Chapter 10

Chris slipped her headphones on over her ears as she entered the park, one of the only peaceful places left in this area. Everywhere else was crawling with gang bangers and pimps.

Pressing play on the CD player - which she had borrowed from Dutch - she began to run down the path through the park. The sounds of The Beatles played - a CD which was also borrowed from Dutch - and she sang happily along with he lyrics which carried her half way through the park, until she got to Help.

Help me if you can/I'm feeling down/And I do appreciate you being' round/Help me get my feet back on the ground/Won't you please, please help me...

The words slipped from her lips almost automatically, but her mind and body were so consumed with them that she unintentionally veered off the path without even noticed. Tears suddenly burst into her eyes and she stumbled.

As she fell down into the brush lining the path, tears streaking down her face, the CD skipped a few times, making a whirring noise between sound bites. After a moment or two it stopped, and the song continued nicely.

Chris wiped at the tears on her cheeks as she choked down her sobs and looked down at the inside of her leg. The shorts that she had pulled on were short enough to reveal the "D" of Dutch's name on her leg.

She touched the cut, still too fresh for a scab to have formed. It was sore, throbbing gently as she ran her fingers over it. Flashes of the night before, of Dutch's face of and of his voice entered her mind. He made her happy, so happy, but he also awoke something in her, something that she thought had died long ago.

Pulling the headphones from over her ears as the tears subsided, Chris wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe she would just skip over that song, the song that seemed to remind her of the thing that now lurked restlessly within her-

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Her head snapped up and her eyes locked on a middle-aged man who looked down at her, concerned.

"Are you OK?"

"Oh," she said, her voice hoarse as she wiped leaves from her shirt. "Yeah, I think I am."

"What is that?" He motioned to the swollen red latter on her leg.

Moving to pull the shorts over the cuts she found them too short to cover it. "N-nothing," she stammered.

"Are you sure?" He persisted. "I'm a doctor, I can help you."

Her hand went up to the bruise on her jaw. What must he be thinking? Probably domestic abuse, the beginning of a name or a word carved in her leg, a dark bruise on her jaw, a fading one on her wrist. "I'm fine, really," she said. "It's nothing."

He looked at her uneasily, seeming to just not accept that answer. "I would like to take you to the hospital for an examination. I saw your crash from down the path, it looked pretty rough."

Her eyes wandered down and sure enough she saw bleeding scraped on her knees. "But I'm fine," she insisted, looking up at him. He looked genuinely worried, and she felt bad for putting him off like that. A moment passed and she rolled her eyes slightly. "Fine," she said. "Take me to the hospital."

He held out his hand and helped her to her feet, leading her down the path in the direction she had come from.


When they reached the hospital, she was still humming Help and every now and then Yesterday would sneak its way into her mind.

Damn Beatles, she thought. They just wont leave me alone!

Dr. Nick Coffman was shinning a small light into her eyes, then taking her pulse, examining the bruise on her jaw, asking questions.

"How'd you get these bruises?"

"A man broke into my house and attacked me."

"Did you report it to the police?"

"They were trailing him at the time and caught him in the act."

"Oh. That's good. Did you get those cuts at the same time as the bruises?"

"No."

"When did you get them?"

"Will you be able tot ell if I lie?"

"Yes."

"Last night."

"How?"

"What if I don't want to tell you?"

Nick pulled back and sat down in his chair across from her. "You're by no means obligated to tell me anything," he said. "But I noticed that the cuts I can see look fairly clean. I also notice-" He motioned to the scars on her arms. "-That you seem to have a history of self-destruction."

Touching her arms and feeling the scars, some of them still rough due to their freshness. "These were a while ago."

"Not all of them."

"Fuck." She held her hands out helplessly. "Is it really that easy to tell new scars from old? Goddamn it, I went through a rough time recently and it was a habit I developed as a child! I guess when my brother became the main focus of a murder - a hate crime, nonetheless - I felt helpless and it dug up old memories. OK? But that was a month ago now."

"Are you going through a hard time now?" Nick prodded.

"No!" Chris snapped. "I'm fucking happier than I've been in a long time!"

"Then what are those?" Nick asked, motioning to the "D" carved in her thigh.

Chris moved her hand down, shielding the cuts, a vicious snarl touching her lips. "Why do you keep looking?"

"They're hard to miss," Nick said, his voice sounding apologetic. "They look like they might be infected."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Chris took a moment to think over what he had said previously. Asking about the bruises and the cuts. "Is there something that you're trying to imply?" She asked quietly, in a harsh tone.

"Well," Nick said, leaning forward seriously. "I am curios as to whether you are in an abusive relationship."

Chris's jaw dropped, even though it wasn't that far-fetched. She had cuts on the inside of her leg - a brand, even - bruises on her face and wrist. She completely understood how this doctor would have come to that conclusion. But she was in a relationship with Dutch. He wasn't an abuser. He didn't want to carve his name into her leg even though she asked him to, and he wasn't going to do it unless she carved her name into his back. If anything, she was the abuser!

"No!" She finally snapped. 'I am not in an abusive relationship!"

"Are you in a relationship?"

"Yes, but-"

"Did your partner hurt you?"

She stubbornly shook her head. "No," she said.

His eyes stayed quietly locked on her, disbelieving. He knew she was lying through her teeth. What he didn't know was that her lie was a half-lie. Dutch had hurt her, after she had asked him repeatedly. After she had convinced him to.

"I don't believe you," Nick said after a lengthy pause.

"I don't care if you believe me," Chris replied smoothly, having regained some of her composure. "You can check the police records. They have the record of the man breaking into my house. There was a paramedic there who checked me out. He was from this hospital. Check out those records, they'll show you."

"Will they prove to me that your partner didn't cut that 'D' into your thigh?"

Chris's eyes narrowed on him. She didn't have anything else to say about this. So, refusing to dignify his question with an answer, she held out her hand. "Let me use your cell phone."

"All right," Nick said, standing up and handing her his Nokia. "Would you like some privacy?"

"Yes," she said, taking the phone.

As soon as he was out of the room and the door was shut behind him, she quickly dialed in Dutch's number at work. She would just go into the phone's call records and delete this number. It was really quite easy. The only thing that complicated her communication with Dutch was that he wasn't there.

"This is Holland Wagenbach," Dutch's machine chimed. "Leave a message after the tone and I'll get back to you." Beep.

"Dutch," Chris whispered, afraid of being overheard. "This is Chris. Listen, I'm at the hospital. I was jogging in the park and I took a fall. There was a doctor right down the path and he had me come to the hospital with him to make sure that I was OK and he saw some of the cuts on my leg. Now he won't stop asking me about them." She paused, trying to think. Was there anything else she needed to tell him? "I'm going to go to your house after I get done here. I love you."

Just then Nick knocked lightly on the door. "Are you done?"

"Just a second." She found the menu on the phone and found the call records. Calls dialed. The first number was Dutch's. She selected it and found "delete" on the options, and selected that.

A little message popped up on the small, square screen. "Enter password."

"Password?" She hissed at the phone. "Whop puts a fucking lock on their calls dialed?" She wanted to yell at the phone, throw it down and stomp on it.

This doctor was persistent. He wasn't going to let this go. He was going to look and see whom she called. He would probably call up Dutch and ask him himself.

"Shit!"

"Everything OK in there?"

"Yeah..." Chris said, going back to main screen. "Just a sec." She started tapping in random numbers and calling them. Maybe if Dutch's number got bumped down to the bottom Nick wouldn't see it. She just let each number ring once before hanging up and dialing another number, all the while praying that Nick wouldn't get the number.

The door opened and Nick came in. "You sure are taking a long time."

She hung up on the last number and reluctantly held out the phone. "Sorry," she said quietly. "May I go now?"


Dutch was out at a crime scene with Claudette. No one would care if Vic just sat down at Dutch's desk for a second and listened to see who these two messages were from. In fact, it was likely that no one would even notice.

But just to make sure, Vic glanced around to see who was in the area. No one that cared. That was good.

He picked up the phone and pressed play so that he could listen to the messages without anyone else hearing. The first message was intriguing:

"Dutch, this is Chris. Listen, I'm at the hospital. I was jogging in the park and I took a fall. There was a doctor right down the path and he had me come to the hospital with him to make sure that I was OK and he saw some of the cuts on my leg. Now he won't stop asking me about them... I'm going to go to your house after I get done here. I love you."

Cuts? I wonder what cuts those are, Vic mused as he casually erased the message. And went on to the second one. Let Dutch Boy find out the hard way that a doctor was sticking his nose up Chris's skirt trying to find out if she had been abused. But the second message, from only a few minutes before, was even better:

"Hello, Mr. Wagenbach. My name is Nick Coffman. I examined a girl I believe you know named Crystal Martinez. I would greatly appreciate it if you would call me. I have some questions. Thanks."

Oh, the doctor is on his trail, Vic thought with a malicious grin. Well then, let's just leave that one there and see what happens when he calls the good doc back. For a brief moment Vic considered letting this go on as a way of revenge against Dutch, but decided against it. I'll let Connor kick some sense into him. That way, he really gets the message.