There was a knock at her door. She looked up to see Tiner standing there, looking apprehensive and holding a large manila envelope in his hands. “Ma’am? Sorry to interrupt you, but this just arrived for you from the DC police.”

“Thank you, Tiner.” She reached out to take the proffered envelope, carefully remembering to smile.

“Your welcome, ma’am.” He paused for a moment as if wanting to ask how she was, but thought better of it. Instead, he substituted, “Did you need anything else, ma’am?”

“No thank you, Tiner. Dismissed.” She deliberately kept her tone pleasant although her insides were shaking.

He gave a nod and turned to leave.

“And Tiner? Shut the door, please?” By some miracle, her voice didn’t waver.

“Aye ma’am.” He did as he was bid.

With trembling hands she opened the envelope and slid out the autopsy reports. She’d been waiting for the autopsy results for what seemed like forever. Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer for strength and then opened the first one - the one that referred to Thomas C. Clark as the deceased. At least it didn’t say “victim”.

It was the standard report, one she had seen many times. She skipped over the photos and the main body of the report to the blood work. This time when her eyes closed, it was relief, not fear. He was not HIV positive, and had no sexually transmitted diseases.

She let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding. Thank you, God. Thank you for this one small favor. She let out a short bitter laugh. It felt almost stupid to thank God given the recent events of her life, but she did. It could have been so much worse. He could have had any number of diseases that she could have contracted.

Since she began her life of sobriety, one thing she prided herself on was facing facts. Even if she hadn’t been able to relate what happened to her to other people, she was much too familiar with rape victims and the possible physical ramifications that arose from the crime. It was this knowledge that had forced her to take a difficult and humiliating precaution.

She’d gone to a medical clinic in Baltimore the Saturday after it had happened. Using a false name and paying cash, she’d claimed that an acquaintance had forced her to have sex, and that she needed the “morning after” pill, or pregnancy prevention pill. The doctor in charge, a man, had asked her several questions about what had happened, seeming to doubt the veracity of her story.

From the man’s attitude, he thought she was some kind of prostitute. He’d insisted on a physical examination, which he carried out with a gruff thoroughness. Those kinds of exams were never fun, but this one had been a whole new kind of torture. The doctor’s disdain for her was apparent in his every gesture, and he did nothing to make the experience painless or comfortable.

The doctor had also wanted to run blood tests, but Mac had refused. She didn’t want any type of traceable evidence showing up later. Paranoid? Yes, but she was so afraid it would all come out; she couldn’t take any kind of chance.

Finally, the doctor had given her the prescription, along with a long lecture about safe sex. He had then handed her a bag filled with condoms. It took every bit of strength she had in her not to throw the bag at him and scream, but somehow she managed to force herself out the door without making a scene.

She’d taken several hot showers Saturday and Sunday, unable to feel clean. She knew it was an illogical reaction to her traumatic experience, but knowing that didn’t help. She still bathed as often as she could.

A morbid curiosity seized her. She flipped back through the report to the pictures and scanned through them quickly. They were stark, dehumanizing. In death, the man’s face was slack, no personality showing. She almost wouldn’t have recognized him from these pictures.

Except for that big hole in his chest. She stifled another laugh at the thought, aware that hysteria could break her down. Try as she might, she could summon no guilt at shooting the bastard. She’d shoot him again if she could. A rage came over her, so strong it shocked her. More than anything she wanted that bastard to pay and pay and pay…

“Mac?” It was Sturgis. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”

Quickly she flipped the report closed and shoved them both back into the envelope, struggling to control her unexpected anger. “Sorry, I was just looking at some reports. I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m just going to stop at Benzinger’s after work for dinner. Would you like to join me?” His eyes were guileless.

Repressing the urge to roll her eyes, she nevertheless shot him a knowing look. “Thanks Sturgis, but I’m going to work out, then just head home.”

“Come on, Mac. It will do you good to get out. And you look like you could use a good feeding. Where’s that legendary appetite Harm’s always talking about?”

The fury she’d been suppressing suddenly erupted. “I said no, Sturgis.” Her tone was sharp, biting, and totally unlike her. “What part of that didn’t you understand?” God, she was tired of everyone trying to “help” her. She just wanted to be left alone.

Instead of withdrawing in offense, his serene gaze never wavered. “I understood, Mac, I just want to make sure you eat something. You look like you’re about to blow away.”

Shame at her unfair attack engulfed her, drowning out the anger. “I’m sorry. I…” To her horror, her voice broke. She was on the verge of tears. Furiously she tried to choke them back.

“It’s okay, I understand. You’ve been under a lot of strain lately.” The words and tone were gentle.

She paused a moment, trying to gather herself. Mercifully, he let her.

“Thank you, Sturgis. But I really am tired. I appreciate it though.” This time she managed an apologetic smile.

“Mac…” His voice trailed away, recognizing he couldn’t force her, but wanting to help. “Just promise you’ll eat something, okay?”

“I promise.”

After he left, she rested her forehead in her hands, feeling torn apart. There were too many emotions running around inside her. Shame, anger, fear, disgust. The turmoil was just too much to bear, and she hoped that “Thomas Clark” rotted in hell for eternity.

Sarah Mackenzie’s Apartment
Georgetown
Saturday 0330 Local

In spite of her promise to Sturgis, Mac had found herself unable to stomach solid food. She settled for coffee. Lots of it. Of course this had not helped her insomnia, or rather it had helped it tremendously. Once again it was a sleepless night.

This time she gave up trying to sleep and sat watching television until the wee hours of the morning, the “Alien” series of movies with Sigorney Weaver. Now there was a heroine worth emulating. Nothing and no one, human or alien, got in her way. No matter what tried to hurt her, she mowed them down with a ferocity that was amazing.

The endless violence was oddly soothing, mesmerizing her. It was so easy to get lost in a world where there were bad aliens that needed to be killed in spectacular showy ways. The destruction of the “pods” where the alien larva grew until it latched onto a human host was equally fascinating. She thought about how great it would be if the “good guys” really could go around blasting the “bad guys” away like that.

It was in the middle of Alien Resurrection that her thoughts took a different turn. When Winona Ryder (the robot) asks Ripley (the clone), “How do you live, knowing what you are?”

The question haunted her, and the rest of the movie faded away for Mac as she contemplated that question. What was she, really? A woman who had never had a successful relationship in her entire life? Not even with her parents? Harm’s comment from a year ago had hurt, but only because it was true. Look, anyone who's ever been involved with Mac is either dead or feels like they are.

Ripley’s answer, “I don’t have a choice,” was not an answer she could accept. There was always a choice. The trouble was, sometimes choices came back and bit you in the ass.

Her choices in men always did. Eddie, John, Chris, Dalton. Even Mic. Choices she had made that had cost some of them their life, some their career. All of them had suffered in one way or another. Because of her.

Sometimes, it wasn’t your choice at all. Like Friday night had not been her choice. Well, in a way it had been; of the available options, she had chosen of the lesser of two evils. How could she let that monster violate a young innocent like Casey? Or allow Little AJ to be threatened?

She laughed aloud bitterly. Harm was the lucky one. For seven years he’d managed to avoid becoming entangled in her life, except as a friend. And even that had cost him a plane crash and several frigid hours in the Atlantic. If they had ever managed to become involved romantically he’d probably be dead too.

The movie ended, Sigorney and Winona looking serenely over the blue earth, looking forward to the future. She shut the television off, disgusted with such a sappy end to the series. The entire series had been about death and destruction, and now all was sweetness and light. The future looked bright. What bullshit.

Wearily she headed off to bed, hoping that somehow she’d manage to rest.

Return to Vivienne's Fanfictions