Chapter Text
Date: 10/20/2022
Everything blurred together. One moment, Samantha was working a normal shift in the emergency department. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her attending physician had watched her closely and agreed with every decision she made that day. It should not have ended the way it did, but it did. Now she found herself sitting in the university health center nurse’s station, her head spinning wildly. Nothing felt clear. The nurse kept glancing at her with deep concern. The dark bruising wrapped around her neck told the whole story before any words were spoken.
Samantha struggled to breathe on her own. Her neck was badly swollen, making every shallow breath painful and labored. A bright red burst of blood vessels filled the white of her right eye, giving her a haunting appearance. The nurse spoke to her in gentle tones, but the words sounded distant and muffled, as if they were coming from underwater. Samantha watched in a daze as the nurse retrieved a thick blanket and carefully wrapped it around her trembling shoulders. Time moved strangely slowly. She could not even remember walking back from her shift. One minute she had been in the hospital locker room, and the next she was here.
The nurse picked up the phone and made a quick call, her voice low and urgent. She then reached forward and gently lifted Samantha’s hospital identification badge, reading the information printed on it. Samantha stared blankly, barely registering what was happening.
What felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, passed before two paramedics wheeled a stretcher into the small room. A faint ringing echoed in Samantha’s ears as the paramedics spoke to her in calm, professional voices. One of them carefully fitted a rigid cervical collar around her swollen neck to stabilize it, while the other helped ease her onto the gurney. As they lifted her, Samantha caught them exchanging worried glances at the chair she had just vacated. A dark stain marked the seat. Both paramedics grew visibly more concerned.
They immediately began taking her vital signs. Her heart rate was elevated, and her blood pressure reading confirmed hypertension. Samantha flinched sharply when they checked her eyes with a penlight. Suddenly, she became acutely aware that she was inside a moving ambulance. A wave of panic washed over her. She did not want to go back to the hospital. She did not want him to find out anything about what had happened.
“PTMC…… incoming…… trauma…..neck……Possible…. SANE…”
The fragmented words from the radio blurred together as Samantha took a slow, painful breath and let it out. Soon, the ambulance stopped. The gurney was unloaded with care. Bright overhead lights flooded her vision as the emergency department doors swung open. She was immediately surrounded by a team in scrubs. Two male physicians and an older nurse moved with practiced efficiency.
One of the doctors, a man with silver hair, stepped forward to support her head and neck with gentle but firm hands. The other doctor, who had neatly trimmed brown hair and a short beard, leaned in and shined a light into her eyes. Samantha flinched and blinked rapidly, frowning at the brightness.
The constant ringing in her ears was replaced by the sharp sound of fingers snapping near her face. She turned her head slightly toward the sound.
“What?” Samantha asked. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, raw and harsh. It hurt terribly to speak.
“What is your name?” the doctor standing over her asked again, his tone steady and clear.
“Oh… ah, Sam. Samantha. Sam is fine, I guess,” she replied, blinking several times. She slowly realized she was being thoroughly examined. “I’m fine… I really don’t need all of this.”
“Sam, we believe you do need this evaluation,” the doctor with the brown hair said kindly. “You were completely unresponsive when you arrived at the university medical center and when our paramedics first reached you. I am Doctor Robinavitch, or Doctor Robby for short. This is Doctor Abbot to your left, and to your right is Doctor Santos.”
Samantha glanced over and gave the female doctor a small nod.
“Can you tell us what happened to you?” Doctor Santos asked gently.
“I was finishing my shift in the emergency department and… I went into the locker room,” her voice trailed off as fragmented memories tried to surface. “I do not remember anything after that except waking up on the floor with a terrible headache, like I had drunk far too much.”
“What year of medical school are you in?” Doctor Abbot asked.
“I just started my fourth year,” Samantha answered.
“You are almost done. Congratulations on making it this far,” Doctor Robinavitch said warmly. “Can you tell us what hurts right now?”
“My head, my neck, and my chest,” she listed quietly. She paused, gathering what little strength she had left. “I think… I need a sexual assault kit performed.”
Doctor Robinavitch looked directly at her, his expression softening. “We will make sure that happens for you,” he said, his voice low and reassuring, almost a whisper. He then turned to Doctor Santos and gave a small nod.
“CT scan of the head and neck, intraocular pressure check on the right eye, and blood work to screen for sedatives,” Doctor Santos suggested promptly.
“Good call, Doctor Santos,” Robby replied. “Let’s get all of that started right away.”
Doctor Santos glanced at the monitor and spoke up clearly. “Her blood pressure is still elevated at one hundred eighty over one hundred ten. With the neck trauma, we should bring it down carefully to avoid any further complications.”
Doctor Robby nodded in agreement. “Good call, Doctor Santos. Go ahead and give her ten milligrams of labetalol IV push slowly.”
Samantha felt a cool sensation travel up her arm as the medication entered her bloodstream. Within minutes, the pounding pressure in her head began to ease slightly. The tight band of pain around her swollen neck remained sharp, but her breathing grew a little less strained. The team watched the monitors closely as her blood pressure started to respond.
“Pressure is trending down,” the nurse reported a few minutes later. “One hundred sixty-five over ninety-eight now.”
“Excellent,” Doctor Robby said. “Continue monitoring every five minutes. We do not want to drop it too quickly.”
Satisfied with the initial response, Doctor Santos turned to the rest of the plan. “Now that her pressure is stabilizing, we should get her to CT for imaging of the head and neck.”
The team wheeled Samantha’s gurney out of the trauma bay and down the brightly lit hallway. The wheels hummed softly against the polished floor as fluorescent lights passed overhead in a steady rhythm. Samantha closed her eyes briefly, fighting the dizziness and the growing feeling of helplessness.
In the CT suite, the radiology technician explained the procedure in a calm, reassuring voice. “You will need to lie very still, Sam. The scan will only take a few minutes. We are looking for any bleeding, swelling, or fractures in your head and neck.”
Samantha nodded weakly. They carefully transferred her onto the narrow table. The large ring-shaped scanner moved slowly around her head and neck, emitting loud whirring and clicking. She tried to remain motionless, but every tiny shift sent fresh pain shooting through her injured neck. When the scan finished, the technician helped her back onto the gurney.
Back in the trauma bay, Doctor Robby reviewed the images on the computer screen. “No cervical fracture and no intracranial bleed,” he announced with obvious relief. “There is significant soft tissue swelling around the neck, consistent with strangulation. We will keep her in the cervical collar for now and continue watching her airway closely.”
Doctor Santos stepped forward with the latest lab results. “Blood work is back. No major abnormalities except her white blood cell count is mildly elevated. However, we did detect ketamine in her system. The levels suggest she was given a significant dose, likely within the last few hours. That would explain the unresponsiveness and memory loss.”
Samantha’s stomach twisted at the words. Ketamine. The drug had been slipped to her without her knowledge, turning her own body into something she could not control. She felt violated all over again, a fresh wave of nausea rising as the pieces of the blurry evening clicked into place.
Doctor Robby nodded gravely. “That fits with the clinical picture. Ketamine can cause dissociation, amnesia, and hypertension. We will continue supportive care and monitor for any lingering effects. Good catch on the tox screen, Doctor Santos.”
Samantha lay quietly on the gurney, staring up at the ceiling tiles. The confirmation of the drug in her system made everything feel even more real and horrifying. She felt exposed and utterly exhausted, wishing she could simply disappear.
A soft knock sounded at the door. A woman in her late forties to early fifties with kind eyes and dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail entered the room. She wore a white coat over light blue scrubs and carried a sealed forensic kit. Her voice was gentle as she introduced herself.
“Hi Sam, my name is Dana. I am a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner, or SANE. Doctor Robby asked me to come speak with you. If you feel ready, I can perform the exam now. It is completely your choice, and no one will pressure you.”
Samantha swallowed hard, the motion sending a fresh wave of pain through her bruised throat. She hesitated for several seconds, then gave a small nod. “Okay,” she whispered. “I want to do it… before I lose my nerve.”
Dana pulled up a chair beside the gurney and explained everything in a calm, steady voice. “I will walk you through each step. The purpose of this exam is to collect evidence and document your injuries. We will take photographs, perform swabs, and look for any trace evidence. Everything is done only with your full consent, and you can stop at any time. I can also offer you medications to prevent pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections if you would like that.”
Samantha listened quietly, her hands trembling beneath the blanket. Dana continued with professional yet deeply compassionate care.
“We can keep the curtain closed and have only female staff present if that would make you more comfortable. Would you like a victim advocate or a support person here with you?”
Samantha shook her head slowly. “No… just you for now.”
“Alright,” Dana said softly. She turned toward the doctors. “We will need privacy for the exam.”
Doctor Robby nodded respectfully. “Take all the time you need. We will be right outside if her vitals change or if you need anything.”
As the doctors and other nurses stepped out of the room, Dana began the SANE protocol with careful, deliberate movements. She first documented the visible injuries: the patterned bruising encircling Samantha’s neck, the burst blood vessel in her right eye, and the areas of tenderness on her chest and upper arms. She took detailed photographs from several angles, explaining each step before proceeding.
Next came the swabs: oral, genital, and any other areas where evidence might remain. Dana worked slowly and gently, pausing whenever Samantha tensed up or needed a break. She collected fingernail scrapings, combed through Samantha’s hair for fibers, and carefully bagged the clothing Samantha had been wearing upon arrival.
Throughout the entire process, Dana maintained a quiet, reassuring conversation. Her steady voice helped Samantha feel a small sense of control in a moment where so much had been taken from her.
When the exam was complete, Dana sealed the final evidence envelope and placed everything into the locked forensic kit.
“You did very well, Sam,” she said kindly, gently squeezing Samantha’s hand. “This kit will be stored properly and only released if you decide to move forward with charges. I have arranged for emergency contraception and preventive antibiotics as well. Would you like something to help you rest tonight?”
Samantha nodded as tears finally slipped down her cheeks. The exhaustion, pain, and overwhelming emotions—now compounded by the knowledge of the ketamine—crashed over her at once.
Dana signaled for the team to return. Doctor Robby re-entered and reviewed the medication orders. “We will give you a mild sedative for anxiety and pain control, along with continued monitoring for her blood pressure. She will stay in observation overnight at a minimum.”
As the medication began to take effect and Samantha’s eyelids grew heavy, she suddenly stirred. A fresh wave of anxiety pushed through the fog of exhaustion. “Doctor Robby, I have classes in the morning. I can’t miss them,” she said, her voice still raw and hoarse.
She tried to sit up, but the cervical collar and overwhelming weakness kept her pinned against the gurney. Her body refused to cooperate.
Robby grabbed a rolling stool, sat down, and moved close enough so she could see his face clearly. His expression was kind but firm. “Sam, I understand how important your studies are to you. Trust me, I really do. You are in your fourth year. This is a huge milestone. However, if we expect our patients to take their health and safety seriously, but we as doctors or future doctors cannot do the same for ourselves, what kind of physicians do that make us? Your body has been through significant trauma tonight. You need monitoring for the swelling in your neck, your blood pressure, and the effects of the ketamine still in your system. I can write you a formal note for your school and your attending. It will excuse you from classes and clinical duties for at least the next forty-eight hours.”
Samantha nodded slowly, the small movement still painful. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again. “Yeah… I’d like to give my statement to law enforcement, too,” she whispered. She looked away, blinking rapidly as she fought to keep her composure.
Doctor Robby nodded with quiet respect. “I will get hold of them right away. I will ask the officers to speak with the nurse at your university health center and see if they can pull any video footage from the locker room or surrounding areas at your hospital, where you are doing your hours.”
He hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching slightly as if he wanted to reach over and offer a comforting touch. But he knew better. In this moment, after everything she had endured, physical contact from a male physician, even a kind one, could feel threatening rather than reassuring. He kept his hands folded in his lap instead.
“I am sure you are already aware that all hospitals have trauma specialists and victim support services on staff,” he continued gently. “Because you are going to be here overnight for observation, you are welcome to use any of those resources. My shift is ending soon, but the other attending, Doctor Abbot, will take excellent care of you. I will make sure he knows to direct the officers straight to your room when they arrive.”
Samantha nodded again, blinking slowly. She felt like an absolute wreck, her hair disheveled, her neck throbbing, one eye bloodshot and swollen, and her mind still clouded by the lingering effects of the ketamine. The weight of the night pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe even with the medication helping her blood pressure.
Dana, who had remained nearby, stepped forward and offered a soft smile. “If it helps, I can stay with you a little longer while we wait for the officers, or I can connect you with the on-call victim advocate. You do not have to go through any of this alone.”
Samantha swallowed carefully, wincing at the pain in her throat. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I think… I just need a minute.”
Doctor Robby stood up from the stool and gave her one last reassuring look. “You are safe here, Sam. Rest as much as you can. Doctor Abbot will be in shortly, and I will check on you again before I leave for the night.”
As he stepped out of the room to make the calls, Samantha lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The steady beeping of the monitors filled the quiet space. The reality of what had happened and what still lay ahead settled over her like a heavy fog. Classes, rotations, her future as a doctor… everything felt distant and fragile now.
It seemed like hours had passed, and truthfully, several hours had slipped by in a haze of medication, pain, and restless half-sleep. Samantha lay in the dimly lit observation room, the steady beeping of the monitors and the distant sounds of the emergency department creating a strange, isolating rhythm. The cervical collar still held her neck rigid, and every small movement sent a dull ache through her bruised throat.
A soft knock at the door pulled her back to reality. Doctor Abbot stepped inside, his expression calm and professional. “Sam, I have two officers here who would like to take your statement now, if you are feeling up to it.” He held the door open, allowing the uniformed officers to enter the room. Abbot looked directly at her, his voice gentle. “Would you like someone else present while you speak with them? A nurse, a victim advocate, or Dana perhaps?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, if no one is free, I’ll be okay.” She said.
Samantha nodded slowly, the motion still limited by the collar. “Yeah, if no one is free right now, I will be okay,” she said quietly.
Jack turned his attention from her to the officers who had stepped fully into the room, then glanced out into the busy hallway. Most of his staff were tied up with active cases. It did not appear that any female nurses or advocates were immediately available. He took a slow, controlled breath and released it before turning back to Samantha.
“I do not have any female nurses free at the moment,” he said in a sincere, careful tone. “Are you comfortable if I stay in here as your attending physician? My patient advocates are also occupied with another case involving a medical hold for safety reasons.”
Samantha blinked for a moment, studying Jack’s face. Despite the fog of exhaustion and the lingering effects of the ketamine, her mind remained sharp. “Doctor Abbot, I hate to be blunt here, but you know exactly what has happened to me tonight. I believe you are more than fine to stay in the room as my doctor and the overseer of my medical case.”
Her bluntness caught Jack slightly off guard. He had expected hesitation or discomfort, not such direct clarity from someone who had just endured a traumatic assault. He nodded respectfully. “Sorry. It was a stupid question.”
Samantha shook her head as much as the collar would allow. “You would ask the same thing for anyone who was not a medical student training to become a doctor. It was not stupid. It was good bedside manner.”
Her attention shifted to the two police officers who were now settling into chairs beside the gurney. One was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a calm demeanor. The other was a younger woman with her dark hair pulled back tightly, already pulling out a notebook and a small digital recording device.
Jack closed the door quietly, creating a private space within the busy emergency department. The officers introduced the interview process in clear, professional voices. They stated their names and badge numbers, the assigned case number, and the current date and time. They carefully noted the estimated time of the incident based on when Samantha had been found in the locker room compared to when she had arrived at the university health center.
“Miss Cross, we are sorry you are going through this,” the male officer began kindly. “We will keep this as brief as possible. We understand you have been through a lot tonight. If at any point you need a break, just say so. This conversation is being recorded for accuracy, and we will also take written notes.”
Samantha took a shallow breath, wincing slightly at the soreness in her throat and chest. She felt exposed lying there in the hospital gown, the bruising on her neck clearly visible even under the soft lighting. Yet beneath the fear and exhaustion, a quiet resolve steadied her. She was a fourth-year medical student. She had spent years learning to stay composed in difficult situations. Now she would have to apply that training to her own life.
“I am ready,” she said softly, though her hands trembled slightly beneath the thin blanket.
The female officer leaned forward slightly. “Can you walk us through what you remember from the end of your shift tonight? Anything you can recall about entering the locker room, what happened afterward, and when you woke up?”
Samantha stared at the ceiling for a long moment, gathering her fragmented memories. The ketamine had stolen large pieces of the night, leaving only blurred edges and a deep sense of violation. Still, she began to speak, her voice hoarse but steady.
“I finished my shift in the emergency department,” Samantha Cross began, her voice hoarse and unsteady. “Everything seemed normal. It was actually considered a slow day in terms of the patients who had come in. I was walking to the locker room. I always carry a change of clothes with me for when I finish a shift.”
She took a deep breath. Suddenly, a flashback hit her hard. Something shifted in Samantha’s eyes. The distant, medicated haze gave way to sharp, painful clarity as the memories flooded back.
“I… I walked into the women’s locker room and put my backpack on the bench,” she continued. “I heard someone come in behind me. I thought it was one of the other nurses getting off shift. But it was not. It was my attending doctor, Doctor McCarthy. I thought it was strange that he came into the women’s locker room. He mentioned needing to speak to me, so he had put an out-of-order sign on the locker room door.”
Samantha swallowed hard, the motion clearly painful against her bruised throat.
“He approached me and told me he was proud of how well I was doing on his rotation. He said he had heard good things from some of the other rotations I had been on. Then he leaned in and tried to kiss me. I reminded him of my student status and that this was not appropriate. He grabbed my neck. He pulled out a needle.”
Samantha shivered violently. She rubbed her arm, not because she was cold, but as a stress response. Her fingers trembled against her own skin.
“I woke up… I remember not being dressed in my scrubs anymore. I was in one of the changing stalls. It was locked. All the attendings at North Pointe have master keys for the dressing rooms. He must have locked me in so it would not look like something was wrong. When I sat up I knew something was off. I just did not know how bad it was until I saw the blood. It was coming from either an injury I sustained from a vaginal tear or an anal tear.”
She finished speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. The room felt heavier now, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
The officers asked several more gentle follow-up questions, carefully clarifying timelines and details without pushing her too hard. When they finally finished, the male officer looked at Samantha with quiet sympathy.
“We have video evidence from outside the locker room that supports your statement,” he said. “It shows Doctor McCarthy following you in. He came out about thirty minutes later, and you came out roughly an hour and a half after you entered.”
Samantha blinked slowly, processing the information. “He was in there with me… while I was drugged for…”
Her sentence was cut off as panic surged through her. Her eyes darted around the room wildly. Jack immediately recognized the signs. Her vitals spiked on the monitor. Heart rate and blood pressure climbed rapidly. He rushed forward, grabbing a trash can just in time as Samantha vomited everything she had in her system from the day.
Jack held the trash can steady for her, his free hand gently supporting her shoulder without crowding her. He waited patiently until the episode passed, speaking in a low, calm voice. “Breathe through it, Sam. You are safe. Just breathe.”
The officers waited respectfully until Samantha had finished. “We understand this is a lot to process,” the male officer said kindly. “It is better you hear it now and begin to handle it here rather than finding out later when it comes time for court. We are going to go collect your assault kit. If we need anything else, we will contact you via a private phone number. We are truly sorry this happened to you.”
Both officers stood and quietly left the room, giving her space.
Once they were gone and Samantha had emptied her stomach, Jack had a nurse take the trash can away to be cleaned and handled properly. He returned to her bedside with a syringe of medication.
“I am going to give you something to settle your stomach,” he explained gently as he administered the dose through her IV line. “It should also help cut back on the gagging you are experiencing. I know this will not change what happened to you, but please hear me when I say it was completely unacceptable. We take an oath to do no harm, and he violated that in one of the worst ways possible. What he did to you is a profound betrayal of everything our profession stands for.”
Samantha lay back against the pillows, exhausted and trembling. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. The confirmation from the video evidence had made the nightmare feel even more real. Jack stayed nearby, monitoring her vitals closely as the new medication began to work.