After I finished my shower and got dressed, I pulled out the schedule Nurse Kline had given me the previous day.
7:00 am: Morning check.
7:15 am: Line-up at nurses’ station.
7:30 am: Breakfast.
8:30 am: Community group.
9:10 am: Meet with Psychiatrist Dr. Young. (Tuesday’s & Thursday’s)
12:30 pm: Lunch
1:00 pm: Vital signs taken.
2:00 pm: Recreational therapy
4:00 pm: Visitation hour. (Sundays only)
5:00 pm: Line-up for dinner.
8:00 pm: Closure group.
9:00 pm: Night Meds.
Recreational therapy? Community Group? Closure Group? There were a lot of group activities we were required to participate in, and a tiny ounce of fear shot through me at the thought of having to endure all of the groups with Laces.
I was staring at my pale, plain reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to towel dry my hair, when I heard her perky voice: “Gambrielle, right?”
My eyes flickered over my shoulder, to where the blue-haired pixie girl from yesterday stood a few feet away; “He’s coming for you” replayed in my mind as she took the sink beside me and let out a kind smile. “Gambrielle?”
I forced a smile and nodded. “Yes.”
She pulled out her brush and started combing her wet, blue hair; her eyes never leaving mine as she said, “I’m Varla. Varla English.”
I put my towel down. “Gambrielle Evans.” I said in a low voice.
“Oh, I know who you are.” She cocked her head toward me and whispered, “I stole Nurse Kline’s phone for a few hours and youtube’d your trial.”
My eyes fell. “Oh.” I didn’t want to sound so disappointed, but I couldn’t help it. Like everyone else in this godforsaken town, she probably thought I was a lunatic for trying to take my stepfather, the freakin’ District Attorney, down.
Turning to face me, Varla leaned her hip on the sink and sighed. She was thin, too thin, and because of that her eyes were larger than normal. “I know you’re pissed that you’re here, and you’d rather suffer in silence, BUT…we’re going to be friends.” She proudly stated.
I had just gathered my clothes in my arms and my body came to a screeching halt. “You don’t know me.” I said awkwardly.
She gave me a pointed look, “Anyone that can stand in front of Judge Wexler and tell him to kiss her ass is pretty cool in my book. Plus, Thorne said you shot Laces down last night. Extra brownie points.”
Her words shouldn’t have cheered me up, but they did. “I’m not normally like that, but he kept interrupting me.” I explained, flushing. Everyone knew Judge Wexler was a bastard.
“Maybe that’s why his wife divorced him?” Varla offered. She’d turned back around to the mirror and was in the process of contouring her cheeks. “It was either that or his toupee.”
We chuckled.
“Five minute warning!” Winston called from outside the women’s shower room. “Hurry up and get in line for meds ladies! You know the drill!”
Varla closed her compact. “OMFG—can’t even take a piss around here without the police brigade standing guard!”
“I heard that!” Winston called back.
“I meant for you to!” Varla shouted. Grabbing a black hoodie out of her bag she threw it on, the word Legends proudly displayed on her chest. She showed me the hamper to dispose of my dirty laundry, then we set off to get in the med line.
Dr. Folton hadn’t spoken of meds during our short visit the previous day, so I didn’t know what I was getting into when I took my place at the end of the line. Varla stood behind me, and as the first meds were distributed to eagerly awaiting patients, she whispered into my ear, “do you want to take the meds…or no?”
Bewildered that she would even hint at what she was hinting at, I slowly peered over my shoulder and whispered, “Well yeah, that’s what they want us to do. I need to get a star.” I need to go home.
Varla made a sad face. “I understand, I do, but….” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “those meds make you a zombie. It’s just not worth it, ya know?”
“I’ll take my chances.” I said, looking forward. If getting a pass home meant sacrificing my dignity, I would do it in a heartbeat. Joe needed his big day in court and I was going to deliver it. Amen, amen.
Laces was near the front of the line in deep conversation with two other patients, both guys. The first guy was shorter than his friends, but taut, and had lean muscles that flexed with even the slightest movement and dark, silky brown hair.
Varla nonchalantly pointed at the first guy, “That is Reyes Park.”
And the second guy was…a beast. Period.
A monster.
He was like a blonde Tarzan. Long, blonde hair hung in a ponytail down his muscular back, except for a few light strands that had been tucked behind his ear. Outside of Hawthorne one would’ve thought he was a Marine, or at the very least a police officer. He had that look of authority, the look Winston was missing.
“And the one who looks like he could take down this entire floor is Thorne Walsh.” Varla said.
The blonde Tarzan listened to his friends, but didn’t converse with them. He seemed bored by the activity he was about to partake in and had zoned off into a crack in the tile floor. Reyes, on-the-other-hand, seemed to eat up everything Laces dished out and made it a point to maintain eye contact.
The first one to take meds was Reyes. The nurse slid a tray across the nurses’ station with a small cup of water and three pills. He picked up the first pill and glanced at Varla, who casually wiggled a few fingers in his direction. He winked, then tapped his finger against the water cup, twice, before tossing the pill into his mouth.
“You might want to look away.” Varla whispered into my ear seconds later. “Things can get really messy.”
I did a double take, “Messy? It’s just a pill—”
I didn’t even have the entire sentence out before Laces abruptly broke rank and took a mighty swing at poor, wailing Peter, who didn’t see it coming. When Laces’ fist connected with Peter’s jaw, a gush of thick blood sprayed into the air, coloring the ceiling and walls a bright shade of crimson. A sea of black scrubs took cover behind the nurses’ desk to shield themselves.
My hands flew to my cheeks. “Oh my God, what are you doing?” I screamed. Not that anyone could hear me. Those who hadn’t taken cover behind the nurses’ station had formed a betting pool off to the side and were swapping tens and twenties with Reyes. “Park, put me down for eighty on Laces!” A guy called out.
Reyes had whipped out a cell phone and was typing bets out as fast as he could. “What’s your bet, Malone?” He asked.
Malone, a short chubby guy, appeared to be in deep thought as he counted out his twenties. “Eighty says Laces puts him in a coma!” He finally proclaimed, slapping his money into Thorne’s awaiting hand nearby. Malone pointed at Thorne, and then Reyes, “I want the full report this time, none of that discharge shit and whatnot.”
Reyes gave a curt nod, signaling that he understood Malone’s conditions, then leaned to the side and flexed two fingers for the next better to step forward. “Next, come on keep it moving!”