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Evidence was collected for the rape kit. The exam was degrading. I knew that they were being as polite, sensitive, and understanding as they could, but I had already been attacked and violated; having anyone other than Jackson touch me turned my stomach.
Such was my life; I endured it. I survived it. Somehow.
I didn’t know where I got the strength, but I sat there while they bagged the sheet I was wrapped in, as well as the clothes Jackson was wearing. I sat there, with Jackson beside me, while I was questioned, photographed, poked, prodded, and swabbed.
It’s no wonder people don’t report sexual assault.
Just when I thought they were done and we’d be left in peace, the nurses said the police wanted Jackson swabbed for evidence also.
More humiliation. More degradation. Only now shame and guilt tagged along for the ride.
As the nurses left, bright red hair captured my gaze, blinding me to everything else.
It’s her!
The voice of a demon filled my head, and the hospital receded, leaving just her and me. I was back in that hellhole. I was onthat mattress. I could smell him, feel him, hear him. I could hear them all. I whimpered, pulling away.
I watched her like a hawk watches its prey. Her mouth moved, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at something next to me. She turned, and with the swoosh of the door swinging open, she was gone.
Things came back to me slowly. The smell of the anesthetic and cleaners that permeated the room burned my nose. The sounds of the hospital drifted in from the hallway, and then I felt Jackson’s presence and his reassurance.
The detective began questioning us. I tried to focus. I really did. I answered everything he asked of me. But I started shutting down after the second or third round of questioning. I didn’t know what he thought would change, but he just kept making us walk him through the encounter.
As the situation ramped up into the realm of overwhelming, that weird, numb feeling of detachment I’d gotten with the red-haired lady came into the room and took over my body. I watched Jackson face off with the detective. He got in the guy’s face and told him enough was enough. When they pushed back against Jackson, he explained Conrad’s position as Chief of Police, stating we were done answering questions until our families were finally notified.
A few hours later, I was settled into a room with Jackson beside me. He’d been released, he said. I was shocked. He had a bullet hole in his thigh. He kept saying he was fine. That he was lucky. The bullet had gone straight through, missing everything vital. Jackson said the doctor who’d treated the wound said it was incredibly lucky. The bullet had just missed the artery.
I was so happy Jackson would be physically okay that I didn’t question him too much. All his wounds had been cleaned and stitched by a plastic surgeon who agreed to discharge Jackson as long as Jackson checked in with the doctor the next day.
Jackson lay in bed behind me. I was snuggled in his arms, with both of us facing the door. He was stroking my hair soothingly when I finally fell asleep.
Three
Jackson
The hours after we arrived at the hospital were hellish. Once Dr. Cole had us in a room, he got the ball rolling. Nurses came forward with IV bags, tubing, and several other items.
One said, “The first thing we need to do is get you both into a gown. Then we also need to bag that sheet and your clothes, Mr. Holt.”
“Jackson, please. Mr. Holt is my dad.”
They both smiled at me and nodded. They pulled out a few hospital gowns for Katie and me. When she flinched away from them, I pulled mine on and turned to help the nurses get Katie in hers. They got the things bagged up and placed them on Katie’s gurney.
“We need to draw some blood and start an IV on you guys. Then we’ll take you to CT.”
Once they had numerous tubes of blood and the IVs were started, Dr. Cole got behind my wheelchair and pushed me out the door with the nurses wheeling Katie’s gurney behind me. It seemed strange, but the hallways were clear.
Seeing me looking around, Dr. Cole said, “I thought you and Katie would both be more comfortable if there weren’t a lot of Lookie Lous.”
I looked up at him, realizing he’d used Katie even though I’d said her name was Catherine. “You know, don’t you?”
He smiled. “Know what?”
I just stared at him for a moment and nodded.
When we got to CT, they wheeled Katie in, and I talked to her through the microphone while they put her in the machine. Then it was my turn. I flipped the fuck out when they moved her out of the room and got me settled on the CT machine. I couldn’t see her, so I panicked. I got off the scanner bed. I couldn’t do it.
Dr. Cole stopped me, “Jackson, we need this scan.”
