THE REASON
By Missy
(missy@lexicon.net)

The characters that you recognise from ER are the property of Michael Crichton, Warner Bros, Constant Productions and Amblin Television and to the actors who so marvellously portray them. Many thanks must go to my editors Clotho, Susan Drake and Carolyn Delaney for their tireless and marvellous editing. Season 6 spoilers.

Spoilers up to The Peace of Wild Things or thereabouts. This story is rated R due to its content. It contains rather disturbing descriptions and is probably best read during daylight hours. My editors have informed me that it is rather chilling, creepy and does evoke some of those thoughts about things that go bump in the night and one of my editors has knicknamed it 'The VeryScaryFic".

PART 5/14

{November 1, 1999}

The cab pulled up outside Kerry's townhouse in the gloomy late afternoon the following day, and she looked up at her brownstone house apprehensively. The garbage can that had been on the sidewalk was gone - she assumed one of her neighbours had returned it to its usual position - and the bathrobe-clad gathering of curious and concerned neighbours had disappeared. Their interest, which had been piqued by the commotion outside their homes the previous night, now dissipated. The quietness of the street was disconcerting; it wasn't any different from what she would usually come home to, yet somehow it seemed wrong.

"This IS where you wanted to go, isn't it?" asked the battle-worn cab driver. He turned around and looked at her, his eyes searching for a clue at her inactivity. The deeply etched lines on his face creased more with worry and he began to wonder whether picking up this patient from the hospital had been a wise decision. The hospital had already paid for the trip, but the patient's face was extremely pale except for the deep purple bruise which extended across her fine features from the small patch of white gauze which covered her left temple, and he hoped she wasn't going to pass out on him.

"Yes. Yes it is." Kerry's voice gained strength as she spoke, confidence sparked and flared for a moment in her attitude as she gathered up the crutch that Maggie had arranged for her. Maggie had taken the time to provide her with not only the crutch, but also with scrubs, shoes, and a warm jacket.

Pushing the door open, Kerry slowly got out of the cab, leaning heavily on her crutch for support. While the dizziness had abated, she still felt extremely weary and the headache persevered, the steady pulsating pressure sapping her strength. Digging deep into the pocket of the large, navy jacket which enveloped her small frame, she located her house keys which had been left for her at the hospital by the police together with her purse. The cab left as soon as she was safely on the pavement.

She gingerly made her way up the steps to her home, keeping her head down, and concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other, careful not to miss a step. Kerry winced as the muscles in her legs ached at the added strain of climbing the stairs. The detectives had been true to their word; the glass in her front door had been replaced and the frame of her door had been fixed. Apparently the police had a 'clean-up' team available for crimes where a home of a victim had been vandalised.

Kerry's fingers fumbled with the key for the lock, missing the keyhole. She tried again, her fingers trembling, and the keys rattled in her hand. The sound of footsteps resounded on the pavement behind her. Kerry whipped around to face the street, her heart thumping heavily in her chest, and her breath came in short, rasping gasps. A lone female jogger, dressed in blue sweats with earphones in her ears, passed by her.

Leaning her head back against the door, Kerry closed her eyes and let out a slow, long breath to calm her pounding heart. She was relieved at the innocuousness of the footsteps. With a quick sigh, she pushed herself up off the door, and slipped the key into the lock, opening the door on her first try.

Moving inside, Kerry shut the door firmly behind her, locking the door and setting the deadlock, before putting the chain in place.. She switched on the hallway light, illuminating the passage that ran the full length of her house, before walking through to her living room, where she also turned on the light. Dropping her keys and purse down on her desk, she noticed that the red light on her answering machine was flashing.

She wasn't sure who could have been ringing. Early this morning, she had contacted Mark and let him know that she had had a fall, necessitating a day off work. Mark had been worried, questioning her about what had happened and she had brushed off his concern about her health. Reassuring him that she'd received the necessary medical treatment, she had finally ended the call, unsure whether she had allayed his anxiety.

Right now she didn't want to even contemplate who had left the message and had no intention to finding out either. Turning the lights on in the kitchen as she left the room, she went up the stairs to her bedroom. Switching on the lights as she entered, she found that the quilt had been removed from her bed, taken by the police as evidence she assumed, leaving behind the heavy woollen blanket with its imperfections, usually covered by the quilt, exposed for all to see. Approaching the bed, she took off the heavy coat and dropped it onto the bed, the house warm from the central heating left on overnight.

Kerry noticed that fingerprint dust lightly covered the bedposts in a couple of places, the cleaners having missed several spots on the carved wood. After placing her crutch beside the nightstand, she paused, running her hands through her short hair as she took stock of the room. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head into her hands, gently kneading her temples with her forefingers to ease the headache, as she sought to control the fear that was threatening to overwhelm her.

Taking a deep breath and dropping her hands to her sides, she limped into the bathroom. Turning on the hot water faucet, she removed the scrub top and pants while she waited for the water to warm. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she paused to take stock of the damage that had been inflicted the previous night.

Her wrists and ankles bore wide lacerations, the areas a faint brownish tinge, having been treated with betadine at Mercy Hospital. Heavy bruises marred the smooth skin of both her arms where he had obviously grabbed her and a faint discolouration could be seen across her left rib cage which she imagined came from when she had fallen at the top of the basement stairs.

The contusions to her face made it hard to recognise as her own, the brusing distorting her features. Her right eye had a subconjunctival hemorrhage, the eyelids heavily swollen and only allowing a faint measure of her eye to be seen between its puffy lids.

She sighed, telling herself that she was lucky, that it could have been worse, much worse. Removing the last of her clothes, she turned on the cold water and tested it before stepping under the warm spray. As she stood there, she shivered and turned the heat up several times before she felt an ounce of the warmth that was producing a thick, heavy steam that filled the room.

Grabbing the loofah and soap, she methodically began to scrub, starting at her arms and moving her way down her body, debriding herself of any trace of HIM; any scent, hair or anything that could be remotely attached to his being. She took small comfort in the fact that the rape exam had revealled no tearing or sign of him having invaded her body physically as she continued to ruthlessly scoured her body, ignoring the droplets of blood that broke free from the lacerations on her ankles, and mingled with the soapy water swirling down the drain.

She pushed aside the thoughts tumbling around in her mind, forcing herself to concentrate on her ministrations. The cake of soap slipped from her fingers to the shower floor, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Looking down at the soap, she finally noticed the trickles of blood seeping from her ankles. All the efforts to hold in her fears, her tears broke like a dam and mixed with the water. She choked on her tears as she sank to the bottom of the shower stall, the spray of water flowing over and around her. Her head leaning against the cold, hard wall tiles, she allowed the tears to fall unabated, crying tears of relief that she hadn't been raped and tears of pain at the invasion and loss of her privacy.

The water started to cool down and Kerry didn't know how long she'd been sitting on the shower stall floor. Her tears had subsided and it penetrated her consciousness that she was cold, goose bumps covering her whole body. Pulling herself to her feet with some effort, using the silver aide handle affixed to the wall, she found that the muscles in her legs had stiffened from her time on the wet floor. She turned off the taps and carefully stepped out of the shower, painfully aware of all her joints and muscles, the purpose of the shower to relieve tension destroyed by her crying bout.

Digging through her pyjama drawer, she cast aside the light-weight shirts and attractive negligees in favour of a flannelette pyjama top and pants. Slipping them on, she went into the kitchen to make herself a drink. She contemplated pouring herself a scotch or just a simple glass of wine, but remembered that Josh had given her some medication which contraindicated the consumption of alcohol. Resorting to a cup of coffee, Kerry took the easy way out and made it with instant. After living in Africa, she struggled to drink it at the best of times, but right now, she couldn't even consider grinding the beans and setting the percolator going.

While she was waiting for the water to heat on the stove, she noticed the red light on her answering machine still flashing. Moving to the machine, she depressed the button and waited as the tape began with the slow whirr of the spools turning.

Kerry didn't recognise the voice initially as the message started, the words holding a chill of their own, and as the voice continued, she felt fear take her in her grasp once again, her blood running cold at her intruder's words; "Don't think this is the end. I'll be watching you."

End Part 5/14

Nb to readers: In this part, I made a passing reference to the fact that the police had a 'clean-up' team which had taken care of the physical damage to Kerry's home. This is actually what occurs in Victoria, Australia and is a service provided by police to victims of crime whereby they will arrange for these things to take place while a victim is recovering from their injuries in hospital or to assist them with these worries which only place extra strain on a victim. The victim or their insurance company does bear the cost of this service, however, it is much cheaper than any other service which could be hired by the victim. I doubt there is anything like it in the US but I truly didn't want to remove it, as I believe it is a wonderful service we have here and I'd love to see it introduced world-wide.