Inspired by the song Concrete Angel by Martina McBride
Warning: Deals with subject matter that may be sensitive to some, physical and sexual abuse, mostly in the realm of child mistreatment.
Pairing: This one's Carter/Kerry too, sort of. I'm not sure about romance yet, but friendship, definitely. Also, Kerry/Jeanne friendship, and there may be some Luka. I love Luka. I want Luka. Sigh...
Rating’s PGish right now, might be a little stronger later on. I’m doing this in 1999 b/c I don’t know whether I plan to include some people or not. Jeanne never left, though, so she’ll be in this one… Originally, I was going to do this as a ‘delve-into-Kerry’s-past’ independent piece, but since I promised a sequel to a few readers of Enfant D’espoir, consider this it. It takes place about a week after ED finished. It will deal some with Kerry’s past, the Kerry-Carter dynamic, and a few other things.
Note: ”Amnesia for childhood sexual abuse is a condition. The existence of this condition is beyond dispute. Repression is merely one explanation – often a confusing and misleading one – for what causes the condition of amnesia. At least 10% of people sexually abused in childhood will have periods of complete amnesia for their abuse, followed by experiences of delayed recall.” -Dr. Jim Hopper, Ph.D.
To MR – because I heard this song and thought of you.
Prologue
Emergency Room
Cook County General Hospital
March 29th, 1999
Luka shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, coming to stand before Kerry and her computer at the front desk. There was a patient he couldn’t see, one who couldn’t bear to see him, awaiting some form of healthcare sitting on a bed in Curtain Four. When he’d neared the girl, she’d flinched and jerked backward, nearly tumbling off the other side of the hospital bed and narrowly missing cracking her head on the IV stand that was stationed nearby. He’d noted the bruises crossing her jawline and the clenched fists that were firmly planted at her sides. Her entire body radiated “Stay away. Stay away from me,” but her eyes welled with fear and tears.
For some reason, seeing the tiny girl with curly blond hair had frightened him. Perhaps it had brought out the father in him, reminded him of his own children, or perhaps it was the rage that filled her tiny body, the fear that emanated from her. And for some reason, when he’d realized she wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow him to treat her, he’d thought, “Kerry can handle this.”
The aforementioned doctor looked up from the computer screen into Luka’s face, raising an eyebrow and asking, “Yes, Luka?”
He cleared his throat, firmly planting both feet on the floor, “There’s a patient…” as soon as the words passed his lips, she’d started around the desk and together they began venturing in the direction he’d come from. After a short pause, he added, “An abused child. She wouldn’t allow the ambulance attendants to look at her, apparently put up quite the fight. Looks like she might be a little hypothermic, I think she was locked out of her house. She’s barely clothed, pretty extensive facial bruising but no lacerations. I thought she might respond better to a woman.”
Kerry nodded, straightening her lab coat. “Evidence of sexual abuse, psychologically?”
The night was slow and it was nearing the end of the month, the budget deficit was favorable and she had finished her paperwork. It had been a good day, slow and quiet. But child abuse cases made something inside of her twist, her gut knot, her heart hammer. She’d seen too many.
“Possibly,” he nodded, once again appreciative of her ability to assess a situation with even minimal knowledge. He’d done his psych rotations years ago and noticed the signs after a few seconds of looking the girl over, the unaproachableness, the obvious fear, withdrawal, distrust of men. “I’ll call for a psych consult.”
“Give me a few minutes to see if I can get her to talk, assess her condition. Then place a call to DCFS and upstairs. I’ll let you know,” she responded, nodding before pulling the curtain back to reveal the still-cowering child.
The girl’s widened eyes were immediately drawn to the crutch at Kerry’s right arm. She tore her gaze from the crutch, to the doctor’s face, back to the crutch, then beyond to where Luka still stood.
With an understanding born from years of medical training, Kerry pulled her arm loose and propped the crutch against the wall, limping weakly toward the bed. Her leg had been worsening in the last few days, and each step resulted in a visible wince.
“Hi there,” her voice was kind and gentle as it always was with patients, “I’m Dr. Weaver, and I’m going to take a look at you and see what’s wrong, okay? Why don’t you tell me your name?” she began, and the girl looked over her shoulder as the curtain closed, leaving the girl alone with the older doctor.
She visibly had to acclimate to the atmosphere, and after realizing that Kerry wasn’t a threat, she let her hands unclench and scooted farther up the bed. “Okay,” she answered softly, eyes finally focusing in on her, “Hailey.”
“Hailey, that’s a pretty name,” Kerry smiled at her, “Now Hailey, why don’t you change into this hospital gown so I can take a look at you and see what we can do to make you feel better?”
The girl pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded after another moment.
“I’m going to go right out here and get a few things and then I’ll be right back.” With that, Kerry stepped outside the room with her crutch back in position, called Lydia over, and began riddling off a list of things they’d need. “Get me a thermal blanket, run the standard tests, a saline drip on IV, and I’ll be right back.” She proceeded to the desk, nodded toward Luka, and mumbled at him, “Ten minutes, and I should have something to go on.”
Upon returning to the room, Kerry loosened her crutch and again propped it against the wall, then proceeded to sit on a stool near the edge of the bed. Hailey was tightly wrapped in a hospital gown, and stared at the doctor with a blend of fear and cautious trust.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked carefully, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and smiling placidly at the child. It was the cases like these that she hated.
Hailey shook her head, clutching the shoulders of the gown.
“Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Kerry acknowledged, “That’s fine. I’m going to need to give you a physical exam though, and I’m going to have to ask you some questions that might make you a little uncomfortable. If anything I say or do makes you feel bad, I want you to tell me right then, because I don’t want you to hurt, okay, Hailey?”
The girl studied her, then nodded somewhat slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, ducking her head and letting her hands fall to her side.
“Good, now scoot down here and lay flat, this cut on your calf is gonna need a few stitches, but you’re in luck, I’ve always been pretty good at this sort of thing, so you won’t even have a scar. How’s that sound?” she kept her voice light, soft, understanding. The girl nodded again, and Kerry made quick work of stitching the cut after the few necessary injections left the area numb. Minutes later, she proceeded with the conversation and exam, “Now Hailey, why don’t you tell me how old you are?”
“Nine,” she answered quickly, sinking back into silence.
“Oh, almost grown-up then,” the ER Chief nodded. “Have you ever been admitted to the ER before?”
Again, the child nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Silence closed in on the room as Kerry palpated the bruises on her face and upper arms. No breaks, no fractures. After a few moments, the child whispered, “I made him mad.”
For a few seconds, the woman wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, sweetie,” she finally settled on, looking the child in the eye.
“It was, he said it was. I always make him mad since Mommy left. She left because I was bad and Daddy gets mad because I’m bad and I made Mommy leave!” the words left her in a rush, and her small chest heaved as if a weight had fallen from her lungs and she was finally able to breathe.
“Why do you think you’re bad, Hailey?” she sat back and asked, momentarily wondering if she should leave this to the people upstairs and social services. Neither Kim nor Adelle would be very happy with her meddling if it caused trouble or cost the child. Then again, neither would she.
“Because Daddy says so. He said I made her leave and that I have to be just like Mommy or he’ll leave too. All I have is my Daddy.” The child seemed to sink further into the pillow at the head of the bed.
“What do you mean, you have to be just like Mommy?” she questioned, hands clutching the edge of the bed as her mind jumped to a conclusion she was almost afraid to make. Lydia had slid inside the curtain but stood at the far end, seemingly afraid to break the spell that had been cast over the room. A heaviness, a fog of sorts, had settled over them all, forcing them to bend beneath the gravity of the situation. And so, the nurse chose to say nothing.
Hailey didn’t answer, instead turning her face away, then back again, then settling on staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure whether to cut off the conversation and return to the way things were, or continue struggling, cry out for help, for freedom.
Again, Kerry prodded, “Cook and clean like Mommy, or other things?”
Finally Hailey sat up and pulled her knees beneath her, turning to look at the doctor with childlike worry and a nightmarish sort of fear, “Other things. Bad things I don’t like.”
“Hailey, does your Daddy touch you in private places?” she asked cautiously, looking tenderly at the girl, trying to keep her connected, keep her from closing off. The only way to help the child would be what she said and whether she was strong enough to say it.
“I don’t want him to,” she answered honestly, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, “but he says it’s my fault ‘cause I made Mommy go away I was so bad!” The final words were a wail, and the girl wiggled into Kerry’s arms.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered to the child as she slid off the bed and onto the stool, into Kerry’s lap. She could feel the child’s every bone, every joint as she curled herself closer, sobbing into her neck. She was malnourished, abused, broken; all things the ER staff had seen too many times in too many situations, each different, each heartwrenching.
For some reason, this child was different, touched both women deeper, tugged at Kerry’s heart and memory.
“It’s not your fault,” she reiterated, rocking the girl. Over Hailey’s head, she mouthed to Lydia, “DCFS, call DCFS,” and the nurse was out the door before she’d repeated herself again.
“I didn’t mean to be bad,” the child whispered again, and Kerry kissed the top of her head, allowing her the small comfort.
“You weren’t bad. No matter what anyone says or does, no one deserves that, okay? This is not your fault.”
Shortly, Lydia returned with Luka in tow, and the girl was still cradled in Kerry’s arms, sobs subsiding. “Hey,” she said, seeing them standing across the room, “why don’t you crawl back up on the bed so we can get this over with? I bet you’re one tired little girl.”
“Don’t make me go back, I’m not tired, I don’t want to go home!” her voice was near panic.
“No one’s making you go anywhere, Hailey,” she promised, “Now pop right up here so we can finish this up, okay? I’m going to finish up your exam and write on your chart, then we’ll be done, and a lady’s going to come talk to you about what you’ve said to me, but you won’t have to go home, and you won’t get hurt again.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she said stubbornly, crawling back up on the bed, “I talked to you.”
“Yes you did, and I’m very happy that you chose to talk to me, but saying those things to this lady will make things better. She’ll be able to find you somewhere to live where no one can hurt you, where you’ll be happy.”
The child seemed to weigh her options for a moment, and Luka disappeared behind the curtain in search of the DCFS agent that should have arrived. “How do you know I’ll be happy?”
“I just do,” Kerry responded, smiling down at the child as she lay back on the bed. “Now, let’s finish this up so you can talk to that lady.”
Cautiously, the child agreed, and Lydia stepped forward to assist as Kerry fought the urge to fade into the background as she always had before, become invisible, as she knew the girl wished she could be.
