Justice [sVerrine and Koe-chan]

[BlaqueCatt]

Koe-chan's Character

 

Shane Donoghue

Age 19

 

 

 

 

Shane was kidnapped on his way home from school when he was 17. He was delivered to the leader of a gang and was passed from one gang to another as a bargaining chip, treated as a toy and abused in more ways than one. His single mother desperately sought out help from police, but they gave up the search after 48 hours, assuming that he was dead. He was within the circle of gangs for two years and escaped when he turned 19. The members of the gang he had been with were too stoned to keep an eye on him, and he managed to break out of the abandoned warehouse, even though he too had been drugged to keep him complacent. He succumbed to exhaustion and fever just as he reached the alley behind a bar, as he had been badly beaten, raped, and given little food and water. He was not given clothes and was always exposed to the cold. The abuse he suffered from left him with amnesia and PTSD, and he is terrified of being touched. He is mute initially and has anxiety attacks that have him hurting himself, as physical pain makes it stop. The only thing he remembers is his first name.

[sVerrine]

Erik Williams

27

 

"Hey new boy, where dya wanna go next?" In the company of their owner's bemused voice, a pair of strong, blond haired arms surrounded Erik's neck. The man debated what he despised most between the name he had been stuck with for the past few weeks and the familiarity with which he was touched, but eventually decided that both annoyed him in equal measure.

 

"I am going home. I have a patrol in the morning." Erik responded in a seemingly calm voice, as he unfastened the other's grip. He tried displaying disappointment at their parting as he opened the door to exit the bar.

 

"Wha'? You no fun man." The other countered, but he was too wasted to argue further than this. He started mumbling something, but the words were too unintelligible for Erik to comprehend.

Not long passed before two other colleagues of them exited the bar. Erik glared at their posture to decide if the influence of alcohol was also too great for them to handle.

 

"You guys can make it back?" Erik eventually asked after concluding that it was too dark and the street far too poorly illuminated to pass any judgments.

"Yeah new boya. We'll take care o' Doug." The man didn't stumble as much as the other two, so Erik decided to entrust the other two to him. Doug was leaning on his shoulder the whole time and only continued to mumble when his main physical support changed.

Erik made small comments at his colleague's idle chat and let out a relieved sigh when they finally grabbed a cab.

 

"Pussies." The man commented annoyingly as he made his way back through the alley that separated the bar from a tattoo parlour. "Getting drunk after three beers. Unbelievable." Pissed off as he was, he tried to repress the memory of douchebag Doug puking on this black leather jacket whose warmth he started to linger after as the evening cool air was starting to settle in. His pace was heavy and he could see the mud splashing all over as he stomped down the gloomy alley. He run his hand aggressively through his damp hair and let an exasperated sound escape his dry lips. Transferring from one department to another sucked big time - he was aware of that, but awareness proved to be useless in him trying to control his anger every time he was belittled by the concerting attitude of his colleagues, or when his superior treated him like a fucking errand boy.

 

'Fuck them. Fuck this job. Fuck my stupid decision.' His deep-seated irritation and the steadily increasing intensity of his annoyance had no time to manifest themselves, as the next thing Erik saw before his eyes was him stumbling down on something, hitting hard the ground and his face making beautiful contact with dog shit.

 

"Fuck."

So many thoughts, mostly curses, were rushing through his head that he wasn't even able to vociferate his outburst. Standing for a full minute laid on the muddy ground as if probing the imminent reality which was gloriously mocking him, Erik realized that he actually didn't stumble on something, but on someone. Feeling his blood boiling in his veins, he got up and wanted to 'blow off some steam' using the homeless that he suspected to be the perpetrator of his absolutely compelling night. But as soon as he set his eyes on the ground, he was rendered silent.

 

A naked beaten-to-a-pulp unconscious man was curled into fetal position. Erik was prepared to curse, but decided against. He reached for the young man's neck to check his pulse and his eyes shot in surprise when he actually received one.

"He's alive!"

 

He tried to look at his injuries, but the dark didn't provide much support.

'Think straight Erik, think straight.' He tried to cover the man, but then realized his jacket was still the victim of Doug's merciless pucking.

"Better to stink of puke than die of hypothermia." He said more to himself as he pulled the man's body up, leaned it to the wall and tried to cover him with the dirty jacket. Another moment passed before Erik realized he had to call an ambulance and the police.

[BlaqueCatt]

Despite the fact that it was three o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, the streets were relatively empty; instead of crowds of young adults searching for distractions from their mundane lives, the only people present were drunken businessmen, homeless people, and a rather rambunctious group of middle-aged policemen. In this part of the city, the only attractions were a rundown bar, a dirty convenience store, several lower-class homes, and a barbershop with plastic for windows. The night clubs, movie theaters, malls, Town Hall, and gang activity were all concentrated in the more populated part of the city towards the west. It was a low-key sort of place, a place where few outsiders frequented, which was why it was the first location that popped into Shane's drug-addled mind when he finally slipped out of the warehouse at ten o'clock; he had not stopped running since.

 

The young man stumbled with every step he took, his muscles made loose and uncoordinated by the drug the gang members had given him hours before; it had still not worn off. His extremities were numbed by the cold, as he had not a shred of clothing to protect himself, and yet his insides were burning with sickness, and his pale skin was flushed and slick with sweat. It was difficult for him to see, what with the darkness and the way his vision swam, but he somehow managed to make his way into the city district, the shadows rendering him invisible. He had no idea of where he was going; the only thought in his mind was Get away, run, before they find you.

 

He ended up turning into an alley, where his bare feet came into contact with the green glass of a broken beer bottle, and he tipped forward onto a bed of moldy trash-bags. The breath was knocked out of him, but he was too tired to even make a sound of discomfort. His limbs were unbelievably heavy, and he found himself unable to get up again, no matter how badly he needed to. He laid there panting, gray eyes half-closed, his black hair matted with dirt and dried blood and sweat. His breathing was uneven, and his heartbeat would slow and then jump-start itself over and over again, the sensation making him even more dizzy. His skin was littered with bruises ranging from yellowish-green to bluish-purple; scars of varying sizes and lengths; bright red, angry abrasions; nicks and cuts that appeared to have been made from a knife; and small burn scars that resembled the end of a cigarette. There was a nasty gash on his left temple, as if he had been hit with a crowbar or a metal pipe, and it was quite possible that he had a concussion.

 

The boy froze when he heard footsteps approaching, and he illogically assumed that the gang had found him. Unable to speak, he laid there silently and motionlessly, tears streaming down his cheeks. Something heavy hit him, and the fear that seized his chest had him fainting on the spot. He was completely unresponsive to Eirik's touch and words; he remained limp in the man's grasp, his head lolling like a doll's, nearly weightless with how thin he was.

[sVerrine]

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The dull bland walls of the corridor made the waiting wing seem even more unbearable. The room was somehow somber in spite of the powerful neon lights that were artificially illuminating it. Slumped in the steel chair, Erik glanced around absentmindedly. There was plenty of room to move about, but nowhere to get comfortable. The pointing smell of anesthetics and the raucous sound of machinery amplified the feeling of hopelessness.

Cold. Sterile. Basic. Functional. That was your average hospital.

 

Erik tried to oppress any thought in particular as he waited for the doctor to come and fill him in with the boy's condition. It wasn't uncommon for him to see badly injured, shot, or even dead people, because all of these were mandatory situations to deal with as a police officer, especially in New York where the crime rate was substantially different compared to his initial post in Canada.

The mental image of the boy being treated in the ambulance appeared before his eyes. It was fresh, poignant and disturbing. For a reason he could not comprehend, Erik had been paralyzed with shock; not even the rush of adrenaline had been enough for him to stimuli for the movement of his limbs.

 

The incessant tread of feet approaching interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to the hospital's waiting room. He stood up abruptly and made eye contact with the doctor.

"Officer Erik Williams? The one in charge for the victim's case, I presume."

Erik nodded, then asked. "How is he?" The doctor sighed and Erik knew that he was not going to like the answer.

 

"I don't even know where to start." Erik waited, giving the doctor a chance to gather his thoughts. "Physically, he has three broken ribs, the left ankle sprained and a head concussion. There are signs of sexual abuse, assault, torture, and use of drugs."

Erik did not avert his eyes and neither did the doctor. There was more coming.

 

"He can pull a recovery in a few months. The problem stands with his mental stability. He refuses to talk, and that is most probably because of PTSD. He will need to see a psychologist for the time being. If things get worse, he might need a psychiatrist."

A deep sigh escaped Erik's lips. He realized last night in the ambulance that the boy had it hard, but he never imagined that it was to such extent. "Got it. Thank you. Can I see him?"

 

"He is in intensive care. Until he is stabilized, it is best to avoid contact with others as we don't know the extent of his mental injuries. The police should wait a few days until they start the interrogation."

With a nod, Erik affirmed the suggestion. They shook hands and the doctor proceeded to other people waiting to receive news.

 

Erik narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together, pondering what to do next as he went down the corridor to the nearest exit. Suspecting that it was more behind the boy's story than a regular brawl on the streets, Erik had decided to take the case. After hearing the doctor's diagnosis, it appeared that his instinct was right.

 

The cool humid air was pleasantly touching his face and the fragrance of freshly baked bread was penetrating his nostrils. Away from the hospital, he found his body gradually gaining its usual composure. Erik decided that he needed to find some information on the boy - name, age, address, family, and ideally before they settle a date for interrogation.

[BlaqueCatt]

Even when unconscious, it is common for people to react to stimuli, both internally and externally; they whimper and shiver when dreaming, or moan and flinch when touched. This was not the case for the boy. He was completely unaware of his surroundings, and it was incredibly difficult for thoughts or memories to surface within his mind; the drugs, and the pain, and the exhaustion had been too much for him. He remained completely still and silent in Erik's arms, which told the police officer, who had seen many injured people, that something was terribly wrong.

 

The ambulance arrived a few minutes after the man made the call, and the EMTs were on the boy in an instant. They gently placed him onto a stretcher and strapped an oxygen mask onto his face. While they pushed him up the ramp attached to the back of the ambulance and into the back of the vehicle, a young woman pried open his eyes and shined a flashlight onto them, making a sound of disapproval when his pupils responded to the light incorrectly. "He has a concussion," she said to the man next to her, only giving Erik a fleeting glance and a quick gesture of 'hurry up and get in here' before leaning down close to the boy's face. "Hello? Can you hear me?" she asked. Upon receiving no response, she and the man exchanged a worried look.

 

The boy's naked body was covered with a white sheet, and the woman nearly had a heart attack when she saw the blood trickling down the boy's thighs. Her lips twisted into a grimace, but she made no comment as she inserted an IV into his arm and hooked him up to a heart monitor. Once Erik was sitting beside her, the ambulance took off down the street, sirens blaring. It sped through the lower district and reached the hospital in the center of the city within minutes. As soon as the ambulance came to a stop, Erik and the boy were separated; Erik was led to the waiting room while the boy was handed over to the doctors. Now, three hours later, the boy was laying in bed, a nurse stationed by his side.

 

The doctors' fist priority had been to look for internal injuries. They discovered three broken ribs and a severe concussion, but fortunately the remaining injuries were all external. The ribs were set back into place and tightly bound, and there were bandages across the expanse of the boy's chest, covering huge bruises and several minor cuts and healed scars. His body was cleaned and his bruises were treated with ointment. His cuts were bandaged and his burns were treated, and the gash on the side of his head was stitched and bound. He was tested for sexual assault - the result was positive, as there had been traces of semen that belonged to various people - and that area was cleaned thoroughly. He was set up with an oxygen mask and a heart monitor once again, and was given two IVs: one to clear his system of the drugs, and another to give him the nutrients that he had been lacking. By the end of it his pale skin was swathed in bandages and shone with different creams, and his bone-thin body was covered by a soft blue gown. He was sleeping peacefully, it seemed, and Erik would be able to visit him the next day.

 

The policeman himself would run into trouble during his investigation. Even though a missing persons report had been filed for Shane, there was no record of it anywhere. Shane's fingerprints and dental records were not in the system either. It was as if the information had been deliberately erased. Erik would need to speak to Shane to find out what was going on, which would be extremely hard, as Shane was suffering from PTSD; he had forced himself to become mute, hated being touched, and was overwhelmed by large groups of people. He was also terrified of men.

[sVerrine]

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The papers made a loud sound as they made contact with the cheap wooden desk. Erik rubbed his eyes with one hand and with the other sipped another gulp of coffee from the vending machine. The man's stance indicated fatigue and frustration. Erik glanced at the clock and realized that the night passed and it was close to the hour when the department began to be pervaded by energy.

The man invested close to 24 hours in the research on the boy, and the result - nothing. Deep down, Erik had genuinely believed to find the boy on the missing person list that the Head Office was so proud of, but his effort turned up to be futile in any possible sense.

 

"Dammit." Erik grabbed with no particular emotion the medical report and started reading it again, thinking that maybe he had missed a vital clue, but by the time he finished it, his face was hard and vacant.

 

"Having a hard time with the case?"

The high-pitched voice and the short-lived pat on the shoulder startled Erik more than it should have. He tried to conceal his reaction, but the woman smiled deviously.

"What have you find?"

"Nothing." The woman looked puzzled at the answer, so Erik continued. "He is Mr.Nobody of unknown age, unknown nationality, unknown relatives and no criminal record."

 

"There must be something." His colleague insisted as she sat down at her own desk, opposed to Erik's and at a few meters distance. Although the situation was critical, its peculiarity aroused curiosity, which could have been read in the woman's glittering eyes.

"Oh yeah. The medical report states he is Asiatic." Erik stated himself in a half joking tone. "Not that you could tell that just by looking at his face, by the way." Erik realized the gravity of the situation and let his head fall backward, his eyes directed to the celling. The now common exasperated sigh followed. He appreciated the silence that fell in the room with his statement, but reckoned that Cecilia must be feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

 

"I guess that leaves me with going to the source itself. A mute, terrified, highly probable amnesic, PTSD suffering source." Erik realized that the whole conversation made him appear cynical to the situation and only amplified the discomfort of his colleague. The tiredness and seemingly hopelessness of the case were starting to get him. That made him push even further and harder, which lead to more fatigue and hopelessness. It was a vicious cycle he had to break.

Erik went to grab his jacket, but realized there was none. For a second he debated whether to go home or not. If not to get some hours of sleep, than at least to eat something and shower. It would have been better to be fresh, with a pleasant appearance in front of the victim, instead of displaying Erik's currently ravished self.

 

~0~

 

Before pressing the knob, Erik took a deep breath and secretly prayed for this to go well. He permitted himself the nervousness he experienced for logical reasons. It was the first time Erik had to deal with a victim suffering from so many delicate and difficult-to-cope conditions. He had a short conversation with the department's psychologist who gave him a few tips about how he should approach the boy, but his confidence was wavering.

 

He opened the door and as soon as he entered the room, his eyes fell naturally on the resting man connected to many medical machinery. He looked somehow... passive, lifeless. Erik's expression instantly softened into cordiality. He approached the bed, eying the metal chair matching the ones from the waiting wing. He sat down silently.

Gazing at the boy's countenance, Erik realized he couldn't exactly pin point the boy's age. There were features that indicated youthfulness, but the lack of emotion in his gray opened eyes and the vacant expression made him look older than that.

 

"Erm... My name is Erik. The doctors have told me that you might refuse to talk due to your... situation." Erik probed and wasn't surprise to see no reaction. "Look, I would like to ask you some basic questions. For now, let's say that if you blink once, that is a 'yes'. If you blink twice, that is a 'no'." Erik felt this approach to be stupid and clichéd, but he literally had no other idea how to obtain information from a mute victim.

"Is this fine with you?"

[BlaqueCatt]

During the twenty-four hours that marked the beginning of Erik's investigation, the boy had not regained consciousness. Initially, the nurses were worried that he had fallen into a coma, but a scanner showed that his brainwaves were functioning normally; his body was making up for all of the sleepless nights he had suffered through while in captivity. It was reassuring to know that the boy was physically stable, but the doctor in charge of the boy's care instructed the nurses to take turns watching over the boy, as it was unsafe for him to be left alone in such a mental state; he had the potential to be a danger to himself or to others, should he wake up not knowing where he was or what had happened to him.

 

When Erik returned to the hospital at eight o'clock, a middle-aged nurse was sitting by the side of the boy's bed, gazing at him with a pained expression on her face. She had his right hand in hers, and she was gently stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. She glanced up when she heard the door handle turn, and she motioned for the young policeman to close the door behind him as quietly as possible. Once the door was shut, she let go of the boy's hand and walked over to him. "His physical injuries are healing well," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. "It will be some time before he gains some weight, as we don't know how he'll take to eating, but the nutrients we're feeding him through the IV tube is strengthening his body. The only thing we're concerned about is his mental state." She led Erik over to a plastic chair at the other side of the bed and sat him down. "He hasn't woken up yet, but we spoke to a psychologist. We won't know how bad his trauma symptoms will be until he wakes up, but he will exhibit signs of PTSD, such as fear of groups, fear of loud noises, fear of physical contact, and the inability to speak. It's also likely that he will have a particular adversity to men." The reason for that was obvious.

 

As the nurse filled Erik in on what he had missed, the boy in the bed stirred. His eyes fluttered, and he shifted beneath the sheets, tossing his head to the side, his legs curling up towards his chest His lips moved as if he were groaning, but no sound came from his throat. The nurse froze, and then she was beside him within seconds, reaching out to touch him and provide some sort of comfort, then thinking better of it and lowering her hands to her sides. After a moment of silence, the boy's light gray eyes opened. He blinked sleepily, trying to clear his blurry vision. For the first time in months, he felt calm, and safe, and warm...his eyes suddenly widened and he sat up quickly, the motion causing his head to spin. He looked around frantically, unable to clearly identify his surroundings. Memories of his escape came back to him in a dizzying rush, and he started to thrash, struggling against the confining sheets and the tubes connected to his arms, believing that he had been restrained again.

 

"Calm down!" the nurse ordered, her voice firm yet kind, holding him down by the shoulders as the machines beeped in alarm. All traces of fear and worry had left her; she was all business now. "Look at me. Look at me." The boy became aware of someone holding him down, and he went still, like a possum playing dead. She sighed and let go of him, staring into his eyes, which were gazing up at her in fear and confusion. He didn't understand: why wasn't he being punished for running away? A few moments passed, and awareness returned to him. He realized that the person in front of him was a woman, not a man, and that the room he was in was white and clean. He turned his head to the side and saw sunlight streaming in from an open window, and the scent of medicine stung his nose. Hospital...I'm in a hospital... Tears gathered in his eyes and he relaxed, sinking into the bed with a relieved expression on his face. I escaped...

 

The woman gave him a small smile and kept her distance, not wanting to scare him. She waited until he was calm before speaking in an extremely soft tone, "My name is Kate," she said, and he focused on her, his gaze still wary but much less anxious. "The police found you injured in an alley. They brought you here and we treated your injuries." He stared at her uncomprehendingly, and she realized then that it had been so long since he had participate din a normal conversation that his ability to understand speech was damaged. She gave him some time to process the information before continuing. "We're going to give you some time to get comfortable before we explain the extent of your treatment and discuss what will happen after you leave the hospital." His eyes widened in panic; were they going to kick him out and let the gang find him? She seemed to be able to read his mind. "We'll find somewhere safe for you to stay," she reassured him, but he did nothing but continue to stare. She hadn't been expecting a response, so she went on as if nothing strange had happened. "But right now we need you to answer some questions. This is Erik Williams. He's a police officer."

 

The nurse stepped out of the way, and the boy visibly flinched when he caught sight of Erik. His muscles tensed, and he curled in on himself, his fingers clutching the sheets and gathering them close to himself, as if he were trying to hide. He refused to maintain eye contact, and he had started to visibly shake. Erik was the same size as the men who had hurt him, and at this point, all men looked the same to him. The woman gave Erik a warning look - be gentle, it demanded - before speaking to the boy again. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you. He's only going to talk to you. I'll stay right here, okay?" The boy didn't trust either of them, but a woman had never hurt him before, and he would rather be with her than alone with him. He bit the inside of his lip, then nodded, keeping his head down. The nurse smiled and took a seat by the side of the bed, nodding to Erik. He would have to be very gentle, which was going to be difficult for someone like him.

 

"Erm... My name is Erik. The doctors have told me that you might refuse to talk due to your... situation. Look, I would like to ask you some basic questions. For now, let's say that if you blink once, that is a 'yes'. If you blink twice, that is a 'no'. Is this fine with you?" The boy glanced at him, then quickly looked away. He nodded once again; though he tried to remain expressionless, as doing so had kept him safe in the past, he couldn't help the fear that shone in his eyes or the way his hands twisted into the sheets anxiously. He wanted to be left alone.

[sVerrine]

Witnessing the conversation between Kate, the nurse, Erik found even that little piece of confidence that he had was slowly, but steadily starting to fade away. The fact that he just learnt of the adversity that the boy felt for men didn't help at all, in fact, it just made it worse. Furthermore, the way he went from shaking uncontrollably to falling completely still on the hospital bed, how he avoided eye contact, or even how his entire being exhibited that he wanted to be left alone, all made Erik fell like drawning in misery.

His only consolation was the fact that despite all these, the boy nodded in agreement at Erik's seemingly unreasonable request.

 

"Are you younger than 18 years old?"

 

While patiently waiting to receive an answer, Erik thought of what was going to happen after this. It was obvious from the boy's external injuries that at least a month was necessary for him to remain within the hospital grounds. The procedures that were going to follow depended wholly on the boy's mental stability and the outcome of the investigation. If the turnout resulted in finding no information on the boy's whereabouts, than the logical thing to do was to make some posters with the boy's face and scatter them around the city. But judging from his injuries, it is clear that he was held captive, so the perpetuator might be looking for him right then. Plastering posters would be equivalent with shouting 'He is here. No need to look anymore.'

Erik suppressed a sigh and decided to think about this later on the evening when he returned to the police station. The important thing right then was to find as much as possible from the source itself.

[BlaqueCatt]

The boy did not respond to Erik's question for several minutes. He simply stared at the crisp, white sheets covering his lower body, both of his hands twisting into the fabric repeatedly, as if they had a mind of their own. His entire body was tense, and now that he was in a sitting position, he was able to press back against the headboard of the bed and put as much distance between himself and the police officer as possible. He knew, logically, that Erik was only trying to help him, but the fear that had been ingrained into him would not be mollified easily. Just being in the presence of another man - of another person - had his heart beating wildly in his chest, his breaths coming in uneven gasps, and his small, thin frame trembling like a leaf in the wind. He wanted to rely on reason, but it seemed impossible after so long depending on his instincts. Maybe I have become an animal, he thought dejectedly, his expression distant. Maybe they were right... Tears pricked at his eyes, and though he was fully aware of the pains and aches ravaging his body, he had the urge to hurt himself.

 

Kate, with her motherly instincts, picked up on the boy's distress without even having to look at him. She silently stood and moved her chair so that she was sitting next to Erik, but not too close to the bed, wanting to give the young man the space that he needed. "It's okay," she reassured him softly, her voice startling him and forcing him to look at her, his lips drawn into a thin line. She was trying to reassure him, but he was not yet at the point where kind words could bring him to trust, even though her voice made him feel a bit calmer. "No one will hurt you here." She smiled at him, once again suppressing the urge to reach out, and gestured for Erik to back up a bit. Once there was more space between the boy and the adults, the boy relaxed slightly, but he still kept his gaze directed at the sheets. "Can you answer Mr. Williams' question?" she asked next, speaking slowly and enunciating each word carefully so that he could understand her. The boy hesitated, and then nodded. "Are you younger than 18 years old?" she repeated, and the boy did not respond immediately. He bit the inside of his lip, unsure of the answer. Was he younger than 18? He had no memories of the time before the gang, and he had a feeling that he had been with them for a long time (although he had lost all sense of time inside his cell). He looked down at his hands, studying them, trying to see if they would tell him how old he was. I don't know... He shrugged, refusing to look at either of them. They were trying to help him, and he couldn't even give them a proper answer. He felt sick.