Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1) (10 page)

“Dr. Edwards.”

Emma let out a silent groan. Kaye, Julien, and Maxim were striding down the hall toward her. None of them looked too happy. Maxim was scowling at Sam, and she hastily took her hand off his arm. Her brother cast her a worried look before limping down the hall the opposite way.

Chapter 12

“I can’t believe you’re chatting with an inmate,” Kaye said as soon as she got close. “A patient died. Why aren’t you with him?”

“The code just ended.” Emma rubbed her temple. Another headache was definitely coming on. “I was thanking Morris. He helped with the CPR.”

“You let an inmate do CPR?” The CMO’s voice rose. “What the heck were you thinking? They can’t be in a code. Where were the nurses?”

“Managing the airway and pushing meds. What do you want me to do? Let the patient die rather than ask an inmate for help?”

“What the hell happened?” Maxim demanded. “Why did he code?”

“He OD’d. There were track marks. His pupils were pinpoint. We tried everything but nothing worked.” Emma rubbed her hands up and down her arms, ignoring the mild pain in her wrist. She felt cold all of a sudden. Jones’s dead face suddenly floated before her vision. Only yesterday, he was pleading for more pain medications. Goose bumps popped up on her arms. She swallowed and rubbed her hands harder. “I’m sorry. I need a minute.”

She dashed into the staff bathroom across the hall. Her stomach roiled and she doubled over and vomited twice into the toilet. She stumbled to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Some of it sprinkled onto the mirror. It was no use. Jones’s dead face kept staring at her whenever she closed her eyes.

“Dr. Edwards, are you okay?” Julien’s voice called through the door.

“Yes. I’m fine.”
Did she have to look so pale?
Whatever makeup she’d applied that morning had rubbed off. She pinched her cheeks and bit down on her lips, trying to give them some color. Taking a deep breath in, she opened the door and almost barged straight into Maxim.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his silver eyes scanning her face.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Julien said. “Come on. Let’s sit down in the office. Have you had lunch yet?”

“Where’s Dr. Kaye?” There was no sign of the blonde.

“She’s on the phone with headquarters.” Julien touched her arm. “Relax. It’s okay. She won’t be back for a while.”

“Hey. What happened?” One of the Urgent Care officers, a burly elderly man with a balding head and a trim mustache, rushed up to them.

“Sergeant Peterson.” Maxim patted the officer on the shoulder. “Just the man I need. Find out what’s going on. Room five OD’d.”

“I thought with Roberts gone, things would’ve been better. We swept through SNY yesterday. No drugs. Want me to set up some cameras around the prison?” The sergeant rubbed his bald head. “That will monitor them more.”

“That’s a good start. Come. I want to see if there’s any evidence in the room.” Maxim’s penetrating eyes flicked Emma’s way. “Take the rest of the day off, Doc. You look awful.”

Gee, thanks
. The man was as charming as usual. Yet a part of her craved the warmth he radiated. She shivered and rubbed her hands on her arms again as Julien led her back to the Urgent Care.

“You look pretty shaken up.” Julien placed a cup of water in her hands as soon as she sat down. “Here, drink this.”

She gulped down the water and took in a deep breath. At least she wasn’t shivering quite as much. “I think I may have killed him.”

“How?” Julien’s eyebrows rose as he scoffed. “Did you give him the drugs? Did you draw it up for him or help push it in his vein?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then how did you kill him?”

There was nothing but sympathy on the chief’s face.
God, she was so lucky to have him as a supervisor.
“I didn’t give him the T3 yesterday,” she confessed. “He wanted it, said he was in a lot of pain. But he looked so comfortable, Julien. Lying there, reading his magazine. I was going to give it to him but then I changed my mind.”

“Forcing him to turn to heroin and therefore making you an accomplice in his murder?” Julien shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emma. You had nothing to do with his death.”

“You don’t think so?” The gnawing sensation eased in Emma’s gut.

“Of course not.” Julien squeezed her shoulder. “Every year we have an inmate or two die of an overdose. We’re in a prison. There’re addicts all around you. You’re not responsible for how they behave.”

“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 stopped 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?”