She dropped her finger and her head all at once. “Do you remember what happened?”
My eyes blinked rapidly. “Ollie,” I said. Oscar. The phone. I stumbled to my feet with the nurse’s assistance.
The nurse looked me up and down. “You’re going to have to come to the station.”
I looked down to see my jeans down to my ankles. Shaking my head, I reached up for the phone and exhaled when I felt it beneath my fingers. “Please, I need to see Dean Lynch. It’s important.”
“You will definitely have to talk with the dean, dear,” she explained as she pulled up my pants, and I clutched the phone in my hand.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“And suddenly, when all is lost,
she becomes an explosion of hope.”
—Oliver Masters
“GOOD NEWS IS, I don’t see any evidence of rape,” the nurse said as she took off her latex gloves and rolled her chair over to a wastebasket to toss them. “But you are suffering from a mild concussion.” The nurse released my feet from the stirrups and set my legs out flat in front of me. She rolled her stool to the side of my bed, and she looked at me with the most delicate eyes a strong woman like her could have. “Mia, who attacked you? Who did this?” She genuinely cared.
The phone clutched in my hand burned a hole. “I need Dean Lynch,” was all I could say. She probably knew Oscar, and they were most likely acquaintances or possibly had lunch together. I couldn’t trust anyone.
My dark, heavy-set angel of a nurse sighed as I pulled the white sheet higher over me.
“Dean Lynch and an officer are already on their way to take a statement.”
I was able to exhale, calmer than I had been since Ollie was arrested. “Thank you for finding me.” I would have looked up to tell her, but the bright lamp above me was blinding.
“I didn’t find you. The janitor found you in his closet and came and got me. I’m only doing my job.” She patted my leg and stood. The way she said “I’m only doing my job” made her either humble or aloof. Nurses shouldn’t say things like that. “Now try to stay awake. I’ll flip on the telly to keep your brain occupied, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” I mumbled.
Fifteen minutes into a British soap opera, the Dean and an officer walked in. It was a different officer, not the same one who had taken Ollie days before.
Dean Lynch introduced him as Officer Scott. The blue-eyed and dirty-red-haired man in uniform seemed less threatening than the one who had taken Ollie away from me. He was young, as if he was fresh out of the academy. He looked at me, and his face fell. You could tell he was new at this and didn’t quite know how to handle himself. “Now, Officer Scott here is going to take your statement. Do you feel comfortable with me staying in the room?” Dean Lynch asked.
Yes. I prefer it. But, “Where is Ollie?” was my reply. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t want Lynch to assume my only mission was to get Ollie out. Somehow, it made my story a little less credible by bringing up Ollie so soon.
Lynch adjusted his suit jacket before crossing his arms. “Ollie is being held here in solitary confinement, but we need to talk about what happened to you.” The vague answer, then re-direct tactic. He must have learned that in training.
I looked over to Officer Scott, and his eyes set on mine. He examined my face, but my gaze didn’t hinder him. I brought my fingers to my face, and there was a slight sting under my eye. There must have been a bruise or a scratch. I hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. “Oscar,” I said.
Lynch’s arms tightened against his chest as his brows furrowed. “My security guard Oscar?”
“Oscar is Ollie’s brother,” I informed them. “Did you know?” I was angry at the fact the Dean could know this and put Ollie in this situation in the first place.
“No, I didn’t know.” He sighed.
“You should do more extensive background checks.” Lynch shook his head, and I continued, “Oscar did this to me. Isaac was the one who raped Bria, and Oscar and Isaac were the ones who drugged us.” He shot me a skeptical look, and I held up the phone. “Here is Oscar’s confession.”
Together, Lynch and Officer Scott listened to the recording. Officer Scott’s eyes darted back and forth from me to the phone. Lynch’s nostrils flared, and his eyes only grew bigger after each word that came from Oscar’s mouth. Furious, he excused himself immediately.
Officer Scott bagged the phone for evidence, but he stayed behind.
“Mind if I ask you a few more questions?”
“Sure,” I said and adjusted in the bed. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Prince Harry?”
He chuckled. “More than you know.” He rolled over a chair and kept a safe distance from the hospital bed as he rested his pad and pen on the bedside table. “I know what you’re thinking, I look young, but you can trust me.”
“What makes you believe I don’t trust you?”
Officer Scott raised a brow. “I can see it on your face, and I can’t even begin to understand what you have been through. Though, I do have experience with the look in your eyes.” He paused and drew in a breath. “My younger sister was raped, and I’ll never forget the change in her eyes after it happened. I know the nurse said you weren’t raped, but I’m trained to follow my gut, and my gut tells me you haven’t told the entire story.”
His blue eyes wouldn’t turn away from mine; they held on, shouting at me, telling me he was sincere, and my eyes watered. “My story, Officer Scott, would keep you here for a couple of hours.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t flinch. “Please, call me Ethan. I’m still not used to people saying Officer Scott quite yet.”
“What do you want to know?”
He pulled up his chair an inch closer and relaxed a bit. “Start from the beginning.”
It was the first time I had gotten through my whole story without crying. Ethan listened intently and never once reached for his pen to take notes. He had to close his eyes a few times to lessen the blow I was sure was all too familiar with his sister. He was kind, and by the end of our conversation, he slipped me his card to call him in case I would ever need it.
Examining his card, I said, “I think you forgot where I am.”
Ethan dropped his head into his hand and shook his head. “Sorry, I get lost in the routine of things.” He let out a small sigh. “To be honest with you, you’re making me nervous.”
“Why do I make you nervous?”
“You just told me your whole story, and I’m sitting here thinking how much I admire your strength.” He stood and fixed his shirt. “I wish my sister could have been here to hear your story. There are a lot of young girls out there who feel they’re alone. Maybe if they had someone to talk to who went through similar experiences, they would feel a little less pain and a little less alone.”