There was a feeling that Carter got every time he beat the odds and saved a life. It was a kind of euphoria that battled the trendiest drug on the streets. In the moments when life and death stood side by side in the palm of his hands, Carter knew what it was like to be a god. And it felt good.
He was addicted to the feeling as much as he was humbled by it.
Treading his steps with determination, Carter paced toward Jane Doe’s room. He’d been debriefed on her situation after his lunch. She was found in an alley with a wound to the side, the shallow pool of blood around her proved that she’d been moved. The paramedics had responded to an anonymous 911 call and immediately brought Jane Doe to the General Mills Hospital. She had no identification. No wallet. No Social Security. No passport.
The sheriff had been called and waited for Carter’s okay before conducting an interview with Jane Doe himself. Sheriff Macmillan was a short, stumpy, toothpick wielding cop. His most notable apprehension was some punk kid who’d been ringing doorbells and running away. Carter didn’t put much stock in Sheriff Macmillan’s skills.
Either way, Jane Doe would get back to her life pretty soon, thanks to Carter and Dr. Zuniga, the surgeon.
He picked the clipboard from the holder on the wall outside her room and grimaced when he read the pages. The patient had high anxiety and suffered delusions. That would certainly shake up this tiny town. He pushed through the door and fixed the blinds so that the light from the setting sun would not disturb her. Once again, he could not resist a swift appraisal of her features. Carter didn’t generally check woman out in this strangely magnetic manner. And he always drew a line between his patients and his personal life.
But there was just something about this woman.
Even in slumber and having endured a gunshot wound, she seemed impenetrable somehow. Her nose flared slightly in sleep, her pink lips were parted a hair’s breadth apart. He should probably look away now. And so he did. The nurse had slipped her 5 milliliters of Benzodiazepines. She’d fallen unconscious almost immediately. The nurse had already redressed the bandages so Carter would trust that her work was sound.
The soft, steady beat of the heart rate monitor comforted him. The girl would live. At least for another day.
He moved out of her room and closed the door behind him. The sheriff leaned against the wall. The uniformed officer was a new edition. He wasn’t there when Carter had gone in.
“She’s sleeping.”
The Sheriff held his hat in his pudgy fingers and worried the edges. It didn’t take much to get on Sheriff Macmillan’s good side and despite his reserved ways; he’d managed to earn a top spot in Macmillan’s books.
“Doctor C,” The Sheriff grinned at him, exposing large teeth beneath a bushy mustache, “How you been, man? Ain’t seen you for days.”
Carter knew the man was genuine in his cheer, still he just couldn’t shake the annoyance that clogged his throat whenever Sheriff Macmillan greeted him in that slightly, shrieking tone. On the other hand, that could just be Carter’s innate distrust of law keepers in general stemming from his days as a druggie high school student.
“I’m good, Sheriff.”
Carter had learned long ago never to present Sheriff Macmillan with open ended questions. The man could talk himself into a coma and then talk himself out of one.
“That’s good to hear. Did I tell you that Pollyanne sends her love?”
Pollyanne was Sheriff Macmillan’s twenty-one year old daughter. Even after many of the young ladies had deemed Carter a bore or a standoffish snub, Pollyanne had kept her cap set for him. Sheriff Macmillan encouraged his daughter whole-heartedly and no matter what Carter did, he couldn’t shake them off of his scent.
“Yes sir.”
Maybe if he inched away, he could run off to his car without having to hear about how Pollyanne had been “talking ‘bout nothing but the handsome doctor”.
“Hey now, before I forget,” The Sheriff blissfully changed the subject, “is the young lady in there up for a sit down?”
“No, like I said, she’s sleeping right now. You should check back in the morning.”
“Okie dokie,” Sheriff Macmillan rocked on the balls of his feet, “Now about Pollyanne-”
“Actually Sheriff, I’ve got to get going. But this was a good talk.”
“Right,” The Sheriff bobbed his head, “Good talk, good talk.”
Carter strode away before the Sheriff decided to latch on to him or worse… invite him over for dinner.
“Good evening doctor,” The nurse from earlier stepped up to him as he prepared to sign out for the day.
“Evening,” He said gruffly. Carter was tired and just wanted to decompress with a shower and a goodnight’s sleep. In his mind, he was already tumbling into bed for the night.
“I wanted to talk to you about Jane Doe.” The nurse insisted.
The serious tone of her voice prompted Carter to stop in his tracks.
“What about her?”
She glanced quickly around and led him to a less travelled hallway. “I didn’t want to say anything but…” She hugged herself, “something happened when she touched me.”
Carter regarded her with equal parts disbelief and annoyance. He wasn’t in the mood for the mind games of females.
“Miss…”
“Stacy Williams.”
“Ms. Williams, I’m tired and I have an appointment,” with my bed, “So if you’ll excuse me…” Carter moved to walk past her.
“I felt her inside my mind.”
He froze.
“What did you say?” He turned on his heels and stalked back to the small girl. She cowered beneath his intensity.
“I- I don’t know how else to explain it. I was settling her back into the bed and she touched me. I could feel… someone else in my head.”
Carter narrowed his eyes. “It was probably a reaction to the trauma of working on your first fatally injured patient. It gets easier with time.”
Firming his jaw, Carter marched toward the exit.
“No, I’m telling you. It wasn’t anxiety and it wasn’t trauma. I know what I felt.” Stacy Williams kept on after him.
Carter whirled around and faced her, “Ms. Williams, why are you coming to me with this?”
She shook her head and stared at the floor, “Because you’re the only big time doctor around here that’s dealt with more than sprained ankles and cholesterol. Maybe there’s some new development in brain studies and -”
“Let me be clear,” Carter interrupted and stepped into the nurse’s space, “This is Refuge, Illinois. You’re a sleepy, quiet, all-American town. Whatever you felt was only in your imaginings.”
His countenance was firm and resolute and the nurse immediately felt chastised and embarrassed at her conspiracy theories.
“Of-of course. Good evening, doctor.” She called after his back, as Carter strode once more toward the exit.
What Ms. Williams couldn’t possibly know was how fiercely Carter’s heart was thumping in his chest. Could it be possible that his past was catching up to him here in the tired town of Refuge?
His feet carried him to his old pickup truck in the parking garage as he traced the mischief of his youth in his mind. Carter Mathews was a foster kid who grew up bouncing from home to home like that sad ball in an old pinball machine. He’d been into science and experimental drugs from the age of fifteen and got hooked up with an older kid called Manny the year before the state turned him loose upon the world. Manny was an expert at qualifying for the latest experimental drug research clinics. Young punks aching to make a quick buck and support their drug habit would get funneled into experimental drug clinics by dealers on the black market. Carter started experimenting with drugs from the age of fifteen to nineteen when a near fatal encounter shook him to his senses.
He stared at his blue Mitsibushi pickup truck trying to shake the tangled claws of the past from his body. He’d seen some weird things during those four years as a “Drug Rat”, which was what Manny had dubbed their crew. The human body wasn’t meant evolve in the time frame that some scientists were trying to usher. If the girl was one of them, Carter knew he needed to move on.
Now.
The girl would need to fend for herself.
He rounded the car and got in. Sticking his keys in the ignition, he started the engine. The car rumbled to life with a satisfying purr. He kept his baby in pristine condition and she rewarded him with perfect cruises every time.
But before Carter could move off, he spotted a lone figure in a hoodie, slinking toward the hospital entrance. His years on the streets had wired his senses. He could smell a lowlife as clearly as he could see one.
The girl.
They were coming for the girl.
Don’t do it, man. Don’t. You’ve worked too hard to get here.
He watched the thug swagger past in the dim lighting of the parking garage and groaned. He couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.
Whatever trouble the girl had gotten herself into, Carter was now a part of it. Cursing his own sentimental heart, he inched his hand toward his car handle and prepared to step into someone else’s messy world.