by J. L. Beck
I still don’t quite understand how I ended up running from the cops that night.
Well… at least I have a hot as hell convict in tow.
24
I check the time in the corner of the computer screen again. It is 2 AM, and I still have four hours of boredom until my shift ends. I groan and start taping my pencil on the desk of the nurse's station, like I often do when I am bored out of my mind. I forgot to bring my book and have read the magazines from the waiting room twice already. The halls are empty and quiet in our tiny clinic in the middle of nowhere. Only the faint sound of some beeping machines coming from the rooms closest to me break the eerie silence. I check all the screens for the fiftieth time with the same outcome, our three patients are all sleeping. This is a small-town hospital and there are only two of us working tonight. We switch off sleeping to pass the night. I have already slept for a few hours, and now I am letting Tanja, the other nurse, sleep for a while. I get up and walk to the fridge. When I open it, I am not surprised, but still somehow disappointed when the contents are the same as they were ten minutes ago. I close the fridge door with a sigh and walk back to the chair in front of my desk. The moment my butt touches the cushion the phone rings and the loud noise startles me so much that I jump right back to my feet. I grab the phone and answer with a rehearsed, “Nurse’s station, this is Evie.”
A deep voice greets me with a sleepy and a bit annoyed sounding, “Hello Miss Evie, this is Rick Bailey from the Crestwood Correctional facility. How are you doing?”
"Doing good," I respond with confusion. The correctional facility? Why are they calling the nurses station in the middle of the night? My silent question was answered by the voice on the other end of the line immediately after it went through my mind.
"Well, I'm afraid I’ll have to bring one of my inmates over to you. There was a stabbing and both, our nurse and doctor are out. Now I can't reach either of them for some reason."
"Oh, okay," I say with genuine surprise. This explains why he sounds so annoyed. They usually don’t bring prisoners to this hospital because it is not secure. They also have their own medical station and staff. I’ve been working here for a year and a half now and I’ve only seen one inmate brought here so far.
“How bad is it? Do I need to call in the surgeon?” I’m already reaching for the phonebook we have with all the doctor’s emergency phone and pager numbers, but to my surprise, he says, “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. It looks to me like he only needs a few stitches. I would like to keep this whole thing on the down low if possible. I am sure you would do just fine sewing him up quickly so we can get him back here as soon as possible.”
I’m about to protest and tell him we really should call a doctor in to take a look at him, but before I can get out a word he adds, “Ok then, they left here twenty minutes ago so they should get there soon. You have a good day now.” The phone goes dead the instant he is done talking. Now it’s my turn to be annoyed. What an ass. I slam the phone on the station just to pick it right back up and call Dr. Martin in. I don’t give a damn what Rick Ass-hat Bailey thinks.
As I walk to the room where Tanja is sleeping, my annoyance turns to anger. Who does this guy think he is, making medical decisions? If someone gets stabbed they need to see a doctor, not a nurse that’s been on the job for less than two years. I try to not let the painful memories that have been haunting me for the past five years emerge and just try to concentrate on the present, but this is too close to what happened to Jason. It takes all my effort to push those upsetting thoughts down. When I open the door, the light from the hallway fills the room enough for Tanja to wake up. She is sitting on the bed, looking at me with her blue eyes and her blond hair messy from sleep. “What’s going on? Need my help with Mr. Walker in room five?”
“No, he is sleeping like a baby. We are having an inmate come in from the prison. Apparently, someone got stabbed and they can’t reach their medical staff.”
I fill her in with the rest of the story as we walk over to the intake room and prepare. Tanja is my friend but even she doesn’t know about Jason, so I try to act normal and not show her how I really feel inside. How terrified I am of what is about to come through this door. Violent pictures of someone stabbed, and half dead being dragged in here start to flood my mind, making my heart race and my hands begin to shake uncontrollably.
Calm yourself, I keep telling myself. I carefully move around so my back is always turned to Tanja even as she talks to me. She sounds curious, maybe even a bit excited about our late-night patient. A stark contrast to what is going on in my head at the moment. My thoughts are interrupted by the door swinging open and three large figures come through. To my relief the prisoner is walking, his head is down, looking at the floor as the two officers dressed in dark blue uniforms flank him. They are leading him with what looks like an iron grip on his arms. At the sight, the calmness I tried to will on myself finally washes over me. At first glance, he looks a bit beaten up but not like he is about to die. I take a deep breath and wave the three over to the bed.
“He can lay down here,” I tell them and tap the bed with my hand. Then I step back to give him room to get to the bed. As I watch the three men approach, I become aware of how large all three of them are. The prisoner is muscular with broad shoulders and even with his head down, I can tell he is taller than the two officers. They must have sent the biggest prison guards they have on staff to match his size.
When he is right in front of me he looks up and our eyes meet. My breath hitches when I get a good look at his face. His eyes are bloodshot, red and swollen, they must have pepper sprayed him, I conclude. There is also a large cut covering his cheek that looks incredibly painful, being aggravated by the pepper spray. My eyes travel further over his face, then his body. I note that his jaw is swollen and forming a bruise on the left side. There are a number of rips and cuts in the fabric of his bloodied jumpsuit, but no life-threatening injury jumps out at me so far. He’s still standing and not making a move to lay on the bed, so I push lightly on his shoulders.
"You got to at least sit down, and we have to get these clothes off so I can get a better look at all your injuries."
He obeys and sits on the bed, but he can’t lay down or take off his clothes because his hands are cuffed behind his back.
“You need to uncuff him” I say, while turning to face the two officers.
“Not a fucking chance,” One of them replies, while the other one just shakes his head in agreement. Before I can protest, Tanja takes a step towards me.
“Evie, maybe it would be better if we leave the handcuffs on him,” She says wearily and then backs away again like she is afraid of something. Or someone. Confused and irritated, I turn my attention back to the guy in front of me. Until this moment I had been in nurse mode, seeing nothing but the injuries I’m assessing on a patient. Now that I have snapped out of it, I let myself see the rest of the man who is sitting a few inches away from me. Like myself, he looks to be in his mid-twenties. He has dark brown hair that is cut short in a military style. His nose is slightly crooked like it has been broken before and not set correctly. He has a strong defined jawline and lips that look extremely kissable. He is handsome, I conclude as my eyes linger on his kissable lips. He must notice me starring because the corner of his mouth twitches up into a tiny smile. Embarrassed, I turn my attention to the tray with the first-aid kit we had prepared, shoveling around some instruments to distract myself.
“What’s your name?” I ask, without looking at him.
“Reed.” He answers in a husky voice.
“Okay Reed, can you tell me what happened?"
“No, he can’t,” The officer behind me interrupts. “All you need to know is that he got into a knife fight with other inmates and he needs to be patched up. The knife was short, so the wounds can’t be that deep.”
I take a calming breath, feeling myself growing more aggravated by the rudeness and arrogance of these guys.
“Well, I am going to have to cut your clothes off since they won’t un-cuff you or let you tell me where you got stabbed.”
“Oh no, not my finest suit.” He says dryly, making me smile. I take the scissors and cut each arm until the top of the jumpsuit falls away, revealing his torso. I have helped people undress a hundred times, but somehow this feels different. More intimate. I try to force myself back into nurse mode, but I am unable to ignore the well-defined muscles decorating his upper body. His skin is tan and smooth, with his chest dusted with dark hair. In between his fresh injuries I also notice many old scars, which somehow only adds to his appeal. This was not his first fight. I do my best to concentrate, only looking at the cuts and gently feeling around the injured areas. I’m wearing gloves of course but I keep wondering what his skin would feel like if I ran my hand across it without them on. Get a grip. I tell myself and straighten up.
“You are going to need some stitches on a few of your cuts, but I am going to clean all your wounds first. Can you tell me what hurts the most?”
“My face.”
“We’ll take care of that first then.” I grab some cotton with the tweezers, dip it in the antiseptic solution and start cleaning the cut on his face. I realize quickly that to reach his face I have to step between his legs and lean in. We are so close now that I can feel the heat coming off of his body. I have worked on patients much more exposed than this before, but something about this position, in particular, is making me squirm inside. It's been a while since I’ve had sex and being this close to a half-naked, extremely good-looking guy, makes my body hum in excitement. I am infinitely grateful about my thick, non-shapely scrubs hiding my erect nipples at the moment. This is so unprofessional, I tell myself. Apparently, my insides have not gotten the memo that this is work and not a booty call. I take a step back, desperate to get some space between us. Looking at him now that I am a few feet away, I can see why Tanja, who is still standing off to the side instead of helping, is a bit frightened by him. With his muscular body, bloodied clothes, skin scattered with cuts and scars, he looks like some kind of Viking warrior who just returned from battle.
“Hey Tanja, can you call Dr. Martin back and see how close he is?”
“Wait, you called the Doctor in?” One of the Officers says accusingly.
“I did.”
“You were told not to call in anybody else!” The other one snarls at me like I’m a misbehaving child. Anger boils up in me as I clutch the shiny silver tweezers tighter in my hand. I don’t look at him because I think that if I do, the urge to punch him in the face might become too overwhelming.
Instead, I continue cleaning wounds, concentrate on the task at hand and I say through my teeth, “You are in no position to tell me how to do my job.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Reed's eyebrow raise in surprise and his mouth twitches into a brief grin.
“Listen, you need to call the doctor back and tell him he doesn’t need to come. That it was all a misunderstanding.” He says in an urgent tone. When Tanja doesn’t say anything and I keep cleaning the cuts like I hadn’t heard him talking, he adds in a threatening tone, “Now.”
I grew up with two older brothers and I don’t take crap from anyone, no matter how big and tough they think they are. I might only be five and a half feet tall and weigh 130 pounds, but when I turn around, I square my shoulders and I act like I am twice that size.
“Or what?” I ask, calling his bluff. He must not have expected that, because he is just looking at me blankly. His eyebrows are drawn together and his lips are pressed into a hard line. He is visibly angry. I stand my ground, lifting my chin up slightly in defiance. I’m telling him with my body language that I’m not afraid of him and won’t budge.
Then without another word he takes out his cell, punches in a number and puts the phone to his ear while stomping out of the room. A few minutes later I can hear Tanja's phone buzz in her pocket. She fumbles to get it out, apparently still un-eased by the hostile tension in this room.
She answers with a shaky voice, "Hello"… "Oh, okay."… "Sure, Bye." Her voice turns from unsteady to confused mid-conversation. By the end, her face is pale and her hand is shaking. After she hangs up the phone she turns her attention to me. “I’m supposed to go home early. Sarah is coming in to replace me.”
“What?” I say in shock. “Why? When?”
“Now.” We look at each other puzzled. Then Tanja adds, “I am sorry, I got to go.” She rushes out of the room leaving me with only one of the guards and Reed. An uneasy feeling is creeping up my spine. The officer breaks the silence.
“Hurry up lady, so we can get out of here and put him back in his single cell to clean up the mess he made.” Ignoring him, I am turn back to Reed’s abdomen to finish cleaning the last cut.
Something is nagging at me. Something is off about this whole situation. No, not just something, but a lot of things. If he was in a single cell, how did he get into a fight with other inmates in the middle of the night? Also, where are the other inmates? There is no way that someone fought a guy this big and not get injured themselves. Why is the Warden so hell-bound on keeping the doctor away, and now Tanja? This can't be a coincidence. My mind is buzzing with unanswered questions, trying to make sense of everything, while the uneasy feeling that was creeping up my spine a minute ago has spread through my whole body, making my hand tremble slightly. Reed must have noticed because he whispers, "It's going to be fine. Just finish up and we'll leave."
I know by ‘we’ he meant him and the guards, but for a split second I imagine me and him leaving instead. Shaking that thought away, I turn to grab the suture kit. His words are not easing my worries in the slightest. As I turn, I see the guard stepping up behind me, raising his arm towards my head. He has something black in his hand. A gun, I realize in shock.
Growing up, I took martial arts with my brothers instead of ballet like the other girls in my class and I have never been so happy about that fact. I have fast reflexes and I don’t have to think about dropping to the ground and kicking the large officer’s legs away. The movements come to me with muscle memory at the sight of danger. He falls back at my kick, landing flat on his back. Quickly I am straightening myself up, much quicker than my opponent. Which gives me time to grab the heavy defibrillator from the side table and use it to hit him in the head before he can fully recover. He slumps back to the floor, his body going limp, leaving me standing there breathless and utterly stunned. A voice from behind me yanks me out of my trance.
“Evie, is it?”
All I can do in response is a nod. The rest of my body still pacified.
“You should leave, now.”
“Leave? I can’t leave! I have patients that need my care, and this.” I wave my hand towards the floor.
“I need to call the police.”
“No, the cops won’t get here in time and Burman will be back soon. He will probably kill us both and then spin a story about me trying to escape. Your best chance is to leave now.”
I only have a few seconds to decide what to do. Logically, he is the prisoner, so he must be the bad guy. Why would I listen to anything he says? On the other hand, giving the current situation we are in, why wouldn’t I? All my instincts scream to believe him. Now I am left with one more choice. Am I taking Reed with me or am I going alone? What are the chances of me running into the other guard? Could I take him out as well? Before I can change my mind, I grab the handcuff key from the guard’s belt and run around the bed to uncuff him.
"What are you doing? You need to leave. Forget about me and leave," He urges, but I continue to try to get this tiny key to unlock the cuffs while he is moving around. Both of our heads snap up, when we can hear multiple heavy footsteps approaching accompanied by men talking, echoes through the hallway. The door is only cracked open, but we can clearly hear that they are coming closer to us. I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest because it is beating so fast. My hands are suddenly sweaty and I almost lose the dam
n key.
With each footstep coming closer my pulse picks up even more, making my body shake all over. Just when I think I am about to pass out I finally hear the click of the handcuffs unlocking. A flicker of relief hits me, but I know that I am far from safe. Reed is on his feet in an instant. It only takes him two long strides to reach the door. He positions himself next to the door frame. Flattening himself out on the wall. Without thinking, I mimic his movements and stand on the other side of the door. He gives me an approving look as we wait for the door to open.
When it does, everything happens so quickly that I can barely keep up. Reed hit the first person through the door right in the jaw, causing him to drop to the floor as if every bone in his body suddenly turned to jello. Two more figures dressed in dark blue uniforms storm in. Reed swings at one of them but the guy moves out of the way, dodging the hit.
The other one looks around, and charges toward me as soon as he spots me. He tries to grab my throat, but I am able to stop him with a defensive move, followed by my hand flying up to slam my palm into his nose in an upward motion. He cries out in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hands to his face. I push him out of the way to get to Reed, who is still struggling with the last guy. The one he called Burman earlier, I recall. Burman is punching Reed in the ribs where one of his larger stab wounds is bleeding profusely now. I scan the room for weapons and find that the heavy defibrillator is still my best bet. I dash across the room and grab the heavy machine.
As I run towards the two men fighting, I lift the machine up and use my momentum to strengthen the blow. It works like a charm. As soon as the machine makes contact with the guard's skull, he slumps to the floor. I'm left standing next to Reed who is bending over in pain and clutching his side with his hands. He is bleeding badly now, covering his hands in blood. Shit.
I swing around to take the suture kit from the tray next to the bed and say, “We’ve got to go, follow me.”
