My hip aches. I’m told it’s common to have ongoing pains, and this new septic arthritis could affect me for a long time. I had the infection too long before I got treatment that it could affect me for years.
“We’ll wheel you in,” the guard says, and I study her closely. She’s not from CGP—female guards aren’t assigned there because of the nature of our crimes. I’m not sure if she’s part of the transport team or with the hospital; no one clarified. But when Preston traded places with her, it felt less like a routine shift and more like they were testing me.
I’m not going to kill her, but how do they know that? It’s a dumb risk to take, and if the third guy sitting in here has an opinion about it he hasn’t said. I heard Norbert call him Oswald, but he hasn’t said much of anything to me.
“I heard that Porscha snapped,” she goes on, lowering her voice. I glance at her, trying to figure out why we need to whisper. We’re sitting in the van, there’s another guard back here too but he’s been silent for most of the drive. There’s no reason to whisper now. “She cracked and the FBI-”
“Sylvia,” the other guard says, and I guess he is listening after all. “No chatting.”
“It passes the time,” I say, glancing between them. “I like gossip that isn’t about me.”
“Don’t,” he says again, and Sylvia sighs. There goes that idea.
At least the drive to Tallahassee is longer than the normal drive to the local, smaller hospital in Citrus Grove. I get more time out of the cell, and it’s a nice reprieve from the silence.
It’s also a little overwhelming. I have no idea if they will make this quick, how close to the room they can pull the transport van before I have to get out, nothing. They aren’t going to tell me things I could use to make a break for it.
Not that I physically can or even want to. Being on the run, even when it wasn't my fault, was hell. I don’t want the rest of my life to be like that. Even if it means life in a cage.
The one thing I can look forward to is seeing McKinney again. He supposedly spoke with the prison before my transport, and there’s nothing legally against seeing my council when I’m at the hospital. It’ll be brief, but he wanted to give me updates.
It’s something about Lance Wallsburg. Last I spoke to Tobias, he mentioned that the Captain was having difficulties. He said he would keep me up to date, but now that I’m rotting in a cell again I’m really not sure what he expects to pin on me. Lance can be pissed all he wants but it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t kill Kyle. As out of it as I was, I remember his death. Porscha showed zero remorse over it, and if anything Lanceneeds to get over himself and start focusing on her. Staying mad at me doesn’t make sense; it just proves that he’s using me as an outlet for his anger and nothing more.
Looking around, I find myself missing Fake Porscha again. I know she’s a crutch, and it should be a good thing that I don’t see her anymore, right? If I don’t see her, maybe I’m mentally getting better.
I don’t really believe that, but it’s a nice thought.
The radio the guards are wearing buzzes, and the guy behind me speaks. “Sir?”
They all wear ear pieces that keep the conversation limited to the guards, meaning I hear nothing breathing while they listen.
“Roger that,” the other guard finally says, and I try to glance back at him to see his expression. He’s glaring down at something and I can’t get a read on him, so I just give up. It won’t make a difference anyway. I have no control over this visit, I’m just here to let the Doc do his thing.
By the time we reach the hospital in Tallahassee my hip is stiff and painful. I’d give anything to stretch out my legs but the damn leg bar is in the way. I don’t even protest when they shuffle me out of the transport van and into a wheelchair, locking the wrist restraints to the arms and cuffing the leg bar to the footrest. It’s overkill if you ask me, since I physically can’t run.
“We’re going to see Dr. Schultz,” Sylvia says as they roll me through the doors. Since my surgeon works in the ER, we’re meeting down here, and I’ll be directed to a room immediately so I’m less of an issue to any other patients.
Norbert stands in front of us and the other guard goes behind us. When Norbert flashes his badge at security the officers wave him through, and the three of us follow without going through the security line.
We pass reception, and two individuals catch my attention. I don't know what they are doing here, but they kinda look like they just rolled out of bed when they look up to watch me pass.
Something looks wrong with Vinny's hand. There's blood, but he doesn't look to be in pain when I catch his gaze. It's hard to believe that if he's injured, they drove all the way from Citrus Grove to Tallahassee to have him looked at. There's a hospital in town, albeit smaller.
Jo on the other hand looks like tired but like she tried to put herself together, her hair pulled into messy pigtails that contain her wild locks. Her eyes are sharp as she looks up at me. They don't say a word, probably taking the whole scene in, but I can't just let the moment pass. “Hello again, lovebirds.”
Norbert spins around at my voice and Sylvia nearly clips his ankles with the wheelchair. I don’t tear my eyes away from them though, watching Vinny give me a subtle nod and Jo a soft, sad smile.
“No talking to anyone,” Norbert snaps, and I look to find him glaring at me. “They shouldn't be here.”
He gestures for Sylvia to keep moving, and I look back to my lovebirds as we move on. Jo tenses and Vinny touches her hand, but they don’t follow me. They wouldn’t be able to anyway, but I understand the pull to do so. I’d prefer to stay with them too.
As we cross through a set of big double doors I lose sight of them, and a heaviness settles into my heart. It was too brief, too short, and I had no way to talk to them and try to explain anything. Some things are not better left unsaid, and I would do anything for five minutes alone with them.
“Hello, Mr. Constantine,” a man says as we reach him, and my wheelchair just keeps moving as he keeps pace with us. He looks like a nurse, and he doesn’t waste time with any morepleasantries before turning on his heel and heading down the hall. “We have Mr. McKinney back here already. Dr. Schultz is a little behind right now so you should be able to chat for a bit before he gets to you.”
I don't comment, watching the rooms as we pass. The little rush from seeing Jo and Vinny is already washing off. Nothing else will compare to seeing them today.
“Here we go,” the nurse says, opening the door to a room. McKinney is in there, studying something on his phone, and he pockets it before standing.
