Shawn hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

When the doctor re-entered the room, Jonathon informed him of Shawn's decision.

"Alright. Start the timer." Henshaw smirked. "Come hop up on the table."

He kicked a stool out for Shawn to climb up and instructed him to lay back.

The paper rustled beneath him as he maneuvered himself onto the table. Eventually, Shawn laid still and waited nervously as he watched his sharp ribs piercing his skin while he breathed.

Henshaw pulled a drape around the table and rubbed his hands together likely to warm them before applying them to Shawn's stomach. They were still ice cold when they made contact but at least he tried. Unlike with the stethoscope, Shawn thought bitterly.

"Just try to relax." Henshaw said, pressing on Shawn's abdomen and making him flinch.

Shawn felt like telling him where to go but thought better of it. He knew Jonathon would hear him on the other side of the curtain.

"Where does it hurt the most, Shawn?"

He thought for a moment and grazed his hand over an area above his right hip. "It hurts here sometimes when I cough or laugh."

He nodded. "Then I'll leave that area alone until the end so you're not too uncomfortable, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm just feeling for any abnormalities. Just breathe normally. Don't hold your breath."

Shawn hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He was too highly anticipating pain to relax. He was fighting with himself to focus, to not let his guard down. He was determined to maintain what little control he had.

But he was fending off something else, as well. A familiar feeling that he feared entertaining in case he drudged up something he'd buried in the past. It was spiralling back to him with greater force the more he tried to block it out. And then it all came flooding back and he remembered why things felt so familiar.

Laying there so flat and still, he imagined that this was what it was like to be dead. He remembered seeing a man's dead body on a TV show once and his eyes were still wide open like he'd turned to stone the moment his soul left his body. Shawn's eyes were open too and he was struggling not to blink.

"Shawn, you know I can still see you, right?"

Throwing off his focus, Shawn's eyelids connected and his game was ruined. "You mean I didn't camouflage?" He joked, twisting his head around to face his brother.

Eddie was standing ten feet below him crouched down over his untied shoelaces in an empty inground swimming pool. Turned over beside him was a skateboard he'd just fallen off of on account of his laces getting tangled in the wheels.

He was six years older than Shawn and today, unlike most days, he wasn't too cool for his little brother. He was fourteen – a pretty cool age to be – and yet lately he was being a lot nicer to Shawn. Ever since he got back from juvie, he wasn't running off with his crew to tag buildings or steal cars like before. He was different.

Today, Eddie had a black eye. Neither boy said anything about it because they didn't have to. What remained unspoken was obvious: Eddie had found himself on the wrong end of his father's fist.

Joel Richmond was a lot like Chet. He drank like Chet did, he screwed up like Chet did, and hell, he even blamed everyone else for his problems just like Chet. Virna had a type. The only difference between them was that Joel had a drug problem and spent most of his waking hours too high to remember he even had a son. Most of the time. Other times he could be just as violent as Chet.

Once, Eddie told him that the next time he got hit, he would fight back. Shawn wasn't sure he believed him. It had never even occurred to Shawn that fighting back was an option. After all, he was only a kid and Chet was the size of a line backer. What chance did he have? And anyway, Shawn still held onto the notion that if he was just really careful and really good, his dad wouldn't have to beat him.

"So, where's mom been?" Eddie had stepped back onto his skateboard and kicked off on the pool floor.

Shawn shrugged, wondering briefly if he meant that Virna had taken off again. "She's around."

"Oh really?" Eddie skated up the wall of the pool, latched onto the lip, and rotated his feet to take another lap to the other end. "She hasn't even come around to see me."

Shawn knew what Eddie was getting at. Eddie harboured a lot of resentment over Virna's choice of Chet over Joel because to him it was Virna choosing Shawn over Eddie. He'd sensed it for a long time. Shawn didn't know what the big deal was. She wasn't worth much to have around. He was only eight and he already knew that about his mother.

Reaching the other end of the pool, Eddie caught himself on the edge and pulled himself up. "She doesn't even care that I got out. She doesn't care about me. Dad's right."

Shawn didn't know what to say so he said nothing. Eddie only wanted to vent anyway.

"She doesn't know what it was like for me in there. No one knows. No one cares."

Eddie pulled his knees up to his chest and let his hair fall over his face.

Shawn stood and sat instead at his brother's side. "I care. You can tell me." He offered. He wanted so badly to say what Eddie wanted to hear.

"I deserve an apology." The older boy was glaring into the empty pool and Shawn wondered if he thought someone was going to emerge over the ledge like some kind of sea monster.

Shawn thought about apologizing to his brother himself, but realized it wasn't him he wanted it from.

"For what?" Shawn asked instead.

"For what they did to me!" Eddie growled.

They spent the next few minutes listening to the sounds of the highway on the other side of the fence.

When Eddie got up, wiping his nose on his sleeve, Shawn jumped up, too.

"Where you going? Tell me what happened, Eddie." Shawn stepped in his way.

Eddie's face had contorted into a furious scowl. It frightened Shawn back then and as he pictured it now, it was still just as intimidating.

"Get out of my way or you'll find out!" Eddie roared and shoved Shawn harshly to the pavement.

Shawn fell on his back and skinned his elbows. He sat there wailing from the pain and the shock of the blood as kids do. But then the real tears came: a response to the hurt of his brother's rejection.

Not long after that day, Eddie started forcing himself on Shawn. His threat proved to be legitimate.

An apology wasn't what Eddie got when he went back up to the trailer park and sought out their mother. A shiner on his cheek and a door slammed in his face taught him to take for himself what he wanted.

It wasn't possible for Shawn to stay out of his way. And he did try.

"Shawn? Did you hear me?" The doctor had his hand on Shawn's shoulder and his forehead was creased with concern.

Shawn stared.

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah. Um…sorry."

He gave Shawn's shoulder a light squeeze. "You can sit up." He said, offering out his other hand.

Shawn took it and allowed the man to pull him upright, taking the strain off his ribs. "Thanks."

"Alright. Fifteen minutes on the clock. I'm going to get you to put this on." He said, reaching behind the curtain and handing him a hospital gown.

Since Shawn made no move to accept it, Henshaw dropped it on the table beside him.

"I promise to be quick."

"I'm not wearing that."

He heard Jonathon sigh from behind the curtain, but it didn't change his mind. He'd been humiliated enough for one day without having to put on a gown.

"How about I explain what's going to happen next?"

"You can if you want but it's not going to matter."

"Hunter." Jonathon sounded like he was chastising a dog.

Henshaw put his hands in his pockets and stood silently like he was waiting for something.

Shawn checked the clock on the wall. "Fine! Let's hurry this up."

Pulling one hand out of his pocket, Henshaw laid it on the gown, preventing Shawn from taking it. "Look, Shawn. I don't want to make you do anything against your will."
Shawn stared at him incredulously. "This whole day has been against my will!"

Of course, Jonathon then came poking around the curtain. "Alright, that's enough! Shawn, it's a hospital gown, not a dress. Take it easy."

Easy for him to say. I'm already half-naked. Isn't that enough? Shawn thought, too angry to even look at Jonathon.

"Shawn, the reason I ask is so that I can check over your joints. If you don't want me to, then we don't have to. But Shawn," Henshaw paused like what he was about to say next was very important. "You can't wear your jeans for an x-ray and I need an x-ray of those ribs."

"So, I have to be naked?" Is this guy nuts? What a quack!

"No, that's what the gown is for." It was Jonathon who spoke, but Shawn decided he wasn't talking to him right now. Maybe never again.

He thought for a moment. He thought of a few spiteful things to shout at them. He caught the look Jonathon was giving him and he thought better of voicing any of it. He surrendered.

"Can I have some privacy, please?" He said it as impudently as possible.

The two men looked at each other. Henshaw led the way out of the office, but Jonathon turned back.

"You good?" He asked, no longer looking angry.

Shawn held his gaze, letting him read him. Finally, he mouthed a silent "yeah."

Jonathon nodded, and then Shawn watched him leave and close the door behind him.

He jumped down off the table, ignoring the twinge it brought on in his rib cage. He pulled off his pants and picked up the gown. "Stupid thing."

Out in the hall, Jonathon felt relieved. He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and gulped in the stale clinic air. He ran his hands over his face, pushing them over his hair, and resting them behind his head. This really does help with airflow, he thought.

"I take it you're not Shawn's biological father," Dr. Henshaw said from down the hall, surprising Jonathon who had momentarily forgotten that the doctor had escaped the office along with him.

"Oh man, I'm sorry. I should've introduced myself at the start. Jonathon Turner. And no, I'm not. Shawn's father took off and … well, it's a long story."

Henshaw shook his head. "Don't apologize. So, you're his adoptive father then?"

"Yeah, that's right." He lowered his hands and shook his head as though in disbelief. "God, that still sounds so weird to me. Father. I wasn't sure I'd ever even have kids."

"And yet here you are." Henshaw smiled.

"Here I am." Jonathon had a million things he wanted to say to the doctor. What was keeping him silent was his indecision about what to say first. He only made up his mind when he heard himself saying it out loud. "Listen, I'm really sorry about Shawn. His attitude I mean. He's just been going through a lot."

Henshaw looked almost offended. "Please, don't apologize. All things considered, he's been really brave."

"Yeah," Jonathon said, trying to find a Segway into what he wanted to say next.

He didn't get a chance though as Henshaw beat him to it. "You've both been through a lot from the sounds of it. How are you dealing with everything?"

Jonathon wasn't prepared to answer a question about himself. "Oh, um I'm alright. I'm just worried about Shawn."

The doctor seemed to sympathize. "I bet. I trust Shawn's in therapy, right?"

"Yes, he is. He hates it, of course. But I guess he doesn't fight me as much as he used to on having to go."

"And what about you?"

"Me?"

"Are you seeing a therapist? Because if not, you really should. Having someone to talk to about what you're going through as a caregiver is just as important."

Jonathon noticed a scuff mark on his shoe and kept his eyes glued to it.

"Don't try to take it all on by yourself. You're not alone. There's support groups for adoptive families and especially ones that are dealing with child trauma."

"That's good advice. Thanks." Jonathon hated how obviously dismissive he was being. He just couldn't stand the way this guy was looking at him. He felt like maybe he was starting to understand some of what Shawn was talking about. Everyone thinks they know what you're going through.

"Mr. Turner – "

"Please, call me Jon."

"Jon.

"Just so I understand, Shawn was beaten and molested on a regular basis while he was under the care of his father. And then raped by a gang of boys in this attack a couple months back?"

"That's the size of it. His father was a piece of work. And so was his brother." Jonathon said bitterly.

Henshaw nodded. "I want you to be prepared for what is going to happen next. When we go back in, I'll unfortunately need to ask him some questions that might upset him."

"Such as?" Jonathon could hear his heart beginning to race.

"When a child is abused and deprived of medical care like Shawn was, we need to be really thorough, so nothing gets missed. I'm betting there's a number of injuries and health concerns that went untreated for years. Like what happened with his baby teeth. He would've been extremely prone to infection." He shook his head. "That child would've been in agony."

Jonathon couldn't swallow. He didn't want to hear this, but it was like watching a car crash. There was nothing to do but stare on helplessly letting the guilt win.

Henshaw continued. "I'm going to check him over for any other injuries that might have gone untreated. Like I said, I'll have to ask him some uncomfortable questions about the sexual abuse. I know that he obtained genito-anal injury and was treated for that in hospital but people who suffer sexual abuse over a prolonged period are more at risk of developing certain physiological conditions as a result of the physical trauma. Ideally, I would've liked to re-test him for sexually transmitted diseases – "

"From what I understand, that was all done when he was in hospital," Jonathon said, gesturing the universal 'stop' signal like he could put an end to it all with one motion.

Henshaw pressed his lips together. "It's standard procedure to repeat these tests to ensure nothing was missed. I also wasn't the one treating him initially."

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I really doubt Shawn will let you. He seems pretty tapped out." He felt like he had to stand up for Shawn. Who else is going to?

"That was my thought, as well." Henshaw looked like he was trying to figure out the best way to say what was coming next. "It's just that I should try … ask him. You see, as soon as my office received the patient transfer from Dr. Zimmerman, I also received a subpoena to testify in court. I'd like to be as thorough as possible, so I know I do this right."

"I didn't know." Jonathon said, feeling like somehow he should've. "Would it help if I asked him?"

Henshaw gave him an appreciative smile. "That's kind of you, but I think it would be in your best interest to let me keep being the bad guy."

Jonathon was relieved.

"And Jon?" The doctor's smile faded considerably. "It's going to take him a long time to heal and I guess you know already, it's a long and difficult path."

"Yeah. For sure I do."

Henshaw was watching him and waited for a beat like he knew the other man had more to say.

Feeling his eyes burn, Jonathon heard himself admitting: "I just wish I could do better for him. I didn't know that… I just didn't know."

"And you think you should've." It wasn't a question. "What you're doing for him is everything. Think about what I said. Therapy can really help the both of you."

At a loss for words, Jonathon was grateful for an interruption.

It came in the form of Shawn opening the office door and sticking his head out into the hall. "Clock's ticking," he said.

Shawn had the hospital gown on backward. Rather than fasten the strings at the back of his neck and waist, the kid had tied it around the front like a bathrobe, creating a deep v neck at his collar. Still, he looked miserable and sat arms crossed as though daring anyone to challenge him.

Jonathon, who admired his inventiveness, felt the corners of his mouth twitch upon seeing him and struggled to conceal his smile.

"Only five minutes left, Doc. You said!" Shawn reminded him, sounding hopeful that he'd be permitted to escape when time ran out whether they were done or not.

"Now Shawn," Jonathon sat down next to him. "You're not being fair. You haven't subtracted the time you wasted whining and complaining."

Jonathon knew it was unlikely they'd be finished on time and Shawn wasn't going to make it easy.

"Come on!" Shawn groaned, leaning his head back and smacking it on the wall behind him with a loud thump.

Watching Shawn's skull hit the drywall triggered in Jonathon a surge of anxiety. "Shawn! Don't do that!" He cried, reaching for the kid and tucking a hand behind his head before he could do it again. "The last thing you need is another injury, alright?" The last thing we both need.

Shawn ducked his head away and looked at him like he was insane. "Relax! Geez!"

Henshaw changed the subject. "Shawn, you're doing great. We're almost there, okay? Fifteen minutes."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Right. This has been the longest twenty minutes of my life. And how long will the blood test take?"

The doctor looked confused at first but then he flashed a knowing smile. "You heard what I said."

"Yeah, I did. Thin walls." Shawn said, swinging his head to the side to shift the hair from his face. "I don't need everybody talking about me behind my back."

Jonathon couldn't have felt lower.

"That's my bad, Shawn," Henshaw said. "I was worried about upsetting you. I should've told it to you straight."

Shawn studied him for a long pause. He seemed to be trying to decide whether he was being genuine. Finally, he shrugged and stated matter-of-factly: "Yeah, you should've. And everything's fine by the way. I'm not bleeding out my ass or incontinent or nothing. But how 'bout I let you know if that becomes a problem?"

Jonathon watched the doctor's eyebrows disappear behind wisps of hair on his forehead.

He was just as shocked, but he refrained from calling Shawn out because he felt a flicker of pride for the kid. He was standing up for himself even when he felt like no one was in his corner. Just like the old Shawn would've.

Henshaw nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a good idea. Come on, let's get you back up on the table so we can finish up and send you on your way."

-TWO WEEKS LATER-

"Please state your name and occupation for the court," the bailiff barked.

"Dr. Drake Henshaw. Pediatric general practitioner."

The man on the stand fidgeted absently with his tie. His hair was combed and gelled back from his face neatly except for one loose strand that hung over his cheek. He tucked it behind his ear, raised a shaky hand to the bible, and swore an oath as his Adam's apple bobbed in his neck.

"Do you swear that the evidence you are about to give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

A slender woman stepped forward from the prosecution bench. "Dr. Henshaw, how do you know the complainant?"

"I'm Mr. Shawn Hunter's primary physician."

"And when did you first treat Mr. Hunter?" The lawyer was standing close enough that Henshaw could pretend she was the only one in the room: just he and Elizabeth.

He felt his nerves settle as he answered. "Several weeks ago. He was transferred into my care by a colleague of mine who had initially treated him in hospital but has since gone on maternity leave."

"So, you were not the doctor treating him after he was assaulted?"

"No, I was not."

"And before the assault, who was Mr. Hunter's primary physician?"

"From what the patient has told me, no one. He was never taken to see a doctor."

She pulled a face and paused for effect. "In fifteen years, Mr. Hunter was never taken to see a doctor?"

"That is my understanding."

"Is this because he had never gotten sick? Or needed medical attention for anything?"

The woman behind the defense bench stood and shouted: "Objection, Your Honour. It calls for speculation."

"Sustained. This isn't your first rodeo, Miss Barclay. Don't pull that again," the judge said condescendingly.

"Yes, Your Honour." Elizabeth's face was unreadable. "Dr. Henshaw, could it be possible that Shawn Hunter had never been taken to see a doctor because he had never been sick or been injured badly enough that he needed medical attention?"

Henshaw shook his head. "I don't think so. I discovered a number of indicators that would suggest that his medical needs had been neglected."

"Can you please elaborate for the court?"

"I found on Shawn multiple injuries that hadn't been given the chance to heal properly. His wrist had been broken and it remains fractured. It's called a malunion fracture. Basically, if the two ends of the broken bone don't line up properly, the space between those ends gets filled in by new bone. It's a deformity that can cause the patient a lot of pain and even lead to arthritis from unusual wear on the joint. A couple of his fingers also have malunion fractures."

"Do you recognize this x-ray here?" Elizabeth had moved toward an easel and flipped over a large photo. It was angled to face the jury directly, though Henshaw could still see it.

"Yes, it's the one I ordered of Mr. Hunter's wrist. You can see how the bone is misaligned."

"And this next one?" She pulled another photo out from behind the first one and placed in front on the easel.

"It's an x-ray of Mr. Hunter's ribs."

"Is this a normal x-ray of a healthy teenage boy?"

Henshaw struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice. He knew she was asking for the sake of the jury, but who in their right mind could look at the image and think it was normal? "No, it is not. Several ribs are broken, and his chest wall is sunken in. This is caused when the ribs get broken but are not treated."
Elizabeth was a cunning lawyer. She had a good handle on how to be a dominant presence in the courtroom. She took several paces toward the jury stand, paused as if she had just thought of something, and with a hand on her hip, she asked: "Isn't it true that broken ribs heal by themselves and we don't need to seek medical attention for them?"

"Absolutely not. That is false. You should see a doctor immediately for a broken rib especially if accompanied by shortness of breath or fever. Broken ribs are different from other breaks but sometimes they require surgery. Letting it go untreated puts you at risk of developing pneumonia, chest wall deformity, decreased lung function, and even death. Depending on how bad the break is, a rib could become detached and pierce organs, blood vessels, even nerves. If someone is having trouble breathing, especially a child, that's a sign that you should go to a doctor. That's not normal."

"Can you tell by looking at these x-rays how long it's been since Mr. Hunter broke these bones?"

Dr. Henshaw was prepared for this question. He had thought about it for days after meeting Shawn and deduced this very answer: "In my opinion, it's been at least three years since the ribs on the right side were broken because – though it healed – the shape of the bone where the break happened is very different from the rest of the bone, as well as the trabecular pattern and cortical margin. It takes time for this to develop, so it's unlikely to be new. Think about it like a scar. When a break heals, it tries to repair itself, but it'll never mend itself perfectly."

"And did you also discover scars on Shawn when you examined him?" Her angular eyebrows were set in a pronounced frown.

Henshaw swallowed. "Yes. I noticed scarring inside his mouth, on his gums and inside his cheeks. When I inquired about it, he informed me that he had had his baby teeth knocked out when he was seven years old."

"Do you recognize these photos?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a woman in the jury stand covering her mouth out of shock. "Yes, these are the photos that the oral surgeon took and forwarded to me of the inside of Shawn's mouth. Without treatment, the boy would've been at risk of infection and even choking on his own blood. I can't prove that he never received medical attention, but the scars are wide and consistent with frequent reopening of the wounds – as though to suggest he had never been given stitches. Imagine trying to chew food with no teeth and torn-up gums. He would've suffered."

"That's unimaginable. Would you say eating would have been near impossible?"

"Yes, I would. And judging by Shawn's height and weight, I would also say that he was starved on and off throughout his life. He tested deficient in multiple micronutrients and his weight was low for both his height and age. At fifteen years old and 5 foot six inches, a healthy boy should be weighing around 110 to 140 pounds. Shawn weighed in at 97 pounds and despite establishing for him a healthy, well-balanced meal plan for the past six months, he still struggles to gain weight due to years of being deprived of regular nourishment."

"So, in your professional opinion, Shawn Hunter was starved for years by his father, the defendant, Chet Hunter?"

Henshaw glanced in the direction of the defendant. The man looked no more sinister than juror number 4, but something about the expression on Chet Hunter's face erased any doubt in Henshaw's mind. "Yes, it is my opinion that Shawn wasn't being fed regularly by his caregiver over the course of his life."

"I have one last picture to show, Doctor Henshaw. I should warn the jury that the following photo may be shocking."

Elizabeth once again rearranged the photos on the easel. The next image captured a skinny boy from behind. He was shirtless and stood, head bowed with his chin-length hair parting at his neck. His sharp ribs jutted out over his thin waist and hips, and his arms hung placidly at his sides as though in defeat. The bruises painting the boy's back were enough to elicit a deafening silence throughout the courtroom, but the deep purple cuts held it there like a pall.

"Do you recognize this image, Dr. Henshaw?"

Gasps from the jury gave him the opportunity to catch his own breath. "Yes. This was taken of Shawn Hunter in my office."
"Can you explain what those marks are on his back?"

"They're welts – or scars from welts. They're from being whipped. My guess is that they were caused by a leather strap or a switch. They're all over his back, buttocks, and thighs. They still give him pain. He'll always have those scars."

Henshaw looked at the defendant as he said this. He didn't know where his courage came from, but he locked eyes with the man as he spoke and only released him when he saw Chet Hunter's face redden and a muscle in his cheek pulse.

Elizabeth gestured toward the photos on the easel and shook her head. "So, on top of being denied medical treatment, neglected of his needs, and starved, Shawn was also physically abused?"

Henshaw nodded. "Yes. When I examined him, I also found cigarette burns on his forearm and knees. This child was tortured."

Thank you for all of your feedback! Please keep it coming... I have so many developments on the way. Stay tuned to find out what's going on with Nicky.