Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1)

by DB Michaels

  “He was so young.”

  “He was an adult. He knew what he was doing.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She felt marginally better, but only a little bit. “I should get back to work.”

  “You work too hard. It’s the state. Relax. Where’s your lunch? Is this it?” Julien handed her the brown paper bag he located in the doctor’s cabinet.

  Emma opened the bag and took a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It tasted like sawdust. She grimaced and forced down some water.

  “Hey. Come on, it’s not that bad.” Julien patted her shoulder again. “Wanna come to my son’s birthday party on Sunday? Mary would love to meet you.”

  “Sure.” Something outside of work to focus on, just what she needed.

  Emma dragged herself through the rest of the day, trying hard not to think about Jones’s sightless eyes. That night, Riley reassured her she did the best she could, but her doubts lingered. She called an old friend who was a drug counselor and felt a little better hearing it confirmed drug overdoses were sometimes inevitable. Curious, what finally lifted the weight off Emma’s chest though was seeing her friend the blackbird again at the top of the hill near the administration building the following morning.

  The bird perched on a branch, spreading his glossy black wings wide and scanning his territory with pride. Other than him, she hadn’t seen a tricolored one in years. They were endangered. In fact, the last one she saw was on that camping trip with Sam when he was fifteen, before he’d been arrested. She had to tell him about the bird. It would definitely cheer him up, especially after what he’d been through yesterday.

  “Good morning,” she called to her brother as soon as they met in the Urgent Care. The nurses were getting their coffee down at the nursing station, and Sam was stacking boxes of gloves into the supply cabinet. Sergeant Peterson stood supervising with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “It’s okay, Sergeant.” Emma smiled at the kind-looking officer. “I’ll watch over Morris. You go and enjoy your coffee.”

  The sergeant returned her smile. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be over there at the station if you need me.”

  “Sure.” Emma closed the door to the clinic.

  “What are you doing?” Sam whispered. “He’s still watching us.”

  “There’s a bunch of dirt I see behind the door here, Morris.” Emma raised her voice. “I can’t hang my white coat there. Can you mop it up, please?”

  “Yes, Doc.” Sam spoke loudly before dropping his voice. “Don’t get us in trouble, Em.”

  “I’m not,” she whispered. “How are you doing? Are you still thinking about what happened?”

  “Did they find the drugs?” Sam slammed the mop back and forth against the door.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s bad in here, Em.” He gripped the mop hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “Promise me something.”

  “What?” She touched his arm. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t trust anybody,” he whispered. “Even the officers. They’re bad too.”

  “What do you mean?” Emma pulled at her pendant.

  “I can’t tell you. Can you quit? Please? I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  “You worry too much. Remember, I have Smith to shadow me.”

  “He can’t be with you everywhere.” Sam leaned his chin on top of the mop handle. “And who knows if you can even trust him?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Why are you so paranoid?”

  Sam gave a humorless laugh. “Because I’m triple C. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Triple what?”

  “Triple CMS. Correctional Clinical Case Management System. It’s for the crazy patients.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re not crazy.”

  “The meds make me tired so sometimes I spit them out,” Sam said. “But most of the time I take them to help me sleep. It’s not too bad. They’re heat meds so I get AC in the summertime.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re taking meds? Which ones?” Had he slipped back into using drugs? He wasn’t making any sense at all.

  “Don’t worry. It’s all legit. The psychiatrist prescribes them.”

  “What are they?”

  “ZOLOFT and ABILIFY.”

  “But ABILIFY is an antipsychotic,” Emma said, horrified. “You’re not psychotic.”

  “Maybe I am.” Sam’s face turned sullen. “What? You can’t handle it if your brother is crazy?”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Emma bit her lip. “Are you okay? You don’t need them, do you?”

  Sam sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. But sometimes the flashbacks get pretty bad. The meds help me sleep.”

  “Is this about your father?”

  “I wish.” Sam looked down. “No. It’s worse. Much worse.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Emma forced him to face her. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

  “Nothing you can do.” He banged the mop back and forth again against the door. “Remember what I said. Don’t trust anyone. It’s for your own good.”

  “You done in there?” Peterson pounded on the door. “The nurses want to get back in. There’re patients out here.”

  “Sure.” Emma gave Sam a warning look before opening the door. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

  “No problem, Doc. Ready for your first patient?” The sergeant smiled at her before turning to Sam. “You, go to room four. The toilets need cleaning in there.”

  Sam shuffled out, his chin to his chest. Prison had changed her brother so much. Even at juvenile hall, he’d been happier, more confident. Now he was a shadow of his former self. He needed some TLC. Darn, she’d forgotten to tell him about the blackbird.

  “Here’s your first patient, Doc.” A new nurse she hadn’t met before brought in a thin young man who was wheezing. “Mr. Cavendish, twenty-one-year-old with asthma exacerbation.”

  “Thanks.” The nurse was short, about her height. “What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve met you yet. I’m Dr. Edwards.”

  “I’m Madison. Nice to meet you.” The nurse looked to be in her mid-twenties. Without makeup on, her face was plain and unassuming, though her eyes were a remarkable golden brown color. Her brown hair bobbed behind in a ponytail as she handed Emma the patient’s chart.

  “He’s been doing well, no inhaler use for months and suddenly it hit him yesterday.”

  “Hey,” Emma said. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay.” Huff. “Ran out of my inhaler.” Huff.

  “Give him a nebulizer.” Emma lifted the man’s shirt and put a stethoscope to his chest. Her heart rate picked up a notch. “He’s not moving any air. Five milligrams of albuterol and five hundred micrograms of Atrovent. Stat, please. Hook him up to some oxygen.” She rushed him to the gurney.

  The man gripped both hands on the bed and sprung his torso forward. Deep pockets indented his collarbone as he gasped for air.

  “He’s retracting. Where’s that nebulizer?”

  Madison brought over the breathing treatment and soon a steady mist blew into Mr. Cavendish’s face. He gulped in the air, his eyes wide with anxiety.

  “Easy. It’s okay.” Emma laid a hand on his back. “Take it easy. In. Out. Nice and slow. Don’t worry. In. Out. That’s it. Keep going.”

  Emma reapplied the stethoscope. Good, finally some air was flowing.

  “No past medical history except for asthma.” Madison flipped through the chart. “Been intubated once when he was sixteen. Triggers are cigarette smoke, exercise, dust, and cats. Been at Albatross for six months without any attacks.”

  “Are you doing better?” Emma asked.

  The man nodded and took the nebulizer tube out of his mouth. “A lot. Thanks, Doc.”

  “Keep going. We’re not done yet.” She put the tube back in his mouth and watched the indentations around his collarbone disappear. He was breathing slower, too. The mist eventually stoppe
d airing and Emma removed the tube. “So what happened? How come you had an attack?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It came out of the blue.”

  “Did something set it off? Were you exercising or around dust?”

  “No, not really.” His eyes shifted around the room and out the door to across the hall where the officers were sitting. He saw Smith in the corner of the room and swallowed. “I ran out of my inhaler, that’s all.”

  “But you hadn’t had an attack in a long time.” Feeling something was off, Emma went over to Smith. “Can you step out of the room for a sec? Madison is with me. I need to ask the patient something.”

  “But, Mr. Chambers—”

  “Will not mind because the nurse is here. I’m not alone.” With that, she pushed Smith out of the room and shut the door. Madison smiled and gave her the thumbs-up sign.

  “So tell me, Mr. Cavendish. What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen young patients like you die of asthma. It’s a horrible way to go.” Emma looked him in the eye. “What set it off? Anything I can help you with?”

  Cavendish dropped his eyes and fidgeted with his hands. “Okay. Don’t tell anyone I said this but it’s the cigarette smoke. They moved my bed last week closer to the bathroom and my asthma got a lot worse.” He looked up and grimaced. “They’re going to kill me if they find out. Please don’t say anything.”

  “They smoke more in the bathroom?” Madison prodded.

  “Yes. A lot. Especially at night.” Cavendish coughed into his hands. “That’s when my asthma acts up.”

  “Isn’t smoking not allowed in here?” Emma asked. “Let’s tell Custody so they can put a stop to it.”

  “No.” Little dots of perspiration popped up on Cavendish’s upper lip. “Don’t tell them. My bunkies are gonna know I snitched. And they’re gonna get back at me.”

  “Custody is not going to let that happen.” Emma gave him a reassuring smile. “You should trust them. They can probably even move you to a different dorm. You’ll feel a lot better.”

  “Not likely.” A mutinous expression settled over Cavendish’s face. “Can I go now? I feel better already.”

  “Not yet.” Emma handed him a peak flow meter. “You need another round. And some prednisone, too. Let’s check your peak flow. You know it tells me how well your lungs are doing.”

  Cavendish blew into the meter. The little balloon flew up to three fifty.

  “What’s your average? Six fifty?” Emma said. “I thought so. You’re way off track. Madison, could you give him two more nebs? And sixty milligrams of prednisone by mouth, please.”

  Emma racked her brain, trying to find a way to help Cavendish without risking his safety.

  “Madison.” She flagged the nurse over. “So what do you think? Do they really smoke in their dorms?”

  “Of course.” Madison rolled her eyes. “You didn’t know? Oh, I forgot, you’re new to the prison, right? Well, let me give you the lowdown. There’s a black market in here. Whatever you want—cigarettes, drugs, pills, downers, uppers—you can get it all for the right price.”

  “But that’s horrible.” Emma reared back in shock. “Custody’s not doing anything?”

  Madison scanned the room. Cavendish was a good distance away. She leaned close and whispered, “There’re some rumors going around.”

  “What?”

  The nurse made a locking gesture over her lips. “Family and visitors bring in most of the drugs. But I heard some staff members may be sneaking them in, too. Nobody’s ever been caught. But you didn’t hear any of this from me.” Madison gave a warning shake of her head before heading over to refill their patient’s nebulizer.

  Cavendish better not have heard what they were saying. Emma shivered. Could some staff members be the suppliers? Or was it only a rumor? How could Maxim let that happen if it were true? The man seemed to be a stickler for the rules.

  “Hey, Doc. I’m done. Can I go now?” Cavendish took off the nebulizer tube. Emma handed him the peak flow meter, her mind still racing over what she’d heard. “Six fifty, Doc. I feel much better.”

  “Let me take a quick listen.” Emma applied her stethoscope. “Good, loud and clear. Here’s a new inhaler. And you’ll need to take four more days of prednisone, fifty milligrams every day. I’ll talk to Custody and get you moved.”

  “But not tell them about the cigarettes, right?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell them.”

  She waved good-bye to Cavendish. Aha. Mr. Peterson was across the hallway. She may have a plan. “Hi, Sergeant,” she called the older man over. “Could you help me with something?”

  “Sure, my dear.” The officer smiled and entered the room. “What is it?”

  “Could you move Mr. Cavendish to another dorm for me?”

  “But why?”

  “Because it’s damp where he is right now. It makes his asthma worse.” Emma thought it was a perfect excuse. “He needs to be farther away from the bathroom. The steam from there flares up his asthma.”

  “You’re a softie, Doc. Write that on the chrono and I’ll have him moved, stat.” He pulled at his mustache. “I wish we had more doctors like you. You really care about your patients, don’t you?”

  “I try,” she said, forcing out a smile. “Thanks, Sergeant. I’ll give you the chrono in a second.”

  Whew. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Madison gave her a thumbs-up sign. She wrote the chrono and handed a copy to the sergeant. Now, she had to figure out a way to tell Maxim about the cigarettes. It wasn’t going to be easy. He’d look down his long nose at her and demand proof. All she had were Cavendish’s words. And didn’t Maxim believe that all inmates lied? Great. Emma sighed, already dreading their encounter.

  First things first, though, she had to take care of the rest of the patients in the waiting room. A cold, a first-degree burn, a sprained shoulder, a broken finger, a gallstone attack, and someone with recurrent back pain. The morning flew by in a flash.

  In the afternoon, Emma rounded on the OHU patients to make sure they were doing okay. The possible flu had no fever for the last twenty-four hours so she discharged him with strict instructions to come back if he felt worse. The four diarrhea men hadn’t had diarrhea for the past twenty-four hours. Plus they were eating well and stool cultures were negative for norovirus, so she discharged them also.

  Smith trailed her from room to room as she did her rounds, not saying much but keeping a wary eye on her.

  “You know where I can find the warden?” Emma asked the officer at the end of the day. “I need to talk to him about something.”

  “Here’s his office number.” Smith pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “And his cell is on the back. He told me to give it to you if you ever need it.”

  “His cell, too?” Emma raised her eyebrows. “Your boss is pretty available to his staff.”

  “Not to everyone. Only to you it seems.” The guard winked at her and grinned. Before she could respond, he added, “So you’re done seeing patients, right? My mother’s birthday party is tonight, so I don’t want to be late.”

  After sending Smith off, Emma dialed Maxim’s office and arranged with his secretary to meet him the following Monday. Apparently he’d driven away to a conference in Fresno. She didn’t know why he’d given her his cell. A warm feeling blossomed in her chest. Could the man be interested in her? He’d been pretty considerate in the ER. And there was something about him that drew her. Maybe it was his all-encompassing warmth. She’d always had a thing for electric blankets. God, she was pathetic. She needed to focus on Sam, not be mooning over his jailer.

  Hmm. The office was empty. A perfect time to check up on Sam. There was the patient’s privacy act to consider but this was her brother, for heaven’s sake. She closed the door to the clinic before punching in Sam’s name and date of birth. Out came his CDC number. Then she clicked open the medication tab and p
unched in his number. Out popped his list of medications.

  ZOLOFT 100 mg po qd

  ABILIFY 5 mg po qhs

  Emma glanced over to the right of the medication reconciliation form. Dr. Stewart was the prescribing doctor. Hmm. How was she going to find the doctor and discuss Sam, all without raising any suspicion? She could pretend Sam was her patient, which technically he was because she was the float. Emma covered for any doctor who was off, right? That made her the doctor for all these patients. She shook her head, knowing it was a weak argument but hey, at least it was something. She couldn’t very well announce to the shrink she was the crazy sister wanting the scoop on her equally crazy brother. No, she didn’t think that would go over very well.

  Chapter 13

  “Again. Do it again, Dr. Emmy,” the little boy shrieked in her ear, all the while bouncing up and down and grabbing her hand with his chubby fingers.

  “Okay, Robby. Here goes.” Emma lifted him onto her back.

  “Hey. My turn.” Robby’s little brother Stevie tugged at her leg. “My turn to play horsie.”

  “No. Mine.” Another brother pulled at the other leg. “Dr. Emmy, me up. Me up.”

  “Hold on, boys.” Emma laughed. “I can only do one at a time. Horsie is tired. Horsie has a very small back.” The other two boys flopped on their bellies and plucked at her ankles. “Hey? Did I just get shackles on my legs? Oh no, I’m a horsie prisoner.”

  Delighted giggles burst around her. Emma galloped several steps in the inflatable castle on her hands and knees, trying to keep Robby on her back. Julien’s little boy was turning eight, but he weighed a ton. Her back was starting to hurt but the boys were having too good a time to quit. Robby leaned a little too much to the right and off she rolled onto her back on the bouncer, surrounded by little bodies everywhere.

  It’d been a good idea to wear shorts and a T-shirt today. Otherwise she’d be baking in the castle. Someone pulled at her hair tie and out came her ponytail. A sticky hand squeezed her right foot. Someone else tickled her nose with a lock of her hair. Robbie tried to lift her shirt but thank goodness she was too quick for him. “Sorry, little boy.” She laughed and flipped on her belly. “Can’t oblige you there.”