by Ava McCarthy
‘Your crackhead girlfriend do this to you, doll-face?’ Her breathing was fast. ‘You do it to her?’
The shard’s tip tilted towards Jodie’s neck. Pierced it. Pain bit into her as the glass carved out a line along her skin. Warmth oozed down her throat. Magda’s tongue licked her neck in long, lingering strokes.
Jodie’s flesh crawled. She screwed her eyes shut, suppressed a shudder; worked to dislodge her elbow some more. But Magda must have read the revulsion. The woman stiffened. Went silent. Then she shoved Jodie’s left wrist higher up her back. Jodie cried out, the sound muffled between Magda’s crushing weight and the floor.
‘You prefer that junkie with the shaved head? That what you want?’
Magda pressed the shard flat against Jodie’s cheek. Jodie wriggled her right arm, inching it sideways, so numb now she could barely feel it. Magda put her mouth close to Jodie’s ear.
‘I was only gonna cut you. But now I think maybe I’ll kill you.’
Jodie clenched her fist in a final heave, jabbed her elbow sideways, releasing her right arm. Surprise gained her a brief advantage, enough to grab Magda’s wrist, shove it straight out to the side. But only for a second. Magda’s jumbo arm tensed, and slowly drove back against hers.
Jodie’s eyes locked onto the glass shard. Watched it, transfixed, as it crept back towards her. Tremors shook her arm, numbness making it feeble. She couldn’t stop the blade, didn’t waste time trying. Concentrated instead on redirecting it away from her throat.
The glass dagger arced down towards her ribs. Magda shifted her weight to get a better purchase, and the crush on Jodie’s head slackened. Jodie wrenched her neck to lift her face from the floor. Opened her mouth to yell.
Then her brain quickened. She stared at the blade. Flashed on the pills scattered behind her. Pills she hadn’t finished taking, that she mightn’t get the chance to take again. Pills that gave no guarantee she’d be shipped outside.
But a stab wound would do it.
A serious wound, with internal organ damage. Where surgery might be required.
The glass shard hovered below her ribs. Jodie’s right arm quivered.
What’s worth living for, what’s worth dying for?
She closed her eyes and let go of Magda’s wrist.
The blade plunged deep into her side. She gasped in shock. Waited for pain. A crushing pressure built up inside her, and she opened her eyes, saw blood seeping out to the floor. A dull throbbing pulsed along her body. Then white-hot pain blazed through her like fire.
She cried out, her torso burning. Magda swivelled the glass shard in the wound, and Jodie screamed, her brain shutting down on everything except the pain.
Violent shivers wracked her body. The room tilted, and she shut her eyes. Sound receded. Dimly, she was aware of Magda’s weight shifting, lifting off her.
Jodie half-opened her eyes. Saw Magda’s foot draw back, then swing towards her like a wrecking ball. Pain punched into her skull. Jodie tried to yell, couldn’t tell if she managed it.
She braced herself for another blow. When it didn’t come, she lay there shaking.
Knowing she was alone.
Praying someone would find her.
PART THREE
9
Muffled voices thrummed far away.
They surged in closer, then rippled out. Back and forth. A tide of sound, smothered in a fleecy layer. Jodie struggled with her eyelids. They wouldn’t open.
Lighter notes filtered through: tinkling, rattling, steady beeps. But her ears felt plugged, some sounds still blocked. She groped for them, lost them. Floated for a while.
The next time she woke, she knew what was missing. The racket had stopped. The yelling, the screaming; the clank of deadbolts slamming home.
All gone.
She dragged her eyelids open.
A bulky-looking monitor blipped by the bed. Beside it was a plastic bag of fluid on a pole, and beyond that a single empty chair set back against the wall.
Jodie thought about sliding her eyes to the right. Couldn’t manage it. Stared instead at the empty chair, and took stock of her vital signs.
A low-level throb squeezed her skull. With each breath, a jagged pain ripped through her, biting her abdomen like a savage jaw. Clammy sweat pooled from her pores. She fought the urge to close her eyes, flaring them wide open. She needed to stay awake, needed to be sure.
Slowly, she eased her gaze to the right. Saw a closed door; beside it, a Correctional Officer on sentry duty inside the room. He was middle-aged, heavyset, his mouth turned down into an undershot jaw. She didn’t recognize him.
Jodie’s eyes slid back to the empty chair. The room seemed bare. No way to tell for sure if she’d made it out to hospital. For all she knew, she was still in the prison med unit.
She clutched the pillow. The drip line tugged at the back of her right hand, pinching the skin where it snaked into a vein. Below it, a white ID band scratched at her wrist.
Jodie frowned. She squinted at the details printed on the plastic bracelet: her name, sex, date of birth; a barcode and long identification number; then a footer inscribed along the circumference of the band: Franklin Pierce Memorial Hospital, Framingham.
Jodie closed her eyes and felt her extremities tingle. She’d made it out. Stage one of her half-assed plan. All she had to do now was get out of this room.
She opened her eyes and snuck a glance at the CO. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy, probably from hours of standing on guard. She shifted in the bed. Ragged pain tore through her abdomen, shredding her, paralysing her.
Jesus!
She clenched her teeth. She had to sit up. Had to test her mobility, maybe fake a bathroom trip to scout out her surroundings. She swallowed hard.
Two hands on the mattress, just push yourself up.
She raised her head. Slipped her right hand under the pillow, palm down. Lifted her left from under the sheet to do the same.
Metal rattled and yanked her arm back.
She paused, frowning. Then her insides sank.
Her left hand was cuffed to the bed.
‘You’ll be handcuffed at all times, no exceptions.’
The CO was standing beside Jodie’s bed, next to a nurse who was adjusting the drip. His downturned mouth had a jutting, bulldog look. He’d told her his name was Marino.
‘Cuffs don’t come off,’ he said, ‘not for eating, sleeping, bathroom visits, nothing. If I need to leave the room, you’ll be cuffed to the bed. If you need to leave the hospital, you’ll be cuffed to me.’ He leaned in closer, his low-slung stomach nudging the side rails of the bed. ‘You were cuffed to me in the ambulance all the way here, and you’ll be cuffed to me all the way back. Just remember that, Garrett.’
Jodie avoided his gaze, suspecting eye contact might constitute a challenge. He looked capable of leaving her chained up out of spite.
She raised her left arm, the cuffs rattling. ‘You’re in the room now, so is it okay if I get unlocked from the rails?’
Before he could reply, the nurse elbowed him out of the way and positioned herself by Jodie’s shoulder.
‘She needs to sit up and eat. Can’t do that shackled to the bed, now can she?’
The notion of trying to sit up sent Jodie’s pulse racing, and she looked at the nurse in alarm. Nurse S. Regis, according to her nametag. Middle-aged, with nut-brown skin and the tough, stringy build of a lifelong jogger.
Marino jingled through the keys on his belt, taking his time about selecting the right one. Finally, he clicked the cuff free of the rail, and in one deft movement, grabbed her right wrist and snapped the bracelet around it.
Jodie lay there, manacled. Nurse Regis placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then slid it down under her back and with her other hand, grasped Jodie’s elbow.
‘Now, dear. One, two, three, up!’
Blades of pain slashed through Jodie’s gut, hot and vicious. She bit down on the urge to cry out, somehow making it into a sitt
ing position while the nurse punched the pillows into submission behind her. Then she eased back against the downy pile. The lack of movement, when it came, was a blessed relief.
The doctor had been in to see her earlier, a brisk woman in her forties with tired eyes and cropped, cherry-red hair.
‘We had to open you up,’ she’d said. ‘Nasty weapon, glass. Serrated and dirty. Did a lot of tearing on its way in.’
She’d ignored Jodie’s wince and consulted her notes.
‘Long blade, got through three layers of muscle, dodged your ribs and managed to pierce your liver. Quite a mess. Internal bleeding, cuts, bruising.’
She glanced at Jodie, then went back to her notes.
‘We tidied you up, sutured the liver tissue, now we’re dousing you with antibiotics to ward off peritonitis. So you should be out of here in a few days.’ She snapped the notes closed, and fixed Jodie with a steady look. ‘Whoever found you saw the Tylenol, so we dealt with that too.’
Jodie was suddenly unable to meet the woman’s eyes. The doctor went on.
‘We got you in time. Administered acetylcysteine.’ She added as an afterthought, ‘That’s an antidote to paracetamol overdose.’ Then she paused, and said, ‘How many did you take?’
Jodie plucked at the sheet. ‘Eleven or twelve, maybe, I’m not sure.’ She gestured at her midsection. ‘I guess I got interrupted.’
The doctor had given her a frank look. ‘Well then, whoever stabbed you did you a favour. A few more pills, and things would have ended very differently.’
Jodie closed her eyes now, recalling the doctor’s words, bypassing the gory details and worrying instead at the prospect of being discharged. A few days didn’t give her much time.
She opened her eyes. By now, Nurse Regis had gone, and Marino was by the door, quizzing an orderly before admitting him into the room. Sounds flowed in from the corridor: the rattle of trolleys, the swish of curtains, the easy swing of unlocked doors. The orderly came in and set a tray down on the bed table, rolling it within her reach before departing again.
Jodie surveyed the tray. Tea, toast, butter, jam. The sweet scent of it churned her stomach up, and she nudged the table away with her manacled hands. Then she ground her teeth, furious at her own weakness.
Over by the door, Marino looked smug.
‘Plastic knives and forks for you, Garrett. Paper plates, paper cups. Won’t be nothing here you can use as a weapon.’
Jodie lay still. Right now, she couldn’t lift a plastic knife, much less go on the assault with a weapon. Marino stepped closer.
‘This room’s been swept clear. Nothing sharp or heavy lying around. Bathroom’s en suite, so no jaunts outside for you either. That’s been swept clear too, in case you’re wondering.’
Jodie managed a nod to show she understood. He jerked his undershot chin in the direction of her tray.
‘You eating that?’
She shook her head. He helped himself to a slice of toast, his eyes sliding over the elevated bed, the computerized drip, the nearby en suite bathroom.
‘Makes me sick, all of this. Hard-working folks never broke a law in their lives don’t get a tenth of the medical care you stinking jailbirds get.’
He washed the toast down with Jodie’s tea, and was wiping his mouth when Nurse Regis bustled back into the room. She held out two white pills and a plastic cup of water.
‘Take these.’
‘What are they?’
‘They’ll help you sleep. First night after surgery can be rough, I’m afraid.’
Jodie hesitated. A rough night didn’t appeal, but then neither did eight hours wasted in drugged-up sleep. She needed a clear head. Had to stay alert, ready to seize any chance.
She glanced at Marino, who was watching her closely. It wouldn’t hurt if he believed she was sedated later. His vigilance might slip a little.
She took the pills and popped them into her mouth, then accepted the outstretched cup. The nurse tugged at a wrinkle in the sheet.
‘Tomorrow we’ll get you up and walking along the corridor.’
Jodie’s pulse leapt. A chance to move outside. Marino’s eyes snapped to the nurse’s face.
‘No way, ma’am. She doesn’t leave this room.’
The nurse drew herself up. ‘That’s not going to work, Sergeant. Early walking after surgery is critical for her recovery.’
Marino thrust his chin forwards. Jodie watched them square off, using the moment to work the pills to the inside of her cheek.
‘She’s my prisoner,’ Marino said. ‘In my custody. And I say she doesn’t leave this room.’
‘She’s my patient, Sergeant. On my ward. Are you prepared to take responsibility for the blood clots or infections she might get because you won’t let her exercise?’
‘This prisoner is a flight risk.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Does she look like she could run anywhere?’
Jodie gulped a mouthful of water, swallowing with a showy head-toss to prove she’d flushed the pills down. It wouldn’t have fooled the nurses in prison, but no one here expected patients to be sneaky.
Jodie handed the cup back, the pills still tucked inside her cheek, hamster-style. Marino’s jaw was set hard. She could see him weigh it up, pitting the risks of allowing her out in the corridor against the consequences to himself if he didn’t. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind.
‘She stays handcuffed to me, every second she’s outside this room. No talking to other patients, no trips to external bathrooms. No deviations of any sort.’
Nurse Regis flapped her hand. ‘More rules. Fine, whatever you want.’
She snatched up the tray and swept out of the room. Marino followed her over to the door, seeing her off the premises, as though that might put him back in charge. Jodie took the opportunity to slip the pills out of her mouth.
She rested her head back against the pillows, assessing the night in front of her and gauging her physical state. Long night, clear head. Worthless body.
What the hell use was that?
10
Jodie sat on the edge of the bed, her skin clammy.
On her right, Nurse Regis held her arm, ready to help her to her feet. On her left, Jodie was tightly cuffed to the day-shift CO.
She made her breathing shallow. She had to get up. Had to make it to the corridor to get her bearings, find the exits; get access to people who had clothes, phones, credit cards, cash.
‘Ready, dear?’
Jodie nodded and bit her lip. Braced herself for the first agonizing heave. She’d already been up once for a brief bathroom visit, and the pain had almost broken her in two.
It didn’t help that Marino had been right about the bathroom. It was big and empty: no windows, no weapons. Even the toilet roll holder had been unscrewed from the wall and removed.
Jodie’s head felt woozy. She’d lain awake for most of the night, alternating between fever and wracking chills, watched by Marino who’d never budged from his post at the door.
She glanced at the day-shift CO beside her. He was younger than Marino; leaner, fitter, probably stronger. Marino had given him strict instructions that morning while snacking on Jodie’s untouched breakfast.
‘She doesn’t leave this room unless she’s cuffed to you, no matter what that interfering nurse says. You got that?’
The younger man had nodded, his face impassive. So far, he hadn’t uttered a word the whole time he’d been here.
Jodie gritted her teeth and eased her weight onto her feet, straightening slowly, the nurse supporting her. Pain tore through her, and she swore she heard her abdomen rip. She stood still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning, while the nurse adjusted the terrycloth robe around Jodie’s shoulders. Then, flanked by her two attendants, Jodie baby-stepped across the room and eased out through the open door.
The corridor air was muggy, dense with chemical and stale-cafeteria smells. Jodie’s gaze darted around. The hallway stretched either side of he
r, opening out onto other patient rooms; cut off to her left by a dead end and to her right by a set of open double doors. Beyond them somewhere, an elevator pinged. Jodie’s arms prickled.
Her escorts guided her away to the left, past the half-open doors of patient rooms and the busy nurses’ station. A steady hum filled her ears: TVs murmuring on low volume, subdued visitors running out of chit-chat.
Fellow patients shuffled by in slippers and gowns, some clutching overcoats and cigarette packs, heading out for a nicotine hit. Most of them snuck curious looks at the CO. Nurse Regis had made him drape a hand towel over his cuffs to keep them out of sight. ‘You’ll scare my patients half to death if they see those.’
By now, they were halfway down the corridor, and the nurse patted her arm. ‘You’re doing real good. This’ll get your oxygen flowing, stops everything from slowing down. Healing’s quicker that way.’
Jodie flung her a quick, grateful look. Her abdomen still throbbed, but the pain had subsided a little. Already, she felt better than on her earlier trip to the bathroom.
She hobbled further down the corridor, peeking into patient rooms and noting other doors along the way: discreet doors, camouflaged into the walls. Some stood open, others were closed, and most had small signs: ‘IV Fluids’, ‘Linen Store’, ‘Sluice Room’, ‘Dirty Utility’. She spied sinks, chairs, trolleys, cupboards. One room marked ‘Staff Only’ was lined with lockers and benches.
Jodie’s pulse quickened. She recalled Dixie’s words from the previous morning, just a few hours before Jodie’s encounter with Magda.
‘I rung my brother again. Says he’s stashed a bag of clothes in the hospital like you said, along with that other thing you asked for, but he won’t leave no money.’ Dixie’s amber eyes had been wide with concern. She hadn’t known what Jodie was planning, but knew enough not to try and change her mind. ‘Says he’s put them in St Ann’s Ward, fourth floor. It’s the only one he knows, on account of his buddy got brung in there for appendicitis. Says he found a staff locker room and stashed the bag in there. Best he could do. Can’t guarantee it won’t be gone when you get there.’
