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An hour after Angela left for the day Charlie was at the front desk, looking for a file, when a young woman staggered into the clinic. She looked about seventeen and was clutching the two edges of her torn T-shirt together, one breast half-exposed. Her skirt was ripped, her face red and bruised, her bottom lip swollen and bleeding. She was sobbing and her mascara had run all down her face.
Charlie raced around the other side of the desk and caught her before she collapsed.
‘Don’t touch me, don’t touch me,’ she screamed at Charlie, struggling to free herself from his hold.
Charlie released her instantly. Everyone in the lounge and waiting area stopped and stared, the jukebox the only noise.
The girl didn’t look familiar to Charlie. ‘It’s OK. I’m a doctor. My name’s Charlie. You look hurt. What happened?’
The girl looked at him with fear and rage in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t stop him, he was too big.’
Charlie felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The girl had been raped. Damn it, he needed Angela! ‘Jordan,’ he said to the nearest open-mouthed teenager, ‘go and get Carrie.’
Jordan scuttled past quickly and hurried down the hallway to the staffroom.
‘It’s OK,’ Charlie said again to the frightened girl, ‘No one’s going to hurt you here. You’re safe now.’
Carrie strode briskly down the hallway, Jordan close behind. She arrived on the scene and stifled a horrified gasp at the badly beaten girl with wild eyes, her stance wary and agitated.
‘This is Carrie,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘She’s a doctor, too.’
Carrie felt the denial rise to her lips. No, no, no. She wasn’t here for this. Ever since she’d met Charlie he’d been dragging her into situations she didn’t want to be in. Had given up before Dana’s birth. But the wounded-animal look in the girl’s eyes called to something deep inside her, and she just couldn’t turn away from such a wretched soul.
‘How about you go with her and she sees to your injuries?’
Carrie looked at Charlie. The look in his eyes was almost as desperate as the girl’s. He needed her to do this for him, for this girl. But more than that, his slight nod told her he had faith in her. That she could do it. That she’d be OK.
Carrie took a deep breath and took a hesitant step towards the frightened girl, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go in there?’ She pointed behind her to the treatment room. ‘Then I’ll clean up your face.’
The girl swung her gaze from Charlie to Carrie. ‘I tried to stop him.’
‘I know,’ Carrie said gently, holding out her hand. ‘Come on, you’re safe now.’
The girl looked at Carrie’s hand and then back at Charlie and then back at Carrie. ‘I don’t want him,’ she said to Carrie, pointing at Charlie.
Carrie flicked a glance at Charlie. I do. At the moment she wanted his back-up and support more than anything. ‘No, it’s OK, just you and me. Just the two of us.’
The girl wavered for a moment and then nodded, walking warily towards Carrie. Carrie put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. She felt her flinch slightly. ‘It’s OK. Come on, not far.’ She led the girl to the treatment room, helped her up onto the examination table and turned to shut the door.
‘Find her some clothes,’ she said to Charlie, who was hovering outside.
He nodded. ‘I’ll give you a plastic bag to put her other clothes in. The police will want them for evidence. Wear gloves. I’ll get a counsellor from the rape crisis centre over and call the police.’
Carrie nodded and shut the door. She took a deep breath before she turned around to face the girl again. She’d had no experience with sexual assault victims.
She opened some cupboards against the far wall, looking for a dressing pack of some description to clean the girl’s cut lip. It also gave her time to think of how she was going to deal with the situation. To say she felt out of her depth was an understatement.
Carrie found what she needed and fussed over opening the pack and pouring some antiseptic liquid into one of the plastic pots. She placed it on the trolley and pushed it over, dragging the mobile stool as she went.
‘What’s your name?’ Carrie asked as she sat on the stool, the long-forgotten clinician inside her assessing the girl’s battered face.
‘R-Roberta,’ she said, her arms crossed across her torn T-shirt.
‘Hi, Roberta.’ Carrie reached down and pulled some gloves out of a box on the bottom of the trolley. ‘Would you like to get out of those clothes?’
