Doc: Devil’s Nightmare MC

by Bourne, Lena

  He’s trying to sound menacing, but I can hear the shaky doubt in his voice. Along with the anger. I’ve gotten really good at hearing the tiniest whisper of anger in his voice, and it’s there now. It’s the dangerous, seething, quiet anger that’s barely noticeable, but can lead to some of the hardest punches. I know that, because I’ve also gotten good at hearing the different types of anger in his voice. Right now it’s the “dog that doesn’t bark, just bites” kind.

  I should stay away from him when he’s like this. But he’s angry with me and that won’t change anymore. He’s got my freedom and I need it back.

  “Fine, Anne, I will give you your things back and drop the charges against you. And I will stop trying to contact you,” he finally says and instead of feeling relief, my stomach clenches even tighter, this time hard enough to make me nauseous. “And I want a quiet divorce. Meet me in an hour and I’ll bring your things.”

  On the face of it, this is all I wanted from him. And I know full well that “on the face of it” with this man is always a polished, presentable lie. My gut is telling me that he’s at his most dangerous right now, but I’ll risk it, if it means getting at least some of the things I need from him back. I have no illusions that he’ll give me everything he just promised me, but I might at least get my wallet tonight and hopefully a clean slate with the cops. I’ll have to keep fighting for the rest.

  “OK,” I say. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria of the hospital in town.”

  “Fine,” he says. “I’ll be there.”

  The hospital is a good place to meet. It’ll be well lit, full of people and, since I’ve been a nurse for so long, also familiar to me. A second home of sorts really, because all hospitals are more or less built the same way. And if he somehow manages to hurt me anyway, I’ll be where they can fix me right away. But I don’t plan on letting him hurt me ever again.

  * * *

  Doc

  First, Roxie asked me to check on her son’s cold only so I could find out he most likely has pneumonia. I sent her to the hospital with him. Then, there were three fucking accidents on the road to Vegas, leading to stand-still traffic jams, made even worse by a crazy amount of construction work. All that resulted in the trip to Vegas taking five times longer than it should’ve.

  Cross kept calling, asking where the fuck I was every two hours or so. Anne sounded like she wasn’t really there when I checked in on her. And my own black guilt washing over it all. I kept my nerves as calm as I could through it all, but my anxiety over being too late reached fever pitch before me and Ace were anywhere near Vegas. And with it, my rage.

  “Get there as fast as you can,” Cross barks into the phone on his twentieth call today, after rattling off an address first. “Shit is going down. I don’t know how bad it’ll be.”

  We’re ten miles out, and I don’t think I’ll get there in time to prevent the worst. I’m about to live out my worst nightmare and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Ace just curses when I tell him where to go, speeds up, only to break hard when another jam materializes, causing him to curse again.

  “How many fucking people are trying to get into this godforsaken city?” he asks.

  All of them, it seems. And it’s my fault we’re late, because I couldn’t be bothered to check my phone once in a while like I promised Cross I would. Because I tuned out while I was with Anne. And now brothers might die because of it. So I don’t bother replying to his question.

  The sky is still bright when we finally get close to our destination, but it’s the artificial light of all the lit-up signs inviting people to come here in droves. It’s actually almost nine PM. A gunshot greets us as we pull into the street where I’m needed.

  But maybe that’s just my imagination playing tricks on me, the gunshot I heard just my guilt and my fear becoming a hallucination.

  Then three more ring out and Ace curses again. “What the fuck is going on?”

  The house that is our destination is dark, but an SUV with all the doors open is parked in the middle of the front lawn, where the artificial light in the sky is also reflecting off the chrome parts of bikes.

  “Stay back and keep down,” Ace tells me, as he exits the car the moment it stopped.

  He pulls out a gun, cocks it, and advances towards the front door of the house, where two brothers are already crouching, I see now.

  I was never good at following the order to stay back and keep down, and it’s especially hard right now. But what good is it gonna do, if I get shot and killed now? They’re getting shot at, and they’re gonna need me to patch them up. I didn’t get here too late, and it’s a relief knowing that.

  Ice and Ace barge into the house. A couple more shots ring out and then echo off into silence.

  “Get inside, Doc!” Ace yells from the open doorway a few moments that drag like days later. “Hurry!”

  I grab my bag and sprint across the lawn and into the house, then join Hawk and Ice where they’re taking cover behind the sofa.

  “We gotta clear the house before the cops come,” Hawk says and takes off to do that.

  I know I’m supposed to stay back and let them take care of checking the house, but the artificial light coming in through the windows is landing on a man lying on the ground by the kitchen doorway. It’s showing me the edges of the club colors on the back of his leather jacket. One of the brothers is down. So I don’t think, I just act, running to him, praying I’m not too late.

  I nearly slip in the blood pooled around him. It’s Ink, he’s the source of all the blood.

  Yells of, “All clear” are ringing out all over the house, but they’re as far from the truth as anything can be. Ink might be dead.

  My heart’s racing, but my mind’s blank now, a welcome reprieve from the black guilt that filled it all day. That has no place here now, it’s not gonna do anything to help Ink. But I fear I might not be able to do anything for him either.

  I check his pulse. It’s there, not as strong as I want to feel it, but not as faint as I feared it to be.

  Blood is still flowing from the wounds in his chest.

  “How long ago did this happen?” I ask as I cut through Ink’s shirt to see what I’m really dealing with. I know brothers are gathered around me, because I heard one of them talking, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  “Not sure,” Hawk says. “Ten, twenty minutes ago. That’s when we got here. He was here alone before that.”

  That’s a long time to bleed for. Maybe too long. But his pulse is steady enough to give me hope. I’m already pressing a bandage over the bullet hole in Ink’s stomach. It’s right over the large intestine, not near any major organs. With any luck that bullet didn’t do much damage. There’s another bullet hole in his shoulder, and one in his side, about two inches below his heart.

  There’s a chance none of these bullets hit anything major.

  “I need help over here!” I yell over my shoulder, grabbing more gauze from my bag.

  My hands aren’t shaking, they know exactly what needs doing. In my mind, I’m already in that calm, professional place that looks like a modern surgery, and where I need to be to save lives amid chaos and mayhem. My training and my experience can still save Ink. Regret and guilt have no place in this space. Hope doesn’t either. I have to let it all go now and just do what needs to be done.

  I have Ace, Brick and Ice press down hard on the gauzes I applied over Ink’s injuries, while I secure them in place. Police sirens are wailing in the distance and the noise is growing louder and louder.

  “We need to get the fuck out of here,” Ace mutters.

  “Yes, he needs to get to the ER,” I say. “He’s already lost too much blood. I can’t save him on my own.”

  “Take the Russians’ SUV and drive him there,” Hawk says. “The keys are in the ignition. I’ll make sure it all goes smoothly. Save him.”

  The four of us working on Ink all look up at him. To me, he sounds like he’s carrying as much guilt
for this crap as I am. But Ink is patched up for now. His pulse is still strong enough.

  “No one else is hurt?” I ask.

  “No, like I told you, he was here on his own when those Russian fuckers came,” Hawk says. “He killed two of them before we even got here. Make sure he doesn’t die.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say and follow Ace and Brick who are already carrying Ink out of the house.

  Fear that my best won’t be good enough is mounting now that the urgency of what needs to be done is receding. Guilt is coming in strong too. I’ve done all I could, but I could’ve done more. I could’ve gotten here sooner. Then Ink wouldn’t have to face those Russians alone, or at least wouldn’t have lost as much blood as he did. The bandages I applied are already soaked through with his blood. Even if the bullet holes can be fixed, he might still die of blood loss.

  The noise of the police sirens is deafening by the time we have Ink safely loaded in the car. The sound is made worse by the brothers’ bikes roaring to life around us. Then the sound of engines giving all they got drowns out even the wailing sirens, as we flee the scene.

  I didn’t give all I got to the club. I gave it all to Anne. And now Ink might die because of it.

  I’ve let my brother down. The one thing I feared happening above all others, happened. And it feels just as rotten in real life as it does in my nightmares.

  But it’s not over yet. I can still make this right.

  And I tell myself that over and over again, even as Ink’s blood soaks right through my jeans, and his pulse grows fainter and fainter.

  “How’s he doing?” Brick asks. “Is he gonna make it?”

  I’ve never been good at lying to the brothers about medical shit, but I know I have to do it now. Brick was the one who brought Ink to me after he’d been stabbed. They have some history I never got to learn about, and judging by the fear in Brick’s voice, that history is long.

  “I’m doing all I can for him, but he’s lost a lot of blood already,” I say.

  “We all got there too late,” Brick says. “Those fucking Russians! We should’ve just killed them all when they first started giving us shit.”

  “That’s the Prez’s call to make, not yours,” Ace says sternly from the driver’s seat.

  “A bad call this time,” Brick mutters, but more to himself.

  “It could’ve been worse,” Ace says.

  And we can all agree on that. But we’re in front of the ER, so we’re about to find out just how bad this will still get.

  21

  Anne

  I got lost twice on the way to the hospital, but the GPS in the truck did finally get me here about ten minutes late for my meeting with Benji. Less than a third of the tables in the cafeteria are taken, but Benji isn’t at any of them. It’s not like him to be late, and it’s not like him to suffer me being late meeting him either. Maybe he already left. But no, he’d call if he got here before me. He could potentially damage his career, if he doesn’t meet me here today, and his work means more to him than anything else.

  So why isn’t he here?

  Maybe this is just his way of toying with me, of showing me he’s still in control of this situation, no matter what I say or do.

  My hands are shaking uncontrollably. I only realize that after I get a cup of coffee and then have trouble carrying it to a table without spilling it all over the floor. That used to be a daily problem for me. My hands would chronically tremble this badly back when I was still living with Benji. It annoyed him and by the end he needed no more reason than that to hit me. I knew that, and I’d sit on the sofa or at the kitchen table and just will my hands to stop shaking for hours before he got home, but it rarely worked. Not until I fully surrendered to the cold, clammy fog in my brain. Nothing mattered in that fog, I felt nothing, I was nothing.

  I found myself again now, and left that fog for good. So why is my mind conjuring it back again so fast and so thick now?

  The spark of hope that allowed me to escape Benji should be a flame by now, keeping me safe from the fog that was my miserable existence for so long. But it’s not. It’s still just a spark. Right now, as I wait for him with shaking hands, I’m the weak, foggy-brained Anne, who didn’t have the strength to leave him for years.

  Where is he? Why did I even call him? I should just go to the police, make my complaint against him, show them the evidence. Why do I keep coming back to him for more abuse?

  I can’t answer any of those questions.

  But I don’t need to explain it. I just need to stop doing it.

  I’ve been here for almost half an hour, and he’s still not. It’s not like him to agree to a thing and not show up. Then again, it’s not like me to threaten him either.

  I’ll wait. The alternative is being up at the cabin alone, hoping Matt will be back soon and wondering why Benji didn’t show up to meet me, probably coming up with all sorts of horrible reasons for it. Maybe he just got held up.

  “Anne? Hi,” a woman says off to my side.

  She’s holding a baby bottle, her long black hair hanging in a loose braid across her left shoulder.

  “Hi, Roxie,” I reply breathlessly once I recognize her.

  “Are you ill?” she asks, eyeing my trembling hands and then my face with concern.

  “No, no. I’m just…” I say, then clear my throat and continue. “…meeting someone here.”

  “For a job interview?” she asks. “Doc mentioned you’re thinking about moving here. I suppose he set something up for you.”

  She smiles a very knowing smile. I’m wondering when Matt had the time to speak to her about this, while feeling very happy that he spoke of me staying, at the same time. It was a mistake calling Benji today.

  I smile and nod. “Yes, I’d love to stay around here. It seems like such a peaceful place to live.”

  “It is. I’ve only been here for a few years, but I can’t imagine leaving ever again,” she says.

  “Do you work at this hospital?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “No, I was a guidance counselor at the local junior high for awhile, and now I’m just a stay at home mom, I guess.” She shows me the baby bottle she’s holding. “My son’s cold got worse, so Doc told me to bring him to the hospital, so they can run some tests.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious,” I say.

  “Me too,” she says. “I should get back to him now. But you and Doc could come by the house once he returns. Tell him that it’s time for you to meet the family. Tell him I said so.”

  I’m thoroughly confused by what she just told me, but I nod anyway, promising her I’ll do it. What family? How does she know Matt’s not around? And when did he have time to examine her son? Do they all live in the same house? The firmness with which she invited me there suggests it’s her house.

  So many questions. But Matt will have to answer them when he gets back, because Roxie has already left.

  The cafeteria is much emptier now, the sky outside completely dark. Benji is over an hour late meeting me. He hasn’t called or texted. He’s not coming, and it’s for the best. It was a mistake for me to arrange this meeting.

  I don’t want to see him again. Ever. What I want to do is get to know Matt better, meet his family, and put my trembling hands and foggy brain behind me for good.

  So I leave the hospital, already looking forward to getting back to the cabin. Even spending the night there alone will be better than anything I’ve experienced in the last years of my marriage to Benji.

  I’ll call Matt as soon as I get there, and maybe he’ll have time to speak to me until I fall asleep. I’d like that. It would be almost as good as having him there. Well, no, not really. But it would be the next best thing.

  * * *

  Doc

  I told Ace and Brick to leave as soon as we got Ink inside the ER. There’s no use for all of us getting tangled up in this. I flashed my Veteran’s ID around, as well as the fake Security Firm IDs Hawk has us carry everywhere, tel
ling them I’m a doctor too.

  They’ll call the cops, they always do for gunshot victims, but at least Ink’s in surgery now, and they even let me clean up in one of the staff-only bathrooms, while I wait for them to do what they can for him.

  My hands are shaking the way they never do anymore, and my mind’s a jumbled mess of all the many memories I have of doing this same thing. Waiting to see if a brother or a soldier I worked on survives. Waiting in hospital waiting rooms, in tents on the battlefield, in the drab, rectangular buildings of army bases, in bed alone at night, covered with cold sweat. A part of my mind is already mourning Ink the way I mourned so many others. Anne’s brother Billy most of all. He was the first brother I ever mourned, but he was certainly not the last. I’m ready to mourn the last brother. I hope it won’t be Ink, but hope’s never done much good.

  After awhile, all I see is his bloody chest, the sites of the three bullet holes like a map of my failure. The more I think of it, the more I’m convinced they might have hit some vital organ or system in his body. Everything I know tells me they probably didn’t. It took at least forty minutes to get him into the operating room. If anything vital had been hit, he’d be in much worse shape by the time we got to the ER. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Gut wounds are tricky. They can take longer to kill a man, but they kill just as surely as a bullet to the heart.

  There isn’t much more I could’ve done, if I’d gotten there sooner. Logically, I know that. But this still feels like my failure. I should’ve been there for my brothers one hundred percent. Instead, I gave all I had to Anne, and this is the price.

  I thought about calling her, had the phone in my hand a few times, ready to dial her number, but I put it back in my pocket each time. I love her. I want to wake up next to her for the rest of my life. But right now, I need to be only here, in this hospital, ready to hear the news about whether one of my brothers will live or die.