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At the fear on her face, I keep talking. “Just… be honest with me. I know that can’t feel good. The more you tell me, the easier it will be for me to can help. The doctors too.”
She looks down at her thighs, to one particular bruise that stretches the entire width of her thigh.
“It’s nothing compared to what I’ve felt before.” She shrugs again. “I am fine because I’m here. These cuts are nothing.”
I hit high alert, my chest tightening with each word out of her mouth. “Do you remember something you’d like to share with me?” I ask carefully, not wanting to scare her into shutting down again but desperate for her to keep talking about what she knows. Even this little bit of information helps. Knowing she’s been hurt worse in the past tells us this isn’t a random occurrence. This woman has been abused. Repeatedly. Maybe even for months or years.
Like Aislin.
“Not really. I know I’ve been hurt before. I know I’ve been hurt much worse. It’s not that I remember so much as I feel.”
She pauses, wearing a faraway look on her face, so I hold my tongue and wait.
My patience pays off.
“Have you ever had a pain memory, Detective?”
I think for a moment. I remember once breaking my nose in college. We were at a party, and some drunk girl thought it’d be fun to sneak up behind me and tickle me, not knowing how ticklish I was. She wouldn’t take her petite hands from my armpits, and I got to the point I could hardly breathe. In order to throw her off, I bent forward to buck her over my shoulder, but in doing so, I faceplanted the bridge of my nose on the back of a dining chair. The crack was so loud it could be heard over the stereo. I remember the pain of the break, but more so, having it reset by a hotshot frat boy who was in his early years of med school. The problem was we were all drunk, so even if he had a basic knowledge of this medical technique, that went out the window with the bottle of tequila we’d consumed.
“I think so,” I replied after I finished reliving that particular college memory.
“Well, it’s like that. Like here.” She pointed at the middle of her left arm. “I can tell you this has been broken before. I can’t remember how or when, but I can distinctly remember the pain of having my arm practically snapped in two. And here.” She moves to pull up her nightgown to reveal her lower abdomen. I uncomfortably fix my gaze on her stomach and avoid looking at the sterile cotton panties she’s also exposed.
Her stomach is as torn up as the rest of her skin. Various lines crisscross her abdomen. Some pink, some white, some raised, and others depressed into her delicate skin. Is there any area left untouched?
“Here I had something. The feeling of my insides being sliced out of me is so easy to recall. The reason, not so much.”
I choke down the acrid taste in the back of my throat. “Anywhere else?” I ask gruffly.
Another nonchalant shrug. “Almost everywhere.”
“Do you remember going to the hospital or being treated anywhere for these injuries?” I tug my notebook out of my breast pocket and flip to a blank page.
She tugs her gown back down. “No. I don’t remember.”
Shit. Still, I make note of the two injuries she mentioned. If she had her arm broken, then surely, she went to a hospital somewhere. When I get back, I’m going to search medical records.
“I’d like to get out of here,” she mentions quietly, pulling me from my thoughts.
“You want to go for a walk?”
“No. I want to leave. Do you know when I can leave?”
I look at the IV bag hanging from the pole beside her bed. “I think you need to wait until they’re done treating you. You were severely dehydrated when you came in. They’re doing their best to get some fluids in your system.”
“Can I leave when that’s finished?”
Something sounds off in her voice, but I can’t place what it is. She seems almost unconcerned about her current state and the way she was found when she was brought in.
I gentle my voice and lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on the tops of my knees. “Can I ask you a question?”
Her fingers tighten into the sheet twisted around her feet, blanching her knuckles. “Okay?”
“Where are you going after this?” What I want to ask her is why she was sneaking around my house that night, but I feel we still aren’t at that point. So I’ll be patient even though I don’t want to be.
Doe licks her lips, flipping her gaze from the door to the window as if the answer is lying in wait and she just has to lay eyes on it. “I-I’ll go home.”
I brace my chin in my right hand, running my index finger over my lips as I study her. “Where is home for you, Doe?”
