Thanks for all the reviews and feedback. I have decided to stick with Darcy's POV, but I may later write a separate one shot from G.G.'s POV. This chapter went in a completely different direction than I expected, and you have Chamberlayne and Forster to thank.

10.

Once I had arranged for the doctor's appointment, drank some protein powder in milk for breakfast, spoken to Mrs. Reynolds about my continued absence for most probably the rest of the week, exchanged a series of texts with Rick (he was actually flying out that evening, but would not arrive in England until late morning the next day), had a long shower, rewrapped the bandage around my head and jaw, and finished what work I could from home without going into work, it was only 1 p.m. I knew I should rest, perhaps just kick back with a book or watch some T.V., but I felt restless.

I would have gone for a bike ride (Chuck and I were avid riders), but I was almost certain that a doctor would recommend against any activity where I might fall and displace my already broken jaw. Then I considered a jog, but recalled that any jostling made my jaw hurt worse.

At best, I could probably go for a walk, but I certainly couldn't go for a walk around here, not where anyone might see me. The landscaping company I had hired was trimming the bushes, weeding the garden beds, mowing the lawn and planting perennials. Their crew chief, Rafael Domingo, was an acquaintance, who I might almost call a friend. Rafael was gregarious and given our longstanding relationship, he would feel entitled to ask me questions about my face and what had happened and the dictates of ordinary politeness would mandate that I answer with at least some version of the truth. It had been tough enough to tell the nurse and doctor who didn't know me.

There was one other thing I knew I should do, but I debated actually going to do it. I fiddled around at home, sending texts to the parents of G.G.'s last set of friends, Tracy, Mattie and Trish, and asking "Has your daughter heard from G.G. lately? If so, please tell me." It seemed like a long shot, but there was little else I could do.

I heard back from Mattie's mom, Stacey, right away. She texted: As far as I know Mattie and G.G. stopped being friends a while ago when Mattie refused to let G.G. borrow her cell when she started going to that new school, but I'll check with her when she gets home this afternoon. I was still debating how to answer when two more texts from her came in: How is G.G. doing? and Are you worried that she is still sending nudes and doing other bad stuff with creepy guys?

I stared at the last word "guys." It could have been a typo, an auto-correct issue, but I had a feeling that "guys" was correct. What did Stacey know that I didn't? And did any of it really matter? G.G. had been on a bad road, was on a bad road now, but no matter what she had done, she was still my sister.

I debated explaining the whole debacle to Stacey, but again, I did not want to answer more questions, to start a prolonged conversation about things that hurt so bad. So I settled for the shortest response I could. Yes, and other stuff. Thanks.

Then I considered fixing myself a sandwich (when you eat breakfast at 10:30, it is always a problem to figure out when to eat lunch), but I wasn't really hungry yet, and it seemed like that would involve too much chewing. The four ibuprofen tablets I had taken earlier hadn't cut the pain nearly as much as the prescription stuff, but I was determined to remain clear-headed.

Having no further excuses to delay, I dressed in my typical business suit (I needed to look as put-together as possible for this), but also packed a bag with the casual clothes I would need for a walk after, to clear my head. Surely it would be safe to venture out to the land use area which was recommended for day hiking. I put in the first address and let the GPS guide me to Meryton, specifically the city police station.

It had turned out that the City of Meryton was so small that seemingly all its governmental offices were in one two story building: police, city planning, mayor and the like. I walked through the revolving door and immediately saw a receptionist desk with a familiar woman behind it. She had a distinctive, ski-jump nose on a too thin face, but had wise eyes. I couldn't quite remember her name, but I did remember that she was friends with Elizabeth Bennet. I didn't like that at all, but she had already seen me, so I wasn't going to just walk out again.

"Hi, where can I direct you?" the woman asked.

"Police." I felt relieved that apparently she didn't recognize me.

"Down the hall, to your left."

I had just taken a step or two in that direction when she asked "Bill Darcy?" I suppose that was how long it took her to see past the Barton bandage.

I wanted to ignore her, to just keep walking, but of course I paused and turned back to her. "Yes."

The receptionist asked, "What the heck happened to you?" Then apparently recollecting her professional role, she said in a steadier tone, "It's good that you are going to report whoever did that, but I didn't know you were back in Meryton. We see Chuck a lot of course, but I haven't seen you."

"It's nothing; it didn't happen here. I'm not back, I just had to take care of something else." I tried to answer as succinctly as possible.

"Someone steal something of yours from that house?" She tried to guess why I was going to see the police if it wasn't about my jaw.

Again, I didn't want to answer, wanted to stop all questions. It was ironic, I suppose, as I was going to report Caroline and set myself up for all sorts of questions, but it would be different as it would be someone I didn't know, and officers were professionals.

I didn't particularly want to lie, but I did want her questions to stop and I sure didn't want to tell her something that would make it back to Elizabeth. I wanted our interaction to be as boring and non-memorable as possible. "Something like that."

Inside my head, a little internal monologue started up: Yes, Caroline stole my sense of safety, my confidence, my belief in the general goodness of people (what was left after George Wickham anyway), stole how I view myself, took something that is not quantifiable, that could never be fixed, broke me. But of course I didn't say any of that to her.

But in a quick moment of boldness, with a sudden burst of remembering her name, I pleaded "Charlotte, I don't really want anyone to know I came here today. Can you not mention it?"

Charlotte shrugged, "Oh, okay."

I wasn't sure if that was an agreement to stay mum or just a generalized acknowledgement of what I had said, but hoped it was the former. I said "Thanks" and proceeded on my way.

There was another reception desk inside the police station portion of the building, manned by a woman I was certain I had never met before. While I felt a growing pressure, tightness, impending panic in my chest, I relaxed just a bit when the unknown woman had no visible reaction to my injuries and said "What can I help you with today?"

"I need to file a police report."

"Traffic accident or other."

"Other."

"Oh, okay." She replied, sliding a clipboard toward me. The clipboard had a ballpoint pen attached with a string, and was holding a carbon paper form with white, yellow and pink pages. I couldn't help but imagine what G.G. would say about this "old century" method of making copies.

The receptionist instructed, "Fill this out, pressing hard, and afterwards you can talk to one of the officers."

I settled in a plastic seat that was similar to the ones in the urgent care the night before and went to work. The top part was easy, names, date, location, but when I got to the rectangle to report what happened, I struggled.

Should I use the "r" word? It sounded so violent, conjured pictures of a man with a knife holding down a woman and making her submit, threatening that if she didn't, she would die. I still wasn't sure it really applied to me.

I hesitated for a long time, and then quickly wrote. "Caroline Bingley got me drunk, drove me home (I was too drunk to drive), undressed me (I was too drunk to undress myself) and then sexually assaulted me. I did not try to stop her, but I think I was far too drunk to consent."

I had written small, and there was still so much room in that rectangle. Did I need to write down the specific acts? I pondered for a while and then added, "She performed oral on me and then climbed on top of me and had sex with me."

There was still a lot of space in the rectangle, but it felt like I had written enough, so I signed where I was supposed to and then got up and returned the clip board. The receptionist told me, "Someone will be with you soon" but didn't get up to take the clipboard to anyone.

I continued to sit and wait. I played a word game on my phone but I wasn't doing too well on guessing the words. My mind was distracted, reliving what I could remember about what Caroline had done, and also thinking about G.G. and where she might be.

It was a relief to get an alert about a text on my phone, but I wasn't prepared for what I would read. Dan, Tracy's father, had texted back. No, I told Tracy she shouldn't be friends with G.G. anymore after what she pulled last year.

I probably should have left well enough alone, but I was bored and had nothing but time so I texted back What happened?

When I didn't get a response for a couple of minutes, I went back to my word game. I continued to do badly at it, so immediately checked his text response with the next ding.

When they had a sleepover in our basement, G.G. snuck out to meet a guy and brought him and Tracy's date for the upcoming dance back with her. Tracy just thought both couples would make out while they watched a movie, but G.G. sucked her guy off in front of all of them. She was under a blanket, but Tracy was sure that's what she was doing. Tracy was very shocked and embarrassed, but Jim wasn't. He asked if Tracy would do the same. He called her a tease when she refused, said G.G. promised him that he'd have a good time if he came.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I tried to place this piece into the puzzle I thought I knew. Who the heck was my sister anyway?

But I also felt a flash of anger. Wasn't part of the parent code to tell other parents the bad things their kids were up to?

I texted back. Why didn't you tell me all of this before? My phone showed him typing on and off for a while. Finally his long box of text appeared.

Just like you didn't tell us that G.G. was a boy-crazy slut who would try to corrupt our daughter? We trusted that it was okay for Tracy to be friends with G.G. because she came from a good family and all. Tracy didn't tell us what happened right away. While she dumped Jim on his ass, she gave G.G. another chance. They were supposed to hang out together at the winter formal, but G.G. barely spoke to her there, made her get a ride home with someone else after.

I texted back, I'm sorry. I really couldn't think of anything else to say.

Dan wrote back, I guess I should have told you, but I figured you knew.

I responded, I knew some things, but not that.

I stared at the phone screen for a long time, waiting for another response from Dan that never came. I was interrupted when a young police officer, who looked barely old enough to have graduated from high school, came up to me. "Mr. Darcy?"

Officer Chamberlayne introduced himself and then I followed him back to a little room which had a chair on either side of a table. We sat down, before even looking at the report he said "So you must be here about your injury," and gestured to my face.

"No," I replied, feeling faintly foolish that I had come when I was still all banged up.

"No? Did you somehow do that to yourself?"

"No, but it didn't happen in Meryton and it's no big thing."

Officer Chamberlayne shrugged and then he reviewed my report in front of me. From what had happened earlier and what had happened next, it was clear to me that Officer Chamberlayne hadn't read anything besides my name before. His eyes widened slightly as he scanned down the page, perhaps taking in that I was making a report against a woman. But I knew when he got to the rectangle in which I'd described what Caroline had done as his eyebrows shot up, his eyes widened so much that I could almost see his entire eyeballs, and he jerked his head back. I could see him rereading then.

He pulled out a notebook (which was tipped away from me) and while looking down began to ask me questions. At first it was formal stuff: confirming the date of the assault, who did it, where it occurred and whether anyone witnessed any part of what took place. To the last, I added the details of where we were when Carolina ordered me all the drinks and mentioned that Caroline told her brother Chuck that she would drive me home. I could see Officer Chamberlayne making notes now and again, but couldn't see what he was writing.

He asked "You voluntarily drank those drinks and let her take you home?"

I felt like I knew where that was heading, so tried to explain. "It wasn't like I was going home with her. We weren't on a date or anything. I'm friends, was friends, with her brother. I was his house guest, not hers. She was taking me back to the rental house because that's where we were all staying. I just wanted to go home and go to bed, but NOT with her. There was no reason for her to think I might want that."

Officer Chamberlayne got a sympathetic look in his eye, and I felt that he might, just might be understanding me. But then that hope was dashed when he asked "Was she ugly or something, but you really didn't notice that until after, 'cause you had your beer goggles on?"

"No, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Or maybe you have a girlfriend and you regretted cheating or regretted getting caught later"

"No, no girlfriend. I didn't want it ever!"

"Are you gay? Maybe with latent heterosexual tendencies? Boyfriend get mad?"

"No, no, no!" I couldn't understand why all of his questions seemed to assume I had regrets after, rather than focusing on what she had done to me.

Officer Chamberlayne scrunched up his forehead, apparently thinking hard, and then relaxed it. "She get pregnant? You thinking making this report might get you outta having to pay child support?"

"No and no!" I shouted as I stood up.

An anger had been building up in me as he kept trying to find reasons why I was making my report besides the basic truth.

I repeatedly pointed my finger at him for emphasis as I yelled, "What kind of cop are you? You stupid blockhead, can't you get it through your head? She raped me!"

Standing up and angrily shouting at a cop is probably not the smartest move in what had to be an interrogation room. I'm not sure if the officer had some kind of panic button or if I was just so loud that other cops heard, but seconds later two cops burst in.

One cop pushed me forward, hard, onto the table. Fortunately, in that split second I had the presence of mind to turn my head so the undamaged side of my face hit the smooth wood. I did not resist, but even so, I found myself restrained and then handcuffed.

One of the cops asked Officer Chamberlayne, "Andy, why are you interrogating a suspect all alone and without recording it? What did this guy do anyway?"

"He's not a suspect, but he just flipped out for no reason and was about to attack me," Officer Chamberlayne replied.

Oh, how infuriating it was to hear him say that! But I wasn't about to argue about it while I was pressed flat against the table in handcuffs. I forced myself to remain limp and stay calm. While I was still very angry, I guess my self-preservation instincts kicked in.

"Okay, let's go talk about what happened," the other officer told Officer Chamberlayne and then asked the cop holding me down, "Got this Chief?"

"That I do, Denny, but go ahead and send in Carter."

I remained where I was until the exchange of officers took place.

"You'll stay calm?" The Chief asked me.

"Yes," I replied.

The Chief lifted me up and put me in a chair. "Stay right there."

I got a good look at the Chief then. He was middle aged man with plenty of silver in his hair, and a bit of a beer belly, but his brown eyes looked kind. "I'm Chief Forster. Now, son, how about you tell me what just happened?"

"Ought we not Mirandize him?" Officer Carter asked. He looked tense, like he thought I might jump out of my chair and attack him. Although I am a tall man, I don't think I was particularly threatening while sitting awkwardly with my hands cuffed behind me.

"I doubt there's any need for that," Chief Forster replied gently. "Andy's kind of a hothead and is still learning. This guy's a suit, who came into report a crime. I have a feeling this is just a misunderstanding."

Chief Forester picked up the clipboard with my report, and then grabbed the closed notebook and put it beneath the clipboard. He turned to me and asked (after glancing down, apparently to locate my name) "Mr. Darcy, Bill, you don't mind if I call you Bill, do you? You weren't planned on hurting Officer Chamberlayne, right?"

"Of course not."

"Well, what made you so hot under the collar?"

"I didn't mean to get angry," I told him, "and I'm sorry to be wasting your time."

"This is a small city, Bill, and my job is to make sure all these officers act as they should and keep everyone safe. Now let's get this all sorted out. You came in to make a report and then what happened?"

"Well, Officer Chamberlayne kept questioning my motives. He seemed determined not to hear me. Now I can understand that sometimes people might come in here with the wrong motives, that you might have to decide what merits investigation, but shouldn't an officer listen with an open mind first?"

"Of course, of course. Let me just take a look at your report and his notes." He read my report, then flipped in the notebook to find the notes, which he studied for a couple of minuted. Whatever surprise he might have had at just what I was reporting and whatever he read in the notes, none of it showed on his face.

"Well Bill this isn't a very common type of report. Carter, go ahead and uncuff him. Bill's not going to give us any trouble."

"Of course not," I echoed.

Officer Carter didn't seem all that eager to do that, but it was clear to me he was the subordinate and so did as asked. It was good to get the cuffs off. People like me didn't get handcuffed and I had no idea how uncomfortable it was. I gratefully rubbed at my wrists.

"This is a serious allegation, Bill," Chief Foster responded, "and I'm sorry if Andy didn't approach it as such. Now what were you hoping to accomplish by reporting it at this stage? From what I understand, 100 Netherfield Park is vacant right now, so I am guessing this Caroline Bingley isn't around for me to talk to, and any evidence is long gone."

"I'm not sure I expect you to do anything, really. I guess I just wanted to make sure there was a record somewhere. What she did . . . it wasn't right."

"Alright."

Chief Forster stood up and extended his hand toward me. I stood up and shook his hand. "Bill, you were brave for coming in, and I'm sorry Andy acted that way. I'll give him a talking to. And I do apologize for the cuffs earlier. That was mostly for your own safety."

I had doubts about that last bit, but it was reassuring to know I wasn't in any kind of trouble. Having seen enough movies about how things could go with cops, I think I was just relieved.

Chief Forster said "We'll be sure to keep an eye out for that gal if she ever comes back to Meryton. Now let me walk you out."

I found myself escorted out from the police station part of the building very quickly and efficiently, but the Chief was so friendly and personable during it, that it didn't seem like a brush off at all. It was only as I was walking to the front reception area that it occurred to me that he simply wanted me gone.

I lingered near Charlotte (who was fortunately busy on the phone), trying to figure out what to do next. She finished the call and asked, "Didn't you make your report?"

"I did," I replied, curious as to why she would think I hadn't.

"Oh, I just expected to see you with your pink carbon copy. It didn't seem like something you would fold up in a suit pocket."

I recalled then that the police station receptionist had said something about the pink copy being for me. "I forgot it, thanks for the reminder," I told her, turning around.

"Any time. I know a lot about how everything around here should work, but I guess that's not surprising as I practically grew up in here."

Something was niggling at my brain, but I couldn't quite recall it.

"You probably heard about it from one of the Bennets," and then at my confused expression helpfully added, "my father used to be the mayor here."

"So with those sorts of connections, why don't you have a better job?" Once those words were out of my mouth, I realized how rude my words seemed, but fortunately Charlotte did not seem to take any offense at them.

"Well, city planner was taken. Honestly, though, I probably could have gotten something higher up, but I don't care for politics, all the," here Charlotte dropped her voice, "ass kissing." She spoke normally again to add, "I like being helpful, and you'd be surprised how often someone comes in here thinking they want one thing but I'm able to help them figure out what they really want."

"So what do I want?" I asked. I had this sudden irrational hope that she would mention her friend Elizabeth.

"Well, what I think you want is to go back in the station and get your copy of your report, and see if when you get it, it is crumpled up like they threw it (with the original and second copy) in the trash and then tried to straighten it out. If Chief Forster wasn't trying to get you out of there for a reason, than my deductive powers are failing me. Honestly, he should have walked you all the way outside, but I am guessing he was counting on the fact that you wouldn't know me."

"They really wouldn't do that, would they?" I asked in disbelief.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh they wouldn't? I've seen and heard about plenty, believe me, and Chief Forster's as slick as they come. He protects his own. Why he'd need to protect his own from you, well I haven't a clue, but better hurry; they might decide to shred it instead."

"Okay." I hurried off back to the station to talk to the receptionist. I wanted to give the police every benefit of the doubt.

The hastily scribbled note on the door "Closed for lunch" didn't give me any pause in trying to open the door, but I expected it would be locked. However, it wasn't. I hesitated, standing in the open doorway, my shoulder holding open the door. I noted the, empty reception area of the station, had a moment to reflect that perhaps the receptionist should have hung the note from her desk instead, as the rumble of voices confirmed that all the officers had not suddenly left, when I heard shouting.

Someone was getting the dressing down of a lifetime and I was pretty sure it was the Chief berating Officer Chamberlayne. I heard "You f'ing a'hole, don't you know who that was? That was f'ing Bill 'my uncle's a sitting U.S. Senator and I run a world-wide conglomerate with revenues exceeding the GDPs of many nations' Darcy That's the guy you made fun of and had me take down and cuff. He could have all our heads, sue for police brutality, ruin us all. I mean he may have a screw loose, having some weird remorse over f'ing the wrong gal, maybe thinks she's gonna claim rape, maybe he's just spoiled by always getting the best tail. I f'ing don't care. Laugh and make all the jokes you want about his crazy report once he's gone, but g'd damn it never do it to his face. You take dutiful notes like a good little boy, not doodles of every which way he might have had her. While that sketch of her boob ain't bad, I could jerk it to that, you were on the job. What if he'd seen those?"

I remembered then, seeing Officer Chamberlayne taking what I thought were notes. I felt rising humiliation. Why had I ever thought it was a good idea to report what Caroline did? Ms. Berry had tried to warn me.

But Chief Forster wasn't done with his diatribe. He continued "If you'd played your cards right, we'd all have new bullet proof vests, drug sniffing canines up to here, courtesy of him, with him thanking us for the privilege. Now we just have to hope this doesn't turn into a PR disaster.

"Andrew, you'll be gone if this comes back and stings us on the ass. If Bill Darcy calls or comes in again, you're all to show him every courtesy, pucker up and kiss his hairy keister, subtly of course. Hell, if this Caroline was still in town I'd bring her in and embarrass her, just to make it up to him."

I heard a faint indeterminate mumbling then. Someone must have asked a question.

In response, Chief Forster laughed and some forced chuckles from his listeners followed. "Of course not," he declared. "Who ever heard of a woman raping a man? We should all be so lucky."

I had heard enough. I turned around and softly closed the door I had been holding open behind me.