by Eve Langlais
“I didn’t think coma patients lapsed.”
Becky shrugged. “No idea. These are my first. You haven’t lost any of yours yet, have you?”
Margaret shook her head. “Nope.” Not a twitch from any of them. At times it felt like she cared for corpses.
“Janey says they’ve been prepping her two empty rooms. She thinks she’s getting some new ones.”
From where? How did Chimaeram select its patients? “I think it’s good they’re filling the empty beds. I can tell you right now, most coma wards don’t get the personalized care these guys get.”
“True, but still, I’ve got to wonder.” Becky leaned close and whispered in a voice that nonetheless carried, “What do you think they’re pumping them with?”
Rather than speculate, Margaret shrugged. “None of my business.”
“I think it’s experimental shit.”
Margaret thought so, too, but she ate her sandwich rather than agree.
“And I don’t think their comas were caused by an accident.”
“Some were.” No denying patient DG41 bore scars, some on his face and many more on his body. Although those scars had faded since her arrival. Perhaps the fluid in the IV acted as a super-healing agent.
“Yeah, I’ll give you a couple look like they did a few rounds with a meat grinder, but Pixie Girl, she is like perfect. Not a single mark on her. I swear, she’s like a sleeping beauty waiting for true love’s kiss.” Becky puckered up and made smooching noises.
“Don’t do it.”
“I won’t. I’m not that desperate.” Becky rolled her eyes. “But she is hot.”
“I should get back to work.” Margaret gathered her things.
“I’m going to pop in and check on Larry. He was sweating earlier. Then I want to grab a nap before my next shift starts.” She wrinkled her nose. “Still don’t get why they need so much care. It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”
Margaret didn’t understand either, but the job was easy enough, if boring. Becky waved as she skipped off. Margaret spent the fifteen minutes she had left face turned to the sun. She wasn’t in any hurry to return underground.
Eventually her break ended, and she had to go back to work. She disposed of her trash on her way back in and made her way to level four, her key card giving her access through the various locked doors until she reached the one for her ward. A press of her card against the reader didn’t activate the lock. She tugged on the handle anyhow. The door refused to open. She frowned.
Slapped the card again. And again. When it continued to refuse to work, she pressed a button beside a speaker.
The intercom hissed with static. “State your name and issue.”
“Hi, this is Nurse Henley. My card’s not working. I can’t get into my ward.”
“One moment please.” The static cut off, and she waited as he checked on his end. This had happened once before. The magnetic stripe on her card failed, a problem which was easily fixed.
The speaker crackled. “Ward Four, all sections are off-limits until further notice.”
“Why?”
“That’s classified.”
Classified? What kind of answer was that? “Have I been reassigned elsewhere?” Or was she being sent home? That would suck. The job might bore her to tears, but it paid really well.
“Hold on while I check.”
It took several minutes before the voice returned. “You’re being assigned a new patient. Level six. Ward B, room six oh two.”
Level six? That was where the patient supposedly woke up and went crazy. Crazy enough to smash open a door.
Fear dried her mouth, but curiosity found the words needed. “When do I start?”
“Now.”
She wondered if the other nurses on this floor, including Becky, had been reassigned elsewhere. Taking the elevator down, she felt some trepidation as it jolted to a stop and the doors slid open. The last time she’d been here, someone had gone nuts. Nuts enough the guards that usually just stood around had gathered.
With guns.
The reminder she didn’t hear them fire only partially reassured. Would she have to worry about another patient going crazy? Was it an isolated instance? Lowry himself said level six was for the more dangerous elements.
Kind of scary. However, dealing with erratic patients wasn’t a new thing for her. Time in the ER had brought in more than a few people spaced out on drugs. And if things got a little out of control…then she would scream loud enough to bring some guards.
Her pep talk only partially worked. Exiting the elevator, she was faced with a few locked doors. The B Ward was to her left, not straight ahead where the crazy guy was kept.
The key card worked on the access pad, and the heavy door opened. The hallway only had two doors, and want to guess which one had the guard stationed outside it?
She paused, staring at the number painted on the concrete wall.
“Ma’am, can I help you?” The guard put his hand on his weapon and positioned himself in front of the door.
“I was told to come to room six oh two and provide care for the patient inside.”
“Card please.” He held out his hand, and she unclipped it from her white blouse, handing it to him.
He scanned it against a portable tablet and perused the screen before handing it back. “You are cleared to proceed. If the patient shows any signs of movement, please exit the room immediately.”
Not exactly the most reassuring thing to hear. “Is he sleeping?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, ma’am.”
She turned before rolling her eyes. Idiot. As if telling her whether the guy was awake or not was some kind of secret. She placed her card against the access panel. The snick of the lock disengaging, numerous locks she might add, didn’t help the trepidation.
The soldier held himself across from the door, tense, hand still on his gun.
Really, really not reassuring.
Still, she’d not heard of any of the nurses being injured since her arrival. Two had left, but that was normal given they were only here on limited time contracts.
Holding on to her fear, she entered the room. The dimly lit room. Different than the coma patient rooms on Ward Four where the lights remained on at all times.
She reached for the dimmer switch by the door, increasing the brightness until she could see. Plain gray walls made of almost seamless concrete, unlike the plaster on the other levels. Equipment lined them, some with blinking lights, all of them humming. The floor was more concrete with a drain to the side. Strange since she’d not seen the like elsewhere. Then again, as the lowermost floor, perhaps it was necessary for flooding issues.
Not exactly a great thought to have so far underground.
While the concrete space proved different, there were similarities to her previous ward. The IV poles standing in a corner, unused. Only a pair. The third that usually hung with a colored bag of fluid appeared to be missing.
She took in all those details before looking at the patient himself, a rather large man strapped to a bed.
Approaching, she took note of his handsome appearance. Hair a golden brown and thick. His face bearing stubble. His lashes long and hitting his cheeks as he slept.
Unlike the patients upstairs, there were no IVs marring the skin of his arms. Not even one for hydration. Obviously not in a coma, which explained the guard outside. Was he the same one who went crazy the day she arrived?
Did it matter? A patient was a patient.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
No movement.
She placed her hand on his skin, felt the feverish heat of it and recoiled.
Not a single change in the cadence of his breathing. Yet…every hair on her body lifted.
She reached out again and shook his arm. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to wake you, but I’m here to take some vitals.”
While there was no reply, she could have sworn he listened. Which was crazy. Why would
he fake sleep? And why did she see cuffs around his wrists?
She noted the metal link going over both wrists. A flip of the sheet by his feet showed his ankles similarly tethered.
Very curious. While restraints were sometimes used in hospitals, it was only as a last resort.
“What did you do to deserve this?” she murmured aloud.
She moved to the tablet inset on the foot of his bed. A tap of the screen drew up the basics. His name was missing, no surprise. The ID given was WF007. Like the other charts, it didn’t list any medical condition. No treatment. Nothing. Just instructions on his care.
First item on the list: drawing samples. Easy enough. She rolled over a trolley tray with all the needed items ready for her use. The only problem was the empty box of gloves.
A search of the cabinets didn’t reveal any other boxes. She eyed the door. Would the guard fetch her some if she asked?
She poked her head out the door and stared wide eyed at the gun pointing at her face. “Eep.”
“Sorry, ma’am. You’re supposed to give warning before exiting the room.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ll remember for next time.” Because she didn’t want to soil herself by accident if the trigger-happy guard did it again.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“No. I need gloves. Can I grab some from another room?”
“Sorry, ma’am. You’re only authorized for entry into this one.”
“Can you get me some?”
“I am not allowed to leave my post.”
She held in a sigh. “Then what are you allowed to do? I’m supposed to wear them.”
“I will put in a call and see if Supply can send some down.”
Which was obviously the best she was going to get.
Returning to the room, she eyed her patient’s prone body. She didn’t really need gloves to draw blood. So long as she didn’t get any of his blood in an open wound, she would avoid contamination. Since her hands were injury free, she quickly set the tourniquet over his upper arm, noticing the thick muscle. Thicker than expected given his coma.
Perhaps he was more recently afflicted, and his muscles hadn’t had time to atrophy.
The blood filled the tubes, a dark red, thick and sluggish. She unwound the rubber band around his arm and got her quota. When she withdrew the needle, she had the cotton ball ready. But he didn’t bleed. She couldn’t even see the hole the needle left behind.
“Guess you don’t need a Band-Aid.” She left his side and placed the vials of blood in a refrigerated compartment on the wall. The moment the door closed, she heard a whirring sound. Curious, she pulled at the door and gaped at the empty spot where she’d put the samples.
“Well, that saves running them around to the lab,” she muttered.
Next on her list, blood pressure, which was low, probably on account he slept. Listening to his heart, which beat strong and slow, she noted all the numbers on the tablet, entering them in along with the time.
With all the vitals handled, it was time to bathe him. She prepared a warm basin of water and grabbed a cloth from the cupboard. She hesitated beside it because she’d yet to receive the gloves she’d asked for.
Would someone be arriving with them soon? Should she ask the guard again?
Or should she just get the bathing over with? Bathing and a massage were the last things she needed to do before punching out.
It wouldn’t kill her to use her bare hands. The patient obviously didn’t have anything contagious, or she wouldn’t be allowed in the room.
Still, there was something intimate about taking a damp cloth and running it over his bare skin. The facecloth covering her hand should have been a barrier, and yet she was acutely aware of him. Aware of his body. His very attractive body.
She averted her gaze and washed blind, running the cloth over the many ridges of his stomach. Rinsed it and then started again on a new section. With his upper body clean, she had to start on the lower half. She placed the sheet over his torso so that he wouldn’t catch a chill and then commenced on his legs. Moved up to the thighs.
Last, the groin. She averted her gaze as she moved the sheet high enough for her to wash him. She swirled the cloth around his penis, a penis that was rather sizeable,, she noted, despite it being dormant. She scrubbed over his sac and, in the process, ended up with his shaft flopping onto her hand.
Direct skin contact. With a strange, sleeping man’s penis! But that wasn’t the worst part.
It can’t be…
She glanced over to see his shaft inflating, getting bigger and bigger. Her eyes got wider in equal measure.
But it was the, “Go ahead and touch it again,” that had her squeaking.
“You’re awake!”
Chapter Four
Luke had actually been awake for a while, but feigned sleep. No point in letting the doctors know he was metabolizing the drugs quicker than expected. Fuckers would increase his dose, otherwise.
From the moment the nurse entered, he’d discerned she was new. Easily noticeable in the hesitation in her movements, a gentleness that wasn’t present with those who’d been around for a while.
He’d hoped she would ignore instructions and undo one of his restraints, but she did her job without even loosening them. A shame. Not that one free arm would help him much. His last attempt to escape he’d only made it to the hall before the tranquilizer darts dropped him.
The good news was the drugs took longer to act. That was the problem when you used them too often; the body got used to them. He’d managed to take down a few of the guards before they pumped enough of the stuff into his veins to make him face plant.
He’d yet to see himself in a mirror and catalogue the damage to his nose. He remembered hearing it crunch as he fell. He could breathe just fine, though. Perhaps they’d set it while he was out. Not that the doctors cared how he looked. Luke was no longer their poster boy for what the treatment could do.
Once upon a time he would have shouted their praises from the mountaintops. Now he wanted to paint the snow on those peaks with their blood.
Did they know just how violent his thoughts had become? Was this why they sent fresh meat to care for him? Send in the lamb to see if he would slaughter.
Or did they really not realize he was awake? Possible because Luke faked sleep well. Modulating his heart rate, his breathing. Even managing to not flinch when a penlight was shone in his eyes.
Usually he ignored those puttering around him. However, something about the new nurse drew him. Intrigued him.
She smelled nice. Very nice. Certainly nicer than those fucking doctors. Especially Sphinx who always had to have a cigarette before coming to see him. Gag me with a spoon. He hated fucking stale nicotine smoke.
Sphinx would be the only one he wouldn’t take a bite of when he escaped. He’d never get the taste off his tongue. With that asshole, he’d use his bare hands. Squeeze the life out of him. Watch as his eyes went blank.
Goals.
Goals he’d given up on since his decision to let it all go.
If only that didn’t feel like the cowardly route. Giving up wasn’t easy. He wanted to fight. He had been fighting, but eventually Luke had to admit there was no escape. No way out of this nightmare he’d signed up for.
“Sorry if this is cold.”
What? He almost opened his eyes to ask her what she meant, only to feel the wet swipe of a cloth by his neck where it met his shoulder. It slid down his arm, in between his fingers, then disappeared. He heard the slosh of water as she rinsed the cloth then tackled the other shoulder and arm.
Usually being helpless and washed like a child bothered him. More than one nurse had gotten growled at and scared off. But there was a certain sensuality to having her do it. The slow drag of cloth over skin, the fleeting touch of her flesh.
A touch that affected him more than it should have.
He controlled himself, though, even as each stroke of the wet cloth titillated. Howeve
r, he wasn’t about to get a boner for a woman who could be a hundred years old for all he knew.
Except, he had a feeling she was young. Not super young, but nubile enough to make a man have thoughts. Thoughts that would lead nowhere. When was the last time he’d had sex?
Certainly not since he’d been taken prisoner—the second time. Once he caught on to what was happening, he’d rebelled and lost all privileges, including that of pussy.
He’d lost track of how many days, weeks, months, or was it now years since that happened. Couldn’t even remember the last time he jacked one off. The funny part was the doctors in this place asked for samples. More like demanded. Even offered him a woman if he didn’t want to use his hand.
He wasn’t about to give them anything, especially not his seed. The fact they might have milked him while he slept bothered. He could only hope the act of taking it by medical means rendered it useless.
Which made him wonder, was this part of a new plan? Send in a fresh nurse, one with a gentle touch. Who smelled good. Who conveniently had no gloves to use.
It shouldn’t have mattered. He’d been touched and prodded so much that he’d learned to control every reaction. It was the only way to defy them.
Yet, his control failed him today. Her bare skin touching him ignited his blood, and when her flesh came in contact with his cock? His body reacted. He got hard. He got vulgar. Touch me again, indeed. No wonder the nurse with her perky little cap eyed him as if he’d said something dirty. Because he totally had.
And now that he’d seen her, he kind of wished she’d come back over with that cloth and continue. She was young. Late twenties, maybe early thirties, with a trim figure, clear skin, and dark hair pulled back from her face. She wore the usual company uniform consisting of a white blouse, dark slacks, and a white cap on her head replete with a red cross. A strange uniform choice that served no real purpose, and yet all the nurses wore them.
Just like all the guards wore black combat outfits and carried guns.
It made him wonder why the villains in charge of the operation didn’t sport little mustaches that they twirled when making up their devious plots. Alas, the bad guys in his life story were clean cut, intelligent, and well dressed, which, in some respects, made it worse.
