by Bella Knight
“No,” sighed Tiny. “She’s a victim of PTSD. Something you claimed to have enough classroom and training hours to treat. It will be child’s play to discover how few military people you treated before you got your license.”
“HIPAA,” said Racano, referring to the act that governed the privacy of medical records in the United States.
“I’m sure they talked to your instructors,” said Tiny. “They’re very thorough.”
Racano finished her salad. “I’m not taking a plea.”
“Have it your way,” said Tiny. “But I want my next payment by the end of the week. That’s how long it will take to convict you of all charges.”
“Fine,” said Racano.
It all came out. Racano was the bottom third of her class, didn’t treat a single military veteran before starting her practice, took very little coursework in either treating post-traumatic stress or hypnotherapy. The medical biller and receptionist both testified.
Racano demanded to have her say, and Ariella Ziegler tore her apart on the witness stand. “Ms. Racano. We have heard you, on tape, denying to your patients that things they saw and witnessed never happened. Major Martinez researched military records that the judge reviewed, ones that prove that your patients did, in fact, happen to witness. Why did you gaslight your patients? Call them liars?”
“I never called a patient a liar,” said Racano. “I never gaslighted anyone.”
“You said they did not witness what they witnessed,” said Ziegler. “That’s calling someone a liar. And abuse.”
“I never abused any patient,” said Racano.
Ziegler then played tape after tape, and had the court reporter read back Major Martinez’ statements from the record, refuting each one. The judge looked more and more stonefaced, and the jurors looked alternately sick to their stomachs or stone-cold furious. Tiny finally had to stipulate that the tapes and Major Martinez’ statements contradicted one another to stop the damage, which made Racano furious. It was, of course, far too late. Racano painted each patient as severely mentally ill. She denied that she was incompetent. When it was pointed out that she told Fire that the assault on the farm didn’t happen, and the part was read back where Dr. Guggenheim testified that it took her a single minute to look up the events using her patient’s street address, Racano’s goose was cooked.
The charges of patient abuse were added, one count for every instance; Lopez was delighted. It wasn’t until Racano was being led out in an orange jumpsuit to the prison bus when she saw a line of people with their backs to her, all wearing black jackets. Some had a skull on it, some a gear and wrench, some a knight on a Harley, some a screaming woman with a battleax in hand. She distantly remembered her lawyer telling her to look at the jackets in the courtroom. She’d ignored the miniscule woman, and now she regretted it.
“You be a dead woman,” said the woman with a wild mop of black hair shuffling behind her, just off her own court case. “Dem angry bikers. I don’ mess wif dem. Who ya piss off?”
Racano didn’t answer. Her patient had told her about the Valkyries, but she’d dismissed them as she’d dismissed everything else that she didn’t think of... herself. Now, when she mounted the bus stairs, she realized that was probably an error on her part.
The insurance company caved four hours after she was found guilty of every single count, and settled for the maximum they could settle for based on Racano’s insurance policy, for all nine women. Rocano’s victims formed their own Warrior Women support group, with Dr. Guggenheim herself assisting when Dr. Mattie Pereira went on her honeymoon —her third, and final, she said, because this time it was with a woman.
“We need to unfuck ourselves,” said Fire, in the group. “Here’s where we do that. First, we saw and did things that people here don’t get, except Gunny here. And then we went to the Racano witch and got even more fucked.” There were groans, hoo-rahs, and fist bumps. “And now we get unfucked, and stay that way. I’ve been on meds for a while now, just little doses, and I sleep most nights, and then I get up and clean when I can’t sleep. Works, too. Boring as fuck.” Everyone laughed. “And, I actually tasted chocolate, mixed with ash in my mouth. Dr. Guggenheim says the ash will fade over time, and the chocolate taste stay.”
“I wish I couldn’t taste chocolate,” said Specialist Cecelia “Cee” Vargas, a curvy woman with a wild mess of brown curls and a mischievous smile. “Less of a badunk-a-dunk,” she said, pointing to her ass. Everyone laughed.
“Why don’t you change your name, from Fire?” asked Major “Balls” Balencio.
“Coming from someone named Balls…” said Vargas. Everyone laughed.
“I earned my name,” said Fire. “I have bright red hair, and the skills to go with it. I can shoot any damn thing they give me. Now I’m hitting up the firing range, working on learning swords and dirks, and poles and shit. You want to sleep like a stone, do some Valkyrie training.”
“Word,” said Wraith.
“You tell ‘em, Gunny,” said Fire.
“My mama told me, I drive a Harley, she’ll disown me,” said an x-ray tech, Major Carolyn “Care” Ralak.
“You always do what your mama tell you?” asked Lieutenant “Whiskey” Warren.
“Naw,” said Care. “I’m still married to Roger. He doesn’t get why I keep a gun at the shooting range and shoot, or why I kickbox and come home with bruises. More than one of our friends and my cousin Lina were worried that he hit me.” She grimaced. “I had to show video of me kickboxing to get them to calm the fuck down.” There were nods around the room. “But, he stood by me, raises our kids with me. Thomas is three and Denver is two. But, I don’t have time to do the Harley thing now. Two little kids, you know.” She pulled up pictures of the kids on her cell phone, and passed them around. “That’s why I’m here. Dr. Lewis says every time I yell at my kids like a banshee, it’s actually worse than hitting them. Learning to punch a bag, not freak out in front of my kids.”
“Porcupine,” said Whiskey. “And, no more whiskey. Changing my name to Rabbit. I’m six months sober, and I run faster than any fucking rabbit out there. Used to do track in school. Now, I volunteer, track and field at the girls’ high school. Been getting certified to be a teacher, too,” said Rabbit. “Wanna coach the girls, soccer, track and field, full time. No more working at Wal-Mart. But, I gotta get my head straight. Can’t be stabbing them kids with my porcupine quills.”
“Porcupine,” said Care. “That’s about it. But ya stab the people closest to you with the damn quills. And that preschool hoochie mama, be up in my face ‘cause her little Jeffrey stole Denver’s toy at the Play Palace after Gymboree, and Denver conked him on the head with another toy. Had to lower my voice before we all got kicked out.”
“Go Denver,” said Rabbit. Everybody laughed.
Wraith took a breath, let it out. “I live a complicated life. I gotta job that’s really important. I’ve got a complicated life, too, married to both a wife and a husband.” Fire was the only one that didn’t drop her jaw at that one. “And three lovely kids, one having surgery to repair the damage from an accident like mine, except she was in a friend’s car. My bright little boy wants to be a scientist, but other kids tease him. And my other daughter cusses more than me.” They all laughed.
“Shit, woman,” said Cee. “You got flow charts to keep knowin’ everybody’s name?” They all laughed again.
Wraith belly-laughed. “I use them every damn, day,” she said, when she got back her breath. “But, I have an opportunity to keep people safe, from the stuff I went through. And, I’m gonna take it.”
“You go, Gunny,” said Fire. The women fist-bumped, and grinned.
“Sometimes you find love, even when you’re not looking for it.”
5
Blade
“Some people run away from danger. Some run toward it.”
Alvitr thought of Sigrun. Sigrun was becoming a very powerful and fearless fighter. She kept secrets well. She had children. P
erhaps Sigrun could be talked into letting her girls, and maybe the boy, train at the Rock Farm. So, she used her lieu day, and went to the source. She brought caramel coffee and scones into a basement where printers ran twenty-four hours a day, printing limbs for children, from Canada to Chile, from Los Angeles to Honolulu, Moscow to Capetown. Alvitr hoped the offering was enough to pry away five minutes of Sigrun’s time. It was; the interns took the rest.
She found Sigrun banging away on a keyboard at the college, a boy with rasta hair right behind her. “So, those are the specs,” said Sigrun. “Got it, Rodney?”
“Got it,” he said. “Matches the email perfectly.”
“Do it,” said Sigrun. She turned, and saw Alvitr. Alvitr put the last coffee and blueberry scone down, and Sigrun picked up Alvitr and whirled her around. “Here to help us? I thought for sure you’d be crashed out on your bunk.”
“Was gonna,” said Alvitr. “But, I’ve got a problem at the Rock Ranch. I need to borrow your kids.”
“My kids?” asked Sigrun. “You want to teach them Harleys?”
Alvitr grinned. Chance and Rhodes had rubbed off on the Valkryies’ children. “If they want to, yes. Mainly I want them to cheer up my Soldier Pack. Do a little sparring, a little arguing. Like Chance and Rhodes.”
Sigrun nodded. “I get that,” she said. “And yes.”
Alvitr struggled not to do a happy dance. Such a display would cheapen the moment.
Sigrun walked over to a printer that held a perfect gold-and-red artificial hand. “Wonder Woman,” said Sigrun. “Black Panther and Pantheress are over here.” She showed black-and-silver models. “Superheroes are our most requested. But, we get just straight mechanical ones.” She walked over to a vertical printer. “This one prints the legs. Got six Black Panthers and Pantheress ones ready to go.”
Alvitr knelt, looked at a pitfully small one. Her heart clenched. “Boy in Tanzania,” said Sigrun. “Let’s pack these up.” They checked everything by their barcodes, printed in 3D on each one, with the packing slip and specifications. “Last chance to find screwups,” said Sigrun. Everything checked out, so they packed them up carefully. “Special soy packing peanuts. Turns to goo and vanishes. As little landfill stuff as possible here.” They finished packing, sealing, and labeling, and sent them out. “Shipping company comes in an hour. Have to see if we can’t get one or two more in the stack,” said Sigrun.
Alvitr moved like a zombie. Her knee ached where the women had gotten into an overly fractious training session. She hadn’t been able to get out of the way of a lightning-fast foot in time. She’d been checked out, no torn ligaments or tendons, but she wore a light brace and was on naproxen sodium for the pain. Alvitr was pissed at having to take her lieu days early. The women at the Rock House were much calmer now, after Alvitr had yelled at them for hurting her, hurting each other. “You’re a fucking pack,” she said. “Fucking act like it.” She’d managed to get down some soup, despite being nauseous from the pain and medicines, and had gone to bed early. She’d been up at dawn, and took off after a breakfast of hash browns, toast, and bacon, washed down with some orange juice. Her knee was stiff, sore. Alvitr knew she had to get out, or she would start kicking ass and taking names. She needed a punching bag and a nap.
“You look like shit,” said Sigrun.
“Fuck you,” said Alvitr.
Sigrun laughed. “Sparring?”
“Yes,” said Alvitr. “Didn’t go well. The soldiers are losing their cool. I gave them extra chores and more practice, and a long run to help them cool off.”
“Well, I’m sorry, I wish I could chat more, take you to lunch…”
Alvitr waved her hand. “I didn’t come for that, but thanks. The kids will help us out a lot.”
“Twice a week, to start,” said Sigrun. “Now that Saber’s a spook, we can have him cart them over, slink off to do his trainer-trainee stuff, slink back.”
“Okay,” said Alvitr. “Bless Odin for your help.”
“Freya strong,” said Sigrun. They clasped their hands behind each other’s necks and touched foreheads. “With your shield,” said Sigrun.
“Or on it,” said Alvitr. She turned, and walked down the hall.
She was a bit lost, but made it to the elevator, and asked a passing student where to get a smoothie. Alvitr thanked the woman, and headed toward the student commons through the passover between two buildings.
Two students ran, screaming, past her. She didn’t think, just ran forward. She touched the earphone in her ear. It went on with a ping. She ran around a curve, and saw a man with black facial hair and a pale face in a once-blue bloody shirt stab a woman in the shoulder. She was a student, Asian, slight build, wearing a white shirt and jeans. She fell forward, her mouth open to scream. Alvitr stepped forward as the man withdrew the knife from the student, who pitched forward. He walked over her form, and ran towards Alvitr. Alvitr lowered her knees into center mass, then popped out with a side kick that hit the man squarely in the sternum. She used her knee on his groin, her elbow to get him in the side of the neck, and her left hand to grab the wrist and twist it until he dropped the knife, howling.
Alvitr kicked away the knife. She used her knee, then elbowed again to get him on the ground. She got him down, and screamed, “Sit on him!” at a large guy passing by. Alvitr patted down the groaning assailant, and the largish guy in a purple shirt and jeans sat down on the guy. Alvitr screamed, “Security!” She pointed at a guy up against the wall, his jaw hanging open, his face white. “Call 911!” He pulled out his cell phone, and began punching buttons. “Tell them exactly where the hell we are,” she said. He nodded blankly.
Alvitr blessed Odin and Freya for her mind noticing and remembering the blue-jacketed security uniforms of several students. A few came out in the hall. Alvitr took her shirt off, rolled it up, knelt, pulled the woman that had been stabbed in front of her into a sitting position, and pressed the shirt into her back with one hand.
Alvitr started pointing and barking out orders. “You, run down the hallway and find if there are other survivors. You, sit with her and press straight down. Keep her leaning forward on her knees. We need gravity to keep the blood in her. You!” she said, pointing at a girl hyperventilating against a wall. “Stand next to the knife until the police take custody of it.” Alvitr grabbed a weeping girl. “Sit in front of her and let her lean on you.” The weeping girl nodded and sat. “Get her name, blood type, allergies.” The female security student pushed down on the shirt. Alvitr stood, clad in her sports camisole, jeans, socks, and running shoes.
“Teacher!” yelled a student down the hall. Alvitr leapt over the blood spatter, and found a student lying down on the floor, his abdomen covered with blood.
“Jacket!” said Alvitr. The crouching security student handed over his blue jacket. “Complete your mission,” snapped Alvitr.
“Carlos,” said a crying man nearby.
“Stand up, and help me. Talk to him, tell him he’ll be fine,” said Alvitr. She said, “Alvitr talking, text, Wraith, Sigrun, college SD 2B 2F walkway T2. Send.” Her ear pinged as the message left her phone.
“What the hell was that?” asked the security student without the jacket.
Alvitr ignored him. “Have people type what they saw into their cell phones for the police. Have someone take pictures and video of everything you see. Fastest runner, Health Services, grab pressure bandages, gauze, tape.” A young man with hair dyed blonde took off running. Two more students took out their cell phones.
Alvitr watched blood pool on the floor. “Shit,” said Alvitr. “Too much blood.” She reached her hand under. “Double shit. Where’s the fucking…” A jacket materialized in front of her, a school jacket. “Thanks,” she said. She rolled it up, and slid it under Carlos. She pressed straight down. “Alvitr, talking, emergency room, Desert Memorial.” She got a nurse on the line. “Get me an ER doctor, stat,” she said in a voice that rang down the hall. There was a noise, then a voice like cream got on the p
hone. “This is Dr. Alvarez.”
“Patient, college student, through-and-through stab wound, left lower quadrant. Applying pressure. How do I keep him alive until the EMTs get here?”
“Cover him up, he’ll go into shock quickly,” said Dr. Alvarez.
“Need more jackets. Cover him up!” said Alvitr. She saw an assembly line of jackets and shirts cover him up, including the chest, legs. “Good,” said Alvitr.
She heard pounding feet in the hallway, saw the EMT uniforms rushing toward her. “Thanks, Doc,” said Alvitr. “Two incoming, this one and a right upper shoulder stab wound, got her from behind.”
“Acknowledged,” said the doctor. The phone cut out. Alvitr said, “Triage one! Triage two, stab wound, right upper shoulder, from behind.” She said, “One, two, three,” as one EMT pulled out pressure bandages, and the other one took vital signs.
Alvitr rolled off, rolled to a crouch, and nearly fell. She stood on one leg like a stork, and found herself looking into Sigrun’s eyes.
Alvitr held up her hands. “I’m a sewer,” she said, as she wobbled on one leg. She looked at her left arm. Bright red blood, not just from castoff from the knife, splatter from the floor, or helping the two victims who had dropped down and onto the floor. Her blue jeans were now soaked in blood.
“I don’t care,” said Sigrun. She stole a pressure bandage from an EMT, and slapped it on Alvitr’s arm. “I have eyes on,” said Sigrun into her mic. “Blood loss, much more damage to the knee, and it’s being held together by a light brace.” EMTs pounded past, to the other stabbing victim.
“Teacher,” said a security student. “And now?”
“Get the names of the people that saw what happened, and give it to the police,” said Alvitr. “Have them type what they saw into their phones, and email their statements once you get a cop’s email address.”
Said cops were coming down the hall from both ends. A third set of EMTs, from the other direction, were looking at the downed suspect. The shivering student asked to guard the knife still stood there, tears running down her cheeks.