"If you're reported missing, we can take care of that."
"It's not that easy,” I tell her as we pause outside of a room. I stand there for a moment as her eyes search my face.
"Let's have you checked over first, then we'll go from there." Cora opens the door to a bedroom that has been converted into an exam room.
Seated on a stool inside is a man in doctors’ scrubs. He lifts his head, and when his eyes meet mine, my stomach drops. I know him. I've seen him come to my home before. I remember his striking green eyes. He hadn't seen me, but I'm sure if he's close to my father, then he knows exactly who I am.
CHAPTER
TWO
WYNN
Fuck. I know her. The woman waiting to talk to me is Kate Walton. Of course I’ve never met her officially, but I’ve been to her house plenty. She’s in all the pictures, and she looks exactly like her mother. Her father used to call me when his wife had “accidents.”
“Dr. Lovell, this is Kate. Kate, this is Dr. Lovell,” Cora says, introducing us. Then she turns to Kate and lowers her voice. “I’ll be right outside this door if you need anything, but I’ll check back on you in about fifteen minutes. Okay?”
“Okay,” Kate says quietly to her before Cora leaves.
As soon as the door is closed, we lock eyes. Her eye is swollen, and her cheek is bruised. How many times had I found her mother in the same position? My stomach churns with the memories of it.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” I say and then stand from the chair. She keeps her eyes on me as she takes a seat on the exam table. The silence is broken by the sound of the paper crinkling, but we both ignore it. “Do you mind if I check your eye first?”
“Okay,” she says softly. It’s even softer than how she spoke to Cora. Is she afraid of me? If she knew the truth about me, she would be.
“Are you having any blurred vision?” My focus automatically shifts to her medical assessment, and I put thoughts of her and her family out of my mind. She’s my patient first and foremost.
“No.”
“Any dizziness?”
“Um, a little at first. But not now.”
I shine a light near her eye to check her pupils. “Did you hit your head after you were punched?”
“I didn’t say I was punched.” She sounds defensive, and again I have to push memories of her mother out of my mind.
“The pattern of the bruise shows three knuckles,” I say calmly and without judgment. “If you hit your head, I can get you a scan to check for swelling in your brain.”
“No,” she says quickly, and then her shoulders sag. “I went to my knees.”
My stomach twists again at the thought of Boris Walton putting his fist in her face. He’s not as tall as I am, but he probably weighs twice as much as she does.
“Can I see your wrists?” I look down at her hands in her lap where she’s got the sleeves of her sweatshirt balled in her fists. “I won’t touch you, I just want to check on the bruising.”
If she wonders how I know there are bruises on her wrists, she doesn’t ask. Instead, she silently pushes the sleeves of her sweatshirt up her arms and reveals several bruises on both. Some are weeks old, some only a few days. Two are as fresh as the bruise on her eye. Exactly the way her mother’s were.
It takes all of my control to stay professional. “Turn your hands over, palms down please.” When she does, I see there are no defensive wounds on her knuckles. I have to take a deep breath to calm myself because that means she didn't have the chance to fight back. “Were you struck anywhere else?”
She shakes her head, and although I’d like to examine all of her to check for broken ribs, she seemed to walk fine on her own and even climbed on the exam table without pain. Kate’s mother didn’t experience those kinds of injuries until later, but I don’t know how long the abuse has been going on. I have to assume it’s since her mother died.
“Can I ask you a few questions about your medical history?” I say, trying to stay on track.
“I guess.” Her sharp eyes stay on me as I take a step back from her. It’s clear she wants space right now.
“Are you on any medication?”
“No, I’m not on anything.”
