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He barely acknowledges with a nod and leaves the room; his medical team trails behind.
I watch them go. When I turn back toward the bed, I notice the girl’s eyes haven’t left me yet. It’s a little unnerving to be watched so closely. At the same time, I like that she seems curious of me. It might work to my advantage at getting some answers out of her. “D’you mind if I sit?” I ask gently. I want her to feel like she has control. If she asked me to leave, I would. I need her to trust me enough to open up. I already assumed it’d be hard, but two seconds in her room is enough to tell me it’s going to be a mountain of a task.
The girl gives one short, sharp bob of her head, and I scan the room for a safe place to sit. A lone chair set by her window has a white plastic seat and metal legs. It looks uncomfortable as hell for a piece of furniture in a hospital room, but it’ll do. Forcing myself to go slow, I cross the room and drop my ass into it. I drop my elbows to my knees and lean forward, clasping my hands together.
“I’m Niko.” She doesn’t respond. By her stare and the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, I’d guess she’s concentrating on breathing. “I thought we could talk. Is that okay with you?”
She nods again.
“Can I get you something to drink?” This time, she gives a punctuated shake. Okay, so she’s good with using nonverbal communication. That’s a start at least. I can work with yes-or-no questions.
“Do you know where you are?”
Her gaze flits to the open door and the hall beyond. Once again, I’m left staring at the state of this woman’s disfigurement. It’s obvious these are signs of abuse, but from who? Her pimp? Was she attacked for trying to leave that life? A victim of domestic violence? Could she be connected to the person who took Rebecca?
I don’t realize I’m staring until she shakes her head again, and the movement pulls me from my thoughts. I trail my eyes over her wounds again, and the sight makes me sick. I grind my back molars together to get ahold of myself. Once I feel calm, I ask another question.
“Do you know your name?”
She shakes her head. Damn. I try a different route. “Do you know how you got all these cuts?”
At my words, she glances down at her arms. She runs her right index finger over a spot of dried blood on her right thigh. “Yes,” she croaks in a quiet voice that startles me.
“Can you tell me how?”
“All of them.” She goes on as if I didn’t speak.
I try to keep my expression neutral, but I’m confused. “All of them? What do you mean?”
“I know how I got all of them.” She faces me with a blank stare. “I remember them all.” The sound of her voice sends a shiver down my spine. Monotone and quiet, it reminds me of nothing. That void of hopelessness. Of no going back.
“Who did this to you?” I prod gently.
She shakes her head again, and my stomach sinks. “I can’t remember. I remember the shadow man and the screaming girl. And the pain,” she goes on in a hollow voice. “I remember being hurt, but not who did it. I think… I think I did it.”
“What else do you remember?” For some reason, she flinches and cowers in her bed.
“No. I-I don’t know anything else. I can’t remember.”
I bite back a sigh and look out the window. The clouds from this morning have disappeared, and the sun now shines brightly. When I look back at the woman, she’s playing with the dried blood again. “Do you want to clean up?”
Her hand shifts to the blanket beside her hip, and she clenches it in her fist. “When they brought me here, they did so many things. They had to touch me and take reports, they said, and I let them. They took pictures of me naked. It made me scared.” She whispers the last part, telling me this as an explanation for her appearance, I assume. “Then they had to stick something inside me here.” The restraints slide up just enough so that she covers her crotch area with a hand. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and look back at her face, my heart picking up speed at the allegations of prior rape. She goes on. “That’s why I don’t trust them. That’s why I scream.”
My heart twists painfully for this scared woman and the unspeakable things she’s endured. “Will you let me help you clean up?” I ask again, gentler this time.
“Don’t touch me!” She hisses softly. I hold both my hands up in a placating gesture.
“I promise I won’t. I’ll bring you a basin with warm water and some cloths. How does that sound? If you let me take off your restraint, you can do the rest.”
“Why would you do that?”
I pause halfway to standing and cock my head. “Do… what?” I ask and carefully straighten the rest of the way as not to startle her.
“Help. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Why not leave me to the doctors…?”
“I’m a police detective. My job is to help and protect all people. If you’ll let me help you, I’m happy to do so.”
“But why?”
