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I reluctantly pass him the paperwork and sit back on my heels. My hands are shaking and I hide them under my thighs so that he won’t see them tremor.
Drugged. Raped. Assaulted.
What I already know about what happened to my sister has to be enough. There cannot be more heaped on her memory.
Drake lays the papers on the floor and leans over them. He murmurs under his breath as he reads, going through each line with the precision of someone who might be tested on the information later. “These are mostly emergency records, which is good. When a woman comes in needing medical treatment, they almost always test for pregnancy because there are a lot of treatments that can affect a baby.”
“But she was unconscious,” I point out. “It’s not like she could have taken a minute to go pee on a stick.”
“The doctor would have had her blood tested,” Drake explains as he picks up a page and holds it closer to his face. He squints at the tiny print, making me wonder if he is supposed to wear glasses for reading. It’s probably hard to play the devil-may-care playboy when you have on bifocals. “They did a bunch of blood work, so it would make sense to do a pregnancy test with everything else.”
I resist the urge to snatch the pages out of his hand. “Maybe the doctor forgot.”
“I doubt it.” He picks up another page and his breath rushes out in a heavy sigh. “I found it. Look here.”
Heart pounding, I lean over his shoulder to study the tiny print. “Beta hCG. I literally have no idea what that is.”
“It’s a hormone that women produce during pregnancy.” Drake pulls out his phone with one hand and types something into it. “Judging from this level, she was still in the first trimester.”
I sit back hard, a pained feeling in the center of my chest. It’s true.
“Who do you think was the father?”
“I’m guessing it was the same person who tried to kill her. There really isn’t any way to know now, not unless she wakes up so you can ask her.” He glances at me with a pained expression, obviously carefully choosing his next words. “Do you have any idea if she might wake up?”
“No,” I admit, ignoring another pang of guilt.
I haven’t spoken to my father since I arrived at St. Bart’s. Even though I told myself that the radio silence was necessary to avoid arousing his suspicions, I also don’t want to know anything that he might tell me.
People don’t just spontaneously wake up after months in a coma. And if they do, it isn’t as if they come back from the brink to be the same person that they were before.
Olivia is a living ghost.
I can’t truly mourn her because she isn’t dead, and giving up all hope feels like a disgrace to her memory. But she isn’t here. I can’t ask her any questions or make her any promises. I’m as alone out here as if she were truly gone forever.
Waiting for the bad thing can sometimes be worse than just having the bad thing happen. At least that way, you get some relief from knowing what’s coming for you. But I’m stuck just…waiting.
Purgatory isn’t that much better than Hell.
A dark thought occurs to me. I briefly wonder if it would be better to keep it to myself, but decide to just spit it out. “What about Vaughn? He already admitted that he and Olivia were together for most of last year.”
Drake actually seems to consider it for a moment, but shakes his head. “I really don’t think he could be capable of that. I really don’t.” He must see the doubting expression on my face because he adds, “And even if he were, they broke up months before the Initiation. The more likely culprit is one of the seniors who were there that night.”
“Someone like Brady Caldwell,” I finish, my jaw clenching so hard that it hurts. Sadness is steadily making way for righteous anger. “If he did this, I want to see him go down for it. Hard.”
“I definitely agree with that.” Drake gathers the papers up and hands them to me. “Let’s take him down.”
Something niggles at me, a doubt that I can’t quite put into words. Brady has woman-hating, frat boy asshole written all over him. I’m sure he’s guilty of a lot of things. But I still feel like I’m missing the piece of this puzzle that will make it all fall into place.
I shove the papers back in the shoebox and rise to stand. “We have to finish this.”
Drake gives me a grim smile. “I know.”
Chapter Eighteen
Vaughn doesn’t look any better than he did a few days ago. The bruises on his face haven’t gone away, and he moves like a total invalid as he props himself on the bed when I enter his room to check on him.
“You sure they didn’t release you from the hospital too soon?” I ask, taking a seat in the desk chair.
