CHAPTER THREE

She woke up in the ER. The rape kit was in progress, and she looked for Jack. He saw her eyes move and he stepped forward, putting his hand on her head. She touched her bandaged neck, and a few tears trickled from her swollen, blackened eyes. Jack gently wiped them away. The doctor finished with the kit and sealed it, then stood by Claire's head.

"Kim Ralston," she said. "The SVU detectives are outside, they need this kit. Can you sign the release?" Claire nodded. "And they want to talk to you."

Claire nodded again, and she looked up at Jack. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked every minute of his fifty years. The curtains rustled, and she saw a woman she recognized. Benson, the detached part of mind said, from SVU. She was dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket, her badge visible on her belt.

"Ms. Kincaid, I'm Olivia Benson. Are you up to answering some questions?"

Claire nodded, taking Jack's hand.

"Do you know who did this?"

Claire nodded. "Marc Meadows," she whispered, barely audible.

"The doctor said the wound to your neck was superficial, you should be able to speak soon." Olivia's compassion touched Claire, and she turned her head, not wanting anyone to see her cry. "Do you know how he got into your apartment?"

"Window," Claire whispered. "I thought I locked it."

Olivia looked at Jack, well aware of who he was. Her expression told him she already knew the answers to most of these questions. He was stone-faced, listening. Olivia sighed. "He broke the window." She looked at Jack again. "I have to ask. I'm so sorry."

"She's sedated," Jack said, adjusting Claire's blanket. "This isn't necessary. You know who did it. Go get the little bastard and call me."

"We still need a statement from her, Mr. McCoy." Olivia's voice was calm and soothing, yet Jack bristled. Olivia took a small notepad and a pen from her jacket's inner pocket and clicked the pen's tip. "Can you tell me about it?"

Claire turned her head and met Olivia's compassionate gaze. "I was waiting for Jack to get home. I went to the bathroom. When I came out, Meadows was there. He raped and beat me, cut my neck." She felt completely detached from the actual events, as if they happened to someone else.

"You have your statement, Detective," Jack said. "Go find the bastard, and when you have him, I want to see him."

Olivia closed her notepad and put it back in her pocket. "We're working on it, sir. Ms. Kincaid, again, I'm so sorry. Call if you need anything." She gave her card to Jack, and then walked out of the ER room. Jack looked down at Claire.

She stared at the ceiling, her eyes blank, lifeless. He squeezed her hand, and her eyes shifted to meet his. "I'm taking you home with me," he whispered. She stared at him. "I'm going to get clothes for you," he said. "I'll be right back."

Claire stared up. Jack gently pulled his hand from hers and walked to the nurses' station. "I need the clothing for rape victims. Now." He drew on every ounce of control he had not to snap at the nurse, who moved too slowly for his taste. She went to a storage closet and came back with plastic-bagged sweats. Jack checked the size and frowned. "She needs a small," he said, putting the oversized packages on the desk. The nurse took them back to the closet and returned with a smaller set of gray sweats. Jack took them to Claire.

She still stared at the ceiling. He gently helped her sit, pulled her gown off, and helped her dress. He ripped the plastic packaging on the socks, got them on her feet, and realized Claire was shoeless. So he would carry her, he thought, he would do whatever it took. A nurse came in with Claire's discharge papers and a wheelchair, and Jack lifted her into the chair before signing for her as the responsible party.

He'd called Adam from the ER, and a car and driver waited for them. The driver opened the back door and reached for Claire's hand. She jerked away, and Jack wanted to yell at him, then realized he was being thoughtful. Ignorant but thoughtful. He helped Claire out of the chair and into the car, then slid in after her, holding her. She flinched at his touch. The driver got in and turned his head, looking at Jack.

"Mr. Schiff wanted me to call him when we left the hospital, he wants to meet you at your apartment, if that's OK."

Jack looked at Claire. Her thousand yard stare was still present. "Yeah, OK, just get us home."

Jack raged silently as the driver worked his way through traffic to Jack's apartment building. He mentally castrated and tortured Marc Meadows repeatedly, each time more violently, until he felt Claire squeeze his arm. He looked down at her.

"Don't," she whispered.

The car pulled to the curb in front of his building, and he got out. He helped her out, then picked her up and carried her inside. Once on the thick carpet in the lobby, he put her down and supported her as they slowly walked to the elevators. Her stare continued, yet part of her was aware of him, connected to him, and he tried to control his thoughts for her sake. Once they were in his apartment, her legs gave way. He caught her and carried her to the couch. He went for a drink, getting a diet soda for her, and sat next to her. She jerked away. "Claire."

Her head turned, slowly. "Yes," she said, still in that hoarse whisper, as though she'd vocalized the screams in her head and destroyed her vocal chords.

"What can I do?"

"Nothing." She put her hand, with those long, tapered fingers, on his thigh.

"Adam will be here soon. Do you want to see him?"

She shrugged. The soda can moved mechanically to her lips and she sipped, wincing with the pain of swallowing. She put it aside. She stared at the door, her hand still resting on Jack's leg. In a few minutes, Adam knocked. Jack got up, looking back at Claire before he checked the peephole and opened it.

Adam stepped in, dressed in gray pants and an open-necked white shirt under a burgundy V-neck sweater. He approached Claire, but kept a respectful distance.

"Claire," he said, "I'm so sorry."

She looked up at him. "It's not your fault, Adam."

Adam looked at Jack when he heard her voice. "I thought the cut was superficial."

"It was." Jack shrugged. He'd seen Claire bleed like a stuck pig, though the wound itself wasn't life threatening, but he wasn't going to discuss that in front of her. "Sit down, Adam." Jack sat next to Claire, who stiffened for a moment before leaning against him. Jack met Adam's pained eyes. Adam nodded and Jack looked down. Claire's eyes were closed, she'd finally passed out from the meds given to her in the ER. Jack put his arm around her, cradling her against his chest, and looked at Adam. "I want to kill him."

"I know, son. How did this happen?"

"The fire escape," he said, quietly, he didn't want to wake her. "The little prick…" his voice trailed off. Claire's black and blue face, swollen and ugly, was almost more than he could bear. "Get on Cabot's ass, have her run the detectives ragged until they collar that bastard. And no way will I prosecute a brutality complaint."

"I've spoken to Alex and Cragen, this is their top priority. No one's going home until they find him."

"Alex and Claire's friendship won't stop me from reaming her if she screws this up."

"Easy, Jack." Adam sounded even more like an old man, a tired old man. "Alex is very good at her job."

"It's the detectives who need be good right now."

"You better get a grip on your anger. She has to feel you're in control, that she's safe."

"If I hadn't gone to Sing-Sing…"

"I know. I'm sorry. No one thought he was serious." He sighed. "Obviously, you're on leave until you feel you can come back to work. As long as she needs you." He stood. "Get some sleep, Jack. I'll see myself out. And two unis are outside the door."

Jack nodded. He watched Adam leave, unwilling to move, to disturb Claire, and he finished his drink. He sat, letting her sleep against him all night.

--xx—