Chapter
One
Charm
“Doctor Charmden, paging Doctor Charmden. Code gray in ER. Gray in ER.”
The mechanical voice over the hospital’s announcement system sounds like an ignorable drone, but for those of us who work here, it’s a lightning rod for our attention. My name over the loudspeaker is as common as waking up in the morning, but coupled with a code gray, it’s much more urgent. The color system gives us a heads up about the need and uses gray when there’s a problem patient or relative being aggressive within the building. Typically, a code gray is accompanied by a request for the security team, not a doctor.
Frenetic energy clouds the air as I rush out of the patient’s room, where I’d been providing discharge information, and go deeper into the emergency room. Whatever’s going on must be serious if they’re calling for me as well as security. My brain rifles through the triage list scrawled on the whiteboard behind the nurse’s station. I viewed it only a few minutes ago. When I looked, there was nothing pressing to cause this response. Just the usual ‘this could’ve waited until business hours’ ailments.
“Sorry, Doctor Charmden, this guy’s been yelling your name and won’t let anyone near him to start the exam.” Nurse Janice meets me midway down the hall, a heartbeat before I hear exactly what she’s talking about.
“Gimme my Charm, or I’m leaving dammit. I only can have him fix me. That’s rules.” The slurred voice is familiar, though over the past few years, his speech has been so much better than what I hear now.
“Malachi. Why are you giving my staff such a hard time? What’s happened to you?” I’m already demanding answers as I stride into the trauma room.
I do a doubletake at the sight of my longtime friend, brother really, lying on the gurney just inside the triage bay. In our service days, I’d seen Malachi nearly blown to pieces, so this is nowhere near the worst I’ve seen him, but this definitely isn’t good.
After the last injuries he sustained on active duty, he was discharged from the military with all sorts of honors and a medical jacket thicker than an Antarctic parka. It took him over two years to complete all the rehab necessary to be able to relocate out here to Oregon where some of the guys from our squadron had formed a motorcycle club. During that time, I’d managed to get myself honorably discharged on paper, though I’d continued doing some shadow work with various agencies while I balanced overseeing his progress and making a place for us with Ghost Born, the MC started by our brothers in arms.
Seeing him like this after everything he’s been through nearly takes me to my knees. His face is covered in blood, and I can see bone jamming through ripped skin of his forearm, the same arm he’s got held out in front of him to ward off anyone coming close.
“Malachi. Settle down, and let Nurse Janice get started on your care. This isn’t up for debate. Now.” I use my sternesttone, one I rarely ever use within the walls of the hospital where bedside manner matters nearly as much as quality of care.
“I follow rules, Vinnie. Only you. That’s rule numberoni one.”
I know Malachi’s brain has been knocked around pretty significantly, leaving him with a traumatic brain injury that impacts his functioning in plenty of ways, but this slurred almost childish stuff is worse than I’ve ever heard it. Which raises serious concerns for his long-term prognosis.
“Vin says lie back and stop being combative with my staff, Malachi.” I glance around the room, taking in Janice as she smoothly steps alongside the hospital bed and unobtrusively raises the side rails, untangling the restraints in case we need them. Now that I’m on the scene, I know we won’t, but she doesn’t know my friend the way I do. She’s following protocol for a code gray patient, and I can’t fault her for it.
A soft hiccuppy sob sound comes from the corner by the door, and I turn far enough to figure out the source of the sound while I still keep my patient in my line of sight. A woman I’ve never seen is huddled in the corner. Her back presses against the wall, terrified eyes scanning the room as if she expects an invading army.
Streaks of blood—Malachi’s I assume—are smeared all over her white button-down blouse. A small green nametag is pinned above her left breast, the bright hospital lighting making the print too flashy to read between her frantically heaving breaths. While I want to know everything about the stunning stranger covered in my friend’s blood, there are unfortunately more urgent matters.
“What happened?” I ask the room, and everyone talks at once.
“Fight,” Malachi says simply, the word short and with enough hard consonants it’s articulate despite his earlier slurred speech.
“BP (TK). Pulse (TK). Bleeding managed with tourniquet. Compound fracture obvious. Suspect nasal fracture and possible orbital structure damage. All stabilization beyond slowing the bleeds refused. Apparent mugging or attack, unclear. Patient insisted on witness remaining with him. Law enforcement on scene and will be by later for statements,” says the paramedic in charge, an EMT I’ve known since moving to Lexan a few years ago, running down patient stats and situation update.
“Med-Surg is sending down Jake and Johann to bring him to x-ray and then to Dr. Gianfranco up in ortho for the arm. They won’t touch him if he’s not calm, though,” Janice relays. The hospital has a strict policy against allowing staff into situations where patients can assault or harass them, so I know she’s not exaggerating. I need to get Malachi to stand down and get treatment.
“I found him. They were…” The soft voice from the corner grabs my attention again, and I watch from the corner of my eye as she gathers herself, obviously distraught at the gore in front of her. “They were beating him.”
“Who?” I demand.
“I don’t know. They ran,” she says. Her eyes close as though she’s remembering, and when she opens them, resolve etches her beautiful face, a solemnness I already know isn’t normally there.
“I’ll give the cops a good description of them, though. I swear it.” She nods with a steadfast head bob, her eyes narrowed on the bed where Malachi has finally relented and allowed Janice and her assistants to get started working on him.
“No cops! We don’t talk to cops, right, Vinnie?” Malachi decides now is the time to rejoin the conversation apparently.
I sigh internally, not wanting to explain to EMTs, my hospital colleagues, and this stranger why the patient, who obviously know me well, pouts at the idea of being questioned by law enforcement.
Most people will never understand the dichotomies in my life. By day, I’m a medical professional, devoted to doing no harm and healing people. By night, I ride with the Ghost Born motorcycle club, doing plenty to harm those who deserve it and protecting my brothers. By day, law enforcement are helpful uniform-wearing allies. By night, they’re often nemeses I try my damnedest to avoid.
The collision of my two worlds is jarring, and I’ll have to figure out how to navigate it. Quickly, I thumb a text message to Hyram, the president of the Lexen Ghost Born chapter, as well as to Shaw, the prez of our mother charter up in Darrow.
