“Evelyn, sugar… come on, baby… you gotta wake up. Damn it!” I snap my fingers in front of her face. “Come on, baby, we gotta book it.” I look around. The alarm klaxons are screeching, and I can hear some of the nurses as they chatter like anxious chipmunks. Their voices heightened and on alert, due to the events transpiring before them.
I grab Evelyn’s arm and throw her over my shoulder, leaving the other exposed for ramming—if necessary. Dodging nurses from pillar to post, like a recruit in basic training body-swerving the Drill Instructor swarm. The double doors leading out to the front parking lot come into focus. Just as we approach it, two steroid-pumped rehab bouncers block it.
That didn’t scare me though, because what they have in bulk, they lack in brains. I open a room to the left, and by my luck, it’s a supply closet. I put Evelyn in a wheelchair, before I throw on a pair of scrubs, clipping a name tag to my patch pocket—one that I lifted off a male nurse as they rushed past me to stop the other wards from rioting.
After placing restraints on Evelyn's limbs, I comb her hair out of her face using my nails. “I'm so sorry, sugar. We are pulling chalks on this hellhole.” Her glazed eyes stare absently past me as if she had been lobotomized. Surveying the room, I take a broom handle, snapping it in two. Then, I unscrew the bristled head and throw it to the floor, all so I can slide both halves into the back of my scrubs pinning them to my backside with the waistband of my pants.
Once I pull my hoodie back on, I sneak us back into the hall, snatching a fire extinguisher from the nearby stairwell. Discreetly, I stow it in the pouch of the wheelchair behind Evelyn, we make our way to the exit—calm and collectively. “Hey fellas, this is a late transfer, gotta get her back to police lockup,” I say to tweetle Dipshit and tweetle Dumbass. “Which Wagon is ready for her?” I glare at the one who keeps eyeing Evelyn.
“Bus three is gassed and ready,” the other one interjects, cutting the tension in the air with his sharp response. "Keys are in the cupholder.”
“Thanks,” My voice is airy, as I push her past them. Coming within proximity of the guard that was eyeing Evelyn, something clicks and I remember he is due for a karmic surprise. He is the one all those stories are about, involving his ‘nighttime welfare checks’ in the female ward. Without hesitation, I take the broken broom handles from my waist, stabbing the splintered side into the other guard’s fat ass gut.He recoils, I crack him on the back of his neck, then uppercut his forehead as I bring the pieces together, causing him to collapse instantly.
My focus wasn’t on him, but I still had to incapacitate him—I don’t need to be interrupted in what I must do next. Turning to the Dipshit left standing, I slip the extinguisher from the back of the wheelchair lifting it before me like an AK47. With all my force behind it, I lunge forward, causing the bottom of the tank to meet his face and break his nose. I bathe in the crimson reward of my victory from it bouncing off him—like the recoil of a M1A1 50 Cal sniper rifle.
Before he can recover, I retrieve the broken broom handle from the ground by Dumbass and commence beating Dipshit with it. I don’t stop until his arms are useless noodles flopping at his side, unable to shield himself from the events that will inevitably follow.
Attaining the fire extinguisher once more, relieving it of its protective seal, I saunter over to him. Crouching down beside him, I lock his throat between my thumb and forefinger, then lifting him off the ground until his legs dangle. “This is just a quick check on your welfare.... that's what you told them, right?” My inner beast whispers.
Without waiting for his retort and with no respite, I ram him into a wall, then jam the hose down his throat. Using a little pressure, I slide my hand up his neck, enough to secure and stabilize the hose. “Don’t want that to fall out now, do we?” I fumble a little to get a good grip on the tank. When I have it, a menacing smile graces my face. “Say, Ah!” After pulling the pin with my teeth, like a mother. Fucking. Grenade—I squeeze.
I hold it until the gauge reads 0 psi. “That’s for touching what doesn’t belong to you.” Releasing him, like it's my turn toserve in tennis, I kick him center-mass, “40-Love!” I shout as I deliver a blow with such force that my foot goes through his chest cavity. His crystallized organs shatter on impact. As I stare at him, my vivid imagination and prior knowledge hold the door open for the reel playing in my head of what the rest of his frozen insides look like.
Shit, I hope he wasn’t an organ donor. I just ruined a perfect specimen.
Igrin at my work, then I step through him and turn—completing our escape.
Chapter 7
Oliver
"Towatch over someone is to carry both the burden of their pain and the hope oftheir salvation."
Aperson like me will never know what secrets are held in the heavens. Nevertheless, I would be ok if my little bird is the closest I get to Nirvana. In all my years, with all my darkness and wrongdoings, no one has ever silenced the demons the way she does. She makes me… want... to be a good person.
I watch as she boards the bus, scanning for any sign of me hiding in the shadows.
Not this time, little dove.
My thoughts are coming down from the ‘high’ she put me in, when I finally make it back home. Stepping through the threshold I am greeted by the spasmodic clattering of countless fragments hitting the metal siding of a small trash can.I clear my throat, redirecting her attention, “All is well. I just broke my tea glass.” She calls out before she looks at me.
As our eyes meet, I notice hers are red and puffy, and she is using body language to communicate something to me. She is yanking her head in an upward motion—it looks like she is having a seizure as the wrinkles on her neck go taut every time her chin lifts.
My brows furrow, crimping to the center above the bridge of my nose. I step toward her and cradle her face in my hand, inspecting the vermilion hue that is spreading across her face. Her eyes shift toward the spare room, then back to mine.
It was then I knew my little bird was safe in the nest. “Welcome home.” She mutters, her voice shaky from crying.
“Thank you, Mam.” I respond, sliding my hand to her shoulder as I stride past, bee-lining a path to the staircase. I get to the top, making it to the door in record time, and I crack it just enough to see her sleeping soundly—she is safe now.
~*~*~*~
It's far past lunchtime when I hear the old door squeak open from upstairs. A cheshire smile stretches across my face, nearly touching both ears as I follow the sound of her footsteps down the hall from the first floor with my eyes. I find they are faint but perceptible against the wooden floor. I peer through the bookcase I ducked behind—gazing with awe at the gloriousness of my little bird.
She clears her throat. “Ehm, Ms. Niven.” She barely grumbles. “I mean, Niven. Would you happen to have any coffee?” Her flaxen-chestnut-hair falls chaotically upon her shoulders.
“Oh, good afternoon.” Niven responds as she waltzes around the corner. “I have a dark roast and a nice Irish sweet cream. Will that do?”
Emory smiles wearily. “Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Niven disappears again as Emory swivels, taking in the scenery around her. She strides from bookshelf to display case, reading some of the titles aloud. “The whole Hannibal series by Thomas Harris? Fantastic.” She whispers with something like a gleam in her eye, I watch as her fingers dance over the spines, like keys to her fictional piano.
