Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1)

by DB Michaels

  “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Barkley?” she asked.

  “What?” The man’s rheumy eyes closed as he nodded off.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  “Yes?” Mr. Barkley snapped his eyes open. “Who’s shooting?”

  Emma glanced at the vital signs. No temperature recorded. But blood pressure only eighty-six. His huge abdomen protruded like a swollen balloon under his shirt. His belly probably needed to be drained again. The man could be septic for all she knew.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Emma squeezed the bridge of her nose. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Gary,” he mumbled, nodding off again. She felt his forehead and winced. He felt as hot as that heater.

  Emma darted out of the room, trying her best to ignore the sea of angry faces glaring at her from the bench as she dashed into the nurse’s office. “Bill! Mr. Barkley’s really sick.”

  “What? He was fine a few minutes ago.” Bill flipped another page in his car magazine. “The guy’s confused sometimes. No big deal.”

  “Get a wheelchair to move him to Urgent Care. Why didn’t you take his temp? I think he’s septic.”

  “Are you sure? He always looks that way.” Bill finally abandoned the magazine and accompanied her across the hall.

  “He’s hypotensive with a fever. Come on, help me move him.” Emma touched the man’s forehead again. Damn. She should have seen him earlier. But she hadn’t known he was that sick. She reached for his wrist. Thank goodness. The pulse was thready but at least present.

  “Here’s the wheelchair, Doc.” Sam stood in front of her.

  Emma couldn’t help the relieved smile that came to her face. “Thank you. You’re Morris, right?” She remembered at the last minute to pretend not to know him.

  “Yes, ma’am.” With the help of another inmate, they transferred Mr. Barkley to the wheelchair. “You want him down in Urgent Care, Doctor?”

  “Yes, please.” Her hand brushed over Sam’s during the transport. An image of Sam moving their mom into a similar wheelchair flashed before her eyes. Her mom had been so slight, probably half the size of Mr. Barkley here.

  “Him, again?” Ms. Bryant scowled as soon as she saw them. “That’s the fourth time this month.”

  “Fifth if you count the ER visit the other day,” Ms. Carter added.

  “I need an IV stat. And 1L normal saline bolus. And hook him up to a monitor,” Emma ordered, hurrying over to examine Mr. Barkley as soon as Sam and the other inmate laid him on the gurney.

  “You know he drank like a fish, right?” Ms. Bryant clucked her tongue. “He’s never getting a new liver. Might as well let him die in peace.”

  “Nobody’s dying. Not on my watch.” Emma pressed on the patient’s protuberant abdomen, eliciting a loud groan. “Call an ambulance. He probably has an abdominal infection, SBP. Where’s my IV?”

  “No veins,” Ms. Carter announced. “Last time we had to put one in his foot.”

  “Look at least. You don’t know ’til you try.”

  The nurses took their time gathering their IV equipment. Blood pressure now eighty. Emma grabbed a nearby tourniquet and tied it on the man’s left arm. Damn it. No vein. And none on the right arm either.

  “Careful, Doc.” Sam spoke up from her left. “He has hep C.”

  “Nobody asked for your opinion. Get out of here, Morris,” Ms. Carter snapped.

  Emma gave Sam a sympathetic look as he left. She tilted the gurney down so the patient’s head was more toward the floor. Yup, worked every time. There it was. The external jugular. She wiped the area with an alcohol pad and slipped in a sixteen gauge. It flushed beautifully.

  “Wow.” Ms. Bryant beamed. “I haven’t seen an EJ done in years. Last time I think was when Mr. Chambers did it.”

  “The warden?” Emma hung the normal saline and squeezed in the first bolus. Surely her ears were playing tricks on her. What did that beast of a man know about IVs, least of all where to put them?

  “Yeah. The man was an EMT before he went into corrections,” Ms. Carter said. “Can you believe it? He’s so talented.”

  “He beats up inmates.” Nice. Blood pressure was going up now. Maybe she shouldn’t talk about the warden with them but somebody had to bring him down a peg or two.

  “Only when the inmates deserve it,” Ms. Bryant said as she got off the phone. “Ambulance is on its way.”

  “He looks so handsome when he knocks them down.” Ms. Carter wiggled her eyebrows. “All tough and manly.”

  “For goodness’ sake.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Handsome? Are you kidding me? The guy is like a barbarian.”

  “Don’t hold back, Doc,” a sarcastic voice came from the doorway. “Tell them how you really feel.”

  Damn. She couldn’t mistake that deep voice. What was it with her luck today?

  She was sure her face was as red as a beet. “Hello, Mr. Chambers.” He looked as formidable as ever in a pristine blue suit with a silver tie that matched the exact shade of his unusual eyes.

  “Doctor.” He nodded his head. The two minions by his side stepped back a notch to let him enter the room. “Didn’t you learn anything during orientation yesterday? No gossiping at work.”

  “We weren’t gossiping. I just put in an EJ and—”

  Mr. Barkley suddenly flailed out his right arm.

  “Hey, watch it.” Emma pushed the arm down. “Don’t pull out the IV, sir. You need it.”

  “Get it off.” With surprising strength, he flicked her hand off and dove again for his neck.

  “Stop him.” Emma grabbed his arm with both hands. The old man tried to spit at her, but luckily she dodged in time. “You got any Ativan? Give him one milligram stat,” she yelled at the nurses.

  “You heard the doctor. Get the Ativan.” Chambers was at her side in an instant. He pushed down on Mr. Barkley, who was now thrashing about like a fish out of water.

  “Step back, Doc.” Chambers’s warm breath feathered her cheek. Up close, his eyes looked more gray than silver. “You’ll get hurt. Move.” He shoved her out of the way.

  Emma staggered back, reeling. Couldn’t the man be more civil? She had the situation under control. All she needed was the Ativan, which Ms. Bryant was pushing in right now.

  Chambers’s two minions in green jumped forward in unison. “Sir, you want us to tie him down?” the shorter one asked.

  “No.” Emma put out a protesting hand. “The Ativan is going to kick in in a minute. We don’t need restraints.”

  “Sir?” the taller guard questioned from the foot of the gurney, where he was holding down the legs.

  “Just get them ready.” Chambers’s eyes swung to the monitor.

  At least the blood pressure wasn’t low anymore. Luckily the ambulance crew arrived at that moment and took over. Emma sighed in relief and briefed them on Mr. Barkley, who slowly but surely began to calm down.

  The older EMT held onto the neck line to make sure it was secure as they lifted the patient onto the ambulance gurney. “Glad you guys got the IV. We couldn’t get it in last time. The ER doctors had to put in a central line.”

  “Dr. Edwards did it in one go.” Ms. Carter flicked a glance at Chambers, who looked as disapproving as ever. “She reminded me of you, sir.”

  “Is that meant to be a compliment?” Chambers asked.

  Surely he was joking? Emma caught his eye and grimaced. She should’ve known. The man’s face was as straight and stiff as a board.

  “Can I help you with something?” Emma tried as hard as possible to sound gracious but man, did he push all her buttons.

  The paramedics pushed their now sleeping patient out the doorway.

  “What’s going on with the diarrhea cases?” Chambers asked, his silver eyes piercing down at her. “Is it norovirus?”

  “I don’t know.” Emma took off her gloves and tossed them into a nearby red trashcan.

  “You don’t know?” His voice raised a notch. “That’s your best answer?”

  �
��Yes.” Damn. She’d totally forgotten about the code brown. She wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead and flicked a resentful glance at Chambers’s still pristine suit.

  “When will you know?”

  “When I get some tests back.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I have to see the patients first.” She turned her back on him.

  “You haven’t seen them yet?”

  “No.” She shoved her hands under the sink and switched on the water. Couldn’t the man leave her alone? She’d see the diarrhea cases now and order some stool cultures, if the brute would stop with his endless questions.

  “Look, I’ll go check it out right—” Emma turned and slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Why was Chambers standing so close? Her foot slipped and his arms swallowed her up in one swoop. A brief, all-encompassing warmth surrounded her. Like an electric blanket.

  “Watch where you’re going.” Chambers pushed her back as if she were contaminated.

  Emma scoffed. “You’re the one who’s in the way. Can’t I get some space around here?”

  “The nurses were moving the gurney.” He cocked his head to where the gurney lay wedged against the corner.

  “Right.” The clinic was way too tight, and what was that wonderful smell she’d inhaled in his arms? Coffee beans. Her favorite drink. Emma turned away in a hurry. “I’ll be down the hall in room four.”

  “I need you to see the diarrhea cases.”

  “I am. They’re in room four.” Good thing he didn’t seem to notice her discomfiture. Why did he have to smell so warm and inviting?

  “Good. Report to me when you’re done.”

  “I have a whole clinic left to see. We’ll send stool cultures. They won’t be back for a couple of days.”

  “A couple of days?” His eyes drew together in a frown. “That’s too long.”

  “That’s the way it is.” Coffee or not, the man still was downright overbearing. “Don’t worry. They’ll be in isolation until then. So no one else can catch it, even if it’s norovirus.”

  “Not good enough,” he insisted. “We need to know today. Last time, several dorms got sick and an inmate almost died.”

  “We’ll isolate all new cases.” Drat. Maybe she’d misjudged him. He seemed to care for his inmates after all. “Public Health is on board. We only have a few patients so far.”

  “Headquarters won’t like it. They want this thing resolved now.”

  “Headquarters?”

  “Sacramento. They’ve been calling me all morning, wanting answers.”

  Something in Emma’s chest deflated. She should’ve known. He didn’t really care about the patients. No, not at all. Mr. High and Mighty was more concerned about his image, about how he looked to his bosses. “Well, tell them whatever you want. But we won’t know for sure for a few days.” She left and went down the hall to room four.

  Pathetic. She was pathetic. One warm, incredibly nice hug (if she could even call it that), and she was about to forgive him for all his sins. Maybe she needed more human contact. It’d been a year since she’d dated John, and he’d been her only serious boyfriend. Her medical school and residency schedules had been too packed to go out much.

  “Hey, Doc.” A heavily tattooed, angry-looking man on the bench raised his beefy arm. “When are you gonna see me? I’ve been here since nine o’clock.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “We’ve been waiting for hours. We didn’t even have lunch yet,” someone else added.

  “Sorry, gentlemen.” Emma checked the time. Two twenty already. No wonder they were upset. But the diarrhea cases had to come first.

  She spied the stack of yellow gowns and gloves outside room four and donned both of them before entering the room. The four patients were in their respective beds, watching TV. General Hospital, of all things. Grown men watching soap operas? She’d never believe it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

  “Aw, Doc,” the youngest patient said when she switched off the TV. “That was the best part. We’re about to find out who the father is.”

  “Sorry. I need to talk to you. I’m Dr. Edwards.” Emma adjusted her gloves. “When did you start having diarrhea?”

  It turned out their symptoms began two to three days ago. Some had abdominal pain and vomiting. Some hadn’t. They resided in different dorms but all had attended the same substance abuse program together. After examining them, Emma asked for stool samples whenever they went again. She flipped the TV back on, disposed of her gown and gloves, and walked out, relieved that at least the men’s symptoms weren’t too bad. Back at the nursing station, she washed her hands and wrote orders for stool cultures and strict contact isolation.

  “Where’s Vincent?” she asked a middle-aged nurse sitting at the main desk.

  “He’s left already. His shift’s from six to two.” The woman slurped down some won ton soup from a plastic bowl. “You must be the new doc. I’m Ms. Marcs.”

  Emma’s stomach grumbled. The sizzling soup smelled heavenly. Her packed lunch lay in the cabinet in Urgent Care. She could get it and wolf it down in two minutes, but the grumbling escalated outside. She downed a cup of water from the dispenser instead and prayed for patience.

  “Mr. Ransom?” she called out.

  The heavily tattooed man stood up. “About time, too.”

  He was almost twice her size, topping her by over a head. She ushered him into the office and closed the door. Goosebumps popped up on her arms. He looked aggressive. Tattoos littered not only his face but also his neck and ears.

  “Have a seat,” she said, trying hard not to look at the curse word tattooed across his forehead. His hair was oily and slicked back with some slime, his arms huge, bulging with muscles. “I’m Dr. Edwards. I’m covering for Dr. Pan. You saw the nurse recently?” She tried to read his chart simultaneously to save time.

  “I saw the fucking nurse. Not that she did shit for me.”

  “Hey, tone it down with the language,” Emma said, feeling for her alarm. Thank goodness she’d remembered looping it around her belt this morning. The guy gave her the creeps with the way he was staring at her, like Hannibal Lector come to life.

  “Or else what?” He stretched his lips, revealing uneven yellow teeth. “What are you gonna do? Give me a time-out?”

  “What can I do for you today, Mr. Ransom?”

  “Pan never gave me the low bunk.” He leaned over the desk and stared hard at her. “I need it.”

  “Why do you need it?”

  “Because my back hurts. Every day.” He cursed again. “Write it and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “Do you have seizures?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have any surgeries recently? Are you visually impaired?” Emma recited the list she’d learned that morning.

  “No. Do I look like I’m blind?” His face turned red. “Give me the fucking chrono.”

  “Calm down.” Jesus. He was as angry as hell. Emma moved her index finger over the alarm button. His beady eyes took in her gesture, and he settled back in his chair. She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Don’t make me use it.”

  “Alright.” He held up his hands. “Like I said, write the chrono and I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Tell me about your back pain.”

  “Nothing to tell. Just give me the chrono.” His face flushed red again as his hands clenched into fists.

  “Calm down, Mr. Ransom. I can’t give you the chrono until I examine you first.”

  “No. You’re not examining me.” He shoved his chair back. “Give me that chrono.”

  “I can’t. You need a good reason to get one.”

  Suddenly he lurched forward and grabbed her wrist. His meaty hand squeezed like a vise. Fire danced up her arm. Just like with the pit bull years earlier. She fumbled for the alarm with her other hand and pressed hard. A loud buzz rang out.

  “You fucking bitch! I’ll show you a good reason.” Ransom flung her wrist away a
nd lunged for her neck. Emma ducked. She tried to stab her pen into his neck, but it missed and bounced off him like a Ping-Pong ball.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Someone help!”

  Chapter 8

  A slew of bright stars flashed behind Emma’s eyes as Ransom slammed her against the wall. Her head exploded with pain. Suddenly a horde of officers rushed into the room. Someone yanked the brute off of her. Emma collapsed to the floor, dazed, her hand throbbing. She shut her eyes tight and put her head between her legs.

  “Are you okay?” The gentlest of hands were prodding at her.

  “Sam?” She groaned and forced her eyes open.

  Chambers’s stark face frowned back at her. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?” His formidable face radiated with tension yet his eyes had the most peculiar light in them. He was kneeling on the floor, his body almost touching her but not quite.

  “I’m fine.” Emma shook her head, trying to chase away the roaring in her ears. At least half a dozen other officers were in the room but she didn’t see Ransom anywhere. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “He’s at the tank, on his way to the hole,” Chambers said.

  “Hole?”

  “Isolation over in Chino. We don’t have it here. Don’t worry. He’s in a holding cell right now and is never coming back.”

  “Thanks.” Emma forced out a smile. She felt the strangest desire to throw herself into his arms and feel that warmth again. The blow must have affected her more than she thought. She rubbed her head. The fire started again in her arm. “Ow.”

  “What is it?”

  She stood and Chambers immediately extended his hand. “Careful. You shouldn’t move ’til the paramedics get here.”

  “What? I don’t need an ambulance.” Emma plopped into the closest chair. Her wrist throbbed like crazy but all she needed was an X-ray, not the ER.