Hostage of my Heart is a four-part series. While it's possible to read the sections out of order and not get [too] lost, there's an actual story to back up all the naughty bits, and it will be more fun if you start at the beginning!
ALSO- putting this chapter in Non-Con is a little bit of a stretch because it's more about the aftereffects, but I feel it belongs here.
Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting!
-Stefanie
---- o ----
That SWAT team was really quiet, Opal mused, huddling under two heated blankets in a private room of the hospital's emergency wing. Not only hadn't they used sirens, they hadn't even used cars.
Sandir's experience as a messenger had given him a general idea which direction to go after he'd made it safely across the river, and he emerged from the woods less than a quarter-mile from a garage where he sometimes stopped for gas. It was a tiny family place, closed on weekends, but it had a phone. Sandir smashed a window and called 911.
The SWAT team rappelled into the woods half a mile from the industrial park-- on the right side of the river-- and snuck in wearing winter camo. They'd taken two of Sainte's men in the parking lot at about the same time another squad was relieving Opal of Sainte's H&K. The whole thing impressed the hell out of Opal-- and also gave her something interesting to dwell on while she was being poked and prodded by an efficient, sensitivity-trained team of female medical personnel.
After SWAT burst in and confiscated Sainte's weapon from her, everyone had been separated. They hadn't been allowed to speak to each other at all, which Opal supposed made sense, but she really, really wanted Rand to hold her hand. She'd asked the officers at the scene, the detectives, and various medical personnel, but everyone kept putting her off.
Just wait until after... this test, that test, this exam, that interview, these results, then we'll see...
After three hours of the same infuriating replies, Opal lost her patience. "What do you mean, 'we'll see'? Are you arresting me? No? Then I can damn well speak to whoever I want." She folded her arms and refused to answer any more questions.
They fetched a female detective, a brown-skinned woman as wide as she was soothing. "Miss Winslow, I understand you'd like to speak to Mr. Branch, and I assure you no one is trying to prevent that. Nor are you in custody. To get the bad guys, however, we have to follow the rules. There are strict procedures, and frankly, if I don't follow them, I'm out of a job. I have two teenage sons, Miss Winslow, who eat their weight in food every single day of the week. If I don't feed them regularly, I'm afraid they'll turn to cannibalism, and I have more meat on my bones than their father does."
By then "Miss Winslow" was smiling and unfolding her arms. The laughter drained away abruptly, though, and she looked down at the hands in her lap. "It's just... just..." Her lip quivered and she bit down, cursing her uncharacteristic weakness.
Detective Leach patted her shoulder. "I know."
The necessity of switching detectives wound up being a good thing, because Detective Leach was the first person who understood everything Opal said: they were going to find three or four different DNAs-- or however you said it-- in her rape kit, but not all of those were the result of rape. Leach consulted her pad. "Okay, but all three encounters--"
"Six," Opal corrected.
"-- all six encounters took place during the hostage situation and all were forced. Correct?"
"Yes, all were during captivity and all were forced, except the first one, sort of. It was coerced. Sainte told Rand to... look, I'm not going to worry about 'polite' for a couple of minutes, okay? I'm pretty sure you've heard it all, anyway."
Detective Leach laughed and waved her on.
Opal explained. "I knew Sainte was planning something sexual for me-- he's exactly the same as my step-father was-- so I basically manipulated him into choosing the 'right' man to have sex with me, one I was willing to have sex with. So when Sainte told Rand to fuck me, I was already committed. We were going to have to play along with whatever the asshole wanted in order to get out alive.
"No,
I did not want to perform a sex show on the conference table at work.
No,
I didn't want to be forced to chose anyone. But Rand flat-out refused. I basically had to
make
him fuck me, so if one of us is going to be charged with sexual assault, it would have to be me."
Detective Leach opened her mouth to ask another question, but Opal kept talking. "Bob and Richard were different-- they volunteered. Sainte gave me to them because he'd been watching us and he knew those two would be the worst for me, emotionally."
She shook her head, looking down at her hands again. "He's just like my father."
She used the present tense unconsciously, though she knew Sainte was dead. Even if the medical examiner hadn't confirmed it, she'd known as soon as she'd seen him beyond the handgun's front sight. The force of Rand's kick had knocked Sainte's head into the concrete block wall, and the window ledge had done the rest.
Eventually, all the tests and interviews were finished, and Detective Leach went away. The hospital told her Mr. Branch had already been released to go home. Opal wondered where that was, then wondered whether she'd ever know the answer.
Opal's doctors wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she signed herself out over their repeated objections, and a rape-crisis officer gave her a ride to her apartment. Her purse and her car were still at work, where they could stay forever, for all she cared. A neighbor let her into her place, staring curiously at her scrubs and bruises.
Opal went straight to the shower, where she washed everything five times and cried until she thought she'd drown if she didn't pull herself together.
---- o ----
After they were separated, Rand fought to see Opal, but experienced the same lack of cooperation she was getting-- with a twist. Rand admitted to having had forced intercourse with her during their detainment. When you tacked on the fact that he didn't know her last name, it sounded especially bad. Of course they wouldn't let him near her!
He doubted Opal would want to see him anyway: he was part of the worst thing that ever happened to her. At the very least, though, he needed to beg her forgiveness, and if she left the hospital, Rand was afraid he'd never see her again.
If he'd been thinking more clearly, Rand might simply have waited until they sent him home. One phone call to his lawyer could summon a team of private detectives who'd have her address in under an hour. But he wasn't thinking clearly. He'd been subjected to more than a day of unrelieved stress, worrying that Opal would be killed, and only seeing her would quiet his fears. Even if she crushed his hopes, which he was sure would happen, he needed to talk to her one more time.
The more frantic Rand became, the more determined his opposition was in blocking his attempts.
Finally, a nurse told him to dial it back. "Dude, if you don't pull it together, you're going to be sedated under a twenty-four hour hold, or the cops will lock you up. Calm the hell down."
Rand, who'd begun to stiffen at the taller man's approach, consciously unfisted his hands, rolled his head, and shook it out. He nodded at the nurse and did some deep breathing exercises while he sat trying to devise a better way to handle the mess he was in.
The detectives who'd interviewed him were pleased to find his attitude much improved when they returned.
"Listen, I have to apologize. This has been--" Rand's face turned sour, "-- a very bad couple of days. I understand why you won't let me see Opal."
Hesitating and injecting a plaintive note into his voice, he tried to appear as harmless as possible. "Do you think if I wrote her a note, though, someone could give it to her? Open, I mean, so you'd see it wasn't a threat or anything like that?"
The cops relaxed, and one of them handed over his ubiquitous cop-pocket-pad, opened to a fresh sheet of paper. "Mr. Branch, I will personally deliver it to her."
Rand allowed himself an obvious sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said fervently, before jotting down his name, cell number, and an innocuous note for Opal, which he hoped would be beside the point.
As soon as they departed, he asked for a private room from which to phone his family. Instead, he called a driver for the local company he'd contracted with before moving to the area.
"Dan."
"Mr. Branch! Are you--"
"Listen, Dan, I need some help..."
Forty minutes later, a Town Car collected him from the hospital's ER entrance. Rand shook the hand of the lieutenant overseeing the Sainte case and was ushered into the back seat.
Half an hour after that, he was back at the ER, but this time, no one knew he was there. Dan had dropped him off at the distant end of a staff parking lot with a borrowed cell phone in his pocket. From there, he'd crept through the trees until he came within sight of the ambulance bay, then waded through a hundred meters of slushy ditch, bent low to avoid detection. He hid behind a bunch of dumpsters and waited, hoping Opal wasn't so badly wounded that she'd been admitted and cursing the other hopes he couldn't help feeling.
Even without the impenetrable barrier of the past two days between them, he was literally at least twice her age. Opal might respond physically to him, but their emotional connection was probably situational on her part. She'd simply needed support, and he'd been willing to provide it. Back in the real world, she'd want someone younger, someone eager to start a family with her, not a dedicated bachelor with intimacy issues and vasectomy scars.
In his stinky brick and metal hiding place, Rand shook his head at his own incongruous need. It was a little late in life for an epiphany of this sort, but Miss Opal Epiphany was a little late arriving in his life. In any event, he needed to apologize and offer whatever he could in the way of solace and emotional support. Rand wanted Opal to see herself the way he saw her-- as the bravest person he'd ever known and the most sensual, passionate lover.
An hour later, his stubborn refusal to relent was rewarded. In standard blue scrubs, with a cheap blanket clutched around her shoulders, Opal was escorted into the front seat of a cruiser. Rand called Dan and relayed a description of the vehicle and occupants, then settled down to wait some more.
---- o ----
Standing outside Opal's neat brick apartment building an hour later, Rand was cursing himself again-- for impatience, insensitivity, and general stupidity. She'd been traumatized and wouldn't want anything more than the numbness of sleep. He shouldn't do this now; he knew it but couldn't stop himself. He'd even gone so far as to have Dan drop him off and leave for the night, a maneuver calculated to at least get him inside. So now he was stupid, insensitive, and stuck, since he'd also returned the borrowed cell phone, and his was God-knew-where.
Rand sighed and rang the bell next to "Winslow, O."
---- o ----
When she heard the buzzer, Opal jumped, then snorted in derision at her own fright.
Great.
PTSD.
Again.
That should be a wonderful addition to her life.
At the intercom she took a deep breath before pushing the button, trying to still the thudding of her panicked heart. "Yes?"
"Opal?"
Oh, my god-- it couldn't be.
She hesitated for an endless minute, unwilling to let herself hope.
"R-rand?" She stuttered weakly.
Her hesitation and the quavering note in her voice were a blow to Rand, though he thought he'd steeled himself for her rejection. "Yes. May I please see you? Just for a minute?" He couldn't choke back the longing in his own voice.
