“What the hell’s going on here?” Tom asked in a shocked whisper. He shut the door behind him. “What’s he doing on the floor?”

“Dying,” Viola said in a monotone.

“Fuck!” He shoved her out of the way and knelt beside Knox, holding his stethoscope to the man’s chest. He heard no heartbeat or breath sounds. “Help me get him up, Viola!”

“No.”

“What!”

Tom frantically examined Knox’s head and torso, searching for the most serious injury. The airway seemed to be open, but Knox had a massive contusion on his skull, which almost certainly meant a concussion. As Tom felt his way along Knox’s chest, he realized that the falling batteries had not only crushed ribs on his left side, but had also torn open his chest wall. Morehouse and Thornfield had no business bringing this man to a clinic. He should have gone straight to the hospital.

“Go check on the ambulance,” Tom ordered.

“No,” Viola said again, her voice almost lethargic.

Tom scrambled to his feet, enraged by her lack of professionalism. He might be an emotional wreck due to their affair, but he wasn’t about to let a patient die because of it, no matter who the man might be.

“Go check on the ambulance!” he repeated.

Viola didn’t even look at him. Like a little girl who’d pulled the wings off some insect, she just watched Knox turning blue.

Tom slapped her face. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Viola didn’t respond.

He slapped her again, hard.

At last she looked up, her eyes cold and dead. “He raped me.”

Something curdled in Tom’s stomach. “What?”

“He—raped—me.” Viola’s eyes seemed to focus at last, and they held an accusatory fire that cut through Tom’s bewildered anger. “That man there,” she said. “He raped me. His friends helped. The ones outside. Plus one more. They had a fine old time … yes, sir.”

Tom suddenly felt as though he were trying to think and move underwater. The man on the floor seemed far less important than he had only a moment ago. “When was this?”

“Two nights ago.” Viola cocked her head as though trying to discern some detail of Knox’s mortal suffering.

Tom almost staggered under the rush of awareness that resolved every question that had been torturing him since yesterday. “Why?” he asked.

“They couldn’t find Jimmy,” she said in the same monotone. “They did it to flush him out of Freewoods. This one did, anyway. The rest of them just wanted me. You know what that feels like, don’t you? To want me?”