Doc: Devil’s Nightmare MC

by Bourne, Lena

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Hardy says and switches off the monitor. “She’s sedated so she’ll sleep through the night. We’ll talk to her in the morning. Are you going to stick around until she’s awake?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Then would you mind checking a couple of patients up in trauma while you wait?” he says. “A nasty accident at the agricultural center yesterday…a couple of near severed limbs and crushed bones…I could use a second opinion.”

  I had my weekend all planned out, and it was to involve nothing but nature, peace and silence. Spending the night examining gruesome wounds at the hospital was not a part of that plan. Doing that for years and years in the military is why I need the peace and silence now. But it’s also made me very good at treating nasty wounds of the kind that human bodies shouldn’t be exposed to.

  “Sure, lead the way,” I say anyway. I am a doctor after all, and one who owes this hospital a bunch of favors, so I can’t say no with a clear conscience.

  * * *

  Anne

  Where am I?

  The question pops into my head before I even open my eyes. Going by the level of comfort, warmth and quiet around me, I know that I’m not where I usually wake up. But the reality of what I thought would be my big break for freedom after three years of hell, settles in like a stone crushing me against this very comfortable bed, as soon as I open my eyes and fully take in my surroundings. I’m in a hospital, I crashed my car and hurt my head—for the second time in less than twelve hours—and I did it in the very state where my husband is supposed to be working. California is large, and I’m not sure exactly what part of it he’s working in, but being anywhere near him is too near.

  My head hurts, but it’s better than it was, and my legs are still weak, but I think I’ll be able to walk. I need to get out of here, keep putting one foot in front of the other until my dream of escaping him forever comes true. All those beatings Benji gave me over the years were good for one thing. They taught me exactly how much my body can take before I have to admit defeat. Right now, I know I’m not at that point yet. Dawn has broken outside, and I crashed at about nine o’clock last night. That means I got at least six to eight hours of quality rest. First, I’ll find out where my car is and if it’s drivable. And if it isn’t, I’m going to find a bus to take me to Mexico.

  I’m wearing a hospital gown, but I’m sure my clothes are in the closet by the door. The patients’ belongings were always kept in the room with them at every hospital I’ve ever worked at. They’re giving me IV fluids, probably mixed with some painkillers and the bag is about half empty. I’m alert now, so the dose of painkillers must be wearing off, which means I’m due for another soon. It’ll knock me out again, and I have to prevent that. The door slides open just as I wince while I pull the IV needle from my arm.

  “You should be lying down,” the man who checked me over in the ambulance says as he approaches. A wide smile is covering his face, and his sweet southern drawl is more noticeable now that I’m alert, but this time, it doesn’t take me back to a better, happier place. I need to leave as soon as possible and that’s all I should focus on.

  For some reason, that’s not happening as I gaze at him. He should be wearing a white coat, if he’s an actual doctor, but he’s not. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t mind it, because no coat means I’m getting a good view of his well-built arms and chest, both of which are straining against his t-shirt that’s just a shade away from being too tight. He’s built like a swimmer, only bulkier, and tall, taller than any man I’ve seen in a long time. I’m five nine, and I’m sure I’d have to look up at him if we were standing side by side. Which is exactly where I want to be right now. There’s lines around his eyes that’ll probably stay there even after he stops smiling, and his skin has that leathery texture middle age brings. Yet there’s something so young about him, in his bright blue eyes, and the self-assured swagger as he walks to the foot of the bed and picks up my chart. He still looks very familiar, and now that familiarity is only associated with happier times. Pain too, for some reason. But he’s not any of the doctors I worked with in the past, or been treated by, I know that for certain. I’m sure he’s not a friend of Benji’s either. I’d remember a friend who looked like this guy.

  “So you are a doctor,” I blurt out as he lowers his eyes to my chart and I’m no longer transfixed by his gaze.

  He looks back up at me and chuckles. “Did you doubt it?”

  “You’re in good hands here,” he adds after a brief moment of silence during which my cheeks burned with shame I hope he didn’t notice in the dim light. Thinking before I speak is a skill I never mastered, not even after all the beatings I got because of it.

  “You have a mild concussion and a shallow cut to the forehead. It didn’t need stitches and it won’t leave a scar. The bruise will be gone in a week, tops,” he says and walks closer to me. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time. But you should give it another day of rest.”

  He’s looking directly into my eyes, probably checking to see the state of my pupils, and even though he’s trying to calm me down, I’m sure he’s not at all aware of the calming effect he’s actually having on me. My cheeks are of normal temperature again, and my heart is beating at a steady rate. I’m not even sure why I’m sitting up instead of resting like he’s suggesting. He holds back the covers so he can place them over me once I lie down again.

  “I’ll get the nurse so she can reattach your IV,” he says.

  I put my legs back onto the bed, but don’t lie down. The longer he speaks, the more sure I am that I know him.

  “Have we met before?” I ask and his eyes narrow like he’s been thinking the same thing.

  “What’s your name?” I add.

  “I’m Matthew Beaulieu but people just call me Doc nowadays,” he says with a chuckle, but the smile fades at what must be a very surprised look on my face.

  “And you’re from Texas?” I ask. His eyes narrow even more as he nods.

  “Sunnyvale, Texas?” I say. “Son of Homer Beaulieu? Owner of The Beautiful Place ranch?”

  His face grows very tight for a second, as though he doesn’t like remembering any of that. I think I know why that is. He never got on with his father, as for the rest…

  “Yes to all that,” he says in a tight voice. “But I don’t remember an Anne Fisher from Sunnyvale. Or ever meeting anyone with that last name, actually.”

  “My maiden name is Anne Elizabeth Marsh,” I say and there’s no mistaking the recognition in his face now. “My brother Billy was your best friend.”

  “He was,” he says quietly and we’re probably remembering the same thing right now: The day he handed a folded flag to my father, while my mother sobbed, and I just stood there, waiting for the casket with my brother in it to arrive, so we could claim it, too numb to fully comprehend that I’ll never see my only brother again.

  Matt came to the house to speak to my parents one more time after that, but then he left, shipped out, and no one in town ever saw him again.

  “Do you still visit home?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Haven’t been back in more than twenty years. You?”

  “I…I try to visit at least once a year, but it’s been a couple of years, since I was there last,” I say. “We all thought you died too, but no one in town knew for sure.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I survived the wars. After Billy died I spent the rest of my army days treating the wounded in combat zones. There wasn’t much for me to go back to in Sunnyvale as the years passed.”

  A silence follows during which we’re probably both thinking back to the other side of those passed years, remembering a better, happier, more hopeful time, and a nicer future than the one we found. Or at least, the one I found. Though the sadness in his eyes tells me his wasn’t exactly what he hoped for either.

  “You seemed very familiar when I found you in that car,” he says. “You look like your mom.”r />
  “Yeah, a lot of people told me that over the years,” I say. “Who would’ve thought, right?”

  He chuckles, and I know he knows what I mean. My mom was a beauty, still is, while I was quite the tomboy growing up. Tall and lanky, and as flat as a board until I turned fourteen.

  “Lie down now,” he says. “We’ll catch up once you’re better. Get some more rest, and I’ll go see about getting your car towed to a garage.”

  I nod and lie down. “Thank you.”

  I’m feeling better than I have in years, more calm, but also very tired.

  “I’ll get the nurse,” he says and walks to the door.

  He opens it just as a woman yells in a shrill voice,” Sir, no, you can’t go back there!”

  “I’ll do what I want. I showed you my badge, now tell me where she is, or I’ll look in every room,” a cold voice flows to us and freezes everything inside me. I’m standing by the bed and I don’t remember rising.

  “Sir, I can’t allow you to do that!” the nurse says.

  “I want to see my wife!” my husband shouts and everything inside me erupts like a volcano of fear and adrenaline, which is probably more violent than the reaction a caveman had to facing a saber tooth tiger. That’s because my husband is worse than one of those. And deadlier now that I left him.

  I’m panting, my head pounding, and my heart pumping so fast I’m sure I’ll pass out any second from the tachycardia alone. But my mind is crystal clear. I need to get out of here, I need to…Matt grabs my arm, looking into my eyes with a mixture of alarm and puzzlement. He’s asking me something, but I can’t make out the words.

  “I need to hide,” I tell him in a whisper that I hope can’t be heard outside the door.

  “What?” he asks, concern clear on his face. He probably thinks I’m insane now, or that the blow to my head wasn’t so innocent after all.

  “I need to hide from that yelling man,” I say breathlessly, but a little louder, since there’s a chance he might actually not have heard what I said before. “I’m his wife and he shouldn’t find me here.”

  The puzzled look disappears from Matt’s face and he pulls me along across the room, away from the door and to the bathroom.

  “Get in there,” he says, command-like. “I’ll send him packing.”

  Outside the nurse is still arguing with my husband, but their voices are interspersed with the sound of doors opening and closing. They’re near.

  “Lock the door,” he says right before he shuts the bathroom door after me.

  I wish I could, but there’s never a lock on these in-room bathroom doors at hospitals, so I just lean against it with all my weight and hope for the best. My heart’s racing, the adrenaline still pumping through me washing away the last traces of whatever sedative and painkiller they had me on. But this works better than any painkiller, and I’ll need all the adrenaline my body can produce to escape Benji in the state I’m in. I already feel strong again. I could not only walk out of this hospital right now, I could run. I just hope Matt can get rid of Benji long enough for me to try and escape again. He seems to have grown up into a guy who gets things done. And physically, my husband is no match for him, I’m sure of that too.

  I just hope Matt doesn’t fall for whatever lie about me my husband has up his sleeve. Because that man will say and do anything to get what he wants. Absolutely anything. I learned that lesson very well in the last three years, and I hope I’m not about to learn it all over again. I left him. He always promised he’d kill me if I tried to do that. And that’s the only promise of his I still wholeheartedly believe.

  3

  Doc

  The x-rays Doc Hardy showed me made it a possibility, but the fear in her eyes once she heard the guy’s voice left no doubt in my mind that she’s a victim of domestic abuse, and that her husband is the one doing it. I’ve seen fear like that before, sometimes even directed at me, back in Afghanistan and Iraq in the eyes of women who trusted no man, but couldn’t fend for themselves either. It’s the hopeless fear of the desperate, and nothing gets my blood boiling quite as hot as that kind of fear does.

  I’ll send this guy away, and then I’ll help her get as far away from him as possible. Me and my brothers are good at doing things like that, and I’ll enjoy it. I’d also enjoy giving him a taste of the beatings he’s been giving her for years, but this isn’t a place to do that.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask as I come out into the hall and face to face with her husband.

  He’s a head shorter than me and much slighter. Even without my extensive training and combat experience, I could take him with my right arm tied behind my back. But that’s total darkness in his eyes, the kind that always gives me pause each and every time I see it. I’ve seen it often enough. It’s pure aggression and it can make even a tiny man as strong as an ox.

  “I’m looking for my wife,” he says. “A tall, skinny blonde, her name’s Anne Fisher. I want to see her immediately.”

  “Visiting hours haven’t started yet,” I tell him as calmly as I can. “You’re disturbing the patients.”

  He gives me a contemptuous look. “My wife was in a car accident, and she was brought here last night. I want to know how she’s doing, and I want to see her. I have that right as her next of kin.”

  A couple of uniformed cops are standing by the door at the far end of the corridor, looking alarmed at the scene this guy is causing.

  The nurse starts to say something, but I give her a stern look and shake my head. It’s best this guy leaves without knowing anything other than that he’s not welcome here.

  “Are those the cops sent to investigate the car accident?” I ask him. “How come they brought you along and let you run around the hospital screaming?”

  He smirks again and pulls a leather case out of his jacket pocket. The badge he’s showing me reads FBI in bold gold letters. This seriously complicates matters.

  But I sure as fuck ain’t gonna let him see her. She’s my best friend’s sister, and I won’t let this man who put that desperate fear into her eyes when she heard his voice, get anywhere near her ever again. Knowing that makes matters very simple.

  “We did treat a car crash victim earlier,” I tell him calmly, flashing the nurse another stern look, because she was giving signs of wanting to interrupt. “Her exam showed evidence of past domestic abuse, and she was very eager to get out of here as soon as possible. We didn’t try to stop her. And right now, I’m thinking that was a good decision, since I’m sure you’re her abuser and she was right to be afraid of you finding her here. I’m also thinking you and I should go have a word with the cops about said abuse.”

  The guy’s giving me the death stare now, but I know I can match it any day of the week. No one knows more about death than I do.

  “Thank you for the information,” he spits after a few moments, during which I assume he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

  Doc Hardy is speaking to the cops now, and he hasn’t seen us talking over here yet.

  “Goodbye now,” I say, and I can tell he doesn’t like the mocking tone in my voice. But I can also tell he knows there’s fuck-all he can do about it right now.

  Hardy is already heading down the corridor towards us when the husband decides it’s his time to leave.

  “We didn’t call them,” Hardy tells me. “They came as part of the car accident investigation. I told them she’s resting now, and that she’ll be in touch with them when she’s able.”

  The husband was already halfway down the corridor, but stopped dead when he heard this.

  “She’s gone,” I tell Hardy loudly. “She packed up and split during the night.”

  He inhales sharply in what I assume is surprise, but I’m watching the husband. He paused for a second, but now he’s striding away even faster.

  “She was out cold, though. How did she manage that?” Hardy says, but I don’t reply, just open the door to her room and nod for him to go inside.

  S
he’s still here, but she won’t be for long. As soon as the cops and this fed husband of hers leave, I’ll get her out of here, and as far away from him as I can.

  * * *

  Anne

  I heard the door of the room open and close, followed by the sound of two sets of footsteps coming towards my hiding space. I whimpered at the loud knock on the bathroom door that followed.

  “You can come out now, Anne. He’s gone,” Matt says.

  His voice is calm and soothing, but I detect strain under that smooth southern drawl of his. My hands are shaking as I open the door and step out. They always used to shake when Benji was around, until it annoyed him so much he made me stop doing it. That was hard to achieve, but the alternative was worse. I can’t make them stop shaking now, no matter how intensely I’m willing it to happen.

  Another man is standing next to Matt, this one wearing a white coat and a hospital nametag.

  “Why did you say she left?” he asks Matt.

  “The guy making all that noise in the hallway is her husband, and she doesn’t want him to know she’s here,” Matt explains calmly. “I think it’s best to keep them apart. You saw the x-rays.”

  They exchange a look and then the other man nods. “You’re probably right.”

  “I’ll take her out the back now and get her somewhere safe,” Matt says.

  “Alright, but keep an eye on her, head trauma isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

  Matt assures him he will, and the other doctor says goodbye and leaves the room.

  “I can’t stay anywhere around here,” I tell Matt once we’re alone again. “Not now that he knows where I am. Is there a bus station near here?”

  “Don’t worry, Anne,” Matt says and smiles. “I’ll help you out. Get dressed now and then we’ll leave.”

  He strides out of the room before I can thank him, or warn him that maybe he should stay out of this mess. My husband is dangerous. He’s killed before.