Chapter Seven: Adrift
Abby sank down on the couch and rubbed her forehead. Brian hadn't been caught. Joyce had left the shelter. There was a glaringly obvious conclusion to draw.
She picked up the phone again and dialed the police department. She didn't even need to look up the number; unfortunately, she'd had to report far too many domestic violence incidents.
When the line was answered she said, "Yes. I'm a nurse at County General, and yesterday I called you guys to report a domestic violence incident. We got the woman into a shelter, but I found out a few minutes ago that she left the shelter this morning, and that her husband hasn't been caught yet."
"Do you have proof that another crime has been committed?"
"No. I only found this out a few minutes ago."
"I'm sorry, but there's not much more we can do without more information."
Abby squeezed her eyes shut. She was tired of listening to the party line. She was tired of people not doing whatever they could. Susan had oh-so- gently blamed her for coming between Brian and Joyce and getting herself assaulted. The counselor at the shelter hadn't tried very hard to keep Joyce there. And now the police...
"Look, I think that she's going to go back to him, and when she does, he'd going to make her pay for leaving him. There's already a warrant out for his arrest. Can't you just go by their apartment, see if he's there? Or if she is? Make sure everything's okay?"
The urgency in Abby's voice must have finally gotten through. "All right. I'll find out which officers responded to yesterday's incident and send them over to the apartment. What's the address?"
Abby gave it to him, then added, "Thank you."
"We're here to protect and serve, Ma'am," he murmured, a slight touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Abby listened to the faint sound of computer keys clicking. She didn't care if he thought she was overreacting, or crazy. She just wanted to make sure Joyce was okay.
The man came back on the line. "It looks like there was a call to this address about twenty minutes ago."
Abby's heart dropped. "What?" Her vision went a little wavy, so she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. After a deep breath she said, "Was the call to the Westlake apartment?"
"Yes, Ma'am. A neighbor reported a female assault victim. An ambulance was dispatched...."
Abby stopped listening. She dropped the phone on the couch and stepped into her shoes. Her hand was on the doorknob when she stopped. Brian was still out there. She didn't want to take the El and leave herself exposed. But she couldn't just sit back and wait. Not to mention the fact that she had no money.
She looked back into the apartment. Resting on top of a stack of unopened mail on a side table was a ten-dollar bill. Without thinking, she grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket. She made a quick call to a cab company, then rushed out of the apartment.
..........
Carter watched the elevator doors slide shut behind Luka, then turned away. Something was going on with him. Luka had always been a brooding, intense sort of person, but during that trauma he'd seemed more worked up than he usually got. Normally calm and focused in the trauma room, he'd run around shouting orders and contradicting everyone else's ideas. Carter had almost asked if Luka wanted the patient all to himself.
He walked over to the admit desk and leaned back against it.
"Everything all right?" Susan asked from beside him.
"Fine. I'd like to know what's got Luka so worked up, though."
"He's probably just worked up about Abby."
"She's okay though, right? I mean, how bad was she really?"
Susan shook her head. "She had some bruises, a broken nose and a nasty black eye. She lost consciousness when she hit the ground, so she probably has a mild concussion."
"I wish I could have been here to help her last night."
"I don't think she wanted a lot of people around."
"Well, maybe I'll call her, see how she's doing. Where is she staying?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked to her. You can ask Luka; he said he talked to her."
"Great," Carter muttered under his breath as he turned away. Luka-in his current mood-was not someone he wanted to talk to. Especially about Abby. That conversation was bound to be awkward. When it came to Abby, he and Luka never seemed to see eye to eye.
"Hey, Carter."
He turned back to Susan, who nodded toward the ambulance bay. He looked over and watched Abby rush inside. He was around the desk in an instant. "Abby? What are you doing here? Are you okay?"
"Hi, Carter. I'm fine. I'm looking for a patient."
"Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I rested last night. Did Joyce Westlake come in here?"
"Who?"
"Assault victim, late twenties, short red hair..."
Carter frowned. "Yeah, she was here. Luka just took her up to surgery."
"Surgery." Carter watched Abby's face go white. "Oh, God." She turned away and fast-walked over to the elevators. She pressed the up button and folded her arms, tapping her foot as she waited for the doors to open. A moment later she stepped inside the elevator car. Her eyes met his briefly, but they slid away as the doors closed between them.
..........
Abby stared at the doors of the elevator as she rose to the surgical floor. She should have done something more. She should have called Joyce again last night. She should have at least called her first thing this morning; instead, she'd waited a couple of hours, and by then it had been too late.
She finger-combed her hair down over her eye before she stepped into the hall on the quiet surgical floor. Up here there was none of the loud- mouthed chaos that often defined the ER. She was glad for the quiet; she wasn't sure how much more chaos she could take before she snapped. Fear and guilt were waging a war inside of her, and the fight was exhausting her.
She turned a corner and saw Luka standing at the doors leading to the operating rooms. His hands were on his hips, and his head dipped toward the ground. She could feel the frustration rolling off of him. She knew he'd be blaming himself for this too.
For a moment she simply stood there, watching him. They'd broken up months ago. She wasn't supposed to have feelings for him any more. But there was a connection between them that all of their fights, all of their confusion and distrust and anger hadn't destroyed. She knew that he was taking Joyce's injuries personally, just like she was. And she knew that he was taking her injuries personally. Last night in the exam room, as she'd sat there on that gurney, splattered with blood and vulnerable in her silky robe, she'd known exactly how he was feeling. She'd seen it in the tense muscles of his shoulders; she'd read it in his eyes.
He'd tried to hide his anger, but he couldn't hide everything. Not from her. She'd known that he was furious that she'd been hurt, and frustrated that there wasn't more he could do for her. She wondered if he realized just how much he had done for her.
She approached him slowly. "Luka?"
He turned around, his brows knitting when he saw her standing there. "Abby? What are you doing here?"
"How bad is she?"
He looked at her for a moment, then rested a hand on her shoulder and guided her into a nearby waiting room. The only other occupant was an old man loudly snoring in the corner. He nudged her down onto a couch and sat beside her. He didn't have to ask who she meant. "How did you know she was here?"
Abby shrugged. "After I called you, I called the shelter to talk to Joyce, but they said she left early this morning. Then I called and convinced the police to send a squad car over to the apartment to see if anyone was there, but I was too late. The officer I talked to said a car had been dispatched twenty minutes ago, and that Joyce had been assaulted."
"You should have called me," he said gently. "Until Brian is caught, it's not safe for you to be out there alone."
"I know. But I had to see for myself if she was okay. And anyway, I didn't take the El, I took a cab." She leaned back and closed her eyes when she felt tears threatening. She knew Luka was right, but she hated having the fact that she could be in danger drilled into her again. It only made her feel more scared, more vulnerable, and those were not things she wanted to feel. "By the way, I stole ten dollars from you," she murmured. "I'll pay you back when I get my wallet back."
"What?"
She stared up at the ceiling. "I didn't have any money to pay for cab fare, but I saw a ten-dollar bill on a stack of mail in your apartment." She turned her head and looked over at him. "I had to see for myself," she said quietly.
Luka sighed. "I know." He put his arm around her and drew her against his shoulder.
"So how bad is she?"
"She has some bruises and abrasions, a couple of broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a liver laceration."
"So basically he beat the hell out of her as revenge for leaving him."
"This isn't your fault, Abby. You did everything you could for her."
"I should have called her again. I should have called back last night to make sure she was settled."
"You had yourself to worry about last night. Nobody can blame you for not calling her."
"I was on the phone with her when Brian showed up. I told her I'd call her back, but I completely forgot until this morning."
He tipped her chin up so her eyes met his. "This is not your fault," he repeated.
"Intellectually I know that," she said after a long silence. "But it's just hard not to feel responsible."
"What more could you have done?" he asked.
She looked at him for a moment, then dropped her head on his shoulder. "I don't know."
They sat there like that, Luka's arm around her, his thumb drawing absent patterns on her arm, as the moments clicked by. The old man's snoring and the muted sounds of doctors and nurses walking the halls were the only sounds as they waited for word on Joyce. Nearly two hours later, their answer came.
Abby sank down on the couch and rubbed her forehead. Brian hadn't been caught. Joyce had left the shelter. There was a glaringly obvious conclusion to draw.
She picked up the phone again and dialed the police department. She didn't even need to look up the number; unfortunately, she'd had to report far too many domestic violence incidents.
When the line was answered she said, "Yes. I'm a nurse at County General, and yesterday I called you guys to report a domestic violence incident. We got the woman into a shelter, but I found out a few minutes ago that she left the shelter this morning, and that her husband hasn't been caught yet."
"Do you have proof that another crime has been committed?"
"No. I only found this out a few minutes ago."
"I'm sorry, but there's not much more we can do without more information."
Abby squeezed her eyes shut. She was tired of listening to the party line. She was tired of people not doing whatever they could. Susan had oh-so- gently blamed her for coming between Brian and Joyce and getting herself assaulted. The counselor at the shelter hadn't tried very hard to keep Joyce there. And now the police...
"Look, I think that she's going to go back to him, and when she does, he'd going to make her pay for leaving him. There's already a warrant out for his arrest. Can't you just go by their apartment, see if he's there? Or if she is? Make sure everything's okay?"
The urgency in Abby's voice must have finally gotten through. "All right. I'll find out which officers responded to yesterday's incident and send them over to the apartment. What's the address?"
Abby gave it to him, then added, "Thank you."
"We're here to protect and serve, Ma'am," he murmured, a slight touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Abby listened to the faint sound of computer keys clicking. She didn't care if he thought she was overreacting, or crazy. She just wanted to make sure Joyce was okay.
The man came back on the line. "It looks like there was a call to this address about twenty minutes ago."
Abby's heart dropped. "What?" Her vision went a little wavy, so she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. After a deep breath she said, "Was the call to the Westlake apartment?"
"Yes, Ma'am. A neighbor reported a female assault victim. An ambulance was dispatched...."
Abby stopped listening. She dropped the phone on the couch and stepped into her shoes. Her hand was on the doorknob when she stopped. Brian was still out there. She didn't want to take the El and leave herself exposed. But she couldn't just sit back and wait. Not to mention the fact that she had no money.
She looked back into the apartment. Resting on top of a stack of unopened mail on a side table was a ten-dollar bill. Without thinking, she grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket. She made a quick call to a cab company, then rushed out of the apartment.
..........
Carter watched the elevator doors slide shut behind Luka, then turned away. Something was going on with him. Luka had always been a brooding, intense sort of person, but during that trauma he'd seemed more worked up than he usually got. Normally calm and focused in the trauma room, he'd run around shouting orders and contradicting everyone else's ideas. Carter had almost asked if Luka wanted the patient all to himself.
He walked over to the admit desk and leaned back against it.
"Everything all right?" Susan asked from beside him.
"Fine. I'd like to know what's got Luka so worked up, though."
"He's probably just worked up about Abby."
"She's okay though, right? I mean, how bad was she really?"
Susan shook her head. "She had some bruises, a broken nose and a nasty black eye. She lost consciousness when she hit the ground, so she probably has a mild concussion."
"I wish I could have been here to help her last night."
"I don't think she wanted a lot of people around."
"Well, maybe I'll call her, see how she's doing. Where is she staying?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked to her. You can ask Luka; he said he talked to her."
"Great," Carter muttered under his breath as he turned away. Luka-in his current mood-was not someone he wanted to talk to. Especially about Abby. That conversation was bound to be awkward. When it came to Abby, he and Luka never seemed to see eye to eye.
"Hey, Carter."
He turned back to Susan, who nodded toward the ambulance bay. He looked over and watched Abby rush inside. He was around the desk in an instant. "Abby? What are you doing here? Are you okay?"
"Hi, Carter. I'm fine. I'm looking for a patient."
"Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I rested last night. Did Joyce Westlake come in here?"
"Who?"
"Assault victim, late twenties, short red hair..."
Carter frowned. "Yeah, she was here. Luka just took her up to surgery."
"Surgery." Carter watched Abby's face go white. "Oh, God." She turned away and fast-walked over to the elevators. She pressed the up button and folded her arms, tapping her foot as she waited for the doors to open. A moment later she stepped inside the elevator car. Her eyes met his briefly, but they slid away as the doors closed between them.
..........
Abby stared at the doors of the elevator as she rose to the surgical floor. She should have done something more. She should have called Joyce again last night. She should have at least called her first thing this morning; instead, she'd waited a couple of hours, and by then it had been too late.
She finger-combed her hair down over her eye before she stepped into the hall on the quiet surgical floor. Up here there was none of the loud- mouthed chaos that often defined the ER. She was glad for the quiet; she wasn't sure how much more chaos she could take before she snapped. Fear and guilt were waging a war inside of her, and the fight was exhausting her.
She turned a corner and saw Luka standing at the doors leading to the operating rooms. His hands were on his hips, and his head dipped toward the ground. She could feel the frustration rolling off of him. She knew he'd be blaming himself for this too.
For a moment she simply stood there, watching him. They'd broken up months ago. She wasn't supposed to have feelings for him any more. But there was a connection between them that all of their fights, all of their confusion and distrust and anger hadn't destroyed. She knew that he was taking Joyce's injuries personally, just like she was. And she knew that he was taking her injuries personally. Last night in the exam room, as she'd sat there on that gurney, splattered with blood and vulnerable in her silky robe, she'd known exactly how he was feeling. She'd seen it in the tense muscles of his shoulders; she'd read it in his eyes.
He'd tried to hide his anger, but he couldn't hide everything. Not from her. She'd known that he was furious that she'd been hurt, and frustrated that there wasn't more he could do for her. She wondered if he realized just how much he had done for her.
She approached him slowly. "Luka?"
He turned around, his brows knitting when he saw her standing there. "Abby? What are you doing here?"
"How bad is she?"
He looked at her for a moment, then rested a hand on her shoulder and guided her into a nearby waiting room. The only other occupant was an old man loudly snoring in the corner. He nudged her down onto a couch and sat beside her. He didn't have to ask who she meant. "How did you know she was here?"
Abby shrugged. "After I called you, I called the shelter to talk to Joyce, but they said she left early this morning. Then I called and convinced the police to send a squad car over to the apartment to see if anyone was there, but I was too late. The officer I talked to said a car had been dispatched twenty minutes ago, and that Joyce had been assaulted."
"You should have called me," he said gently. "Until Brian is caught, it's not safe for you to be out there alone."
"I know. But I had to see for myself if she was okay. And anyway, I didn't take the El, I took a cab." She leaned back and closed her eyes when she felt tears threatening. She knew Luka was right, but she hated having the fact that she could be in danger drilled into her again. It only made her feel more scared, more vulnerable, and those were not things she wanted to feel. "By the way, I stole ten dollars from you," she murmured. "I'll pay you back when I get my wallet back."
"What?"
She stared up at the ceiling. "I didn't have any money to pay for cab fare, but I saw a ten-dollar bill on a stack of mail in your apartment." She turned her head and looked over at him. "I had to see for myself," she said quietly.
Luka sighed. "I know." He put his arm around her and drew her against his shoulder.
"So how bad is she?"
"She has some bruises and abrasions, a couple of broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a liver laceration."
"So basically he beat the hell out of her as revenge for leaving him."
"This isn't your fault, Abby. You did everything you could for her."
"I should have called her again. I should have called back last night to make sure she was settled."
"You had yourself to worry about last night. Nobody can blame you for not calling her."
"I was on the phone with her when Brian showed up. I told her I'd call her back, but I completely forgot until this morning."
He tipped her chin up so her eyes met his. "This is not your fault," he repeated.
"Intellectually I know that," she said after a long silence. "But it's just hard not to feel responsible."
"What more could you have done?" he asked.
She looked at him for a moment, then dropped her head on his shoulder. "I don't know."
They sat there like that, Luka's arm around her, his thumb drawing absent patterns on her arm, as the moments clicked by. The old man's snoring and the muted sounds of doctors and nurses walking the halls were the only sounds as they waited for word on Joyce. Nearly two hours later, their answer came.