Same disclaimer as before….I don't own the OC…I would like to visit there some day though…
Thank you so much for your reviews thus far! I really appreciate it…I love all of the stories you have penned…I read them over and over again….if anyone has any ideas please share them with meespecially about the eventual capture of the yet to be determined assailant….I don't know who it will be…I'm nervous I will never figure it out…
CHAPTER TWO
"Mr. Cohen…Mr. Cohen?"
Sandy was shaken from his silent state. He turned from the viewing window of his wife's hospital room, to face a young police officer. The man looked nervous, sympathetic, almost lost. He must have known the Cohen/Nichol name. He must have known the high profile status of the case placed before him.
Sandy didn't care what he had to say. It had only been minutes since the ambulance had arrived at the Newport Hospital. His focus was on her.
His wife. The woman he promised over and over again to protect. The woman he had failed.
She lay there. Her eyes open, blurred. He could tell she was trying hard to separate herself from the people around her.
He overheard the doctor, "She's not responsive."
He shined his little light into her eyes.
Dilated.
Sandy wanted to be in the room with her. He wanted to hold her, to whisper confidence into her, but he was afraid he would lose it. That's why he was standing outside of the room looking in. He needed to regain his own composure before he saw her.
"Mr. Cohen, I hate to do this."
The man was getting on his nerves. He wanted to be angry, but he didn't have the strength left in him. Slowly he once again turned toward the window.
Clearing his throat, the officer went on.
"Mr. Cohen, we need to talk about what happened, about what you know."
"I don't know anything other then the fact that my wife is lying there helpless and broken."
"Mr. Cohen, we saw the note. It's a direct threat towards you. Someone did this to her to hurt you."
No fucking kidding. And the accomplished their goal. In the worst way possible. They knew how to hurt himIt would have been less painful if they had just killed him.
But they got to Kirsten. His life.
"I understand that officer. And you can only imagine the thoughts in my head at this very moment, but I need to focus my energy on her."
"Mr. Cohen."
"No. If you give me tonight, I will give you tomorrow." And that was it. Final. He would not cooperate tonight. It was not fair to herhe had already spent too much of the day thinking of things other then his wife.
The officer looked at him. He did feel sorry for the man. If it was his own wife, he too would have pushed anyone else away.
"Okay." He said, understanding, he handed Sandy his card. "Give me a ring when you can."
When he can. Right. And when will that be? He can't do anything without her. He can't move, he can't breathe, he can't exist without her by his side.
Sandy looked down at the piece of paper he gingerly held between his fingertips.
Detective Michael Steward.
He didn't recognize the name, it wasn't one of the Newpsie legacies. Maybe that's why they sent him. He wasn't close to the family, he could be objective, he could be forceful when he needed to be, because he wasn't attached. Sandy had a feeling he would be getting to know this Michael Steward very well. He wished he wasn't. He wished this whole thing would go away.
But you can't wish away reality.
This was very real. And as much as he tried to control himself, he couldn't. Sandy pressed his hand on the small glass pane. Leaving his prints, he traced the fine lines of the window. He tried so hard to look at her. To examine her, to read her, but each time he saw a single tear fall down her beautiful face, he had to turn away.
Kirsten was surrounded in the massive room, but she felt alone. She looked over to the door, she saw her husband. He was standing outside, he looked crushed.
Her concern was for him.
"Mrs. Cohen, Kirsten…where does it hurt?"
Where does it hurt? That is the most understated question she has ever heard. Like the events of the night were so trivial she could answer in a mere few sentences or a pointing gesture.
Kirsten couldn't get her voice to work for her. Inside of her head she was screaming for help, but all she could get out were silent tears.
Her heart rate was jumping.
"Kirsten, we need you to try and calm down." The doctor spoke smoothly to her.
You calm down.
After a few minutes of poking and prodding, she heard the most devastating words of all.
"Do you think we need to perform a rape kit?" the nurse quietly asked. As if trying to hide it from her. The reality of the situation.
The doctor looked down at her. She recognized him from when they brought in her father just weeks before.
Kirsten didn't know how to respond, how to admit the worst. She continued to stare at the taupe ceiling.
Closing her eyes, she nodded. Yes.
It was the first response she gave him. And he was relieved.
"Okay. Let's move Mrs. Cohen to a private room. Nancy will you assist me. Clara will you please go speak to her husband." The doctor dismantled the room, sending everyone off to other duties.
"And please do not speak to anyone about her." He said before they left. He knew who this woman was, who her father was. He knew they all knew and he did not want to deal with the rath of the Nichol dynasty.
Sandy should have called his sons. He should have called his father-in-law, but he did not know how to even approach the situation. It was late, or early depending on how you looked at the situation. The boys should be home, but if they were, surely the crime scene tape would have tipped them off. Sandy would wait till morning. The lawyer instincts in him were gone. His ability to asses any situation with eloquence and grace was gone. He was jelly, he had to sit.
With his head in his hands, Sandy watched the door of her room open. For the first time someone other then law enforcement approached him. Someone who had information.
"Mr. Cohen."
He looked up at the nurse with nervous eyes. This was a hard case. For all involved. She hated this part. At least his wife was alive. Clara could remember countless times when the news was far worse. Or so she thought.
What could be worse then death?
But for this husband, she knew any news was painful. The guilt she knew he was feeling would be far worse once she got her words out.
Yes, this was by far the hardest.
How do you tell a loving husband that his wife has been raped?
"How is she?" His voice was barely audible. Dry.
"Mr. Cohen. Your wife, physically is fine. She suffered a few minor injuries, mainly bruising to her face and upper torso."
It all sounded so generic, so distant.
As a nurse that's how she wanted it to be. It's how she needed it to be. It was one of the first things she learned.
Self-preservation is key. Never get too close. Patients are faces and sometimes names, but nothing more. If you get attached, you lose your edge.
Screw that. There was something about this man that caused her to instantly care. She took a different approach.
"Sandy. Kirsten is in a lot of pain. She's barely responding to the doctors, she's been put on a few sedatives to help her relax. She's trying hard to be stoic, but Sandy, she's quickly breaking down. Like I said, her injuries are small, we bandaged her wrists. She has a bruised rib and the swelling around her eyes should go down within the next hours. As far as we can tell she is in no physical pain."
Sandy was relieved. He let out a deep breath of air. She was going to be okay. But he instantly noticed the change of the nurse's demeanor. There was more. She wasn't finished. Something worse had yet to be said.
Good news first, bad news second.
She looked at him and he urged her to continue. To give him any sort of comfort concerning his wife. Little did he know the biggest blow would come in the form of three one syllable words. For a moment she looked away. For an escape route, a direction to turn to, a way out.
There was none.
"Mr. Cohen" she distanced herself again.
"She was raped."
The room she was now in was much smaller then the trauma room. It was pink and there were no windows. It was enclosing her, making her feel nervous, sick.
Too dizzy.
Kirsten could feel the bile rising up her throat. It burned her slowly. She tried to concentrate on the machines surround her. Anything to soothe her upset body.
I don't want to get sick. I don't want to get sick/…Please don't get sick.
Too bad you can't control everything.
The nurse heard her gags and rushed over to the bed with a waste bin. Helping Kirsten to her side, the nurse gently ran her hand through the woman's blond hair. Holding it away from her face, she rubbed her back, whispering to her.
"It'll be okay, darling, let it come out."
Kirsten sobbed as she laid back down on the bed.
"I'm sorry." She chocked out.
The nurse rinsed out a warm wash cloth and held it to her forehead.
This poor woman. Trying so hard to be in control.
She wiped Kirsten's mouth, trying to be gentle around her raw lips. She got her a new gown and helped her change out of the old, soiled one. Kirsten's body had begun the healing process. Bruises were forming around her chest. Directly underneath her collarbone was what looked to be teeth marks. Fingerprints lined her shoulders. Scratches ran up and down her stomach.
The nurse was disgusted. She wondered who in their right mind would make any woman go through what this one had. She feared her own safety and the safety of her young daughters.
If this could happen to a Newpsie, then it most definitely could happen to anyone else.
Sandy fell to his knees.
She had been raped.
His wife, his beautiful, perfect, gentle wife had been violated in the worst way possible.
Because of him.
She had been forced to open herself up, forced to perform, forced to be torn into by another man.
No, no, no. Baby. No.
Sandy couldn't take it. He tried hard to remove himself. To forget about the visuals running in his mind, to deafen himself from her voice—her pleas.
He couldn't do it. For five minutes he sat there, on the hospital ground. Shaking and crying and grieving.
The doctor arrived a while after Kirsten resettled herself. She was finishing up a glass of water, when he entered the room.
He noticed her instant change in comfort. She jolted, pulled the sheets up closer. Looked at him with the eyes of a deer in traffic.
At least she was responsive.
"Mrs. Cohen, I'm Dr. Kingman. I hate to have to put you through more tonight, but I just have a few questions and a quick examination."
Oh good. Just what she needed…another one.
"Kirsten, when was the last time you ovulated?"
She couldn't think. She didn't know. Her busy life rarely allowed her the luxury of keeping track.
March, April. What month were they in? The third week. Always the third week.
"When did you last have intercourse?"
Horrible questions. Invasive questions, as if she hadn't already been publicly humiliated enough.
She could feel her skin flush. At this moment she wished she had a window to divert her attention.
"Six days…with Sandy."
Hour and a half with a stranger.
With a stranger. She'd only ever slept with two men her entire life. Jimmy and Sandy. And she had loved them both. Kirsten never went through the meaningless sex stage of the 70's. To her, sex was sacred. Only to be shared with he who you love the most. Not with a stranger.
"I want Sandy. Please let me see my husband."
She needed to feel safe, she needed him to hold her and tell her the world is not an evil place. She needed to see him. She needed him to just be there.
"Mr. Cohen." The same nurse approached him. She had led him to a private waiting room after his near breakdown. She had brought him coffee and a wash rag. She had left him there, hoping he would regain composure by the time she came back. She knew his wife would soon be asking for him and she could not, would not allow him to go to her in such a state of distress.
Oh god. What else could there be?
"She's asking for you."
She.
Kirsten.
She needed him.
Now. Then too, but now. She asked for him.
A sigh of relief came. He had been so afraid of her blame, so worried.
"But Mr. Cohen. You have got to hold yourself together. Your wife needs you to be strong right now. She has just gone through an examination for STD's and the doctor is having her take the 72 hour pill. This is all becoming very real to her. You need to be the strong one right now. Not her."
So many husbands came in here thinking they were the stronghold in the family, so many left realizing it was actually their wives.
He shook his head in agreement. Running a hand through his hair, he looked at her.
"Please take me to her."
Okay….I know its not the best more of a filler or somethingbut chapter three is almost finished…here's what's ahead:
Sandy's First conversation with Kirsten…
The boys find out….
And so does Caleb (hopefully, but that might be pushed back)
Please, please continue reviewing…they make my day!