This second chapter took me a bit of thought. I hope I conveyed and honored this situation with my prose.
Rape and sexual assault are horrific realities that happen all too often in this world. The statistics are grim.

Every 68 seconds, an American is sexually assaulted.
Every 9 minutes, that victim is a child.
Meanwhile, only 25 out of every 1,000 perpetrators will end up in prison.

The ER buzzed with energy as Drs Greene, Carter, and Benton rushed to stabilize their patient, a middle-aged woman who took a nasty tumble off a flight of stairs. Bloodied and battered, she lay on the gurney, her family holding vigil outside the glass-paned doors.

The woman was a grandmother, no doubt, even in her unconsciousness she exuded that motherly warmth. - With her gray curls, rouge lipstick and smile lines, She looked like the kind that volunteered at libraries or worked in the nursery at her church.

The fall had knocked her pearl earrings askew and her wire glasses hung mangled on her nose. Mark Greene peered over her with a sigh, removing her earrings and glasses and placing them in a plastic tub. How unfortunate for her to end up in this ER.

The prognosis wasn't looking too good, Mark observed, the bruises blossoming over her pale and wrinkled skin a testament to the extent of her injuries

"Let's get her prepped for surgery, stat." He called out to his colleagues working across the gurney. "We need to repair that internal bleeding before it's too late.``

John Carter nodded, his hands moving swiftly as he worked to establish IV lines. "Chuny, can we push 2 of Heparin please? And someone call up to the OR and get the surgeon on the way."

Peter Benton looked up from his task of stabilizing her broken leg. "Who's the surgeon on call today?"

"Elizabeth's on call today." Mark replied automatically, "In fact, she probably just arrived thirty minutes ago," he added.

"Wow Greene… your wife didn't even come by to give you a hello kiss!" Dave Malucci, a young doctor, chided. A smirk forming on his lips.

"I'm sure she had something to attend to Malucci."

"Come to think of it," Carter interjected, "Today is that big surgery on the Fortune 500 guy. Romero has been blabbing about it for weeks."

"Yeah, Something like that." Greene pressed a stethoscope to the woman's chest. Her breathing was becoming shallow and labored. "We're losing her." Mark said grimly, his hands moving with precision as he checked the rest of her body. "Did you call up to the OR?"

"Yes Dr Greene, twenty minutes ago." Nurse Chuny replied as she strode to the wall phone. "I'll call again."

After five more minutes of anxious waiting, the trauma room doors burst open, but instead of the curly haired Dr Coraday, through it came brusque Robert Romero.

The hospital's chief surgeon was only five foot four and balding in his thirties. He tried desperately to make up for it with his grating demeanor and barking voice. To give a kind word or a smile seemed illegal against his personal code of conduct. Some people (the nurses) speculated that he was the Tin Man from the Wizard Of Oz, or perhaps, the Wicked Wizard of East Chicago. But he was a good surgeon - much to the hospital staff's chagrin.

Personally Mark despised him. The only person in the hospital who actually could stand him was Elizabeth, since Romaro was her direct boss and they did a lot of surgeries together. Mark was surprised to see the man instead of his wife and quickly pondered why she hadn't been able to answer her page.

Romero assessed the situation with a glance, his face twisted in disdain "What do we have?" he asked forcefully.

"Seventy-nine year old female, fell down a flight of stairs. Medics brought her in ten minutes ago. Pulse OX is 60, heart rate is 80."

Gloved and gowned, Romero approached the gurney, lifting her shirt to assess the neon red bruises on her stomach. "Okay folks, this is a case of massive internal bleeding. I see some broken bones as well. I need to locate these bleeds. Get me the ultrasound. And why the hell am I down here!

The team jumped at his last exclamation, all of them shrugging and looking around at one another.

"Dr Coraday didn't answer her page sir." Chuny provided.

"Where is your wife Greene? "Romano asked, turning his wrinkled forehead towards the skinny doctor.

"You mean she isn't upstairs?" Mark asked, trying to keep the sudden anxiety that knotted in his stomach from reflecting in his voice.

"No Mark. I haven't seen that Brit. And if I do, remind me to fire her. The surgery for Tom Bynum starts in two hours and we can't miss that. Now I'm all tied up with this lady-" He motioned towards their unconscious patient. "Hopefully she won't take more than forty minutes.

With that, Romero unlocked the wheels on the gurney and rolled it away.

Carter and Benton shook their heads as he left. They turned to Mark. "We've got the cleanup here." Benton offered. "Why don't you go find Dr Coraday?"

His lips pulled into a tight line, Mark shed his bloody gloves and wandered out into the main lobby. Working his way through the throng of people that had filled it in the evening rush.

After many 'excuse me's' and waving off the people that tried to get his help, he got behind the front desk and dialed the employee daycare on the third floor. If Ella was here, then her mother had to be near.

There could be many explanations for her seeming absence, he reasoned, as the phone rang on his ear. Maybe she was pulled into another surgery, or got caught up in the lab. Maybe she had been in the bathroom and dropped her pager down the toilet.

Right?

Finally the number picked up, a peppy woman's voice coming down the line.

"Hello, this is the daycare!"

"Hi my name is Mark Greene, I'm just checking to see if my daughter Ella Greene was dropped off this morning."

"Oh, Ella? She is so cute! Looks just like her mother…and I can see a little bit of you in there, in the head shape-"

"Is she there!" Mark interrupted frustratedly, causing the heads of the desk workers to turn towards him momentarily.

"No Dr Greene, I haven't seen her since you took her home yesterday".

"Thanks."

Mark hung up the phone, left to wonder about this new piece of information. Where was his wife? Where was his daughter? This was uncharacteristic of Elizabeth, she had that British penchant for punctuality. His lack of it had been a topic of many fights between the two of them.

Mark turned on his heels, going through the med-bay doors with the intention of checking their parking spot. But as soon as he emerged outside, an ambulance pulled up. His colleagues rushed past him to escort the patient

"Hey Mark!" Dr Weaver called from beside the vehicle. "We need your help here!"

The slam against the window had done no good for her ability to fight back. Her vision swam as she twisted around in the tough grasp. Her legs flailed, looking for a place to land. They only sliced through the air in vain.

"I've got you now, Doctor."

Elizabeth went still. She knew that voice. She blinked hard and locked eyes with a set of beady brown ones, twisted in delight. She knew that face. How could she forget it?

"Dean Rollins?"

"My lovely lady. I'm flattered you remember me." He laughed, a thick raspy thing that blew into her nose, causing her to recoil. "But then, how could you not? I always knew our connection was strong…"

His lips formed a thin line, the sides quirked up in pleasure. He ran his gaze down her body. The action was purely villainous, and Elizabeth knew what he was going to do with her. She remembers the face of his last victim. That woman was terrified even until her dying moments in the ER.

Elizabeth wondered how long he had been planning this. It had been two years since she had watched him be rolled away in handcuffs...off to serve a life sentence in jail. She wondered when he had sabotaged her car, and if he had planned it to coincide with the snowstorm. She wondered if she would live to see another day, or if she and her daughter would die in this one.

Rollins buried his nose in her neck, and the hand that wasn't pinning her against the car window came to tangle in her hair.

It was almost gentle, almost soft, and if she closed her eyes, she could bring herself back to the night before - Settled in her own bed, with her husband holding her tight. She hadn't a thought then, didn't worry for safety or wonder about ominous men in the snow. Maybe she should have.

"Doctor…Doctor…I think I'll call you Liza." Rollins pushed forward, to press her tighter against the car. "Yes," He hissed. "Liza-Beth. You know that's what it comes from right?"

She could feel him getting more excited as he mumbled on. His hands came to circle around hers, and his eyes rolled back in his head. It was almost as if he was going into a trance. If she could just get in the car…

Elizabeth brought her right fist around, connecting it with the surprisingly warm skin of his cheek. Rollins stumbled back. But instead of letting out a curse, he froze. His face bent into one of, was it sadness? The reaction was almost enough to cause Elizabeth to pause. But only almost.

She turned her focus to getting her key in her hand, and then jabbing the key into the handle lock. But everything was shaky and her vision was crossing and just when she got it in, her body went flying.

The snow on the ground had hardened to ice and she resounded off of it with a thud.

"Liza, Liza Liza. I thought you knew better than that…" Rollins toed her prone body as his head tilted in curiosity. "Trying to get to the car? Your baby is sleeping in there you know. Were you trying to save her? Nothing to worry about Liza…I don't do kids."

He clasped his hands behind her back, pacing around her with a slow chuckle. In a sudden eruption, He pulled his foot back and let his full force reign with blows.

"I've got you now Doctor!" He yelled.

At first Elizabeth tried to track her injuries. The repeated hits to her leg probably broke it. Her ribs were most definitely shattered. The snap of a collarbone pointed to a fracture. But the hits to her head were the worst, and everything became too cloudy.

When he was done, he stooped down, pulling her face from the snow by her hair. Blood ran from her nose and mouth, her shoulder hung limp. But her eyes. Those green eyes snarled at him. When he was finished with her, he thought with satisfaction, she wouldn't be able to even open them.

"Dean." Elizabeth struggled to form the word, her voice falling to a low octave. "Please. Don't do this." She should've begged earlier when she still had the chance. Because even now, as she said those words, she knew it was a losing battle. His whole demeanor had changed. What had once been unbalanced and shifty was now demented and sure.

"Shut up Liza." He snapped, jerking her hair once again. Causing her to cry out in pain.

"It is my time to have you. And you will not beg. You will not make a sound." He pulled a glistening Sig Sauer from underneath his jacket and pointed it to the car behind him. Right towards Ella's car seat.

"Don't make a sound. I don't like it when they scream…."

He stands, peering into the desolate buildings surrounding them. Still the snow continued to fall, but the sun was beginning to etch out its place in the morning sky. The heightening noise of cars honking and people yelling gave evidence to a city waking up. If only someone would turn down here, Elizabeth wished.

Rollins places his arms under hers, jerking her up onto her feet.

"Walk." He pointed a few yards away to a darkened alley formed by two wings of the factory.

Elizabeth obeyed, her limp leg sinking unevenly in the snow. The face of Kerry Weaver, with her cane and distinctive gait flits by. The Chief was in charge of shifts, and was known for her strict running of the giant whiteboard that hung by the front desk. Even though they hadn't been the best of friends, Elizabeth wondered if maybe, just maybe, the older woman would notice her absence in the ER.

They entered the canal of the alley. The falling snow had piled up in the tight space, running up the brick walls in thick piles. But along the farthest wall stood a haggard metal door frame. Beyond it stretched the dark expanse of the factory.

"In here." Rollins said gruffly, grabbing her hood and shoving her towards the opening.

By now the fatigue and the cold and the effect of her beating were starting to set in- she couldn't stay on her feet even if she tried. Silently, she collapsed onto the cement floor.

From her lilted viewpoint, she can barely make out the details of the wide space, darkness consumes it. Obscuring the broken machinery and the chairs and the old advertising papers that skittered around on the wind. Cobwebs cling to everything, and beneath her, the floor is sticky with dried candy syrup, an ironic reminder of this building's more positive past

"You're my white whale." Rollins' voice pierces through her observations. She can not see his face in the dark. But she can feel him close, by her feet, as he towers over her.

"From the moment I saw your face. When you saved my life..."

The jingle of his belt echoes in her ears.

"I knew I would have you."

The cool air hitting her thighs took her breath away. Even if she dared to scream, she couldn't.

Everything echoes a million times in this cavern. The sounds he makes. The rustle of their

clothes. Elizabeth lies there. Her mouth agape and wide eyes watering at the seams.

She feels like a china doll, gaze unseeing, fixed on the tattered roof above. Somehow she feels like she is searching for something. A promise, some solace. But there is nothing to be found. There is only loss. She is losing little bits of herself with each passing moment, might just lose her life when this is all over.

It is all so gruesome and violent and seems to go on for an eternity. The only movement she can manage is to dig her fingernails into her palms. The only thing she can feel is the warm liquid running in between her fingers when she finally draws blood. Almost. There is the infinitesimal feeling of something warm in between her legs, and she wonders if he too, has drawn blood.

Finally, he goes limp. And finally, a lone tear falls loose from her eyes.