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Chapter 2

By the time I finally get to leave the hospital, it's nearly six in the morning. I'm wearing hospital sweats, as the clothes I was wearing when I got here are shredded and soaked with blood. I left the sling and the pair of crutches, as well as the prescription for painkillers, behind. It hurts, but that's not the point. Last night happened, yes, but it's nothing. I just need to ignore it.

It's so early that there's no point in going home. I might as well just as head on over to work. Fin and Cragen will be back today and I need to be at work.

My doctor advised me to stay here. I can't afford to do that, though, and there's no reason to stay at the hospital for a few more hours so they could poke and prod me and run more tests. There was simply no point.

As I walk out of the hospital, I keep my injured arm wrapped around my chest and I can hardly manage to even limp without stopping and leaning against the wall for support. The initials- no, the cuts- on the back of my leg scream out at me with every step I take.

Initials. That's what he was cutting into my skin. I remember screaming as loud as I could, but it didn't matter, because I was gagged. I shudder, trying to force back the wave of memories. Not here, not out in public.

I don't have my wallet with me; that's still in my apartment- so I can't take a cab. My bike's at home as well. Looks like I'm walking to work. I don't have my ADA badge either; hope I don't need to go to any crime scenes today. As far as I know, I don't have court today; it's just my paperwork day. Little to no exertion- just what I need after last night. And, fortunately, my office isn't too far away from the hospital. The doctor said I really shouldn't be walking without my crutches, that I could tear my stitches, but doctors always assume the worst. I'll be fine.

After what happened last night, I would've expected to be frightened to be out in public. But I'm not. Self-conscious, yes. Worried, yes- but not frightened. It's still early, so there are few people on the streets, and I'm focused on every single one of them. How close they are to me, how big they are, and I find myself looking them over and trying to find any weapons possibly hidden on their person. Trying to see if they pose any threat to me.

And I also can't help but think, do they know? Do they know what just happened to me? And I know it's silly, that they couldn't possibly have any idea what Danny did last night. But that doesn't matter. I focus on each and every one of them, wondering, does this person know, does that one? And when someone gives me an odd look and glances at my leg, I shiver and try to make my limp less noticeable. It hurts more, but at least no one will get an inkling on what happened.

I limped down the street, allowing my injured arm to fall to my side and suppressing the wince from the flash of pain through my shoulder. I'll feel better once I get to work, I will. Once I can get my mind off what happened.

"You're here early, Ms. Novak," the security guard said as I enter the DA's office. "In fact, you're the first one here."

I shrug, glancing at my watch- one of my few accessories that wasn't still at home- and said, "Well, I have a lot of work."

"It's not even six."

I shrug again and taking a step back when I realize how close he is to me. "I know. It's a lot of work." Then I hurry away at the first opportunity.

He'd asked a lot of questions. Did he suspect something? Did he know what happened?

No. He couldn't. There was no possible way he could… right?

Shaking my head, I hurry towards the elevator, and am relieved when I am alone in it. I really don't have that much work to do- yesterday, I thought it would only take me about four hours unless something came up. Well, I don't know what I was thinking. How could I rush through paperwork? It's important. I need to focus on it. Already, I'm thinking of the large pile just waiting for me on my desk and trying to find ways to make it last so as to keep me in my office until late tonight.

Ignoring the pain that seemed to only get worse the longer I'm standing, I push myself off the wall and out of the elevator, walking slowly down to my office. I wince with every step and by the time I've reached my door, I can't wait to sit down- and that was when I remember that I don't have my keys with me.

My office is locked.

I just start crying. I slam a fist against the door and collapse against it, hot tears forming in my eyes as I shake my head weakly. Can't things just go right today? Why on earth can't I just go into my office and work and forget about everything else?

I must have stood there crying for at least five minutes before I realize that I don't have a choice. I can either go ask the security guard to come up here and unlock my office for me, or I can go all the way home and get my keys there.

I can't go home. I'm not in any shape to walk that far; I just want to sit down and make my leg stop burning.

But the security guard will ask questions. He'll want to know where my keys are, and when I tell him they're at home, he'll wonder why I left them there. That's too close to the truth. I have to think of something else.

But, thinking of a more sophisticated excuse takes more initiative than my poor, addled brain has right now. So, finally, I drag myself back over to the elevator and head back to the first floor, wiping the tear stains off my face.

It's only when I do that when I realize I'm not really dressed for work. I'm not wearing any makeup, either. Plus, without my cell phone, I won't be too easy to get a hold of. I'm suddenly very self-conscious of my sweats and what'll people think if they see me like this? Will they wonder why I didn't change at home? Will they connect the dots and realize I was in the hospital? Or what if-

No. I can't do this. I have to go home and change. It's still early; I'll make it up to myself by staying later tonight. Yes, my leg still hurts, and so does my arm, and I have no idea how I'll make it that far, but I don't have a choice.

It isn't until I make it outside of the DA's office- with the desk guard giving me a funny look on the way- that I realize I can't. I can't walk that far. I am able to take one more step before I slip on a patch of ice and fall. I land on my knee and a thin, pale scream escapes my locked lips as I cry even harder, my shaking hands grasping my thigh. I can feel the lines of stitches through the fabric of my sweatpants and I trace the cuts. I can almost see the initials branded into my skin and the stress on my thigh after my fall makes it hurt so much I can barely breathe.

"Case?"

I look up and am shocked to the core when I see Fin standing above me, staring down at me in confusion. I shoot upright, but, due to my position, I ended up putting all my weight on my bad leg and nearly collapsed again, only managing to stay upright through sheer willpower. "Fin, what are you doing here?" I ask urgently, taking at step back, as I'm uncomfortably close to him. He couldn't know what happened, could he?

"I came down here to drop a file off and leave a message for you. I would of just called, but you weren't answering your cell. What are you doing down here so early?" He eyed her clothes curiously, then added, "And dressed like that?"

Think, Casey, think! "Um, I, um, forgot. I forgot to change into a suit. And I'm here early 'cause I, um, forgot something here last night."

The strange look he gave her was enough to nearly make her bury her head in her hands. Oh, smooth one, Casey. That's believable. "Well… all right," he said doubtfully. "So why were you on the ground? Here's the file, by the way."

I accept the file, leaning heavily on my right leg. Okay, damage control time. "I tripped and, um, hurt my leg. A little. It's not too bad."

He shrugged apologetically. "Okay. Well, I'm headed back over to the precinct. You should know that we'll probably need you down there, as well, later today. We're interrogating a suspect now and we're doing a line-up in three hours. And if that goes well…"

"Indictment?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

Well, as if this day couldn't get any worse. "Okay. Thanks for the heads up." Fin nodded and was headed back to the squad car when I saw the opportunity. "Wait, Fin! Would you mind giving me a ride back to my apartment? It's on your way, and I need to change."

Fin shrugged. "Sure. Get in."

Thank god. Maybe some things will go right today.

I follow him into the squad car and sit gingerly down in the passenger seat, wincing as the pain from the cuts returns with a vengeance. I try to find a less painful way to sit, but to no avail. It's until Fin has already driven a block when he asks, "So, why are you really here so early?"

Please just shut up. Please don't ask me that. I don't have an answer.

But I can't say that. "I already told you," I snap. My reply comes out harsher than I intended it to, but he shouldn't be asking me that. I did already answer him, even if it was a lie that he would never believe in a million years.

"Yeah, with a load of crap."

I glare at him. "I don't even know why you care. Nothing happened."

He shrugs. "Fine, I won't ask. Damn, girl. No reason to act like that."

I'm instantly regretful and apologetic. It's because of the pain, I swear. That's the only reason I'm so cross. "Listen, Fin, I'm sorry. It's just that I had a really rough night last night."

What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you bringing that up? Don't talk about last night! "I mean, um," I cough, "morning. I had a rough morning."

Fin gave me a look. "Well, I still don't believe you, but apology accepted." We're silent for a while, then, and until he pulls up in front of my apartment. I'm in a hurry to get out of the car before I say something else stupid, but he speaks before I do. "Case, look, I don't know what happened last night, but whatever it was, I'm sorry about it. Hope you have a good day."

My expression softens, and I can't help but smile. Fin does have the tough-guy act down pat, but he can be sweet when he wants to. Maybe today won't be awful after all. "Thanks, Fin."

Lucky for me, one of my neighbors was just headed out, so I could get inside without my keys. The elevator was working, another stroke of luck. I just had to hope the cops left my apartment unlocked. The last thing I needed was to go find my super and ask him to let me inside.

Thankfully, they had left it unlocked. Well, with the way today was going, someone had probably broken in and stolen everything I own- but no. Inside, I find the same bloody mess as last night.

My god. All that blood. It's my blood. All of it. There's so much, there's so much. And I can't look away from the couch, where he'd thrown me down and grabbed me and took me.

My breath grows short and I'm about to faint. I have to get in here, change, and get out.

I take a step inside, grabbing my jacket off the floor- and then I realize.

He knows where I live. My rapist knows where I live. He could be in here right now. He could be coming for me. He could be in the hallway and he could be coming for me.

I have to get out of here!

I stumble backwards and run. I just start running away as fast as I can. The pain from my leg may be fierce, but it's simply a backseat when compared to my terror.

I run for my life. I leap down the stairs and dash out of my apartment building, ignoring the looks I get from everybody on the street. I run from the memories, from the hurt, the blood. I run as fast as I can until I feel a sharp stab of pain and I collapse nearly automatically from the agony. I fall into the grass of Central Park, breathing hard, and it hurts so much I'd prefer to just pass out, to get away from it all.

But the thought of Danny makes me roll onto my back and look around frantically. I don't see him, but that doesn't mean he's not here. I stand slowly on my right leg and hobble over to the side of a building, leaning back against it and looking around worriedly. I don't see anyone. It's still very early and there's no crowd for him to blend into.

It's as I finally start to calm down that I realize I'm being silly. He wasn't there. I would have seen him. He's not here. I would see him. God, what just happened? Did I just have a panic attack?

No. I, Casey Novak, did not just have a panic attack. I'm fine.

But I'm not going up to that apartment again. I'm going to have to work with what I got from my jacket.

Well, aside from some more professional clothing, I also got everything from my pockets- my keys and my wallet. Well, I'm off better than before, but I still have no way to change clothes.

Well, Olivia and I are around the same size, and I have a key to her apartment. She's in Philadelphia for two more days. There's no way in hell I'm going back to my apartment.

Olivia's it is, then.

I flip through all the money in my wallet before I flag down a passing cab. I don't think I can make the journey to Olivia's place, and besides, she lives in a walk-up. There's no way I could walk all the way there and climb up the stairs as well.

And, I feel safer in a car than I do out on a street. From a cab, I can focus and examine everybody else around me without the silent fear that they could get to me.

Once again, I find myself shifting uncomfortably, unable to find a position that doesn't cause pain in my leg.

If I'm being honest with myself, I don't feel too good about this. Olivia didn't give me her key so I could crash at her place when she was out of town. She gave me her key because she trusts me and I'm her friend. But I justify this to myself by saying that I'm not staying for long. Just to borrow some of her clothes. I've worn clothes of hers before, like when I spilled coffee on my shirt and had court in ten minutes. Surely, she wouldn't turn me down for something like this.

When I finally arrive at her apartment building, I head inside and walk towards the stairs. It doesn't look like it'll be easy, but there's no point in prolonging this. I start climbing the stairs, and, by now, I'm starting to worry that I'm going to tear my stitches. Maybe the doctor was right about me taking those crutches.

But how would I be able to explain that to people? God, I wasn't even able to come up with a believable excuse for Fin. Maybe I should start thinking about a cover story to give to people who ask any prying questions.

It isn't too hard for me to find a blouse and a pair of slacks for me to wear; a skirt is completely out of the question. I don't know how far down those scars go and I'm not too interested in looking in a mirror to find out. I don't want to see those damn scars. I don't want to see his initials in my leg.

I've never been in Olivia's apartment alone before. It feels a little strange, but I also feel slightly safer here than I did those short seconds I was in my apartment. I don't know if that's just because of the fact that I'm terrified of returning home or it's the fact that this is Olivia's apartment that makes me feel better. Well, whatever it is, I almost don't want to leave. But I have work to do today. Danny never found out exactly where my office is- I'll be ensure to speak with receptionist and ask him not to tell anybody where my office was, regardless of who they claimed to be.

Well, there is a downside to that- I'll have to come up with an explanation. Actually, I'll need one for Fin, too; there's no way he believed my earlier lie.

Thinking so much about this makes my head spin. I want to focus on something simple. Like getting dressed- and so that's what I do. I leave my sweats on the edge of Olivia's bed and get dressed in her clothes slowly, painfully. I'll come back later tonight and change back. Then I head to her bathroom to put on some makeup so I'll look like a grown woman again; one who actually has slept in the past twenty four hours and isn't walking around like a shaky mess.

That's when I realize that I have a black eye.

Damn it! How come nobody told me? Now I need to explain it. A thousand and one excuses run through my mind, each more pathetic than the last. I work furiously with the makeup, trying to hide the signs of the swollen bruise, and finally settle on the explanation that I crashed my bike. That, too, has the added bonus of explaining why I'm not riding it to work.

When I'm finally ready to go, I examine myself critically in the mirror, making sure everything is in place. I'm wearing Olivia's boots, blouse, and slacks, and my jacket. There's a little bit of blood on it, but the jacket's black, so it's hard to see and there's not too much of it. My hair is less of a mess and looks a little more professional now that I've pulled it back into a low ponytail. I'd prefer to wash it… I can still feel the dried blood on the ends of my hair… but a shower can wait.

All in all, I don't look horrible. I don't look like a rape victim. But then, who does? I know it's silly. Anybody can be a rape victim; there's no telltale sign one could use to point at somebody and say that her, she's a rape victim. But I look okay.

All this running around town has really taken up a lot of time. It's almost eight- I really should be getting into work now.

So I head out. I lock up here and limp downstairs, calling another cab. What can I say? My leg hurts. I really don't have the money to take a cab everywhere, but, just this once, I'll indulge. After all, don't I deserve a break, today of all days?

It's on my way to the precinct that I finally look at the file Fin gave me. It seems I'll be assisting in the interrogation of a serial rapist, John Saks, who committed five different rapes in Manhattan in the past six months alone. When we issued a warrant for his arrest, he fled to Virginia, and was caught, out of all things, speeding. The cop recognized him and arrested him.

I'm not really looking forward to it. Usually, I enjoy my job. I enjoy going into the interrogation room and watching them turn down deals, thinking they have a chance at freedom, then seeing their faces when they finally realize that no, they don't. They don't have a chance at getting a not guilty verdict. I love seeing the horror when I trick them into handing over the evidence I need, I love how their faces fall and they try to fix their mistake, but they know there is no point in trying.

Somehow, though, I don't think I'll enjoy that today. I'm not very interested in being in the same room as a rapist. Not today..

And yet, they need me to be there. So I will be. This weekend, I can relax- but not today. I won't let Danny Garcia take my work from me, too.