by R L Dunn
Troy glared at the sergeant. "You're ruining my beauty sleep. What's the offer?"
"Very funny. We thought you might want some extra privileges."
Troy maintained a scowl. "I'm listening."
"How would you like to become a movie star?" Jensen flexed and curled his fist sitting on Troy’s shoulder.
"What kind of movie?"
"In here." A room designated as a safe room for disturbed prisoners was outfitted like a dungeon from an old Boris Karloff movie. As his handcuffs were unlocked, his eyes adjusted. A woman, naked, wearing only a hood stood bound to the padded wall.
"Well?" Jensen's flashlight prodded him toward her. "C'mon, Mills, you need instructions? Fuck her."
"And if I don't?" The proposition did not sit well with him.
"We find someone else who will fuck her to death. You go to door number two." Jensen struck him hard over the kidneys.
Troy moaned out the question, "Door number two?"
"A fight to your death."
Troy was alone in this endeavor and had no escape. He needed to tell his team, which meant he needed to live another day. "All right. I want a rubber."
"Use as many as you want." He tossed a handful of condoms toward the girl's feet. "Make her scream, and you win extra points. Make it good. Oh, and take these. Open up." Jensen handed him a water bottle. "Swallow." Jensen elbowed him in the gut.
Any idea Troy had of cheeking the two Viagra disappeared as they went down his throat. The sergeant laughed and dragged a hood over his head. Before locking the door, he told him, "Smile for the cameras.”
Troy walked over to the woman, whose shaking intensified the closer he got. "My name is Royce. What's your name?"
Chained to the wall, her head could only face forward. "Kalina."
"How old are you, Kalina?"
"Nineteen."
"How'd you end up here?" Troy spoke softly.
"My boyfriend hid five pounds of marijuana in my car. Let me take the fall. I had a previous conviction for soliciting," she said.
"What did they promise you?"
"Money for my mom to care for my little boy. Make my time go easier, I'm hooked. This can't be any worse than what my boyfriend did to me. Or the guards. I used to be a good girl. Please, just get it over with."
"I'll try not to hurt you, sweetheart. Looks like we’re both in a no-win situation."
After satisfying the filmmakers, Jensen led Troy back to his cell. Once inside, he heaved into the metal toilet. Though Kalina didn't say no to him, what he did was far from consensual.
Wednesday, August 3rd
Steven Keys stood on the other side of the cadaver from Elizabeth, who was reflecting on her time as a resident. He scrutinized every detail as she scrubbed, gowned and gloved. "Let's start slow: make a midline incision." Melanie Gold, the head nurse from the OR, served as her scrub nurse and another critical eye.
"Scalpel." The blade popped into her hand. Focused, she made a straight, steady cut.
Steven put her through her paces, observing for any hand tremor or weakness. "Doing well, Beth. How do you feel? Hoyt is right; the decreased blood pressure protected your brain."
"Fine. Great," she said while performing multiple styles of sutures.
As she stitched with ease, the door to the room opened, and Henrietta Krump joined them. "Came to see how you’re doing."
"Perfect timing, Henrietta. How about working the lungs for us? I want Beth to open the chest and cross-clamp the aorta," Steven asked her to perform the complicated procedure.
"Fine." With reluctance, she picked up a device to force air into the cadaver lungs.
Elizabeth completed a perfect demonstration of her skills, and no one was the wiser that her shoulder burned. After she removed her gown and gloves, Steven Keys hugged her. "Proud of you."
"You must be relieved, Beth," Henrietta said. "The administration almost terminated you. Suicide attempt and all. But your boyfriend's boss threatened a big lawsuit. He has more clout than your daddy."
Steven Keys’ expression turned dark. "Henrietta!"
Elizabeth had been told the entire story. Ian's attorney did nothing more than remind hospital legal of the negative publicity the facility would receive in light of the truth.
The glee in Henrietta's tone took her by surprise. Elizabeth's breathing increased, looking between Steven, Melanie, and Henrietta, but she didn't stop.
"You were all over the TV. Patients won't want a crazy doctor taking care of them," Henrietta said.
Elizabeth ran. She heard Steven yell before the door slammed behind her, "Henrietta, if I have any say, you are done.
Elizabeth was sitting on the bench in the surgeon's changing room when Steven found her. "Does everyone think the way Henrietta does?"
Steven Keys wrapped his arms around her. "No one feels that way."
"It's true, everything she said." Elizabeth held her head between her hands. Steven relaxed his arm.
Martin swept around her, mouthing what's wrong? “Sunshine."
"I understand my father lied, but what people see on TV, they believe. Henrietta is right."
"The people who love you know the truth." Martin's lips pressed to the crown of her head.
"What if it’s not enough?" she whimpered.
Unaware of what happened, he hugged her and said, "Sunshine, you need to believe. Where's my girl with the steel backbone?"
Elizabeth rubbed her tear-stained cheek against Martin's arm. Steven and Patrick stood against the lockers while Joyce sat on the other side of her. The sounds of the HVAC system cycled on and off.
Elizabeth nodded. "There isn't much choice." She grew determined. "I want to visit Lola now."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Elizabeth and Martin took every minute of their time together to reacquaint themselves during the two weeks post-discharge. The two relaxed curled up in bed, naked, illuminated by the moon sneaking in between the slats of the blinds. Her finger traced the scar cutting across his chest. "What happened?"
"Al Nasiriya—a couple hundred miles southeast of Bagdad. Under a CO with little combat experience, during a sandstorm, he missed a turn and led an Army convoy into an ambush. My team was sent in to try to bring the thirty-five out. The fighting was fierce, and eleven were lost that day. The Iraqis are scrappy with years of fighting experience. Our job was to scout the way out for the tanks. On the way, we found three troops beside a burned-out vehicle. Two were gone, and this one kid was holding on."
He shook his head. "Poor kid was calling for his momma. We slowed the bleeding, and I tossed him over my shoulder to carry him to safety. A rocket-propelled grenade exploded thirty feet in front of us. Shrapnel penetrated my armor and hit me in the chest. Tate picked up the kid, and Ian and Julian rushed me to a Humvee to wait for an airlift. With the storm continuing, no air support was coming, and the battle gave us nowhere to go. The kid died in Zach's arms. Julian is trained as a special operations combat medic. By the third hour, I couldn't breathe. The last thing I remember was Julian holding this big needle in his hand, about to plunge it into my chest, telling me to think of something to live for. I dreamed of you, Sunshine."
"I need to thank Julian." Elizabeth turned misty-eyed.
He held her against him. "Were you there when Joyce got her nickname?"
"I wish, but she told me about it. She was attending a pediatric surgery convention. Joyce works hard, but when she can let loose, she does. A group went to this karaoke bar. Lots of alcohol. Surgeons are super competitive, and it devolved to guys versus girls. It came down to the last song. Joyce put her hair into two ponytails and stripped down to her bra. Fergie's song 'London Bridge' started to play. Instead of Fergie-Ferg, she became Joycey-Joyce.” The story made her giggle.
Martin laughed. "Oh, please, can I tell Patrick?"
Shaking with laughter, Elizabeth said, "I know nothing, Mr. Bailey. I have a head injury."
Lola's condition was improving. If she continued to breathe wi
thout extra support and gained another pound, she could go home. At Joyce's recommendation, Elizabeth and Martin started to introduce oral feedings. Janey unselfishly donated some of her breast milk.
"That's my angel. This is good?" Martin asked.
"Yes, this is good." Elizabeth encouraged her to suck from the bottle.
Though he wasn’t a crier, Martin’s eyes watered watching her with Lola. "You're such a good mommy."
Elizabeth stared at her feet.
"You. Are. A. Wonderful. Mommy." He leaned down and kissed his girls.
"Marty, you’re such a wonderful father. Lola, I want to tell you a story from a long time ago. It was the first time your daddy was a hero. Memorial Day is a big to-do in Silverton. After the parade, we played with the little kids and listened to the older folks tell stories about the wars that were supposed to be the last ones. At dark, the older kids went to build a bonfire at Susie Perkin's barn." Their baby girl seemed enthralled with Elizabeth's voice, and Martin's eyes shone with love.
"Susie was a snobby girl. Your daddy won't stand for that. Susie liked to be popular, and her mom liked Susie to be popular too. Susie served fruit punch at her parties, and her mom used to buy alcohol for her to put in it. A bunch of us were all cuddled up around the fire when Susie went off with a boy. They’d both drunk too much when they crawled up into the silo. Suddenly, the boy came flying out, jumped in his car and left.
“When Susie didn't follow him out, your daddy was the only one who thought something was wrong. He went into the silo, looking for her. A part of Susie's shirt was sticking out of the corn. I called the fire department. Your daddy found a rope, lowered himself into the dark hole, and rooted around until he found Susie's hand. With the help of a couple of the other boys, they pulled her out. That was the night I decided I wanted to be a doctor. I did CPR until the fire department came. From that night on, your daddy never stopped being a hero.”
Monday, August 14th
The two-week recovery period went too fast for Martin. Their time together was more fairy tale than reality. Discussions with hospital administration proved they were worried about image and that, to them, Elizabeth was disposable. They had a routine divided between visiting Lola and Austin, and Martin helping her rebuild her stamina—sometimes in creative, sensual ways. When Elizabeth insisted on returning, he took a play from Ian's book and asked Julian to protect her. His colleagues were correct— he'd crossed the line.
They cuddled on a picnic blanket beside the pond, gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Elizabeth rested on her belly and leaned on an elbow. "Marty, I promise, if I don't feel well, I'll pull the plug."
"It doesn't make it any easier. I worry." Martin wove his fingers with hers. "Promise me you won't ditch Julian."
Laugher floated on the breeze. "Where am I going to ditch him? He makes you look tiny. He told me he's going to follow me like a puppy on a leash, just like any other medical student."
"Julian said ‘puppy on a leash’?"
"I added that," she giggled.
"Don't tell him. You'll insult his ego."
"Ha, you’re all softies."
Martin clutched his chest. "Our reputations are destroyed." His expression turned dark. "You're all right?"
"I guess. I mean physically, yes. I won't know otherwise until a patient or a colleague says something about me being mentally ill."
"Henrietta Krump is a mean woman. And she works the day shift." The thought bubble floated above his head. Going off the rails to defend her would only hurt her, thanks to the charges her father was holding over his head. Reed was taunting him, knowing the police wouldn't act until he signed the actual complaint.
Daily briefings solidified the bottom tiers of the pyramid, but they still were unable to climb the next rung. Surveillance showed nothing pertinent. The briefing after Elizabeth left for work provoked Martin to ask Mike to call an immediate meeting. Hailey Ullman and Pietra Hahn remained missing. Wes reported Troy made two more films, each film containing more violence than the previous. Each time, he was coerced with a threat to the female prisoner's life.
Thirty-four days in, he still couldn't make a legal connection to the person at the top. Suppositions remained the same. The other undercover operators advised that things at the jail were quiet—too quiet.
Patrick reported there were no odd admissions. The few had medical ailments. Sutton's report troubled him the most—Troy seemed anxious and jittery. Martin's instincts fired, and Mike agreed. They decided to get Troy out within forty-eight hours.
Julian pulled into the garage. "You stand out like a sore thumb. They’ll recognize you as a bodyguard." Elizabeth shook her head at Julian.
Julian spent the two weeks Elizabeth was recovering changing his own appearance. "No one will think I'm not a student. Put together this incredible Cajun accent, the short jacket, the shaggy hair, the beard, and I can look dumb," he said.
"No one is going to believe you're stupid."
He turned away from her and opened a bag. Turning to face her, he now sported contact lenses, changing his blue eyes to a vivid green; then he shoved a pair of thick black-framed glasses against his brow.
"Shit, you do look stupid."
He winked. "Chère, my call name is Smooth for a reason."
The ER shift was slow; the steady flow of patients didn’t tax Elizabeth's skills. She sat at the nurse's station charting the disposition of her latest patient. Julian played the medical student well, his service training providing a strong background that he appeared and sounded convincing. His body language and posture made others take his hypervigilance as nerves.
One of the nurses answered the phone. "Dr. Reed, paramedics are bringing in a prisoner from the jail. They’re asking for a trauma alert."
"Call it. What's the patient’s status?" Adrenaline and fear bubbled within her.
"Thirty-six-year-old male, unresponsive. Difficulty maintaining an airway. Labored breathing. Flail chest, rigid abdomen. Signs of a GI bleed. Lower extremity paralysis. No IV access. Twenty minutes out."
Elizabeth pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. "Ten units of O-neg. Page Hedges. Prep the room. Reserve an OR." She walked to the bay, designating tasks to the arriving team. Julian stayed on her heels.
A man covered in a blood-soaked ambulance sheet was wheeled in by two paramedics and two corrections officers. One of the medics was having trouble assisting the patient's breathing. The mask couldn't hide his battered and bruised face. Elizabeth spotted handcuffs. "Un-cuff him now." When the CO didn't respond, her voice rose again, "Damn it. Now!"
Lonnie Cowan opened the handcuffs, and the nurses removed the blanket and began cutting his clothing clear. Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek when she saw the patient's chest and flanks were dark purple. Her head tilted. "Wait. Julian, shoot a picture of this." She focused on the corrections officers. "Which one of you assholes redressed him? His coveralls are on inside out. Roll him."
"Dr. Reed?" her name stuck in Connor Caine's throat. The patient had suffered a brutal sexual attack.
Elizabeth took a breath. "Page neurosurgery, maxilla-facial, thoracic, urology and orthopedics, STAT. Dr. Caine, I need a central line. Saline wide open. Hang four units O neg on the rapid infuser." She ordered tests associated with every trauma patient as well as tests for sexually transmitted diseases and called for a sexual assault nurse. "We need those samples before the OR." She also called for massive doses of three antibiotics.
Elizabeth's hands moved down the patient's body, finding his ribcage was crushed. His chest was only able to move with the help of the paramedic breathing for him. "George, put a chest tube on the right. Try to raise that lung. Connor, after the central line, try the left for another chest tube. Tell CT we’re coming. Patient's name?"
"Royce Mills," Tim Lampton said.
"Royce, can you hear me? Julian, step in. Take over breathing for the patient.” At the changeover, Elizabeth ran her fingers over his cheekbones. His eyes opened wi
th an agonized moan. "Royce, I'm Dr. Reed. You're safe now."
A tattoo mottled in bruises was inked across his right pec: God will judge our enemies. We will arrange the meeting. The words surrounded a map of Greece with a drawing of the Goddess Athena buried in the center. A memory of Tate's story shimmered in her head. She bent down, her mouth at his ear. "Troy, I'm going to bring you off this mountain."
His weak hand pawed her wrist. The two COs took a protective step, and she waved them back. His eyes met hers before losing consciousness again.
"Dr. Reed, I can't find the landmark," George Keller said, having trouble inserting the tube on his right side. Connor Caine was having equal difficulty on the left.
Patrick pushed into the trauma room. "Patrick, flail chest, please assist George."
Patrick gloved up and inserted the tube. "His ribs are shattered."
"We are moving to CT after I intubate. Royce, time to take a nap. I'll see you when you wake up." The swelling was so severe, she struggled to place the breathing tube.
Patrick cataloged the injuries aloud. The mask concealed the pain of recognizing one of his own.
"Pat, I'm assisting." Elizabeth feared making an error, but she wasn’t going to leave him. She caught Patrick and Julian sharing a brief nod as they left the room.
"Thirty-six-year-old Royce Mills. Unknown medical history.” The circulating nurse announced all the potential procedures.
Dr. Karen Williams started to repair his facial bones and fractured jaw. "What was he hit with? He's a jigsaw puzzle."
Dr. Clive Richey, a thoracic surgeon, began work on the crushed chest. Troy was placed on the operating table with his arms at ninety-degree angles to his body. "Every rib is broken. Did someone stomp him?" he asked, frustrated. "Page the second thoracic on call. These ribs are each going to need plates. I will attempt to repair the organs first. Can't save the lower right lobe. His heart has visible bruising. Draw cardiac enzymes. If he makes it off the table and stabilizes, I want a cardiac perfusion study. There is too much damage for ECMO."