Whispering Rock
“Please. Don’t think about that now. I’ll get the nurse. Get you another sedative.” He put the light on and the nurse came immediately. “Brie needs something to help her go back to sleep.”
“Sure,” the nurse said.
“I’m just going to wake up again,” she said. “And I’m just going to think the same things.”
“Try to rest,” he said, leaning over to kiss her brow. “I’ll be right here. And there’s an officer outside your door. You’re completely safe.”
“Mike,” she whispered. She held his hand for a long moment. “Did Jack ask you to come?”
“No,” he said, gently touching her brow. “But when I found out what happened, I had to come,” he whispered. “I had to.”
After having a sedative administered into the IV, she gently closed her eyes again. Her hand slipped out of his and he sat back in his chair. Then, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands, he silently wept.
Jack was back at the hospital before dawn, not looking particularly rested although he had showered and shaved. He had dark circles under eyes that were lit by a very scary inner brightness. Mike had sisters he cherished; he could imagine the rage that burned inside Jack.
Mike stepped into the hall outside Brie’s door to quietly talk with Jack, explaining the night had been quiet and he thought Brie had rested. While they stood there, the doctor making rounds went into the room, his nurse in tow. Mike used that opportunity to visit the men’s room. He stared in the mirror; he looked far worse than Jack. He needed a shower and shave, but he didn’t want to leave her. Family members would be returning soon, but Mike didn’t think they’d be keeping Brie in the hospital for long.
On his way back to Brie’s room, he saw Jack talking to a man outside her door. In fact, Jack was right up in his face. The officer providing security was stepping closer to them, making a gesture with his hands that they should separate. Then Mike realized it was Brie’s ex-husband, Brad, and that probably within seconds Jack was going to kill him just on principle.
Mike made fast tracks. “Whoa,” he said, separating them first with an arm between them, then with his entire body. “Whoa,” he said again. “None of this. Come on.”
From over Mike’s shoulder, Jack demanded of Brad, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Brad glared meanly. “Nice to see you, too, Jack,” he said.
“You don’t belong here,” Jack said too loudly. “You left her. You’re done with her.”
“Hey,” he said, bristling. “I never stopped caring about Brie. Never will. I’m going to see her.”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “She’s in no shape to have to deal with you right now.”
“You’re not in charge of the guest list, Jack. That’s up to Brie.”
“Come on,” Mike said sternly. “Let’s not do this here.”
“Ask him if he wants to take it outside,” Jack snapped back.
“Yeah, I’ll—”
“Whoa,” Mike said yet again, widening the space between the two men. “This isn’t happening here!”
Brad moved closer, pushing up against Mike, but lowered his voice cautiously. “I know you’re angry, Jack. In general and at me. I don’t blame you. But if you get tough with me, it’s going to be worse for Brie. And this officer is just going to hook you up.”
Jack ground his teeth, pushing up against the other side of Mike. Mike was having some trouble holding them apart. “I really want to hit someone,” Jack said through clenched teeth. “Right now, you’d do as well as anyone. You walked out on your marriage. You left her while she was building a case against that son of a bitch. Do you have any idea what you did to her?”
Oh, boy, Mike thought. It was going to happen between these two any second, right in the hospital hallway. Mike was a good six feet and pretty strong, but Brad and Jack were both taller, broader, angrier and not a shoulder injury between them. Mike was going to get hammered when they lost it and started pummeling each other.
“Yeah,” Brad said. “Yeah, I do! And I want her to know that I still care about what happens to her. We’re divorced, but we have history. A lot of it good history. If I can do anything now …”
“Hey!” Mike said to the cop. “Hey! Come on!”
The police officer finally got in it, putting himself between Brad and Jack along with Mike. “All right, gentlemen,” the cop said. “I have my orders. No scuffling outside Ms. Sheridan’s door. If you want to talk this over calmly, I’d like you to move down the hall.”
Oh, that was not a good suggestion, Mike thought. If they moved down the hall, they wouldn’t be talking. Mike cautiously backed Jack up a few steps. “Take a breath,” he said quietly. “You don’t want to do this.”
Jack glowered at Mike. “You sure about that?”
“Back off,” Mike said with as much authority as he could muster.
Just then a nurse came out of Brie’s room and Brad snagged her too fast for Jack to intervene. “Ma’am, I’m Ms. Sheridan’s ex-husband. Brad. I’m also a police detective,” he said, badging her. “Off duty. Will you ask her if she’ll see me? Please?”
The nurse made a U-turn and went back into the room.
“What’s he doing here?” Brad asked, indicating Mike with his eyes and a jut of his chin.
Oh, mistake, Mike thought instantly, stiffening. Was Brad crazy? Pissing off the guy who was keeping Jack from killing him? He felt his own fists begin to open and close. The ex wants to know why another man is here? He dumps his wife for another woman, but no guy is supposed to pick up where he left off? Mike actually smiled, though coldly. Balls, he thought. I should just let Jack beat him up.
“He’s a cop,” Jack said, stretching the truth somewhat. “I asked him to come. To help.”
“He can go,” Brad said. “We don’t need his help.”
That did it. Mike took one fast step in Brad’s direction, but was stopped by a strong hand on the bad shoulder, pulling him back. That was all it took to get his attention; he wasn’t going to put Brie through this. But if they all ran into each other somewhere else, like the parking lot, he couldn’t make any promises. Right now he wanted a piece of Brad as much as Jack did.
The nurse returned from the room and spoke to Brad. “When the doctor is finished, you can go in.”
Brad had the good sense not to take on any superior airs. He didn’t avoid eye contact with the other men, however.
“Let me ask you one question,” Jack said to Brad, trying to keep his voice under control to avoid being ejected by the uniform. “Were you at work the night it happened?”
“No.”
Jack ground his teeth. “Then if you hadn’t walked out on her for another woman, you’d have been at the house that night. Maybe waiting up for her to get home. Maybe right inside where you could hear her scream. So much for your good history.”
“Hey,” Brad began, clearly wishing to argue the point. But Jack turned away from him and took several steps down the hall. Right then the doctor came breezing out of the room, looking down at the chart as he walked by all three men. Brad lifted his chin, glared briefly and entered Brie’s room.
Mike let out his breath. “That was gonna be so ugly,” he said. He went to the chair outside Brie’s door and sat. Jack paced, fidgeting. He took several steps down the hall, away from the door.
Mike rested his elbows on his knees. He scratched his itchy beard. He noticed the cop was standing beside him.
“This has got to be tough,” the cop said to Mike, indicating Jack just a few feet away, his jaw pulsing and his hands in fists at his sides.
Mike turned his head, looked up at the young officer. He glanced at his best friend; Jack was tortured, helpless. “Nothing can prepare you for something like this to happen to a woman you love,” he said softly. “Nothing.”
Brie was released from the hospital that afternoon and she went home to her father’s house. Sam and Jack drove her while Mike followed in his own car, watching with concern. He hadn’t been around very many sexual assault victims in his police career, but certainly he’d come into contact with some. He had never seen a woman so stoic, so removed. Once they all arrived at Sam’s, she went directly to the room that had been hers when she was younger. She called Jack to come, to cover the mirror.
Brie took her dinner on a tray in her room that night. Her sisters stopped by one at a time, visited with her in her room, but didn’t stay long. There were five Sheridan siblings, all married but Brie. Two of the sisters were older than Jack, one was a couple of years younger and then there was Brie, the caboose, eleven years younger than Jack. Her three older sisters had brought to the family eight daughters, and Jack and Mel had provided the only boy in little David. So when the family was all together, it was an almost unmanageable crowd. A teeming throng filled with noise and laughter—Mike had seen that for himself on earlier visits. It was not unlike the Valenzuela household. Not so now. The house was still, like a mausoleum.
Mike had a quiet dinner with Sam, Jack and Mel.
“You should probably head for L.A.,” Jack said to Mike when the table was cleared.
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “I can stay a day or so, see if anything develops.”
“I don’t want to hold you up,” Jack said. Then he walked out onto the patio and Mike followed. “I can call you if anything happens.”
Sam came outside holding a tray with three glasses. There was a short shot of amber liquid in each and he put the tray on the patio table. Without conversation, the men each took one, sipping in silence. The June air was sultry in the Sacramento valley, humid and almost oppressive. After a few minutes Sam got up and said good-night. Then Jack finished his drink and went into the house. One by one, the lights inside began to go out, leaving only the kitchen light for Mike. Exhausted as he was, he didn’t feel like sleep. He helped himself to another short shot and went back to the patio, lighting the candle on the table.
The whole family is in shock, he thought. They move around silently; they grieve Brie’s lost innocence. Everyone under this roof is in terrible pain; they feel each physical blow for which she bears the marks.
“You should probably go now.”
He lifted his head and saw Brie standing in the open patio doors, wearing the same clothes she had worn home from the hospital. “Brie,” he said, rising.
“I’ve talked to the detectives several times. Jerome Powell, the rapist, was tracked as far as New Mexico, then the trail was lost,” she said, very businesslike. “I can tell you from experience, the odds are at least ninety-five percent he’s gone—pulled a territorial. I’m going to start counseling and group therapy right away—and I’ve decided not to go back to work for a while. Jack and Mel insist on staying the rest of the week, but you should go. Visit your family.”
“Would you like to come and sit with me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll talk to the D.A. every day, see if he turns up anything new. Of course I’m staying here. If I need any assistance in the police department, I have an ex-husband who’s feeling very guilty. And very helpful.” She took a breath. “I wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you for trying to help.”
“Brie,” he said, taking a step toward her, his arms open.
She held up a hand, and the look that came into her eyes stopped him where he was. She shook her head, kept her hand raised against him. “You understand,” she said, warning him not to get too close, not to touch her.
“Of course,” he said.
“Drive carefully,” she said, disappearing into the house.
Two
One week later Mel and Jack returned to Virgin River to resume their routine. Mel went into Doc’s every morning, the baby with her for the day. If something urgent came up, she could always take the baby over to Jack at the bar, or if Jack wasn’t there, Paige or Preacher or Mike were more than willing to babysit. For the most part, David could be counted on to remain content for the half hour or so Mel needed to see a patient as long as she had the bouncy seat with her and he was neither hungry nor dirty. He still took two long naps a day—one in the morning and one in the afternoon.
Mel had been back from Sacramento less than two weeks when a teenage girl from Virgin River came to Doc’s and asked to see her. Carra Jean Winslow was fifteen and Mel had never seen her before. In fact, even though Mel had lived and worked in Virgin River for just over a year, she didn’t know the girl’s parents. Taking note of her age and obvious anxiety, Mel took her to an examining room before asking her what she needed. When a fifteen-year-old girl who didn’t cough or wheeze or bring her parents came in to see the nurse midwife, the possibilities seemed pretty limited and obvious.
“I heard there was a pill that could keep you from getting pregnant if, you know, you had sex,” she said. She said it very quietly, looking at her feet.
“Emergency birth control. But it’s only effective if the intercourse has been very recent.”
“Two nights ago,” she said weakly.
“That’s recent enough,” Mel said, trying to put her at ease with a smile. “Any problems? Pain? Bleeding? Anything?”
“Bleeding. There was some bleeding.”
“First time?” Mel asked, smiling kindly. The girl nodded. “Have you ever had an internal exam before?”
She shook her head and looked down again.
“I’d like to check you, make sure everything is okay. It’s not as terrible as you think,” Mel said, touching her arm gently. “How much bleeding?”
“Not too much. A little. Getting better.”
“How do you feel? There?”
She shrugged and said, “Still a little sore. Not bad.”
“That’s good. I assume, if you’re interested in emergency contraception, you didn’t use a condom….”
“No,” Carra answered.
“Okay, we can handle this. Can I get you to undress and put on a gown for me?”
“My mom. No one knows I’m here.”
“That’s all right, Carra. This is between you and me. I’m only interested in your health. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Everything off, just the gown.”
Poor thing, Mel thought. She ached for young girls who had just stumbled into this sort of thing without planning, without being sure. And that described almost all young girls. But at least she was here, avoiding yet another disaster. She gave Carra plenty of time to get undressed, but didn’t leave her waiting long enough to tangle up her nerves, then returned to the exam room.
“Let’s get a blood pressure and listen to your heart first,” she said briskly.
“I have to pay you myself,” Carra said. “I don’t want my parents to know about this.”
“Carra, confidentiality is important in this office—you can trust that,” she said. “This is all going to work out.” She applied the blood pressure cuff, noting there were a few small bruises on the girl’s upper arm. “You have a couple of bruises here,” she said.
“It’s nothing. It was … volleyball. It can get a little rough sometimes.”
“Looks like someone grabbed you,” Mel suggested.
The girl shrugged. “It happens.”
Mel got the blood pressure, which was normal. She listened to Carra’s heart, looked in her eyes, checked her pupils. Except for the nervous pounding of her heart, she seemed to be in good shape. She showed her the speculum, explained the procedure and eased her carefully into position for the pelvic. “Nice and slow, feet right here, slide down for me. That’s it. Try to relax, your knees apart, honey. Thank you. This isn’t going to be bad at all, so take some deep breaths and try to relax.”
“Okay,” she said, and began to softly cry.
“No crying now,” Mel said gently. “Everything is going to be all right, because you came to see me right away.” She gently parted the girl’s knees and was frozen. Her labia were bruised and swollen; there were bruises on the insides of her thighs that bore a striking resemblance to the bruises on the girl’s upper arm. An unmistakable thumbprint and fingers. Oh, God damn. Mel stood from her stool and looked over the drape at Carra’s face. “Carra, I can see that you’re very sore. Bruised and swollen and a little torn. I’d like to proceed, take a closer look to be sure everything is all right. But only if you’re up to it. Are you okay?”
She pinched her eyes closed, but nodded.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Mel said. She put on her gloves but set the speculum aside. “I’m just going to check your vagina and uterus, Carra—I’m not going to use the speculum because you’re sore. I’d like you to take a deep breath for me, then let it out slowly. That’s it,” she said. “It’ll just take a minute. Don’t clench. Relax your muscles, Carra. There you go, very good. Tell me, does this pressure hurt?”
“Not so much,” she answered.
Why do these things always come in batches? Mel thought. I’m not over Brie! Carra’s vaginal wall was torn, ragged. Raw. Her hymen was ripped open and looked like so many little fingers. She completed her exam quickly, and while she didn’t have a rape kit handy, she did have a sterile swab with which she took a vaginal specimen, although it could be too late for any DNA recovery.
“Okay, Carra, let me help you sit up.” Mel snapped off her gloves and helped Carra get herself settled, legs dangling off the table. “I’m concerned about what happened to you, Carra. It looks like you’ve been hurt. Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head and a couple of big tears spilled over. Carra was a plain girl with an oblong face, bushy, unshaped brows and a small problem with acne. And right now, a really bad case of regret and fear and nerves.
“It will be confidential,” Mel said tenderly. “It’s not just the bruises, Carra. Your vagina looks ragged. Torn. The damage isn’t serious. It’ll heal. But from everything I can see—”
“It was me. It was my fault.”
“Something like this is never a woman’s fault,” she said, and she used woman purposely, although this was a mere girl. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, and we’ll go from there.”
“But you’ll give me that pill?” she asked desperately.
“Of course. We’re not going to let you get pregnant. Or sick.”
She took a deep breath, but it brought the tears harder. “I just changed my mind when it was too late, that’s all. So it’s my fault.”
Mel touched her knee. “Go back to the beginning. Nice and easy.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Sure you can, honey. I’ll just listen.”
“We decided we were going to do it. He got all excited about that—he said he was sorry after. We’d already started…. He couldn’t stop.”
“He could,” she said. “I can see the bruises from his fingers, like he held you down, held your legs apart. I can see the marks, the tears. Let me help you.”
“I wanted to, though.”
“I know, Carra. Until you didn’t. And you told him no, didn’t you?”
She shook her head. “No. I wanted to.”
“If you said no at all, that’s rape, Carra. Date rape.”
Carra leaned forward, her position pleading. “But I’ve done things with him. Lots of things. And I wanted to.”
“Have you ever had intercourse before?” She shook her head. No. “You can say no right up to the last minute, Carra. That’s the law. And it doesn’t matter what you did with him before. Tell me—is this a boyfriend? Or someone you’ve only known a little while?”
“I’ve known him a long time from school, but he’s been my boyfriend a couple of weeks.”
But they’ve done a lot? Mel was asking herself. “Carra, he moved pretty fast. I want you to think about this. A couple of weeks. This is one determined guy. How old is he?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not telling you any more. I’m not getting him in trouble. It wasn’t his fault. It was my mistake, but he’s sorry.”
“Okay, listen—don’t get yourself all upset. If you change your mind and want to talk about this, you just call me. Or come to see me. Doesn’t matter when. Let’s get you on a dependable birth control and—”
“No. I’m not doing it again,” she said, holding her mouth in a tight line while tears wet her cheeks.
Oh, she’d been raped. Sounded as if she didn’t even have much of a date, Mel thought. “Carra, if you continue to see this boy, this man, it’s going to happen again.”
“I’m not doing it again,” she said firmly. “I need that emergency pill. That’s all.”
“That’s all for right now,” Mel said. “I want you to come back in a week or two, so we can test for STDs and be sure you’re healing up. It’s too soon for anything to turn up today, this soon after exposure. But this is really important. Will you do that?”
In the end she agreed, but she wouldn’t accept birth control. In a very businesslike tone she asked Mel, “How much?”
“Forget it, Carra. This one’s on the house. Call me if you need me. Anytime. I mean it—anytime. Night or day. I’ll write down the number here and my number at home for you. Okay?”
“Thanks,” she said meekly.
After all that, the thing that really tore at Mel’s heart was seeing her patient ride away on her bicycle. The girl wasn’t even old enough to drive a car. And she pedaled while standing up—her tender bottom couldn’t handle the seat.
Mike Valenzuela called Brie. He couldn’t help himself. It had been two weeks since he’d heard her voice. Jack was more than happy to keep him up-to-date on her recovery, how she sounded, but Mike needed more. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.
“Pretty rugged. Kind of edgy and nervous,” she answered. “But then, it hasn’t been that long.”
“Physically?” he pressed.
“I … Ah … I guess the worst is over. The bruises are beginning to fade. But it’s amazing how long it takes a couple of ribs to heal.”
“Jack says you took an extended leave of absence from the prosecutor’s office,” Mike said.
“Did he tell you why?” she asked.
“No. And you don’t have to tell me. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said coldly. “Because I can’t work like that—when I can prosecute a suspect for rape and he gets off.” She laughed bitterly. “On me!”
“Oh, Brie,” he said, sympathetic. “God, I’m so sorry.”
“If I get a chance, if they find him, I’m going to bury him. I’ll put him away for life. I swear to God.”
Mike took a deep breath. “You’re one of the bravest women I’ve ever known. I’m proud of you. If there’s anything I can do …”
“It’s nice of you to call,” she said more softly. “Not many people besides family are brave enough—I guess they’re afraid of what they might hear. Does Jack know you called?”
It wouldn’t be long before Jack found out, Mike thought. Sam had answered the phone, asked who was calling before putting her on. “I didn’t call you because you’re Jack’s sister, but because you’re my friend and I wanted to know how you are. I don’t really care if Jack’s okay with it, only if you are.”
“I’m okay with it. His protective nature usually just amuses me. Or annoys me. But not at the moment,” she said. “It feels kind of like a shield, just knowing how he is.”
“I’d be protective if you were my sister, too,” Mike said. “I’m feeling protective myself, though there’s not much I can do but call and talk. I think this is what happens to everyone around the crime, Brie. We all have our responses—from the victim to her friends and family. It’s all part of the healing process. I watched my friends and family go through that, too. It’s one of the reasons I came up here—it was becoming oppressive. Their need for me to heal so they could feel better.”
“I keep forgetting that,” she said. “That’s how self-absorbed I’ve become. You’re a crime victim, too.”
“You’re supposed to be self-absorbed right now. Self-protective. Focused.”
“And that’s how you were?” she asked him.
“Ohhhh.” He laughed. “I wish you could’ve seen my routine. I started out the day by crawling out of bed crippled, the pain terrible. I dosed up on the anti-inflammatory, iced down my shoulder and groin, drank Mel’s protein supplement drinks that would gag a maggot, and then started my exercises with one-pound weights—so light, so nothing. And it would make me almost cry. Then I’d have to lie down. It took me two months to do a sit-up—and Mel would help me with the physical therapy on my shoulder every day, but not until afternoon, not until I could drink a beer first to take the edge off. She’s little, you know, but you shouldn’t let that fool you—she can pull and push and grind on an injured muscle until you beg like a baby. My life was all about getting my body back.”