A nurse rushed over and draped a clean blanket across her body.

"Sir," a doctor said, his voice nervous and strangely high. "We need to examine her for signs of er, rape."

​​

"Do it," Sean barked.

He balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth together as the doctors worked. They spread Catherine's limp legs and shone lights at her most intimate area. They examined her from several angles, whispering quietly among themselves.

"Well?" he finally shouted. "Is she—I mean, did he do it?"

"No, sir," the doctor answered. "Rather, she doesn't show any of the typical physical traumas associated with sexual assault."

"So she wasn't raped?" he asked.

"I can't answer that for certain, sir," the doctor said, staring down at his feet.

"Why not?" Sean roared.

"Well, we can only detect certain physical traumas," the doctor said. "If she was unconscious and the assaulter was, er, gentle, she may not ever show signs of trauma."

"So how the hell do I find out if that man raped my wife?" he shouted.

"The best way to know is to ask her," the doctor said.

"Get out," he screamed. "Finish your work and get the hell out."

The doctors rushed to bandage her arm before slipping silently from the room. As soon as they were gone, he picked her up from the bed. He shifted her in his arms, careful to make sure the blanket was tucked around her before carrying her up the stairs. Instinctively he went down the hall to the room they'd been sharing.

Holding her tight against his chest, he climbed into the bed and cradled her in his arms. She seemed so fragile and delicate in his arms, and yet she'd been through so much. He was desperate for her to wake but terrified of what she'd remember when she did.

Throughout the night, he held her, listening to the steady, soft whisper of her breath. Every few minutes, he pressed his fingers to her pulse, silently counting each beat of her heart. He studied the soft parting of her lips, the movement of her pale eyelids, and the way her brow wrinkled.

Each second stretched into minutes and each minute into hours. Warring impulses raged through him. He wanted to keep her safe in his arms, to be the first thing she saw when she woke up. But at the same time, he wanted to race out of the house, find the man who had attacked her, and personally inflict every form of human suffering on him.

He would rip out his fingernails. He would crush every single bone in his body. He would beat him to the point of death and then nurse him back to health just to beat him all over again. He would hire men to do everything to that man that he had done to Catherine.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't rape her, he reminded himself. The doctors said he didn't rape her. He felt the frenzied hammer of his heart start to calm. But what if the doctors are wrong? he thought. What if Sophia was wrong?

The vibration of his phone distracted him from his dark thoughts. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw Drew's name.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"I have information," Drew replied.

"What?" he asked.

"The man's name is Adam Carroll," said Drew. "He attended primary school with Mrs. Blair. Though he wasn't a part of their graduating class, it appears that Madison Stewart invited him to her party."

"And?" Sean asked.

"He's currently unconscious," Drew replied. "I can't get any more information from him right now."

Sean sighed, "Did he hurt her?"

"Hurt her?" Drew was puzzled.

"You know what I mean," he hissed. "Did he violate her?"

"He swore he didn't, sir," Drew replied. "Though he clearly meant to."

"And what about the video?" Sean asked.

"Video?" Drew repeated, sounding puzzled.

"The sick bastard was going to film it all," he replied. "I saw a camera in the room. Have you reviewed the footage?"

"Er, no, sir," Drew replied. "The camera was damaged."

"Well, find a way to get that footage," he said. "I need to know the truth."

"Perhaps you could just ask her when she wakes up?" Drew suggested.

"Mind you own fucking business," he said. "Just recover the footage and watch it."

"Er," Drew hesitated.

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you sure you want me to watch it?" Drew said. "I mean if he—if he hurt her—I don't think that's something I should see."

Sean's heart twisted in his chest. He didn't want Drew to see that, but he wasn't sure he could bear to watch it himself.

"Just tell me what happened," he snapped.

He ended the call. Catherine had shifted in his arms, and her forehead was wrinkled as if in pain. He realized he was almost crushing her to his chest. He immediately loosened his arms and watched a calm expression spread across her face.

"Oh my love," he whispered. "That man will suffer for what he's done."

Gently, he lifted a strand of silky dark hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He looked at the bruises on her neck, and the gauze bandage wrapped around her arm, and his stomach twisted. What other injuries had she suffered?

He closed his eyes, and the image of Adam on top of her flashed through his mind. He opened them again and looked at her delicate face and beautiful features. He touched the soft skin of her lip and the gentle slope of her forehead, relieved to find that she'd gotten warmer.

"Catherine?" he whispered.

She stirred in his arms but said nothing.

"Catherine?" he asked again.

Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she stared at him in confusion, and then a look of recognition washed over the face. She smiled softly and closed her eyes again.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. "Are you in pain?"

"No," she whispered. "Just tired."

"Then rest," he said.

She sighed sleepily and nestled her head against his chest. For the first time all night, he dared to let himself hope.

Catherine shifted uncomfortably. She was warm, uncomfortably warm. As far as she could tell, a thick duvet had been wrapped all around her body. She shifted again, wiggling her arms free from the warm cocoon. The cool air felt soft and refreshing on her skin, and she shifted again, tugging the blanket down. Satisfied, she closed her eyes.