CHAPTER SIX

Claire slept, as predicted, all day and into the night. Jack dozed for awhile, then got up. He showered, changed into fresh clothes, and made a drink. He put a CD in the stereo, the Stones, and sat on his couch. He stared at the pill bottles Dr. Rodgers left and thought of Claire.

In his imagination, he saw that slimy little man holding her down, knife to her throat, then slicing her clothes open. He imagined the man penetrating her, and he wondered if she fought him or if the training kicked in – don't fight, survive. He closed his eyes, but that made the mental imagery worse. The visual of that man, forcing himself into Claire, made him ill. He slugged back the scotch, seeking numbness in his own way. His images were imaginary, hers were memory, no wonder she was a wreck. He felt a headache coming, and he put his drink down, then stretched out on the couch, turning off the lamp. And still he saw that man driving into Claire, sweating on her, ejaculating into her, and then cutting her throat, however superficially. Jack was grateful for that much, that Marc Meadows hadn't killed her. Degraded her, yes, but he spared her life.

His battle with his imagination gave him a little insight into what she endured, and his heart broke for her. She really had been an innocent at heart, despite the evil they saw every day. She believed that evil would not reach out and touch them, and now it had kidnapped her. He knew how her mind worked, what she'd be thinking – that he couldn't overcome the idea of that repulsive little man inside her. And she thought he would leave her. God. He sat up, holding his head between his hands. This headache was going to be a monster.

Impulsively, he reached for the Percocet bottle, guided by the light from the bathroom. He could barely read the label. When he was certain he had the right medicine, he opened the bottle and took one. He hadn't had enough alcohol to worry about. He got up and walked to the bathroom, turning off the light. He let his eyes adjust, then walked the few steps to his bedroom door and into the room.

He undressed and got into bed with Claire. She stirred when the bed moved, then was still. He scooted next to her and wrapped her in his arms. "I love you," he whispered, "and I will not leave you." He was in a deep sleep within half an hour.

--xx—

The sun woke him. He sat up with a start, the bed was empty. He threw the covers back and walked into the living room. Claire stood at the windows, looking down at the street, hugging herself. He came up behind her, clearing his throat softly, and she turned as he put his arms around her.

"You're cold," he said. "Come back to bed. Do you hurt?"

"Some."

"Rodgers left pain medicine for you." He turned from her and snagged the bottle off the coffee table. He tipped one into her palm, then got water for her. She took the pill, drained the water, and then looked bewildered, as if she didn't know what to do next. He took the glass and put it on the kitchen bar, then guided her back to bed. They lay on their backs, and her hand reached for his. "You slept," he said.

"Like the dead."

"Claire, I don't know what's going on in your head, but if you're afraid that I'm going to leave you because of this, I'm not. That little asswipe is not taking you from me."

She turned on her side, her head on his shoulder, and rubbed his stomach. "I don't know what's going to happen to me," she said.

"How do you feel?"

"Violated. Broken." She stopped rubbing his stomach and moved her hand to his shoulder. "I feel dirty. I feel like I did something wrong or stupid to cause this."

"You didn't do either."

"Then why does my heart hurt so much?"

He pulled the covers higher and turned so they were face to face. "You aren't responsible for any of it. We're going to get through this."

"I'm not so sure. It feels like someone died."

He understood that much, the end of innocence was a terrible thing, but it ultimately came to everyone. "We don't need to talk it to death. If you want to talk about it, fine, I'm here, but we don't have to obsess on it."

She stroked his cheek. "I keep thinking that if I don't think, it'll go away."

"I don't know, but I don't think so. You're calling the shots, I'm not going anywhere."

"It was vile." Her voice choked. "I keep remembering it, feeling it."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing." Tears formed in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. "Just help me get on with life, put this behind me."

He kissed her, gently, sweetly. "Sleep, baby," he whispered, "I'll be right here when you wake up."

--xx—

Alexandra Cabot walked into the attorney's room at Rikers and slammed her briefcase on the steel table. Marc didn't jump, but his lawyer did. "Attempted murder of an ADA, first degree rape of an ADA, twenty-five to life to cover both."

The lawyer sat up straighter. "Both?"

"Both. I don't want to put the victim through a trial. Opt for trial and you're looking at life without parole. The State of New York does not look kindly on those who attack their law enforcement agents."

"It's a good deal, Marc," his lawyer said.

"Far more generous than he deserves." Alex's skin crawled just being in the same room with the man. "You have thirty seconds to decide." She looked at her watch.

"So you don't want that broad to have to testify?" Marc said.

"Fifteen seconds. I promise, if this goes to trial, I will wipe the floor with you."

"Marc," his attorney urged.

Marc Meadows grinned and said "I like seeing the bitch suffer. I'm going down anyway, might as well enjoy the process."