The Becoming

"Anna?"

David's voice from far away.

"Anna? What's wrong. You're white as a sheet."

His words are distorted, as if he's speaking underwater. His hand is on my shoulder, guiding me back to the bed.

"I knew it was too soon for you to be up. That damned Avery. What kind of sadistic quack is he? I'm going to get a new doctor in here to see you right now."

His diatribe continues well past the minute it takes me to drag myself back from the ... What? Nightmare? Vision?

Memory?

It seemed very real. And it strengthened one terrible, nagging suspicion growing in the back of my mind. Was it really rape? And if it was, why am I not feeling what I should be?

What the hell happened in that car?

I find myself at the edge of the bed, looking up at David. Confusion and concern shadow his features. He's trying to urge me to lay back down. I don't want to. I shake off his hand, gently.

"It's all right." God, how many times have I said that today? "I guess I got up too quickly. I felt a little faint, that's all." His expression shifts to disbelief. "Please, David, I need to get out of here. I'll be fine with Michael."

"Michael again?" A muscle flicks angrily at his jaw. "Jesus, Anna, how can he help you through this better than I? I don't care how long you've known him. I was with you when it happened. I feel responsible. You're my partner." His voice drops in despair. "I should have been watching your back, not out cold in some damned parking lot. This is my fault."

There it is. Guilt. He thinks he could have prevented what happened. "I don't blame you for what happened, David. We've been in dangerous situations before. We're in a dangerous business. I accepted the risk when I took the job. We were both hurt last night, not just me. And we're both going to recover."

"Maybe," he says softly. "But my injuries are just physical. What he did to you is more than that. He violated you, for God's sake.

Can you ever really recover from something like that?"

Something like what? I'm sick with the notion that I might have been more of a willing participant than a victim. Not something I can say out loud.

When I don't respond, David continues. "Let me at least try to make it up to you. Stay with me. Or I'll come stay at your house.

No Gloria to give us grief."

He's changing tactics. His tone is light, teasing. Maybe it's time to ease his mind. I've taken a seat at the edge of the bed and I pat the place next to me. He sinks down, carefully, the neck brace restricting his movements. "You don't think Michael is the right person to see me through this and I know why. It has nothing to do with Michael and everything to do with you. You're feeling guilty."

He opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "I'm going to tell you a secret about Michael. When we were in college, some frat boys waited for him outside a bar. They beat the crap out of him and left him for dead for no other reason than he was gay. I took care of him. He does understand about violation, I think better than you. You've always been big and intimidating. I doubt anyone ever tried jumping you, did they?"

His face colors slightly.

"Well," I add, "except for Donaldson, of course. And we both agree that was a fluke. You tripped or something, right?"

He doesn't agree or disagree, but he doesn't argue with me, either.

I take that as a good sign. "And as for Dr. Avery, I'm getting out of here today. You don't need to go ruffle any more feathers by demanding I have a new doctor. Besides, I like him. He's cute."

It works. David actually smiles a real smile. "God," he says. "You're a piece of work."

I put my arms around him and hug, carefully, mindful of the brace. "When is this thing coming off?" I ask him, drumming gentle fingers against the stiff collar.

He responds by pulling at it, the Velcro fastenings releasing with a ripping sound as he tugs. "Now." He tosses it away and works his neck, stretching his head from side to side and forward and back. "Much better."

I raise an eyebrow. "Should you have done that?"

"Hey, you forget, I spent ten years in the NFL. I've been banged up much worse than this."

Having a regular conversation with David feels good. No angst and recrimination, just talk. I push myself up. "Okay, I'm going to try this standing and walking thing again. More slowly, this time. Will you go fetch that nurse?"

* * * *

I'm standing under a stream of hot water, back against the shower wall, letting the water wash over and around me. A nurse waits outside the bathroom door, on the off chance that I should need help. But I know I won't. My legs are no longer shaky, and my head is clear. I know it's my imagination, but even the bruises on my face seem less pronounced, and the laceration at my forehead is closing. Only the wound at my neck throbs and burns as the water plays over it.

The wound at my neck.

I close my eyes and turn my face to the wall. I told David that I would call Michael after my shower and that he should go on home and let Gloria take care of him for a few days. That I would be in touch soon.

But even as I said it, I knew I wouldn't make that call. I need to be alone for awhile. I need to sort through the disturbing images that keep breaking through my subconscious and asserting themselves into my thoughts.

Donaldson did something to my body in the back seat of that car. Something base and animalistic that I responded to.

I responded to it.

Could I have been drugged? That doesn't make sense. He didn't force me to drink anything. He didn't jam a pill down my throat or stick a needle in my arm. He just-

Just what?

What the hell did he do?

* * * *

Dr. Avery pays me one last visit before I leave the hospital. He has my discharge papers in his hand, but he looks cautiously around the room before coming in.

"Your friend is gone?"

I nod. "Sorry about David. He's very protective."

"Understandably." Dr. Avery approaches. "You are in an unusual line of work."

"Especially for a woman, right, Doctor?"

He smiles in a sheepish way that confirms I'd guessed what he was thinking.

"It's okay. I get that all the time." Particularly from my family.

I hold out a hand. "Those for me?"

He hands me the clipboard and a pen and points to the place I should sign. "Have you made arrangements to be picked up?"

I nod without hesitation. I don't want him to know my plans anymore than I want David to know. I have only one small problem.

Clothes. I can't very well walk out of here in this air-conditioned hospital gown.

"I don't suppose the gift shop sells anything I could wear home, does it?" I ask, handing the signed forms back to him. "Michael doesn't have a key to my house. I'd hate for him to have to come here and pick it up, drive all the way to the beach for my clothes and then back to the hospital again. I'm kind of anxious to get home."

He doesn't even hesitate a second. "I think I can find a pair of scrubs you can borrow. Will that do?"

"Perfectly."

He starts to say something else, but the door opens again. This time Gloria sweeps into the room, David trailing behind. And I mean that literally. Gloria enters a room like the Queen Mother-imperiously-and everyone else gets sucked along in her wake.

Avery almost swoons. His mouth drops open in a stupid, awestruck sort of way.

"Hello Gloria," I say without the least bit of inflection. "This is Dr. Avery."

He doesn't say anything, but his mouth does snap shut. And Gloria receives his silent tribulation as she always does, with little regard and great condescension.

She looks wonderful. She has that model figure, all tits and ass and long, long legs. She's wearing a pair of designer sweats-small white crop-top and low slung, curve hugging bottoms. Her dark hair is swept up in a knot, as if she just came from an exercise class. Her face is devoid of make-up, but that flawless complexion and those huge dark eyes don't need any enhancement. She's beautiful.

And she bloody well knows it.

She's pursing full, pink-tinted lips in my direction. "Anna, David told me what happened. Are you all right?"

I wish there was just the teeniest little note of concern in that voice, but there isn't. It's purely a rhetorical question asked for David's benefit, I'm sure.

"Yes, Gloria. I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

"Good. Glad to hear it." She tilts her head and squints at me. "You don't look half as bad as I expected. Well-except for the hair, of course"

David shoots her a look, but my hands go instinctively to my head. I forgot I'd only towel-dried my hair after my shower. Shit.

Gloria puts a possessive hand on David's arm. "Well, we only stopped by to let you know that David and I are leaving. I know he said you have a friend coming to take care of you, but remember you can call us if you need anything."

The offer hangs in the air while we eye each other. Right.

She makes a move toward the door, but David hangs back a minute. He's frowning at me. "I still don't like this. You sure you're going to be okay?"

I smile. "Yes. Michael will be here any minute." The lie comes easily.

"Call me tonight, okay?"

I nod, again catching Gloria's eye. I know full well if I call tonight, Gloria will answer the phone and I'll be a wrong number.

David comes closer, bends, gives me a kiss on the cheek. "We're going to LA for a few days. We leave tomorrow morning. But you have my cell phone number. Call me if you need anything. I'm only a twenty minute commuter flight away."

I nod again and they're gone. The news that David's leaving for LA doesn't hit me as bad at all. It will give me a few days to sort out what's happened on my own. No danger of an unexpected visit. I look toward the doctor.

He's still watching the door Gloria disappeared through, as though hoping to conjure her back again.

"Dr. Avery?"

He gives himself a shake, licks his lips and turns back to me. He has a dazed, questioning look in his eye. He's completely forgotten me, why he's here, and what he's supposed to be doing.

Gloria has that affect on people.

Maybe she's a witch. A real witch, not just the bitchy cousin.

"The scrubs?" I remind him gently. "You were going to get me something to wear."

His eyes clear and he jerks upright. "Of course. I'll be right back." He clutches the clipboard to his chest and rushes out, hoping, no doubt, to snatch one last glimpse of the goddess.

Great.

I open the closet door. My purse is on the floor and I snatch it up and head back into the bathroom. There's a comb inside and I go to work on hair tangled from the shower. No wonder Dr. Avery swooned when Gloria showed up. I look like the "before" in a bad hair ad. I keep my hair short for convenience, but it does need to be combed once in awhile, and right now it stands up in peaks like a fright-show wig. Gloria must have had to really restrain herself from bursting into laughter when she saw me.

I peer at my reflection more closely. It's also no wonder Gloria didn't think I looked that bad. Damned, if those black eyes don't seem less pronounced. And the wound on my forehead appears to be closing itself even as I watch.

What is this?

I hear the outside door open. "Dr. Avery," I call. "Look at this-"

But when I step into the room, he isn't there. On the bed a pair of hospital-green scrubs have been left in a neat, folded pile.

Guess I've seen the last of Dr. Avery.