Page 24 of One Night Years Ago

She was on the hard, wet ground again. She remembered a large, heavyweight figure moving on top of her, moving inside her. Then that figure was replaced by that of a slighter young man with a large eagle tattoo, who hovered over her.

Two different people.

Natalie ran out of Helen’s office and made it to the bathroom just in time. She rinsed her mouth and washed her hands carefully, drying them far longer than she needed to, just buying herself some time.

There was a knock on the door.

“I’m okay, Helen,” she said.

“It’s Hunter.”

“What do you want?”

He opened the door a crack.

“Are you okay?”

“Define okay. Your brother’s words made me remember things too. Just not enough to catch him.”

She slammed her hands on the sink, glad for the pain. She needed to remember. “If I hadn’t blanked out that night, I might have been able to stop him from killing Lanie.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying that. It doesn’t help.”

He was silent.

“You spent twelve years in prison.” It was a statement, not a question. She didn’t think he was going to reply.

“He’s my brother.”

She fortified her heart against his words. She couldn’t respect the choice he’d made to protect his brother, not when it meant her rapist was out on the streets and had already hurt one more woman.

#

Natalie

She didn’t see Lanie when she walked in. Somebody had already placed her body in one of the three refrigerated drawers that lined one wall of the small room.

Dr. Stephen Ford walked in from a door on the opposite end. The blond doctor looked gray, nothing like his usual tan face.

“I’m not cut out for this, Sheriff Bowmann. I’m a doctor, not a coroner.”

“You know why it had to be you, Dr. Ford.”

The older man nodded. “I examined you after you were attacked. I treated you. And you want to know whether this might be the same person.”

She nodded.

“Sit here, Natalie. You look like you’re about to fall down.”

“It’s been a long day. What did you find?”

“Lanie Jones was raped. But you knew that already. He used great violence. I hadn’t seen such internal tears since—" The doctor’s voice faltered. He tried again. “Since your attack.”

“Tell me more.”

Ford picked up a thick manila folder. “You’ll find the full autopsy report here. She had three broken ribs. Somebody kicked her or punched her. Hard. And then there’s the breast injury. I can’t tell you if it’s the same man, but in my professional opinion, the injury to the breast is too similar to the one thirteen years ago to be a coincidence.”