Oblivion - Debt Collector 13 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  “It’s okay,” Hanna said.

  “It’s not and I would put up the hair unless you want to be dragged around the corridors on your first day.”

  “Yeah, I… uh… I planned…” she trailed off as she noticed a patient running around in nothing but a pair of underpants on his head. “Is he…?”

  Before she finished, two psych techs wrestled the man to the ground, covering him with a blanket. Morgan didn’t bat an eye or explain. He was middle-aged, black, a heavyset guy with a take no bullshit attitude. Morgan mumbled to himself, she caught a little, something about stupid. She assumed he was referring to her.

  After a brief introduction to Dr. Chapman, she was handed off to RN Caroline Byrd. She was a thin girl in her twenties who looked as if she could be blown over with one breath. Why they’d hired her was a mystery. Everyone else she’d seen so far looked as if they spent hours in the gym pounding iron.

  Huddled into a cramped, windowless room with an oak table and eight chairs were the rest of the staff. They were already discussing patients in detail and the care plan for the day. It was common procedure that she’d been through countless times.

  “Wayne, this is the new nurse-in-charge,” Caroline said, holding the door for her.

  “Ah yes, fresh meat.”

  “Pardon?”

  The others laughed. “Forgive him. He does it every time we get someone new.” A tall, good-looking guy with a crew cut extended a hand. “I’m Bryan French, the psychologist here. That’s Lola Brannigan, one of our social workers.” Lola was a Chinese woman with short dark bangs that she kept pushing out of her face. “Then of course we have the lovable Wayne Vaughn.”

  Wayne tipped his head. He was perched on the edge of a table with a chart in hand. He tossed it down and then picked up a blue binder. A few seconds after, three techs entered. “Everything go okay?” Wayne asked.

  “He’s utterly mad. I don’t know why we even bother to give him clothes. He keeps taking them off,” a bald guy with glasses said. He scowled at Hanna before slumping into a seat. “All right, let’s get this over and done with, I’m exhausted and need coffee.”

  “That’s Jenkins,” Caroline whispered in her ear. “And the small stocky one beside him with the cleft lip is Porter. Whatever you do, don’t stare at it.” She smiled and leaned back against the wall.

  Vaughn opened the binder. “Club Med. We need to clamp down on this. Oliver found two jars of it last night hidden in the linen room. That’s meant to be locked. Jenkins, you were on last night. Care to address this?”

  “It was locked when I checked. No idea,” he replied without even looking at him. There was something very shifty and careless to his demeanor. It was to be expected. Every shift in the ER had one bad apple among the bunch — one staff member who complained all the time, took extra breaks and passed the blame the first chance they got, and yet they were always the first out the door at the end of a shift.

  “Anyone else?”

  No one answered.

  “Great. Well, we need to…”

  “Where did they get it from?” Hanna asked, chiming in.

  All eyes were on her as if she’d spoken out of turn.

  “It’s moonshine. Made from a concoction of meds and orange juice.”

  “So someone’s not taking their meds?”

  Jenkins chuckled. “Give this lady an award. Who are you anyway?”

  “That’s your boss,” Vaughn replied to which Jenkins cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. She wasn’t exactly his boss. Though RNs tended to be treated a little higher up in the hierarchy system, the truth was there were some things that psych techs handled that RNs didn’t. Her job mostly involved assessments, clerical, supervising techs, giving injections, taking blood and at times supervising the unit.

  “They have their ways,” Caroline said. “Patients around here are very creative at not taking meds. It’s not just those who tuck it under their tongue that we have to keep an eye on, but we have those who use sleight of hand, and patients who nudge others or create a distraction. You’ll soon see it in action. I’d like to say it’s not hard to miss but when you’re tired, there are those that manage to slip through.”

  “Right. Can we proceed?” Vaughn said looking at Caroline. Jenkins snorted. “The other issues I wanted to discuss concern joints, cigarettes and gambling. Seth smelled ciggies last night and found a group in Mr. Ramone’s room.”

  “Cigarettes? How do they light them?” Hanna asked as she knew there was a rule against lighters and cigarettes on the unit. Even if patients were smokers when they came in, they weren’t allowed access to them.

  “Seriously. Were you asleep in orientation?” Jenkins asked. Porter laughed and nudged him.

  “They didn’t cover it,” she said and glared at them both.

  “It’s fine. We’ll bring Nurse Cross up to speed on this,” Vaughn said turning towards her. “They’re called stingers. They cut the wire on appliances and use that to light one. You’d be surprised at how creative these folks can get.”

  “You’re telling me,” she replied. She could tell this was going to be a long day.

  Vaughn flipped a sheet in the binder. “You’ll get used to it. Gambling, smoking, shanks, drugs and even prostitution have been seen inside these walls. How they manage to get it by us is what we’re still trying to figure out. Though for now, if you see anything like that, you now know what to do.”

  She raised a hand. “Hold on a minute — prostitutes?”

  He sighed. “Look, I would love to go into it but we’d be here all day and we still have to get through diagnoses, medications and treatment for those in the unit.”

  “Yeah. Move on,” Jenkins said waving his hand and looking at her like she was an idiot.

  Over the next hour they discussed all of that, and groups that were coming up that morning. It seemed there were only a select number of patients that were allowed to leave the unit for work duty. It was a right that was earned, not given. The rest had groups to attend — relapse prevention, communication, emotion management, substance recovery, symptom management, legal issues, art, and so on, these were spread out through the morning and afternoon. “Any questions?”

  She nodded. “Am I required to attend any of these?”

  “No. Our psychologist and social workers handle that, though we have a rehab therapist come in each day to take his group. Again, though, you would have been told that at your orientation.”

  She pursed her lips. “I guess they skipped over that,” she said.

  Vaughn nodded without directing his attention to her. His eyes scanned the binder in front of him, then he began to reel off names of patients, giving Hanna the backstory on their reasons for being there. Most, if not all, were there on some kind of murder charge, some had killed multiple times. Then there were the rapists but thankfully she didn’t have to deal with that as they were in a different unit. “Andrew Roy, the man that Jenkins and Porter dealt with this morning, has been in and out of mental health facilities since he was nine years of age. He ended up killing his father with an ice pick at the age of eighteen and burying his body in the backyard. He believed his father was a robot out to get him.”

  Her eyes widened. “How did they find him?” she asked.

  “Oh he recorded it and posted it online for the world to see.” Vaughn continued without missing a beat. “Then we have Ishan Larsen. He abducted two girls, dismembered them. The second one, he mailed her body parts to the police department on Thanksgiving as a gift with a note that said he couldn’t eat them both and wanted to share the rest with law enforcement.”

  “Lovely,” Hanna muttered.

  He took a deep breath. “Then there is Mr. Gomez who blew up his workplace after being laid off. Should I continue?”

  “Maybe we can skip the rest. I get it.”

  He chuckled. “While I agree, I should warn you about a recent addition to the hospital.” He thumbed through. “Ah, here we go. Mr. Winchester.
Murdered the Lewis family in Apalachin. Randall Lewis was stabbed forty-six times, his wife was left with two butcher knives in her orifices, and the kids, well…”

  “Stop.” Hanna put a hand up. “I understand. They’re a threat. Let’s move on.”

  Vaughn closed the binder and slipped off the table. He made his way over so he was within inches of her face. “Nurse Harvey lost her life because she didn’t listen.”

  It was clear he was making a point.

  “Really? I was told her personal alarm didn’t work.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Well there was that but she had also been told countless times not to speak with patients alone and so she paid the price for it. I just wanted to make sure you are clear about who you are dealing with here. Every one of those crazies won’t think twice about beating you, raping you or slicing your throat, Nurse Cross. Be careful.” He turned to walk away and then looked back. “Oh I forgot to mention Tyler Sutton.”

  “Let me guess, Sutton killed someone.”

  “I will save you the gruesome details but he gets out of seclusion this morning. That was the man who killed Nurse Harvey. Don’t take your eyes off the ball, Nurse Cross. I would hate to see you end up being carried out of here in a body bag.” He turned back to the others. “In the meantime. Keep your eyes and ears open, folks. After Harvey’s death we can’t afford any further trouble. The media is already hounding us day and night.” He jabbed his finger at them. “Which reminds me, Dr. Chapman doesn’t want any of you speaking with the media either.” He collected the binder and headed for the door. “Porter and Jenkins, see me in my office.”

  They grumbled and followed him out, leaving the rest of the group to have a quick cup of coffee before heading out on their rounds. Caroline was quick to calm her fears. “Don’t worry, Vaughn is like that with everyone. Fortunately, his visits to our unit are infrequent, but with Harvey’s death and all, Chapman had him fill in today. If you have any questions just let me know,” she said heading for the nurses station and leaving Hanna and Bryan French alone.

  “So, think you’re ready for your first day?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Questions?”

  “Hundreds,” she said with a smile. “How long you been here?”

  He shifted from one foot to the next. “Thirty years.”

  “Wow. How have you managed to stay sane?”

  “A miracle.” He laughed. “No. I’ve quit six times. I went off and did a variety of odd jobs.”

  “And you came back?”

  “Oh yeah, once my batteries were recharged.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess I’m a sucker for punishment.” He smiled as he walked out.

  4

  Emotional Management was the second group of the morning. Jack had already endured an hour of Substance Recovery and having a therapist bring up some bogus record of meth use. He’d gone back and forth, telling them that he had no recollection and when they disagreed he simply pointed to his face and asked them if it looked like he took meth. Meth users were notorious for having rotten teeth, bad skin and being underweight but that clearly wasn’t him. Instead of letting it go, they switched it up and focused on violence, specifically mentioning his attack on Sutton the day before. Eventually he just shut down and refused to answer questions. Instead, he stared out the window looking towards the fencing, plotting an escape.

  “Let’s move on, shall we?” The social worker said.

  He groaned. Now he would be expected to unload his emotions, and talk about his feelings.

  He was beginning to think that perhaps being locked up in prison was better. At least there he could stay in his cell. Here the staff prevented them from going back to their rooms so they could keep an eye on them. He leaned over and whispered into Cowboy’s ear. “You said you get could anything. Right?”

  “Mr. Winchester.”

  He glanced at the woman.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you have something to add?”

  “I was just…”

  She cut him off and berated him in front of the others before having one of the others in the circle talk. Cowboy leaned over. “I’ll chat with you in the yard.” He gave a nod and continued listening to one of the patients drone on incoherently. They were hard to listen to, most stayed quiet even if they were asked a question while others would talk gibberish or go off on a tangent about things that didn’t even pertain to the objective of the group. It only served to remind him that he needed to get out of there. Had it not been for that crash, he wouldn’t be in this position. Someone had methodically planned this out.

  After the session ended, Seth told everyone to head into the yard to get some fresh air. A short bathroom break and Jack was quick to seek out Cowboy who he found throwing a football to another guy across the grassy yard surrounded by a walkway, and a cluster of trees. Psych techs kept an eye on them at all times, stepping in occasionally to stop patients from fighting.

  “What do you need?” Cowboy asked.

  “A schedule of the security hours. Maybe a blueprint of this place.”

  He laughed and tossed the ball. “Why don’t I just hand you the key?” He shook his head in disbelief and his eyes widened as he waited for the ball to come back. “If you think you are escaping this place, think again. No one has done it. Twenty-foot fences, three feet of barbed wire, locked doors, and around the clock armed security. There’s only two ways out of here.”

  Jack squinted at him. “Oh yeah?”

  “You get the doc to discharge you by telling them what they want to hear or you exit by way of the body bag. And since few are released, and Sutton is looking for you, you stand a better chance of leaving via the Sutton train.” He gave a nod of the head and Jack glanced across the yard to the doorway where Sutton filled it, his shadow looming over the asphalt. He couldn’t believe he was out. Word had already spread that morning of the nurse’s death. After he was wanded down by a guard, he came down the steps and scanned the yard. Jack balled his hands expecting a fight but instead, he simply smirked and ambled over to a group huddled around a picnic table.

  “Shouldn’t he have been sent to the pen?”

  “What do you think this place is?” Cowboy said. “They’d only send him back. No, they’re not geared up for mental illness in prisons and Sutton is a psychopath.”

  “So you kill someone and there are no repercussions?”

  Cowboy ran backwards and leaped into the air catching the ball. He let out a lungful of air. “There are always repercussions, Jack. But nothing that a strong dose of Haldol and a five-point restraint can’t handle.”

  “So why isn’t he coming over?”

  “IM. Incident Management. Every incident gets charted in your file. It can keep you from going to groups, and limits what you can do here. Hell, it can prevent you from an early discharge. Nope! No one in their right mind wants that.”

  “But everyone here isn’t in their right mind.”

  He chuckled before tossing the ball. “Speak for yourself.” He pointed at a few different people. “There are some in here because they have severe mental symptoms, the rest thought they’d be getting easy street. Crazy, right?”

  Jack nodded. “Crazy is the right word.”

  Cowboy patted him on the chest. “That’s another reason you don’t want to try escaping. It can really make your life here a living hell.” He raised his eyes and Jack looked up to see Dr. Chapman peering down from his office. He stepped away from the window once he saw they were looking. “Here, hold the ball, I got a few things to do.”

  Jack took it and the guy across the field asked him to throw it but he was in no mood. He dropped it and walked off hearing the guy curse. Sticking his hands in his jacket he braved the cold wind and walked over to the heavy mesh fence. A longing for freedom washed over him, but he wasn’t getting out any time soon. A security guard in a golf cart zipped over and told him to stay back. Jack snorted and took a few steps away from the fence
. As he made his way back to the building he noticed what looked like a drug deal going down near the huddled group. It was quick; a hand exchanged money, a baggie of white was clutched behind Cowboy’s back before being slipped down his pants. He should have known a hospital wouldn’t be any different. In the pen they had all manner of ways of getting narcotics in. There were even a few guards that snuck it in then sold it to the inmates.

  Sutton eyeballed him.

  Ten minutes passed without incident. He’d been sitting listening to Edgar give him the rundown of those to watch out for and what not to do inside the hospital when Porter and Jenkins came bursting out of the building followed by three security guards. A crowd of patients parted like the Red Sea to let them through. They grabbed Jack and strong-armed him towards the building. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Shut your mouth,” Jenkins said.

  Some looked on while most ignored the alarm. They’d become accustomed to it, especially when it blared twenty times a day. Inside he was led down a series of corridors. “Take him into ECT,” Porter said to a security guard.

  He had no idea what that was or why this was happening. But he soon learned. When they entered the room, he saw a long doctor’s office bed with thick leather straps. Jack dug his heels into the floor. “Hold on! No, no, no! What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Get him on the bed.”

  A struggle ensued. Jack managed to fight back, headbutting one of the security guards and kneeing another in the nuts, but a quick shock from a Taser and all the fight went out of his body. Within seconds they had him on the bed and his arms, legs and head strapped down tight. A mouthguard was forced into his mouth and he was instructed to bite down on it. Satisfied; they exited the room and the door closed. Jack lay there for several minutes before the door groaned open. He couldn’t raise his head to see who it was because of a thick leather strap covering his forehead but he heard the door close and then blinds drop over the double-pane glass.

  A second or two and then a familiar voice. “Hello Jack.”