“Totally.”
“I made things betterer as I could. And I’ll do it again because care is what I can give and care is what they need.”
Devon smiled. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Feel any better?”
Gloria shrugged. “Maybe? Proof is if I show up tomorrow.” She winked when Devon laughed. “Catch you later, Tiger.”
Maybe I’m ready to come back, Devon thought after Gloria had left to see another patient. Something to think about, when she wasn’t worrying about Marley and Aimee and Carla.
Devon looked up as a woman in her mid-forties pushed the curtain back all the way. Her hair was puffed around her head in an oddly deliberate cloud. She stormed out of the treatment area and down the hall. Devon glanced at the young woman, who stretched out for the box of tissue, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t reach it from the bed, tethered by the IV pole. With a glance behind her to see if Gloria was around, Devon crossed the distance to the small treatment area, grabbed the box, and handed it to the young woman.
“Thanks,” the woman mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” Devon said. “Anything else I can get you?”
The young woman looked up, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Devon could see the rash Gloria had mentioned, an angry red that covered one half of her face and neck and disappeared under her T-shirt.
“You work here?” The woman said.
“Sort of. I know where to find the juice stash, anyway.”
“No, thanks,” she said, taking a tissue and dabbing at her eyes. “I just need to see the doctor and get out of here.”
“Okay. I’m Devon, by the way.”
The woman looked up again. “Mikayla,” she said.
“I hope your day gets better, Mikayla.”
Mikayla looked down at her hands and said nothing. Devon stood there a moment longer, noticing the way Mikayla’s one hand twitched spasmodically, like a tremor. It could be the effects of the drug, the overdose, or maybe even the opioid reversal used to bring this young woman back. Either way, she was in a world of hurt.
“Take care of yourself,” Devon said, leaving the young woman to herself.
When she approached the alcove, Bryson was standing at the entrance, talking to Carla.
“Perfect timing,” Bryson said. “I was wondering if Ms. Aimee here would be more comfortable in a treatment room.”
Devon peeked into the alcove. Aimee was standing now and leaning into Carla.
“Might be easier to see your cut,” Devon said. “And have my friend Dr. Bryson treat it so we can get out of here. What do you think?”
Aimee nodded and hid her face. Carla followed Devon and Bryson down the hallway with Aimee glued to her side, her eyes squeezed shut.
“All right,” Dr. Bryson said. “First let’s find out what happened.”
“She likes spinning on the stools at Devon’s place,” Carla said. “Her foot got caught, and she hit her forehead on the stool next to her. Started bleeding pretty good.”
“Did she lose consciousness at all?”
Carla shook her head.
“Complaints of head or neck hurting? Dizziness?”
Carla shook her head for all.
“Okay, I’m going to do some tests with your eyes, and I’d like to check your neck.” He turned around to show Aimee his own neck. “See these bumps? Those are your cervical vertebrae, and I want to check that nothing got jostled when you fell.”
Aimee looked curious at this, and Devon and Carla shared a relieved smile. Devon hung back as Bryson continued his questioning and his examination. Not only did he have great hands, he was amazing with kids. When Devon had asked him one day why he didn’t go into pediatrics, all he said was “the parents”.
Devon’s phone vibrated in her back pocket. A call from Marley. She stepped out of the treatment area and picked up the call.
“Marley, hey. Aimee is seeing a doctor now.”
“Good,” Marley said. “Where are you?”
“At the hospital,” Devon said, confused. She thought it sounded like Marley was walking. “Are you here?”
“Uh…yeah.” Marley sounded sheepish. “Bad idea?”
“Good idea. I’ll come and get you and let you through the doors.”
Devon waved through the window to indicate to Carla she’d be right back. Bryson had the bandage off now and was inspecting the wound. God, she hoped it was something simple. As if anything in Aimee’s life could be simple.
Devon could see Marley through the glass portion of the locked doors. She always looked bigger in uniform, her posture and the protective vest making her look imposing, threatening. Devon knew Marley had fire. And strength. But she’d also seen Marley curled up in her favourite chair with a cup of tea, laughing. There was gentleness in this woman, too.
She pushed open the locked doors. Fire and laughter, strength and gentleness. Devon knew she was drawn to every part of Marley.
“Hey,” Devon said, needing to clear her throat. “How has your day been?”
“Weird,” Marley said. Devon glanced back but Marley was already busy looking around the room.
It was hard to talk, dodging people and equipment. They stepped to the side as an ambulance crew pushed a stretcher down the hall, trundling through like a freighter in a narrow channel.
Devon took the opportunity to really look at Marley. She seemed pale and her posture was tense. One hand gripped her utility belt, and the other was at her side. Devon sensed an aura of readiness about her.
“Come here for a minute,” Devon said, touching the short sleeve of Marley’s uniform.
Devon made sure Marley was following as they ducked down a hallway. She opened the staff room door part way and made sure no one was using it as a place to catch a nap. It was empty, the smell of coffee and someone’s microwaved lunch leftovers filtering through the dim space.
Devon faced Marley, who was looking around the room. “Tell me about your weird day?”
“Yeah, definitely weird.”
Devon waited but Marley still hadn’t focused. Devon took a step closer until she was inside Marley’s personal space.
“Hey, Marley,” Devon said quietly.
Marley’s eyes cleared a little, and she looked at Devon.
“Hey, Devon,” Marley said, just as quietly.
The moment was a hungry one. Starved for words and empty of touch. For now though, this was enough.
“Tell me about your day?” Devon tried again.
“I think I’m in the wrong profession,” Marley said. She didn’t sound upset, more speculative. “We spent the afternoon talking to people with known drug connections. Everyone from a guy who’d spent time in jail for possession and distribution to a teenager just released from rehab to a woman who lives on the street and can tell you the chemical compound of every street drug. Every one.”
Marley lost focus again for a minute, her gaze traveling away from Devon.
“Sounds like you’re carrying stories,” Devon said.
Marley’s focus snapped back to Devon. “Yes,” she said, her voice stronger. “That’s what it feels like. Simms, the drug enforcement team lead who I was working with, is out there sorting through what they’re saying, pulling out the evidence, finding connections and leads. He knows what’s relevant and what’s not. He takes the nuggets of evidence and then…” Marley shook her head, struggling. “Then he walks away from the rest. He can strip people down to their usefulness and it’s…horrifying. And absolutely necessary.”
“What were you thinking about as you were talking to people today?”
“Aimee, mostly. I’m collecting evidence to find out what her living situation has been like the last year. And I keep looking at these people and wondering where was their Carla when they were eight? Who was their Miss K?”
A familiar ache of compassion and connection rose in Devon’s chest, and she ran her hand down Marley’s bare arm, touching the bones of her wrist, then she smoothed her thumb across M
arley’s knuckles and entwined their fingers.
“You’re not less of a police officer because you see the people you’re talking to. And you’re not alone in not always knowing how to carry stories.”
Marley looked down at their joined hands. “My supervisor said the same thing recently,” she said. “And I know it’s one of the primary stressors on front-line workers.” She gave Devon a small, crooked grin. “I’ve read the articles.”
Devon laughed. “We’ve probably read the same ones.”
“And you probably wrote a few.”
Devon shook her head, still smiling. “Only one.”
Marley’s smile slipped and she leaned back, loosening her grip. “I shouldn’t put this on you. You’ve told me this is why you’re off work. And all I’ve done is heap burden after burden on you.”
“Stop,” Devon said, the sharp edge to her tone cutting through Marley’s babble. “Enough. I need you to trust that I know what I can handle. I may not have been that great at it the last few years, but I’m working on it, and you believing I can do it is important to me.”
Marley looked stunned and Devon felt the vulnerability of the moment acutely. She also felt hope as Marley squeezed her hand.
“Message received, Dr. Wolfe,” Marley said.
Devon smiled. She squeezed Marley’s hand then eased away. “Let’s go find Aimee.”
When they walked into the treatment area, Aimee had a fresh, bright white bandage on her forehead, and Bryson was instructing her how to use the otoscope to look into Carla’s ear.
“Gross, right?” Bryson said and Aimee nodded and made a face.
“All good in here?” Devon said.
Aimee’s eyes lit up when she saw Marley, and she ran over and tugged until Marley knelt down so Aimee could look in her ear.
“No stitches, and Aimee was a complete champ,” Bryson said. “We’ll grab some instructions about wound care and signs of infection, and you guys are good to go.” Bryson pulled his gloves off and threw them in the garbage. “Another life saved.”
“Thanks, Bryson,” Devon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You made this way easier.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Aimee handed back his otoscope reluctantly but waved at Dr. Bryson when he said goodbye.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Marley asked Devon once Bryson had left. Aimee continued to try and see inside her grandmother’s ear. Carla was rolling her eyes but held still.
“Sure.”
Devon followed Marley back into the hall. Marley sighed and rubbed her forehead.
“I need to ask Aimee about a person of interest. Someone she might have come in contact with,” Marley said.
“You need to ask her today?”
“I know,” Marley said, obviously having heard some judgement in Devon’s voice. “Not great timing. Is she up for it?”
Devon felt irritation and protectiveness shift uncomfortably in her chest. Aimee wasn’t her child, wasn’t her patient. She couldn’t be the only one making these assessments and judgment calls. Devon took a breath, feeling the bite of the words as they were about to leave her mouth. She let the breath out slowly and tried again.
“I don’t know,” Devon said. “She’s doing really well, but maybe check with Carla.”
“Okay,” Marley said. She looked contrite. Then curious. “Why do I get the feeling you just stopped yourself from biting my head off?”
Devon let out a short laugh. “Because that’s almost what happened.”
“Impressive level of self-control, Dr. Wolfe.”
Devon caught Marley’s eye then, a mix of warmth, worry, and fatigue.
“You need some sleep,” Devon said without thinking.
“I need to wrap up this case and get Carla and Aimee settled,” Marley said. “That’s what I need.”
“No,” Devon said gently. “That’s what they need. You need some sleep.”
Marley shook her head. “According to my boss, I need to stay out of trouble and help break open the case. Preferably starting with some actual information about what this drug is and why we’re seeing such weird side effects after it’s off the street.”
“Side effects?”
“Tremors, rash, and hallucinations, according to the admittedly little information from Public Health.”
Devon blinked. “I saw someone like that. With those symptoms.”
“Here?”
“Yeah, a young woman. Early twenties, maybe. I was with her earlier.”
“Do you know if anyone has called Public Health? A memo went out to regional hospitals, walk-in clinics, and doctor’s offices a few days ago about calling Public Health immediately for anyone with those symptoms.”
“I know which nurse she was working with.”
“Would you mind introducing me to her? Then I could talk with her without compromising patient privacy.”
“Give me a minute.”
Devon searched the hallways of the ER, eventually finding Gloria chewing on a protein bar while sticking a label on an orange-lidded urine sample bottle. Joys of the emergency room.
“You got a minute, Gloria?”
“For you, peanut? Yes.”
Gloria put the urine sample on a cart and gave Devon her full attention.
“I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”
Gloria’s eyes lit up, and Devon considered how it sounded. She blushed. “I don’t mean like that.” Wasn’t it like that? “I mean…”
Gloria laughed. “You never trip over your words, Tiger. So, I think it’s definitely like that.”
Another blush. “Okay, yes. But that’s not why I want you to meet Marley. Constable Marlowe. She’s working on a case that involves Public Health and some odd symptoms from drug use.”
Gloria expression shifted to serious. “Public Health, yes. We had a stand-up staff meeting about it.” Her gaze shifted inward, as if replaying the moment. Then she looked up at Devon. “You’re thinking about the young woman from earlier. Curtain four. With the angry mom.” Gloria’s shoulder slumped. “Shit, I almost missed that.”
“It’s not all on you,” Devon said.
Gloria closed her eyes for the briefest moment before she straightened, grabbed the last bite of protein bar, and shoved it in her mouth before tossing the wrapper and wiping her hands together.
“Let’s meet this Constable Marlowe of yours.”
Chapter Ten
Mikayla Roy was twenty-one years old and lived in a world of hurt. Marley sat by her hospital bed and took down her age and address, drug history, and family history.
“Can you remember what time it was when you used last?”
Mikayla blinked a few times rapidly. “Yesterday around four.”
Marley wrote it down, then closed her notebook.
“How are you feeling?”
“Weird. Tired. Sick.” More rapid blinks, like she was struggling to see. “Have you heard from Family and Children’s Services? Are they taking Ava? She can stay with my parents.”
Marley grabbed another tissue from the box on the bedside table and handed it to Mikayla. Her eyes were watering again. Tears streaked down her face, and she didn’t seem to notice.
“I believe your worker is with your mom right now. But I’m not here about that, Mikayla, okay? Remember I explained I’m here about the new drug you took, the one that made you so sick.”
“Blissed,” Mikayla said, her lips barely forming over the word. “Jaxon said ‘blissed’.”
Mikayla had mentioned her dealer, Jaxon, more than once. Marley guessed he was known to Simms and his drug team, but she’d have to check.
“How many times have you taken it?”
“Third time. Unlucky.”
Mikayla looked up at the lights and squinted, her head moving side to side, like she was following movement. Marley glanced up as well but didn’t see anything. Then Mikayla slumped back against her pillow.
“I need to sleep.”
“Okay, Mikayla. Someone might be coming by to talk to you later.”
Mikayla mumbled an answer, her hands twitching spasmodically on her lap, her head cranked at a weird angle. Marley considered trying to make her more comfortable, then decided to let her be.
She left the small enclosure, pulling the curtain around Mikayla’s bed. Gloria was in the hallway with Dr. Li, the doctor who had admitted Mikayla earlier in the day. Marley checked her phone while she waited for them to finish talking. Devon had left with Carla and Aimee over an hour ago and had texted briefly to say they were home and settled. Marley looked at the message again, reading the short phrase over and over. Home and settled. Home. Settled.
“Did you get everything you need?” It was Dr. Li, a woman with serious posture and a warm smile.
“I did, thanks. Mikayla is resting now, says she’s not feeling great. She was starting to act oddly near the end. I’m wondering if the hallucinations have started.”
“We’ll keep an eye on her. I’ve got a long list of symptoms to look out for and symptoms to document from Public Health.”
Marley winced. “Sounds like I added to your busy night.”
“No, no,” Dr. Li said. “That wasn’t a complaint. Well,” she grinned, “not much of a complaint.”
Marley smiled. “Call me if anything comes up. Not sure I’ll be a huge help but…” She shrugged.
“The offer is appreciated,” Li said. “It’s good to know we’re not the only ones on the front line with this. Devon helped us see that.” She grinned again. “Forced us, really. Very gently forced us.”
Marley hesitated. Asking about Devon in her workplace seemed like an invasion of privacy.
“She’s good at that, I imagine,” Marley said.
“Good at making a team of front line medical staff agree that we’re a bunch of stubborn assholes who won’t admit to needing help even when every single piece of evidence suggests we’re drowning and screaming for help?” She snorted and shook her head. “Dr. Devon Wolfe is a savior disguised as a psychologist. I’d elect her for sainthood if I could.”
Storm Lines Page 15
