more blood slide down her leg.

She yanked the bell pull signaling her stop was next. Actually it isn't quite my stop, thought Bronwyn, but I can't stay on this bus anymore now that I've started bleeding.

When the bus stopped, she disembarked quickly and she started to walk rapidly to get home as soon as possible. All I want now is to get home, have a hot bath and forget this night ever happened, she thought. With any luck, the bleeding would stop and painkillers washed down with a few good swigs of vodka would make the pain go away.

Once at her apartment, she was hardly aware that she didn't close her door properly as she made a beeline for her bathroom, grabbing a towel and put it against herself trying to stop the flow of blood, as she started to fill up the tub with the hottest water that came out of the taps. Her fingers were awkward and inept and she found that she couldn't get out of her clothes fast enough. It was as if as long as I have that dress on, I can almost feel Smith touching me all over again and that thought makes my skin crawl. I don't care if I have to wash with bleach, but I will try my damndest get all traces of him off of me. Too bad I can't use it inside as well. She sat straight up in the tub. Oh my God! That son of a bitch didn't even wear a condom she thought, horror-struck. Who knows what he's given me?!

It was very late by the time Bronwyn fell asleep. Her mind and body dulled at last by heavy doses of narcotics and alcohol, she was completely unaware of two shadowy figures standing by her bedside conversing amongst each other in muted tones, seeing first hand the aftermath of her ordeal.

While the bus she had been on had gone on its usual route, she was too engrossed with her own problems and didn't see an older African-American woman accompanied by a young Oriental man get on the bus shortly after she did. Nor had Bronwyn been aware of them watching her surreptitiously.

The woman, known only as the Oracle, knew exactly what had happened to her and out of concern, asked Seraph to go with her to see if Bronwyn had made it home all right.

They waited until Bronwyn had fallen asleep, before entering her apartment through the open door. They quietly went into her bedroom and didn't say anything for a long time.

They could see for themselves what Smith had done to her--the bruises that were just beginning to show on her neck, arms and wrists, not to mention the internal ones--and the Oracle was as close to tears as she ever would be in her life.

"You poor, poor thing", she said, leaning over and smoothing Bronwyn's hair out of her face. "I am so sorry".

"Oracle", said Seraph, "how could he do this?"

"He's attacked other women before, but this is the worst".

"Other women? How many?"

"It doesn't matter now, Seraph. What matters is that she gets better". The Oracle, with Seraph's help, gently eased Bronwyn's sleeping figure under the covers.

She sighed sadly. "I think we should leave now".

They left Bronwyn's apartment, closing the door behind them, hoping for the best. The Oracle manipulated the Matrix code so that all the locks on the door were locked.

"Now Smith can't get at her again, and she'll be relatively safe from him, at least for tonight, unless he kicks the door in. If he does that, she can shoot him with that gun she has in her nightstand drawer."

Seraph didn't ask how she knew that; he was just grateful that Agents were never given the ability to change the code of the Matrix, to use or abuse as they saw fit, and that Bronwyn had the best possible method of defending herself against an agent.

On their way home, the Oracle was pensive. She could sense something had happened that could possibly change the Matrix as everyone knew it, but what was it? Two becoming one; the phrase repeated itself over and over in her mind. What is that supposed to mean, she wondered.

"Oh no", she said, closing her eyes in horror. "This can't be, it just can't. It simply isn't possible...." Her voice trailed off.

"What is it, Oracle?" asked Seraph, concerned.

She didn't want to tell him; because the less he knew the safer he would be. However, he will have to be told, for he will find out eventually, anyway. There were very few secrets in the Matrix and if I know what has happened, then so does The Merovingian, or he will, before long.

"I'll tell you when we get home, Seraph. Right now I need to rest". She said nothing else on their way home; her thoughts occupied too much of her mind to make conversation now.

No doubt about it, the Oracle thought, that poor girl is already pregnant. At all costs, Smith must never find out, for there is no telling what he would do to Bronwyn or the child, if he ever got his hands on either of them.

I must tell her and convince her that it is in her best interest to terminate the pregnancy before it is too late. She has 3 or 4 weeks before she misses her menstrual cycle and realizes that she is expecting. But a lot of things can happen in 3 weeks, thought the Oracle; I must not give up hope. With any luck, I may even be wrong this one time. But deep inside, she knew that she was always right about her predictions.