by Alex Marcoux
Some time later, a nurse woke Sidney. “Hi, I’m Julie, can you hear me?” The nurse repeated herself. “Can you hear me? You’re at New York Hospital. You’re in the emergency room. You’re safe.”
Sidney opened an eye, but did not respond.
“Doctor, she’s awake,” the nurse said.
A tall and slim woman introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Dr. Gray.” The woman appeared to be in her late thirties. She jotted down something on the ER report then hung the clipboard on the wall next to the gurney. She turned to the nurse. “Would you leave us for a few minutes?” The nurse left.
Dr. Gray spoke softly to Sidney. “Can you hear me? Do you speak English?”
“Yeah,” Sidney said. Instinctively she moved her hand to her right eye, finding the right side of her face masked in bandages. “How am I?”
The doctor smiled warmly but her eyes expressed concern. “You’ll be fine, but to be honest, you were a real mess. You have two broken ribs, you had a gash on your head that required fourteen stitches, and I’m sure you have a concussion. There are multiple bruises all over, particularly your face, thighs, arms and ribs. But most seriously, you have a severe laceration near your right eye.
“I think your eye is okay, but you require surgery to repair the damage to your face. Dr. Benoit is an excellent plastic surgeon; probably New York City’s best. He’s been called, but he’s in surgery right now, and won’t be here for another hour or two.”
The doctor pulled a stool next to the gurney and sat. She pushed her long bangs behind an ear, enabling Sidney to see her crystal blue eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Debbie. Debbie White,” Sidney lied.
“Is there anybody we can call for you?”
Sidney realized just how alone she was. “No.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” The doctor asked softly.
“I fell,” Sidney lied.
“You fell?” The doctor raised an eyebrow, reflecting her disbelief.
“Yeah, I fell. Is there a problem with that?”
“Okay Debbie, you fell. But I should tell you something. If we treat a patient who appears to have been assaulted in any way, we are required by law to report it to the authorities. So, if someone walks in here and they look as if they were mugged or raped, a very specific protocol is followed, evidence is taken, and the information is turned over to the authorities. Do you understand this?”
“Do what you need to do.”
The doctor continued to talk to Sidney in a gentle voice. “Look, I know you weren’t mugged, we searched your coat to find some identification. The only thing we found was cash, and lots of it. You’re certainly not homeless; you walked in here wearing what was left of a very expensive dress along with diamond earrings.
“It’s pretty clear that you were sexually assaulted. We have physical evidence to support this.” The doctor studied Sidney for a response, but there was none.
A moment later, Sidney changed the subject by grabbing the doctor’s hand. “What’s your name?”
“Gray. Charlotte Gray.”
“Charlotte, please stitch up my face.”
“I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t really clear. You need plastic surgery, and even with that, there’ll be scarring. Your face would be considerably disfigured without the proper care.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want plastic surgery. Please do it,” Sidney said.
“You don’t understand,” the doctor objected.
“Yes, I do understand, I’ll look like Frankenstein. It’s my choice, isn’t it?” Sidney knew there was no real escape from Michael. She was hoping that he would release her from her imprisonment if she were damaged beyond repair. But if he did not, she wanted to spend the rest of their time together reminding him of what he did to her.
Reluctantly, the doctor agreed to care for her eye. Moments later a nurse came in to help the doctor with the stitches.
After Dr. Gray finished with the sutures, Sidney was taken to another area to accommodate triage evaluations. As the nurse wheeled the gurney down a new hallway she explained, “As you can see we have a lot of construction around here. They’re almost finished with the new ER wing. We’re so cramped for space. You’re going to be resting in one of the new ER examination rooms for a while. Dr. Gray won’t release you until we’re sure that head injury is okay.”
Sidney glanced at a marble plaque that decorated the wall of the new wing, but could not read it. “Could you back up for a minute?” she asked the nurse. The nurse pulled her backwards so she could read the plaque. “In special thanks to Michael Whitman for making the Whitman Emergency Room a reality.” Sidney started laughing.
“Are you okay, dear?” the nurse asked as she wheeled Sidney into the new room.
“Yes, don’t mind me. It must be the pain killer,” she lied.
“Now remember, you have a head injury. If you fall asleep, we’ll be waking you.” The woman showed Sidney an alarm button. “Just press this if you need anything or feel like you’re going to get sick. We’re just down the hall and we’ll be checking on you frequently.” As the nurse left, she shut off the overhead light, leaving a night-light illuminating the room.
Sidney remained restless for a couple hours. It was about 11:30 P.M. when she convinced herself that she felt better and decided it was time to go home. Sitting up, she carefully moved her legs off the gurney and slid to the floor, only to feel the familiar sharp pain in her ribs. In the dim lighting she noticed a locker next to a sink. Slowly, she walked to the locker and opened it, but her belongings were nowhere to be found. A wave of dizziness rushed over her. At the sink she soaked a hand towel in cold water. She squeezed out most of the excess and raised the cloth to her face. Sidney looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She found her dark silhouette haunting and contemplated whether to turn the light on above the mirror. Mustering up every ounce of strength, she pushed the light switch up.
Initially, the light hurt her eye, until it adjusted to the brightness. She ran her fingers over her facial wounds and studied her reflection until she realized she was trembling. The right side of her face was completely bandaged, but there was no recognition for the left side. Her exposed eye was severely bruised and almost swollen shut. The white of her eye was red from broken blood vessels. Her lips were swollen and cut.
As she searched the mirror for some resemblance, she watched a tear form and drop from the corner of her uncovered eye. Control, she lectured herself. She returned her attention to her locker. Some article of clothing had been folded on the top shelf of the locker, so she reached up to grab it. But as she stretched, she became light-headed and her world darkened. She steadied herself on the locker door. I must be moving too quickly.
A noise from behind startled her. She turned to see who had entered, but her movements were too fast for the injured ribs. Between the intense pain and the darkness, Sidney was overwhelmed and collapsed.
When her consciousness returned, she found herself sitting on the floor, knees up, with her head between them. Someone was holding her in place. A woman’s voice said reassuringly, “Take deep breaths.”
After a few minutes, Sidney’s world started coming back, and she realized that Dr. Gray was supporting her. Sidney continued to rest her head on her knees and raised her arms, to hide her embarrassment from the outsider. Dr. Gray remained by her side. In .silence she gently stroked Sidney’s back to comfort her. No matter how hard Sidney tried to remain in control, she could feel herself fall apart. The events of the day had overcome her and she no longer could hold on. The tears came and would not stop.
The doctor stayed on the floor with Sidney as she wept. At one point a nurse walked in, but the doctor motioned for the woman to leave. Sidney finally said, “Sorry. I don’t usually cry.”
“No apology necessary. Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be healthy if you didn’t let it out.” The doctor gave her some tissues. “Are you okay?”
Sidney nodded.
>
“You do know that what happened to you is wrong, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know,” Sidney answered.
“But you don’t want to press charges against him?” Dr. Gray probed.
Sidney ignored the question.
The doctor suspected that Sidney’s attacker was someone she knew. “It doesn’t matter who did this to you, it’s still rape, and it’s wrong. If you’re not willing to go to the authorities, there are some shelters or domestic violence groups that could help you.”
Sidney just shook her head. “They’re not options for me.” She appeared frustrated. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Then help me understand,” Dr. Gray suggested.
“Why? What does it matter to you? Trust me, he’ll get away with it.” He always gets away with it. For the first time in Sidney’s life she felt beaten and did not know where to turn.
“He shouldn’t get away with this,” Dr. Gray said calmly.
“He will, though. A week from now the hospital will not even have a record of my visit tonight.”
“That’s impossible,” Dr. Gray said; “there’s an extensive trail of paperwork associated with assault victims.” She helped Sidney back to her bed, where she spent the rest of the night.
Charlotte Gray felt sorry for the woman who walked out of the hospital the following morning dressed in hospital scrubs. She had paid cash for her services. Later that day, Charlotte copied the Debbie White ER report and placed a copy of it in her office file.
A couple weeks later Charlotte was looking through the main ER files, searching for the Debbie White original report. The report was missing. My God, she wasn’t lying. Who is she?
Chapter 10
About ten weeks after Sidney’s visit to New York Hospital, she and Michael were to attend a dinner party in Michael’s honor. For political reasons, Michael had donated an exorbitant amount of money to a worthy cause. Sidney did not know, nor care, which organization benefited from her husband’s donation. She was just told to be ready, and she was. Before the event, she was in the hotel rest room tending to last-minute makeup details.
She was just getting used to her new hairstyle. Michael had always loved her long hair. When her hairstylist suggested the short style to compensate for her hair loss from her head injury, she agreed.
As she studied her face in the mirror, she stared at the visible scar near her right eye. She recalled Michael’s reaction when he saw her the day she returned from the hospital.
*
“You look like a monster; who the hell sewed you up?” Michael asked.
Within a couple of hours she was in the office of the city’s leading plastic surgeon, Dr. Timothy Benoit. Dr. Benoit treated Sidney for several weeks, attempting to reduce the facial damage. On her first visit he told Sidney, ‘You’re going to have some scarring, but we’ll try to minimize it.” Then he asked, “Did someone report the dog to the authorities?”
“Yes, the Doberman is being put to sleep this afternoon,” Michael responded.
Sidney just wondered if the good doctor believed a dog could have given her a black eye also.
As Sidney walked into the banquet room, Michael greeted her with a smile. Of course, she returned his smile, and he escorted her toward the center of the room, where she saw Dr. Benoit. “Timothy, what are you doing here?” Sidney asked.
“I do some work for New York Hospital, besides this gives me an opportunity to show off some of my best work.” Timothy smiled as he examined Sidney’s face.
Sidney confided in Timothy. “I always get these events mixed up. Why is Michael the guest of honor this evening?”
“New York Hospital’s new ER wing,” Timothy answered. “Michael donated…well, let’s just say he funded the majority of the project.”
For an instant Sidney panicked, fearing the hospital staff might recognize her. Then she found comfort in the fact that her appearance had changed so much since that dreadful night.
Michael needed Sidney at his side, and as usual she played her role flawlessly. The two of them stood in the center of the room, and one by one the guests greeted both Michael and Sidney.
About 45 minutes into the cocktail hour, Sidney noticed Charlotte Gray waiting to greet them. For a moment, Sidney feared that Dr. Gray would recognize her and her heart quickened. Then she thought, I did nothing wrong. I’m not going to play victim again.
As Charlotte waited to speak with Michael, Sidney watched her. Charlotte was more attractive than Sidney remembered. The woman was fashionably dressed and surrounded by what appeared to be admirers.
Charlotte offered Michael a warm handshake and introduced herself. Michael returned the greeting, then introduced the doctor to Sidney. “Charlotte, this is my wife, Sidney Marcum.”
Sidney smiled warmly and shook her hand firmly. Charlotte’s handshake was equally firm, and although the two women’s eyes met, there appeared to be no recognition from Charlotte.
“What do you do for the hospital?” Michael asked.
“I’m an attending physician in the ER. So I can see, firsthand, the difference your donation has made. We really needed the space. You’ll never realize just how many people you will help.” She thanked the two, then politely excused herself so that others waiting had a chance to greet Michael.
Sidney casually watched Charlotte retreat to another group of people. She never looked back. Sidney was confident she had not been recognized.
Later, Sidney was in the rest room sitting at a vanity mirror touching up her makeup. “Hello, Debbie White.” Sidney caught Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror, then stood to see if anyone else was in the rest room. “Relax, no one’s here.”
“I didn’t think you recognized me,” Sidney said.
“I almost didn’t. Then I put two and two together when I heard Timothy brag about what a terrific job he did on your face. That is, after an ER doctor botched up the stitches from a dog bite.” Charlotte walked closer to inspect her face. “He did a good job; I’m glad you had it taken care of.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“It was the right thing to do.” Charlotte seemed to be a little uncomfortable. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” She started to retreat, then turned and asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You would help me, even though you know who my husband is?” Sidney was curious.
“Yes. I would help.”
Sidney hesitated, then she simply said, “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Sidney studied Charlotte. “You may be able to help me with something. But I can’t talk about it here. Can we meet tomorrow?”
They made arrangements to meet at a coffee shop the following morning. Then Sidney returned to her husband’s side wondering if she could trust Charlotte Gray.
*
Both women arrived at the coffee shop promptly at nine o’clock the following morning. They sat at a booth away from the window. The waitress served Charlotte coffee, and Sidney had decaffeinated tea.
Charlotte finally broke the silence. “How can I help you?”
“I need to have some blood work done, but it’s imperative that Michael does not find out. I can’t go to my own doctor; he’d tell him. I went to a clinic, but they said the results needed to be sent to a doctor.” Sidney looked at Charlotte. “I don’t know a doctor I can trust.”
“You can trust me,” Charlotte said.
“Can I? I don’t seem to have a lot of choices right now,” Sidney admitted.
“You can trust me. What type of tests do you need?”
Sidney hesitated. “A pregnancy test.”
Charlotte stared at Sidney before responding. “I see. Why do you think you’re pregnant?”
“Well, I’m late, and I also did one of those home pregnancy tests.”
“They’re usually pretty accurate,” Charlotte said.
“I know, but I’m making some pretty big decisions with my life. It would help if I
had some confirmation. I don’t feel pregnant; I haven’t had any morning sickness or put on weight.”
“Would you know how far along you are?” Charlotte asked.
Sidney did not answer.
“If you’re pregnant, how long ago do you think you conceived?”
Sidney remained silent, seeming uneasy. She stared back at Charlotte hoping she would understand.
“But … but that happened close to three months ago.”
“It’s the only time he’s…,” Sidney was searching for the words. “It’s the only time we’ve had sex in the last six months.”
“I know this is none of my business, but is it possible that there could be another father?”
Sidney became irritated, then considered Charlotte’s position. “No, I’ve been faithful to Michael for over six years now.”
“When was your last period?”
“Maybe a couple weeks…before that night. I thought I had my period a couple weeks after that, but it was only for a day. At the time, I thought my period was light from stress. Then I missed my next period. But I’ve been irregular in the past, so I didn’t think much about it.” Sidney paused. “Will you help me?”
The doctor took out a notepad and started writing, “I want you to go to the Holland Clinic; I’m writing down the address. Tell them that your name is Sandy Ambrose. They’ll have orders for the blood draw and test. Pay them cash. After you leave the clinic, call my pager and leave me the time you had your blood drawn, and I’ll follow up and get the results within a couple of hours. Then page me four hours after that. Leave me a phone number where I can call you. Don’t call the hospital, okay?”
“Okay,” Sidney answered.
“By the way, how old are you? If you’re pregnant, they’ll conduct a quantitative pregnancy test that should tell us how far along you are. They use your age, along with your hormone levels, to estimate conception.”
“I’m almost twenty-eight.”
That afternoon, Charlotte had the answers for Sidney. The page came as expected, and Charlotte took a break from the ER, returning to her office for some privacy. She punched in the phone number and a woman answered on the first ring. “Mrs. Ambrose?” Charlotte asked.