“Assuming he’s convicted,” the other officer says. “Who knows how this will play out.”
“Fucking animal,” the first cop spits. “What he did to that girl is disgusting.”
“Sure is.” The other one pats his partner’s back. “It’ll feel good to handcuff him later.”
I leave in a daze, slowly walking back to my car. It’s not that I haven’t seen my share of horrific scenes in my career, but it’s the first time I’ve seen it from an observation perspective. I was always in doctor mode before, fueled by responsibility and adrenaline, only to crash out over it later.
I think I understand Vanian even more now. I understand the rage and helplessness the father felt, the deep sadness of the mother. The cop was so right—this could play out in so many ways that it’s hard to believe that justice will be served. What kind of punishment is enough for a crime like that?
I drive home on autopilot, my thoughts swirling wildly, and by the time I pull up in front of my house, I’m filled with a sense of rage unlike any I’ve felt before. I think I know what I have to do.
Entering the house, I kick off my shoes and walk down the hall to where Vanian is working in my office. He’s talking to someone on his screen, his demeanor relaxed.
“Oh, here he is now.” Vanian waves me over. There are three squares on the screen filled with smiling faces. “This is Nantes. Nantes, my coworkers.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
“I’ll be right out,” Vanian says.
I nod, exiting the room and listening as he wraps up his call. “Thanks for the updates,” he says, his voice trailing off as he says his goodbyes.
Plopping down on the couch, I drag my hand through my hair, trying to process my thoughts. When Vanian comes out,he must notice my vibe is off, because he hurries to my side, concern written all over his handsome face.
“What’s wrong, Nan?”
“I was at the hospital, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“A trauma call came in. An eleven-year-old girl. Rape victim.”
He sucks in a breath as his jaw ticks. “Shit.”
“I saw her. I saw her parents. I even saw the abuser. He shot himself when the cops showed up. Family friend, taught the girl guitar.”
Vanian’s face is creased with anger. “Is she gonna be okay physically?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It didn’t look good. I don’t know what he did to her, but there was so much blood.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s the first time I’ve seen something like that outside of my role as a doctor. I saw the aftermath of it all. I saw the pain, the rage, the helplessness. I can’t imagine what her parents are going through. They must feel so guilty.”
“Yes. That’s one of the biggest obstacles in family therapy. They blame themselves for not seeing the monster, but that’s how monsters work. That’s how they survive. They hide behind ‘nice person’ facades. They go to church and take care of their families. They have friends. They walk among us.”
“I get it now. I get why you do what you do. You feel so impotent when you see the monster and you can’t do anything about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if that father does something, but that will only ruin his life too. Then, what? He has to go to prison for protecting his child? It makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I never thought I was an eye for an eye kind of person. I focused on doing what I could to help, but I think I understand why vigilantes exist.”
“I know it’s not right, Nan. It’s not like I’ve convinced myself that I’m guiltless just because my victims are worse, but there was nowhere else for the rage to go.”
“I stand by what I said before. You can’t keep doing it. You’ve been lucky, but luck always runs out.”
“I know. I’m working on it. Maybe I’ll get some anger management therapy.”
“Let me finish.” I hold his hand in mine. “I took an oath to do no harm, and I upheld that oath, but I’m not a practicing doctor anymore.”
