Chapter 24
Nantes
“It’s so good to see you again, Nantes.”
“You too, Nicole. Sorry it’s been so long, but business has been crazy.”
She smiles. “I know. I saw the write-up in Destination Madison.” She reaches for my hand. “Are you happy?”
“I am. It’s different, obviously, but good. I miss it sometimes though. The excitement of it all.”
“But not the drama or the red tape, I bet.” She laughs, patting my hand. “We miss you around here too.”
Nicole was my closest work friend, and I’m so glad she called for a lunch date. I glance around the crowded hospital cafeteria before looking back at Nicole.
“So, how are things with Andrew?”
Her face lights up. “Really good. We’ve even talked about finally moving in together.”
“Yeah? That’s so exciting. I’m happy for you. I always liked him.”
“How about you? Found any hotties yet?”
“Sort of.” I feel my cheeks heat.
“Oh my god, you’re blushing. You must be in love.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I love him, but um, differently.”
She tilts her head. “I don’t understand.”
“He was my best friend growing up, so there’s a ton of history and affection between us.”
“But it’s not love?”
“Uh, well…” I rub the back of my neck. “He was straight, or thought he was, until a couple of weeks ago.”
Nicole’s eyes go wide. “Did he have an awakening?”
“He did.”
“With you.” She fans herself. “This is excellent. It’s just like my gay romance novels.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “He lives in Chicago and has his own life there.”
“Oh, yeah, bummer. Chicago is so far.” She taps her chin. “What is that, like, two whole hours away?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, I get it.”
“Seriously, Nantes, I’ve never seen you look so happy.”
“I don’t think I have been, but I don’t want to get my hopes up, you know? He’s taking a break from his real life, and it may be too much for him once he’s had time to process everything.”
“Hold on, I thought you were Mister Optimistic? Always walking around this place cheering people up despite the stress and trauma. Can’t you give yourself a little bit of that hope too?”
She has a point, and even after his shocking confession, he’s pretty much everything I hope for in a partner. Maybe he is ready for a career change and could see himself returning to Madison, but that feels like a big ask.
Nicole’s phone buzzes and she picks up. As she reads the page, her demeanor instantly shifts.
“Shit. Severe trauma victim. I gotta go.”
“Of course. Good luck.”
She nods as she gets to her feet. “Goddamn it.”
“What?”
“It’s a rape victim and she’s fucking eleven.”
Nicole is off before I can even respond. After returning our trays and dishes, I find myself wandering up to the ER. Part of me is telling me not to go, but it’s almost like I’m compelled to.
As usual, the waiting room is full of people, but there’s a trail of blood from the doors down the hall and a worker heading my way with a hazmat suit on. In the chaos, I’m able to stroll down the hall, following the blood and the commotion to the trauma room.
A frail little body lies on the table while doctors and nurses work on stopping her bleeding and easing her pain.
My heart hurts, as it always did when these especially horrific cases came in.
I was never able to turn it off like some of my colleagues could, and I think that’s what led to me leaving the profession.
Nearby a man and a woman hold each other, while the woman sobs and the man looks like he’s ready to tear down walls with his bare hands. I step to the side as two police officers approach the couple, and the man’s voice is so loud and strained with anger, my stomach twists.
“Did you find him?” the woman asks. “Did you find John?”
One of the police officers nods. “He’s in custody and on his way here.”
“Here?” the man asks. “What for?”
“He shot himself when we pulled up to the house,” the officer explains. “But he’s likely to survive.”
“Fucking coward couldn’t even take his own life,” the man spits. I’m assuming these are the girl’s parents. “Keep him away from me or I’m going to jail today.”
The ER doors slide open and the paramedics enter with a man strapped to a gurney, moaning as he clutches a blood-soaked spot on his belly.
The father sprints down the hall, the officers and some staff rushing to follow, and I watch the father grab the other man by the collar, screaming, “You better fucking hope you die, because if I get my hands on you, you’ll goddamn wish you did! ”
The injured man responds only by trying to cover his face while the police officers pull the father away and the mother sobs nearby. I can’t help myself, and I walk over to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “Who are you?”
“I was a doctor here.”
Surprisingly, she slumps, and I have to reach out and grab her arm to stabilize her.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She cries into my shoulder while the police calm her husband and the injured man is wheeled off.
“We trusted him. We invited him into our home for dinner. His whole family. He was teaching her guitar.”
I rub her back, unsure what to say.
“He has two daughters,” the mother continues. “God knows what he’s done to them.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“She was such a happy girl. Look what he did to her.”
The husband walks over to us, giving me a quizzical look.
“Dr. Benedetti, sir.”
He nods, taking my spot in comforting his wife. “I’m sorry, Lauren. I couldn’t help it.”
She sobs into her husband’s chest, and I walk away to give them their space. The police officers linger by the second trauma room where the abuser is being treated, and I overhear them.
“This guy teaches guitar and piano to kids,” one officer says, the contempt clear in his voice. “Too bad he’s a crappy shot. He’s better off dead than in prison.”
“Assuming he’s convicted,” the other officer says. “Who knows how this will play out.”
“Fucking animal,” the first cop spits. “What he did to that girl is disgusting.”
“Sure is.” The other one pats his partner’s back. “It’ll feel good to handcuff him later.”
I leave in a daze, slowly walking back to my car.
It’s not that I haven’t seen my share of horrific scenes in my career, but it’s the first time I’ve seen it from an observation perspective.
I was always in doctor mode before, fueled by responsibility and adrenaline, only to crash out over it later.
I think I understand Vanian even more now. I understand the rage and helplessness the father felt, the deep sadness of the mother. The cop was so right—this could play out in so many ways that it’s hard to believe that justice will be served. What kind of punishment is enough for a crime like that?
I drive home on autopilot, my thoughts swirling wildly, and by the time I pull up in front of my house, I’m filled with a sense of rage unlike any I’ve felt before. I think I know what I have to do.
Entering the house, I kick off my shoes and walk down the hall to where Vanian is working in my office. He’s talking to someone on his screen, his demeanor relaxed.
“Oh, here he is now.” Vanian waves me over. There are three squares on the screen filled with smiling faces. “This is Nantes. Nantes, my coworkers.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
“I’ll be right out,” Vanian says.
I nod, exiting the room and listening as he wraps up his call. “Thanks for the updates,” he says, his voice trailing off as he says his goodbyes.
Plopping down on the couch, I drag my hand through my hair, trying to process my thoughts. When Vanian comes out, he must notice my vibe is off, because he hurries to my side, concern written all over his handsome face.
“What’s wrong, Nan?”
“I was at the hospital, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“A trauma call came in. An eleven-year-old girl. Rape victim.”
He sucks in a breath as his jaw ticks. “Shit.”
“I saw her. I saw her parents. I even saw the abuser. He shot himself when the cops showed up. Family friend, taught the girl guitar.”
Vanian’s face is creased with anger. “Is she gonna be okay physically?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It didn’t look good. I don’t know what he did to her, but there was so much blood.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s the first time I’ve seen something like that outside of my role as a doctor. I saw the aftermath of it all. I saw the pain, the rage, the helplessness. I can’t imagine what her parents are going through. They must feel so guilty.”
“Yes. That’s one of the biggest obstacles in family therapy. They blame themselves for not seeing the monster, but that’s how monsters work. That’s how they survive. They hide behind ‘nice person’ facades. They go to church and take care of their families. They have friends. They walk among us.”
“I get it now. I get why you do what you do. You feel so impotent when you see the monster and you can’t do anything about it.
I wouldn’t be surprised if that father does something, but that will only ruin his life too.
Then, what? He has to go to prison for protecting his child? It makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I never thought I was an eye for an eye kind of person. I focused on doing what I could to help, but I think I understand why vigilantes exist.”
“I know it’s not right, Nan. It’s not like I’ve convinced myself that I’m guiltless just because my victims are worse, but there was nowhere else for the rage to go.”
“I stand by what I said before. You can’t keep doing it. You’ve been lucky, but luck always runs out.”
“I know. I’m working on it. Maybe I’ll get some anger management therapy.”
“Let me finish.” I hold his hand in mine. “I took an oath to do no harm, and I upheld that oath, but I’m not a practicing doctor anymore.”
“No.”
“Seeing this today shifted my reality. I think…” I pause as my thoughts form into words. “I think you should finish with Fetterman.”
His jaw drops. “What?”