Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1)

by DB Michaels

  “His wife said he went to Riverside Community to check on Morris.”

  “That’s what she said?” Maxim bit out. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. You want us to head there?”

  “Yes. Immediately. I’ll meet you there.”

  The sense of doom thickened as he clicked off the phone. Peterson could be heading to Riverside Community for only one reason: to finish off Morris. No way was Maxim going to let that happen. He dialed the hospital. Morris’s nurse said there was no sign of the sergeant but she promised to keep an extra eye out for him.

  At least there were guards watching Morris. Surely he wouldn’t come into any harm. He was in the hospital. Nurses and doctors were in and out of his room all the time. And Maxim had witnessed Emma leaving the hospital earlier. She was safe. Maybe even in the shower back at her place.

  Or maybe Peterson had hurt her already. Maxim took in a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth. He needed to get a grip and calm down. Everything was going to be okay. No point to get ahead of himself and think of worst-case scenarios. Emma was probably home right now. He redialed her number. Still nothing. Her cell didn’t pick up either. A heavy knot clutched at Maxim’s chest, refusing to let go. He veered off the Lincoln exit and turned right. At least the traffic didn’t extend to here. Maxim sped to over eighty miles per hour and swerved sharp into the hospital’s parking lot.

  He sprang out of the convertible and soon was racing up the main stairs in the east wing. The elevators weren’t available due to some medical emergency. Finally he finished climbing and bolted down the Six East corridor.

  “Code Blue Team. Code Blue Team. Six East. Room 605.”

  Jesus Christ. That was Morris’s room. Maxim sprinted the last ten yards and flung open the door to 605. He screeched to a stop, his heart in his throat. Peterson was pointing a gun at Emma, who for some inexplicable reason wasn’t ducking. She threw herself at the sergeant instead. No! Maxim jumped between them as a loud shot rang out.

  “Run, Emma!” Maxim tackled the sergeant and knocked the gun out of the man’s hand. Peterson’s head made a sickening thud on the tile floor. Maxim’s shoulder hurt like hell but no way was he going to release the death grip he had on Peterson’s arms. Suddenly a slew of white coats and nurses flew into the room.

  “What’s happening in here?” one of the nurses yelled out as most of her colleagues rushed to Morris’s bedside.

  “Let go of me!” Peterson shouted, his eyes bulging.

  “Not in this lifetime.” Maxim felt like throttling the man. “I trusted you. How could you do this?”

  “It’s not what you think. Let me go, Maxim,” his mentor had the effrontery to say.

  “Never,” Maxim bit out. “You’re under arrest, Sergeant.”

  Morris’s two assigned officers finally made an appearance as they ran into the room, clutching their batons. The damned guards. They’d come too little, too late. Maxim was going to skin them alive for this. “Where the hell were you?” he yelled.

  “The sergeant told us to go on a break,” the taller guard replied, his voice cracking. “Sorry, sir. We didn’t know.”

  “Mistake. You should never have left your post.” Maxim shoved the sergeant their way. “Take him and bind him up. Hand him over to the proper authorities.”

  Peterson spluttered his outrage as he was led out, but Maxim didn’t give a damn. He scanned the room, searching for Emma. Where the hell did the woman go? His eyes swung frantically to the hospital bed. At last, her dear face came into view amid the sea of white coats. Maxim finally could breathe again. She was all right. She wasn’t hurt. But she looked terrified, her face as white as a sheet.

  “John, save him please,” she was saying to her ex. “Why’s he so hypotensive?”

  “I think he lost more blood. I’ll do my best. What’s the hematocrit?”

  “Twenty-five,” a blonde nurse said.

  “Christ. I was right.” The surgeon glanced at his watch. “Let’s bring him back to the OR. Stat.”

  “Sam.” Emma squeezed her brother’s hand. “You have to fight, Sam. Don’t give up. Do you hear me?”

  The nurses retook Morris’s vital signs and disconnected the various tubes from the walls. “Miss, we have to go now. You have to give us some room.”

  “Please don’t die. I need you, Sam.” Emma backed away, her eyes stark with fear. “I love you, Sam. Don’t leave me.” She clamped a hand over her face as the staff pushed Morris out of the room.

  Maxim came over immediately, but Emma pushed him away, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

  “Get away from me,” she sobbed. “It’s your fault. You did this, Maxim.”

  Maxim turned away, his body breaking out in a sweat. He rubbed the nape of his neck, his hand trembling. She was only speaking the truth. He knew it had been a risk to get involved with Emma, that he could drag her into his dark world but he’d never imagined this. What was wrong with him that everyone he loved met with violence? First his parents and now Emma and her brother.

  “You love Morris?” a stern voice called out from the entranceway. “You have some serious explaining to do, Doc.”

  Damn. Banding had to show up now of all times. The sergeant was standing by the doorway, a grim scowl on his face.

  “Yes. I do love him.” Emma declared, her voice rising.

  “So Peterson was right?” Banding entered the room. “You know it’s a felony to be involved with an inmate.”

  “Sam Morris is my brother. So stop with your stupid accusations. I love him. And he’s hurt.” Emma swung an angry glare at Maxim. “All because of your damned prison. All because of you, Maxim. It was your job to keep him safe. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  She flew at Maxim and pelted him with her small fists.

  He deserved her condemnation. All of it. How he’d failed her.

  “I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry,” he said over and over again but Emma kept pummeling him, her tears back in full force.

  “Step back, Doctor.” Banding dragged Emma away.

  She collapsed into a nearby chair and buried her face in her hands.

  Banding shouldn’t have pulled her back. The pain she inflicted was nothing compared to what was eating at Maxim’s soul. One punch, though, had landed right smack on his aching shoulder. A dark stain was beginning to form there. Damn. Was that blood? He must have been shot earlier. No time to take care of it now, though. Emma was breaking apart. He had to help her somehow.

  But it looked like she wasn’t going to require his assistance after all, for Stewart suddenly appeared in the room, running to her side. “Emma! What’s wrong? Where’s Sam?”

  Emma threw herself into Stewart’s arms. The knot in Maxim’s chest tightened. He should have been the one holding her, the one providing comfort, not the psychiatrist. But how could he blame her for turning away from him? He was the cause of all her heartbreak. She was better off without him. The realization was a punch in the gut, all the more deadly because of its accuracy.

  “They know Sam is my brother,” Emma told Stewart, hiccupping at her last word.

  “You should have told us earlier,” Banding announced. “You violated policy, Doc. I’m going to have to tell Sacramento about this. They’re not going to be happy.”

  “Let me deal with it.” Maxim drew Banding out into the hallway.

  Suddenly, a wave of light-headedness swept over Maxim. The ache in his shoulder became a raging fire. He swayed and leaned back against the wall for support. The stain on his shirt seemed a little bigger. Maybe he was getting what he deserved after all.

  Chapter 33

  “I’m sorry, Emma.” John’s exhausted face stared back at her. “We couldn’t save him.”

  “What?” Emma gasped. “He’s gone?”

  “We tried our best.”

  “But he was doing well.” Emma shook her head, a haze of blackness swimming at her periphery. “What happened?”

  “The surgical bed w
as diffusely oozing, probably because he’d been coagulopathic.” John squeezed her shoulder.

  “You mean he couldn’t clot? But why?”

  “He’d lost a lot of blood earlier. You know when that happens, the clotting factors and platelets become dysfunctional. Patients bleed more easily.”

  “Did he get FFP?”

  “Of course. More than ten units but we still couldn’t control the bleeding. I’m so sorry.” John swept off his surgeon’s cap. “Do you want to see him? He’s still in the OR. They’re cleaning him up right now.”

  “Yes. Please, I need to see him.” Emma bit her lip, the haziness increasing around her. Sam couldn’t be dead. Not her darling, precious brother.

  “All right. Come with me.”

  Emma stepped through a set of double doors and down the short corridor to another set. Someone was walking next to her. Maxim? For a moment, her treacherous heart longed for his reassuring presence. His comforting arms, his solid and warm body. If only he could hold her and chase away this nightmare.

  “Emma. This way.”

  Emma blinked. It wasn’t Maxim walking next to her. No, it was Charles. Charles, who’d been so solicitous. He’d sat with her through the night in the waiting room without complaint, getting up to buy her coffee every hour, feeding her snacks, reassuring her that things were going to be okay. But they weren’t okay, were they?

  And why the heck had she been longing for Maxim? The man was responsible for her brother’s death. And to make it worse, he’d disappeared as soon as Sam had left for the OR. He hadn’t had the decency to wait to see if her brother was okay. But that wasn’t surprising in the least, was it? Sam was an inmate, so why would Maxim care what happened to him? No, Maxim was probably back in his mansion, lording it over the world.

  “He’s in here,” someone called.

  A blast of cold air slammed into her as she entered the OR suite. She shivered and tried to rub the goose bumps off her arms. A few techs were putting away the surgical instruments as housekeeping scrubbed the floors.

  Emma placed one foot in front of the other, telling herself to keep breathing. At last she reached the center table. She gripped the table’s edge and blinked away her tears. Yes, that was Sam. She couldn’t mistake that frizzy hair anywhere. They’d removed the bandages from his head. Some matted blood clung to his right forehead. A white sheet covered his body.

  The trembling first started in her fingers. Then it traveled up her arms into her chest and then down her legs. Little shudders at first, they gradually picked up steam and transformed into violent jerks within minutes. Emma collapsed on the cold floor. Bright light blazed down at her. Did Sam see the same light? Was there a heaven that welcomed him? Did heaven even exist?

  Oh, Sam. Take me with you. Emma curled her knees to her chest. Why did you leave me? Someone lifted her onto a gurney. A rushing sound buzzed in her ears. She couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak. Her body kept shaking. She closed her eyes. Phineas flapped his wings as he danced in front of her from one branch to another. Dear Phineas. Take me with you. Take me with you.

  ***

  A while later, Emma awakened in a strange room. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes, hours, days—did it even matter? The room was small and sparse, holding only her bed and a tiny sink in the corner.

  “You’re awake.” Charles sat on a chair next to the bed, his gray suit rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. “Thank God.”

  “Where am I?” Her mouth felt fuzzy and her voice cracked.

  “In the ER. You’ve been asleep for almost the whole day.” He leaned in, his worried eyes scanning her face. “How do you feel?”

  “Groggy. My throat’s dry.”

  “The attending gave you some Ativan.” Charles gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Do you feel any better?”

  “No.” She bit her lip. “Sam? Where is he?”

  “At the morgue.” Charles clasped her hand in his. “Emma, I’m so sorry.”

  “Can you take me home?”

  An hour later, she was finally able to crawl into her own bed. Her body felt bruised and shattered, as if a truck had struck her. Charles offered to stay but she dismissed him, wanting nothing more than to be alone.

  The next few days flew by in a blur. Emma spent most of it in bed trying to sleep but usually failing. Charles arranged for the cremation. Too soon, she stood at the crematory with her friend, staring at Sam’s cold, lifeless body before they wheeled him back.

  “I think those are perfect,” Charles said, pointing to Sam’s personal belongings.

  Emma smoothed a shaking finger over the blackbird picture she’d taken from her wall. “You think he’s going to feel any of it?”

  “The cremation? I don’t think so.” Charles put an arm around her shoulder. “His soul is already gone, Emma. I’m glad you also included the comet pictures. Where did you get them?”

  “A…A friend gave them to me.” Emma swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I kept a few and gave the rest to my brother.”

  “That’s why he was always talking about comets.” Charles squeezed her shoulder.

  She touched Sam’s cold hand and pressed a kiss to his face. “Good-bye, brother,” she whispered. “I’ll always love you.”

  ***

  “I’m leaving as soon as the typhoon is over,” Riley said on the phone.

  Emma pulled up the bedcovers and focused on the new addition to her room. She’d picked it up yesterday and had placed it on her nightstand. “You don’t need to. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine. Are you eating enough?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was the last thing you ate?”

  “Oatmeal, I think.” Emma scrubbed a hand over her face. It must have been at breakfast. She didn’t remember having lunch or dinner. But she wasn’t even hungry. “I have to go, Riley. I have a lot to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “This and that.”

  “Emma, it’s noon over here in Vietnam. Which makes it ten p.m. where you are. You can’t have that much to do.”

  “I can sleep.” Not easily but she could try. Or she could look over Sam’s photo album one more time. Or reread some of the letters he’d sent her ages ago.

  “You told me you slept half the day away.”

  “So, I’m tired. I need rest.” The same nightmare about Sam being beaten kept rearing its ugly head at night. She’d barely slept a wink the past week. Just naps in the daytime, but Riley didn’t need to know that. Her friend was worried enough already.

  “Have you stepped out of your studio once during the last seven days?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not talking about for the cremation.”

  “I don’t need to go anywhere.” Emma rolled over in the bed and curled her legs to her chest.

  “Has Charles come by?”

  “Not since Thursday. He’s away on a trip.”

  “Oh. What about Maxim?”

  “What about him?”

  “Has he called?”

  “Just once.” Emma reached over to the nightstand and dragged Sam’s urn onto her bed. It felt cold and smooth. Like the way Sam’s forehead had felt the last time she’d kissed him good-bye.

  “Only once? I thought he would have tried more than that.”

  “I told him to stay out of my life. That I never want to see him again.” Emma hugged the urn to her chest. Her poor, vibrant brother, reduced to this.

  “Maybe you should talk to him.” Riley let out a long sigh. “I’m worried about you over there all alone.”

  “I have nothing to say to him.” Emma smoothed a hand over the urn. “Nothing polite, that is.” She threw out a humorless laugh.

  “You loved him once.”

  “He killed my brother.” Emma shivered and huddled underneath the comforter. Not that it would do any good. She was always cold these days. “Every time I think about him, I feel so guilty. Like I’m betraying Sam’s memory.”


  “Don’t be ridiculous. Peterson and his gang killed Sam. Maxim just didn’t protect him enough.”

  “Same thing as killing him.”

  “No. It’s different.” Riley blew out a breath. “All I’m saying is that people make mistakes, Em. And I know his was a big one. But he thought you and Sam were involved. Jealousy blinds people sometimes.”

  “So what are you saying? That we should kiss and make up? For God’s sake, he had me investigated, Riley. He didn’t trust me one bit.”

  “But he threw himself in harm’s way three times to protect you. It’s obvious he’s crazy about you.”

  “Three? There was Ransom and then Henderson. I don’t remember a third.”

  “Hello? Didn’t you tell me he tackled Peterson to the ground?”

  “Yes. But that didn’t count.” Emma shook her head, not wanting to relive that horrible day.

  “Didn’t count? How can you say that? The sergeant had a gun. You bet it counted.”

  “Whatever. The man didn’t even stay to see if Sam survived.” Emma gritted her teeth. How could he desert her like that? “I’m done with him.”

  “Maybe he had a reason for not staying.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but you should talk to him. How long did he let you have off?”

  “As long as I need, he said.” He’d sounded contrite. But it was too little, too late.

  “It’s dangerous in there, Em. Maybe you shouldn’t come back.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do yet.” The days stretched ahead of her, empty and meaningless.

  “I’ll be back by the weekend. I’m sure they’ll let us fly as soon as the typhoon clears.”

  “You don’t have to rush back, Riley.” Emma rubbed the urn with her thumb. “I’m doing okay and Doctors Without Borders needs you more.”

  “I’m coming back and you can’t stop me, Em.” Some foreign language erupted in the background. “Listen, I have to go. Clinic’s starting. Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Dear Riley, always looking out for her. Emma wrapped her arms around the urn, careful to hold it upright. Maybe she’d finally get some sleep tonight if she kept Sam by her side. But what if she knocked it over during the night? Sighing, she kissed the urn and placed it back on her nightstand.