Page 76 of Beneath His Robes

“I’m sorry, Father Cross, but there is no need for a sedative. Bad dreams aren’t a reason to waste valuable resources on medication that can be used for others in a more deserving state of distress.”

Her words made a muscle in my jaw twitch, and an eerie calm infused in my blood. I wondered if this is what Ronan felt when he hit Jack…this numbing warmth of…absolution and clarity.

“Deserving?” I said, parroting her words, my own dripping with disbelief and quiet rage. “I know you cannot possibly be implying that a man that just endured brutalizing sodomy is less deserving than another. Do you have these ‘limited resource’ rules for women? Rape happens every six seconds in the world. Or are you forgetting that the statistics don’t even reflect the males that are raped? Every one in five women and every one in seven men are raped, and that is only the recorded stats. Is one type of rape more significant than others? Must they be near death to receive care?”

She started to speak, but I cut her off, continuing to free up the words I should have said a while ago.

“Have you ever experienced this personally? Or just watch those who are brought here to somehow suffer through it until you’re allowed to claim they are okay enough to be discarded legally? Explain to me why medical care deems fit a regimen of fluids, sutures, a kit that is violating by itself, and fucking over-the-counter pain medication for such an intrusion on one’s body is good enough?”

Her face paled at my curse, but I couldn’t stop myself now.

“The medical field and this hospital specifically would do well to realize that rape isn’t just physical. You can cure the torn skin, stem the bleeding, and give fluids, but the scars in their heart and mind remain. You can’t cure those. Years of therapy will only bury the memories to allow time to replace them where they can breathe again after a while, but right now? Giving a solution like a sedative so those scars aren’t continuing is the least you could do.”

The nurse looked down at her sheet, and her eyes, which were always uncaring and held an expectant leer of inexperience and desensitized youth, finally softened. She swallowed before looking back up at me.

“I am sorry, Father Cross. Of course. I will see to it that Mister Saint Clare gets a sedative. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t feel pride at her guilt. I didn’t feel a sense of justice or anything but that numbing rage that led me here. It was ridiculous that getting some help had to come with a threat, a reprimand. I couldn’t believe that I had to have this conversation. Men and women were raped so often that society put on blinders, and as one of the many sins that man could commit, I had seen all too often the effects that rape could cause.

I would not blind myself to their pain, and I would fight for them, just as they tried to fight for themselves…until it was too late.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Elias

When Ronan was finally sedated, I let my rage lead me to the car, knowing that I had one other place to speak my mind. My words would fall on deaf ears. I knew this, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try to fight for Ronan when I could. So often, I had failed him. This was my chance to show him that I would not fail him again. I was here.

I drove in silence, my thoughts plagued by the way his cries echoed through the hospital room. He was so scared, like that little boy I met in the forest eighteen years ago. He was lost and looking for someone to care for him and to help him when he couldn’t do it himself.

“I’m here,” I said to myself, a tear slipping down my face for Ronan’s choice being ripped away from him. I had to think about this. I had to force myself to put the pieces together so true justice was possible.

The medical reports described an object causing rectal tearing.

What could be found in a prison that had the capacity to do such damage?

They weren’t allowed to have anything like cans, no metal of any sort. The circular circumference made it even more puzzling.

A hairbrush? No.

That would not cause tearing even if forced.

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing of this did.

Forks and spoons were plastic, and toothbrushes were small and breakable. No recreation or personal item would be enough to cause that amount of damage!

I sighed in frustration, the will of determination possessing my body as sure as a spirit. I was shaking, sweating from the physical exertion of this maddening confusion. When I finally arrived at the prison, I felt like I had run a marathon.

I didn’t bother changing from my cassock.

These demons could see what awaited them at their end. I would be there, watching as their lives were drained, their veins filled with a drug that took their souls to face God himself.

I only wish I could be the one to press the button that ended them all.

* * *

Hours of waiting.

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