by DB Michaels
Chambers left Dr. Kaye’s side and homed in on Emma. If she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought he was a bit relieved to see her. “You have orientation today, Dr. Edwards. It’s starting in a few minutes. Come. I’ll take you there.”
“No need to take her, Maxim,” Dr. Kaye said, her greedy eyes following him. “I’ll do it. It’s on my way.”
“I’ll do it. I have to be there anyway to give the first speech.”
With that, he indicated for Emma to walk back down the stairs.
“Do you think we can reschedule the training?” She wanted to see Sam, not be in some class. And did the man have to be so tall? She had to tilt her head all the way back to look at him. “I have patients to see.”
Chambers frowned again. “You can’t see patients until you go through the orientation. Didn’t Brown tell you?”
“What’s the orientation about?” Emma raced to keep up as he headed down the steps.
“It’s called IST. Institutional Safety Training.” Chambers slowed down only a tad. “It’s an annual class for all employees. It teaches you things like prison policy, proper behavior around inmates, how to file a complaint. Most of the people there will be retraining. It’s an all-day class, so come on. We don’t want to be late.”
He sped down the steps with his hands clasped behind his back, never turning around to see if she followed. “We don’t have all day.”
Emma stomped down the steps, cursing her luck. It looked like there wasn’t going to be any time to see Sam today. At the bottom of the steps, they had to exit the main gate and go out again into the parking lot. “Where the heck is the meeting?”
“Back before you make the first turn into the parking lot.”
“Way back there?” Emma bit back a groan. “But that’s at least a ten-minute walk. Is there a golf cart?”
“Ten minutes is too far for you?” Chambers’s eyebrows rose all the way to the top of his forehead. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Just go.” Did he have to sound so superior? “I’ll follow you.”
She trekked behind the big brute and soon was out of breath keeping up with his long strides. “Come on,” he called after her. “We don’t want to be late.”
By the time they entered the training building, she was sweating and it was only eight in the morning. The room resembled a big gym, with many long tables laid out in horizontal rows facing a blackboard in the front. A few dozen people were waiting for the class to begin, most of them Custody. Their general chatter crashed to a halt as soon as Chambers entered the room.
Immediately, two men in green jumped out of their seats and sidled up to them with ingratiating smiles. “Why didn’t you call? We had the golf cart all ready.”
So he did have a taxi. Emma glared at the warden and brushed a hand over her damp forehead. “Where can I sit?”
“Any table is fine.” Chambers didn’t look too pleased at her sweaty appearance.
Well, tough. You should have slowed down a little, pal. Emma shook her head and bit back a sigh of frustration.
“Rogers, get Dr. Edwards some water,” Chambers ordered the man on his left.
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t need water.” Emma found the farthest table back and wedged herself between two burly officers. There were more open seats up front but no way did she want to be that close to the warden. Rogers immediately brought her a bottle of water.
“Thank you, everyone.” Chambers’s deep voice boomed from the front of the room. “I want all of you to meet Dr. Emma Edwards, our new doctor.”
Emma waved from where she sat, cringing when all eyes turned her way. Drat the man. She looked sweaty and unkempt, and of course he had to focus all the attention on her.
“Now, let’s get started. How do you know an inmate is lying?” Chambers paused and looked around the room before announcing, “Because his lips are moving.”
The crowd burst into laughter and heartily cheered him on. Emma’s temperature spiked along with her heart rate. “What a horrible thing to say,” she blurted out in a loud voice. A deafening silence blanketed the room.
Chapter 6
Chambers whipped those freakish silver eyes to her. “Care to repeat that, Doctor?”
“Yes.” Emma stood up. “How can you say something so derogatory?”
“But true.” Chambers’s commanding voice rose a notch. “I was making a point. Never trust an inmate.”
“I’m sure you can trust some.”
“How long have you worked in corrections, Doctor?”
“That has nothing to do with it.” Emma raised her voice. “What about those signs I saw on the way up here?”
“Signs?”
“Respect. Fairness. Accountability. Leadership,” Emma said. “What is leadership without accountability? Without respect? Without fairness? Is it fair that you call all of them liars? That’s not good leadership, is it?”
Emma swore she could have heard a pin drop in the room. Sure, she might have gone too far but she was tired of people treating inmates like dirt. Her brother didn’t deserve this.
“Enough,” Chambers bellowed. “Believe whatever you want. No one really gives a damn. The only thing I care about is your safety. And the safety of every single person who enters this prison.”
“Hear, hear, Warden.” Shouts erupted from the room. “You go, Mr. Chambers.”
An encompassing warmth suffused Emma’s face. Chambers clearly was a crowd favorite. The man was rude, arrogant, and prejudiced, but all his minions apparently loved him. She couldn’t win here. She sat down and tried to focus on Sam. No need to get riled up over things she couldn’t change.
Thank goodness Chambers left after the first hour. The rest of the day was filled with videos and lectures about carrying your whistle and alarm at all times and not having relationships with inmates. Sexual harassment had to be reported and supervisors shouldn’t date their employees. Coworkers could date but must keep their relationship at home and not carry it into work.
It all seemed like common sense. Emma didn’t understand why they couldn’t say it in five minutes instead of eight hours. At last the torture ended and she drove home with a migraine.
The next morning, Emma walked into work determined to see Sam again. She figured the best place to find him would be to work in Unit 3, which would cover his dorm. Perhaps the current Unit 3 doctor would call in sick? She got her wish, for Dr. Pan did call in sick but unfortunately Dr. Ross was also a no-show.
“You’ll have to cover both Urgent Care and Unit 3,” the evil Dr. Kaye told her at their doctors’ morning meeting.
“But that’s a little too much, don’t you think?” Julien tried to defend her. “It’s her first day seeing patients.”
“Didn’t you say she had a top-notch education?” The CMO’s red lips thinned. “Let’s see what she can handle.”
“No problem.” Emma forced out a smile. Anything was worth it for a chance to see Sam.
Two hours later, she found herself running between the Urgent Care and Unit 3 clinic like a headless chicken. Three men had gotten admitted to the Housing Unit overnight and as the Urgent Care provider, she had to cover them, too. This, in addition to taking care of Mr. Nash, the liver cancer patient, almost tipped Emma over the edge.
“Don’t work so hard, Doc,” Mr. Nash said in his thready voice when she stopped by to see if he needed anything. Today the poor man looked grayer and frailer than before. The sharp contours of his ribs were visible beneath his worn shirt.
“I’ll try not to.” Emma pulled out a chair to sit next to the dingy bed. She shivered and hugged her white coat closer. “You want me to turn on the heater for you, sir? It’s so cold in here.”
“It doesn’t work.” Mr. Nash tugged a thin blanket halfway up his chest.
“Really?” Emma stood up. “I’ll call maintenance right now. They have to fix it. You’ll freeze in here.”
Her patient reached out a bony hand and scra
tched at his blanket. “They called already, but you know how it is. The state takes forever.”
“Well, let me get you a couple of extra blankets at least.” Emma stepped out of the room. Surely she could make his last days more comfortable.
“Hey, Doc.” Vincent, the charge nurse, interrupted her halfway down the hall. “Inmate Jones wants more pain meds. He’s the one who had the hernia surgery. And we have a code brown in room four. Toilet backed up. Could be norovirus. Did they talk about it this morning in your conference? We need Public Health.”
“No.” Emma shook her head. “Nobody said anything about diarrhea. How many patients?”
“Four so far, admitted last night. You want me to call Public Health?”
“Sure. They need contact isolation. Can we do that here?”
“We can try,” Vincent said as he headed back down the hall. “Inmate crew is cleaning up the mess.”
“Wait.” Emma hurried after him. “Is somebody going to fix the toilet?”
“Yes, we called maintenance already.”
“Ask them to fix the heater in room eight, too. It’s freezing in there. How do I get Mr. Nash some blankets?”
“Ask Lexi, the clerk.” Vincent headed toward room four. “And Doc, don’t forget hernia man.”
Emma nodded and entered the nursing station where she found the clerk in her usual spot. “Lexi, Mr. Nash needs some extra blankets.”
“Mr. Nash?”
“Yes. Room eight.”
“Oh. I thought he was still in the hospital.” She shrugged her shoulders and gazed back at the computer screen. “Sure. I’ll get them in a minute.”
“Now, please.” Emma gritted her teeth.
“Oh, all right.” The secretary heaved a big sigh and dragged herself out of her chair. “I don’t think we have any extras. Let’s ask the porter.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’ll check myself. Where do I look?”
“Closet farthest down the hall on the left.” Lexi settled back in her chair again. “But Morris can check for you.”
Emma stumbled as her world tilted. “Morris?”
“Yes. The black porter. The other ones aren’t free right now.” Lexi pulled out a bag of pumpkin seeds and started snapping on one. “He’s probably down the hall trying to clean room four. Want me to call him?”
“Uh, sure,” Emma said, her heart rate picking up a notch. Calm down. It was a common name. No way could it be her Sam. But Lexi had said black. But at least half the inmates were black. She shouldn’t get her hopes up.
“You called for me?” His voice.
Emma whipped her head around. There he was, in the flesh, holding a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other. His beautiful, sad, brown eyes gazed back at her.
“Yes.” Lexi snapped through another pumpkin seed, her eyes glued to the YouTube video playing on the computer screen. “Get Dr. Edwards some blankets, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her brother shot her an anxious look before walking down the hall.
Emma hastened after him. “Sam,” she breathed out when she got close enough. “How are you?”
He shook his head and kept walking. Emma paced beside him, oblivious of everything, even the stench emanating from room four.
“Let’s talk,” she said.
“Not now,” he whispered.
They reached a large supply closet at the end of the hall. Sam opened it and reached for some blankets. Emma stepped inside the room and pulled him in after her, slamming the door shut. The tears clogged at her throat. After all this time. Emma threw her arms around her brother and held on tight. He felt so thin. Much thinner than before.
Sam hugged her for only a few seconds before pulling back. “Emma, what are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course.” She touched his cheek.
“I’m in a prison, Em. You can’t be here.”
“I was worried. You stopped writing.” She could hardly believe it. Sam. She was never going to let go of him now.
“Em, if they see you with me, you’re gonna get in trouble. You gotta get out of here.”
“And miss a chance to spend time with you? No way.”
“For God’s sake, Em. Trust me. You don’t belong here.” He combed a hand through his frizzy black hair. “You’re going to get hurt. These guys are vicious.”
“Did the other inmates hurt you?” Emma anxiously scanned his body for signs of injury. “Is that why you stopped writing?”
“Come on, Em.” Sam held her face between his hands. Her throat felt tight. “If they catch us together, you’re toast. They’ll fire you and might even take your license away.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell them the truth, nothing bad about that.”
“Don’t ever do that.” Sam covered her mouth with his large hand. “Don’t let anyone know about our relationship. We can’t be seen together.”
Emma pulled off his hand. “Why not? It’s not like I’m trying to spring you from prison. I just want to know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. If they know about us, they’ll separate us for sure. Probably transfer you to a different prison.”
“What?”
“Yes. They’re really strict about these things.”
It took a moment to digest the unwelcome news. “Fine, I won’t tell anyone.” Emma squeezed his hand. “But we can talk, can’t we? If you work here, I’ll see you every day.”
“Don’t let them think there’s anything between us.” Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m going to make it out of here. Don’t worry. I gotta go.”
“Okay. I love you.” Before she had a chance to hug him again, he’d slipped out. If only they had some more time together. She swallowed a couple of times and then exited the closet.
“There you are.” Vincent stared at her from the other side. Her heart thundered. Had he seen Sam, too? “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Sorry.” Emma lifted the blankets and forced out a smile. “I finally found the blankets. What’s up?”
“Hernia guy’s still whining. Can you see him?” Vincent took the blankets from her. “I’ll give these to Nash.”
Emma gazed down the hall. Sam was picking up a mop and bucket a few yards away. Her baby brother. Safe. She blinked back some tears. He seemed okay. Maybe he’d been busy the last few months. Maybe he hadn’t had time to write. But busy in prison? Doing what? Something must have happened to him and she needed to know what it was. He didn’t look like her easy, carefree brother. There were shadows underneath those eyes, a certain somberness to him she hadn’t noticed before. Was he afraid of something? What could it be? But the important thing was he was alright. And she was going to make sure he stayed alright for the rest of his sentence. But there was no time to dwell on that now. The hernia patient was still waiting.
Mr. Jones turned out to be a twenty-five-year-old obese man with a huge nose and dull blue eyes hidden behind spectacles. He lay on the bed picking his nose while reading a magazine, looking quite comfortable until he saw her.
“Where have you been, Doc?” he asked in a whiny, nasal voice. “I’m dying in here.”
“You must be Mr. Jones. I’m Dr. Edwards.” Usually she would have extended her hand but the nose picking killed that idea. “Where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” he moaned, pointing a chubby finger from his head to his toe. “I need some Vicodin or something. The Motrin ain’t doing nothing.”
Emma did a quick exam. Everything was normal. She reassured him of this, but he kept demanding narcotics. She agreed to give him some Tylenol #3 but back at the nursing station she learned that he was an “N” number, a narcotic commitment, someone incarcerated due to drug addiction. Not wanting to foster his addiction, she cancelled the T3 and told him he’d get Motrin instead.
“I already know it doesn’t work,” Jones whined as soon as he heard the news. “I need the T3, Doc. Come on, be nice for once.”
“Believe me, I’m trying to do wha
t’s best for you.” Emma escaped before the man could say anything else.
Out in the hallway, at least twenty inmates sitting on the wooden bench stretched against the wall were grumbling about the long wait.
“Are all those patients waiting to see me?” Emma asked her LVN, a Filipino man named Bill who was holding a tall stack of green charts by her desk when she entered Dr. Pan’s office.
“Yes.” He placed the charts on the desk. “The outside waiting room is full, so Custody brought the men back here. Ready for your first patient?”
“Sure.” Emma sighed. It was going to be a long day.
The office was large, about twenty by twenty with an old, wooden desk laid out in one corner, an exam table against the wall to the right of the desk, and a sink to the left of the entrance. An old-fashioned heater spewing out hot steam lay between the desk and the exam table. Some electric cords from the EKG machine stretched across the heater on their way to the plug near the desk. That didn’t look safe at all.
A loud clanging explosion suddenly rang out. Emma ducked and covered her head with her hands.
Chapter 7
“It’s okay, Doc,” Bill said in an amused voice. “It’s the heater making noises. No big deal.”
The loud clanging burst out again. It sounded like someone hammering on metal right next to her head. At least it hadn’t been the electrical fire Emma had feared. She pointed to the cords. “Are you sure that’s okay? They’re so close to the steam.”
Bill shrugged and pulled out the plug. “No worries. I’m sure it’s safe but if it makes you feel better, we’ll pull it out.”
“Alright.” Clang. Clang. Clang. Emma rubbed her temples. “Does that go on for a long time?”
“Usually not.” Bill handed over a green tome that looked like a phonebook. “Let me get your first patient. He has liver problems from hep C. It’s pretty common here.”
The enormous chart belonged to Mr. Barkley, an older man recently discharged from the county hospital who was sixty but looked more like eighty. He had cirrhosis with abdominal swelling, intermittent confusion from his end-stage liver disease, as well as recurrent vomiting up blood, the reason he stayed in the hospital recently. She flipped through the mostly illegible chart, which was at least four inches thick. And that was only the fifth volume. The other four lay stashed in a box by her feet. Emma shuddered and took in a deep breath.