Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 248(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 248(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Dr. Martinez frowned. “I don’t like things out of routine.”
“Well, you’ve been here longer than me, but the change in routine surprised the shit outta me. No one here likes anything out of the ordinary.”
“Makes life safer for everyone.”
“I hear that.”
“Which is why you’ll read that damned file.” She pointed a stern finger at me. “Knowledge is power. You might not want to know what happened, but you need to know. This isn’t the place for you to find out someone you once admired is willing and capable of killing you simply for looking at him funny.”
“I know, but it’s so hard! I don’t want to know the person who inspired me to get into the medical profession intentionally did something horrific to someone else. It would be watching my hero fall. No one wants that.”
“Nope. No one wants to be shanked in the back either. You do your best not to judge people. I see it in everything you do here. But you need to consider that not judging people goes both ways. Don’t judge him safe when you have concrete evidence he isn’t a safe person now. Being careful isn’t being judgmental.”
Chapter Two
Pain
The minute I stepped foot in the infirmary, the smell of antiseptic hit me like a damn freight train. It was the same scent that used to greet me every morning when I started my day as a surgical intern five years earlier. That scent had been soothing to me then, proof of how clean and organized my environment was. But now it’s a black stench, tainted with the putridity of this godforsaken place. You’d think after months of being in prison I would have been immune to the smell, but I guess some things just stuck with you. Besides, every hospital -- or infirmary -- had a unique scent underneath all the bleach and other chemical cleaners. This infirmary was no different.
I was escorted by a guard who probably ate doughnuts for every meal and kicked puppies for fun, but hey, I’m not judging or anything. He shoved me into a chair, cuffed me to the table, and disappeared, probably off to shake down an old lady or something. I seriously doubted he was capable of anything more strenuous.
“See ya around, Brutus.” I lifted my chin at the rotund man. He frowned at me, but I just grinned. I liked to pick one guard at a place and harass him until he broke. I was a surgeon and, if I was honest, I didn’t think I saw psychiatrists as “real” doctors. I’m ashamed to admit it now for multiple reasons. Mostly because I’ve been in places in the prison system where there is more true mental illness than I ever thought could possibly be concentrated in a single building, but also because I’ve learned a new appreciation for how a good psychiatrist could get into someone’s head. It was a powerful feeling. I had no desire to fuck with someone’s head -- much -- but teasing them a little was too fun to resist. The guards, anyway. Occasionally I’d fuck with other staff members or the occasional prisoner if he was a pain in my ass, but mostly it was the guards.
As I sat there, I caught a glimpse of a nurse. She looked like a tiny, curvy angel in this sea of steel and misery. Honey-colored hair pulled up in a messy bun, and those gray eyes that seem to see right through me. For some reason, I didn’t associate those eyes with a woman. I knew I’d seen them before, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place her.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Raven,” she said as she approached me, and holy shit, I recognized that tinkling voice. Then her eyes widened and she winced. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, obviously devastated at her inadvertent mistake. We both knew I was no longer a doctor. While a felony conviction didn’t always mean someone had to surrender their medical license, doing so had been a condition of my plea agreement. One I didn’t fight even though my brother tried to get me to. With anyone else, or if I didn’t know this woman, I’d have thought it was intentional, designed to either make me feel small by reminding me of how far I’d fallen or to see if they could make me snap with mental torment. But not Nadine Brentner.
“It’s all right, Ms. Brentner. I know it wasn’t intentional.”
Her jaw dropped. “You remember my name?” Real wonder and a touch of hero worship tinted her expression. She looked more than a little starstruck and for the first time I could ever remember, I wanted to puff my chest out in pride. Because some girl I never knew very well was happily surprised I remembered her fucking name. Maybe Knuckles, the fucker, was rubbing off on me. I’d heard about him and his woman and how disgustingly mushy they could be. Only this wasn’t my woman. Also, when I knew her she was still in high school, in the Explorer program, a “class” in which the students volunteered in different hospital departments so they could see what the world of healthcare was like in and outside the classroom.