The Summer Children (The Collector #3)(21)

“Do we have to?”

I wish I could give her a different answer, but I’m not going to lie to her. “Yes. This is something we have to do. If you need the doctor to stop, or explain something she’s doing, just say so, okay? I know this sucks.”

“Is it like getting a pap smear? Mom talks about that. She says when I get older I’ll have to do those.”

“It’s pretty close. This is maybe a little more thorough, though.”

“Why?”

“The doctor is going to make sure you don’t have any injuries down there. When men hurt girls like this, things can tear, or get swollen, or infected. If those tears have been happening for a while, there could be scars that cause problems later on. So she has to make sure all the wounds are identified, so they can be treated.”

“Oh.”

I give her hand a squeeze. “Sarah, I was just a couple years younger than you when I had my first exam, and for the same reason.”

Her hand spasms in response, fingers digging into mine. “Really?”

“Really. So I promise you, I know that this is going to be uncomfortable, but it really is important. We wouldn’t ask you to do it if it wasn’t.”

“You said you’re an FBI agent.”

“I am.”

“Do you . . .” She swallows hard, but when she looks back up at me, her eyes glitter fiercely. “Do you think I could be one someday?”

“Sweetheart, if you want to badly enough, and work hard enough, I genuinely believe you could be anything you want to be. FBI agent included.”

“I want to protect people.”

“You already do.” My heart breaks a little at the confused tilt of her head. “Sarah, he would have gone after Ashley. You’ve been protecting your sister for years, and you’ve done such a good job of it, she didn’t even know she was in danger.”

The doctor comes in while she’s chewing on that, a woman not much older than me with kind eyes and a gentle voice, and a way of explaining every step without making it overly technical or insultingly simple. In between parts of narration, she asks Sarah easy questions, things to get her talking without being too personal. Sarah squirms a little through the examination, and yelps once or twice when even the warning wasn’t enough to prepare her, but the doc gives her a warm smile as she peels off her gloves.

“You did really well, Miss Carter.”

“Is everything . . . is everything okay? You know, down . . . down there?”

“Mostly,” the doc answers honestly, but she doesn’t look worried. “You’ve got some inflammation, and it looks like some of the surface tissue has rubbed off pretty painfully, so we’re going to give you some medications: antibiotics, to prevent infection, and some anti-inflammatories to help with the swelling and tenderness. Bad news—and it’s not very bad, just sort of awkward—is that there’s also a cream to help with it. After you’ve had a chance to rest and clean up a bit, one of my nurses will take you aside and teach you how to apply that. Think about your health class at school, add in a little more awkward, and you’ll probably get the idea.”

Sarah laughs, and looks a bit startled by it.

“We’ve got some pajamas on the way for you,” the doc continues, “and once you’ve changed, the nurse is going to take you up a few floors. We’ve got you and your brother and sister all in one room tonight.”

“And they’re okay?”

“They are. Shaken up, scared, but physically they are just fine, and we’re going to have nurses checking in on you through the night. There’s a social worker up with them, too, and she’s going to walk you through what will happen next. Do you need Agent Ramirez to go up with you, or can I borrow her for a minute?”

Sarah gives me a small smile. “I think I’ll be okay. Thank you, Agent Ramirez.”

“Mercedes,” I tell her, and the smiles grows. “Before I leave, I’m going to give the social worker my contact info, and there’ll be a card for you in there with my phone and email. If you need anything, Sarah, even if it’s just to talk, please let me know. There’s going to be a lot happening in the next few days and weeks, and it can be tough to deal with, especially if you feel like you have to be strong for your siblings. But you never have to be strong for me, okay? So if you need me, you call me.”

She nods and squeezes my hand, then lets go so I can follow the doctor out of the room and down the hall to a charting station.

“Is it unprofessional if I want to find the bastard that’s done this to her and twist his dick off?” the doc asks conversationally.

“Desecrating a corpse may be a crime in the Commonwealth of Virginia. I’d have to check, though.”

“Corpse?” She considers that a moment, then nods sharply. “I’ll accept that as good enough.”

“So is her condition worse than you told her?”

“No, physically she’ll heal fully with time and care. I’m simply of the opinion that anyone who commits rape should be castrated, and if they rape a child, the punishment should be as painful and damaging as possible.”

“I like that opinion.”

“We put a rush on your partner’s blood work, and she’s under the legal limit now. I don’t imagine your team is going to get much sleep tonight.”