Page 3 of Wildcat

“Damn it, Zoey, why do you always resort to violence, for Christ’s sake? Can’t you see we’re having a moment trying to support Wildcat? Can’t you be quiet for a second or two? Geez.”

I’ve tilted to get a better view of Shadow and now she’s glaring at our prez. Then she leans back, plops down on her butt, and raises her knees to lean her elbows on them. Never taking her eyes from Tink, she gives it right back.

“Goldilocks, how much time do you need? I’ve got all day.”

With that, we all break out laughing as I watch Shadow’s eyes turn to me. I can see her worry and concern so I give her a small smile, which she just nods to then looks at Tink and sticks her tongue out. Perfect. Just what I needed to get my head out of my ass. Then I hear something above me, which has all of us on the floor looking up. Doesn’t take long for the smell to start to make its way around the room. Holy shit, one of the pregnant ones farted. Leave it to Shadow to be blunt and direct.

“Well, fuck, hope whoever dealt that deadly one didn’t shat their bloomers. For God’s sake, that is killer. Gotta get some air.” One by one we get up and head outside. The last ones out are Taz and Vixen, giggling together, like they don’t have a care in the world.

Guess it’s time to figure out my next steps with these wonderful women who would and have dropped everything to have my back.

THREE

‘MALCOLM’

MALTY

I’ve dreamt of this day for the last couple of years because I couldn’t forget that face, those eyes, and that sick demented voice. Didn’t think I’d be in the emergency room getting ready to enter a treatment room when said voice stopped me dead in my tracks. No way, it can’t be. Not here in my safe place. I mean, what are the chances? The information I was given was there was an altercation in the federal prison, and they were transferring an inmate who was severely injured. Not sure about that, as from what I’m hearing that prisoner is running his mouth off pretty good for being in serious condition. I know my interns are waiting for me to enter the area, but not sure it’s such a great idea. Am I able to treat this person as they should be treated, or will I do him more harm than good? I can’t truthfully answer that question now. I quietly tell the two interns to go in and stay away from the patient. Then I turn and walk to the office of the emergency department and find my boss sitting at her desk. She looks up when I enter and close the door. Judy raises her eyebrow, which I’m seriously jealous of because I can’t do that shit. I’ve tried, which is pitiful to even admit.

“There’s an inmate who was just brought in. Not one-hundred-percent sure, but it sounds exactly like one of the men who attacked Frankie and me years ago. Not sure I can be his attending and treat him accordingly. I know we are shorthanded but, Judy, I’m being truthful. What do you want me to do?”

She knows my story, as I told it to her about a year ago. I have my moments and, thank God, today isn’t one of them. At times I have to use a cane, not that often, but it happens. She asked and I told her the entire story. After all she’s done for me, I owed it to her.

“Mal, grab the next patient. I’ll handle this one. Did they give you any details or am I going to walk in blind?”

As we walk toward the treatment room, we can both hear his bellowing about suing us for not treating him like other patients because he’s a prisoner. Judy just shakes her head as she pulls one of the portable iPads from the nurses’ station. I watch her fling back the curtain and introduce herself. He starts saying sexual things to her and she replies with a, “Shut it or else.”

I think she shocked him because for maybe fifteen seconds he’s quiet, then all hell breaks loose. I can hear loud noises then an “oof” from I’m thinking one of the interns. Judy yells for security. I move toward the room, looking for something to use as a weapon. When I spot the toolbox, I reach inside, pulling out a large wrench.

Quietly I enter the room, and it’s total chaos. The prisoner has one intern on the ground bleeding while he’s trying to strangle the other with his hands cuffed. Not sure where the prison guard is but Judy is in the med drawer, which I’m sure she’s looking for something to knock his ass out. Well, I have just the thing. As I approach, not sure, must have made a sound because he turns and that’s the first look I get of one of the men who changed my life. Before I can do a thing, he smirks.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me. After all this time, I finally get eyes on you, Malcolm. Looks like you recovered, though wish we could have watched you hang from that tree, motherfucker. Would have if your bitch of a woman would have minded her own goddamn business, though we showed her who’s boss, who wears the pants, didn’t we? Then we showed you who was, ugh….”

Before he could spout any more of his filthy nastiness, I swing and hit him with the wrench hard. He goes down grabbing his center, groaning then squealing like a baby. Judy rushes around me and sticks him in the arm with a needle, and within seconds it’s quiet once more. When she looks around to me, she mouths “Sorry.” I just shrug. I don’t care if people find out what all these bastards did to me. My biggest concern is if this one was in prison for most of the time since our attack, I can only pray the other guy is incarcerated too or maybe, fingers crossed, he’s dead. Because if he isn’t, then that means my Frankie isn’t safe and, at the moment, I have no idea where the hell she is. That thought is what has me worried to death.

After my shift, I go immediately home to my townhouse to relax. That is after I get settled and feed my two dogs and three cats that are my roommates. Oh, who am I kidding? They’re my fur babies. I go into the walk-in closet in my guest bedroom and pull out two Rubbermaids. Rummaging for what I am looking for, I pull out the phone book. I go through it until I find the number I am searching for. Over the years, we’ve reached out periodically. Mainly on the anniversary of our attack and when they would call to wish me happy birthday. There was kind of an unstated agreement of not talking or even mentioning Frankie. Not the way I wanted to play it, but not only do I love her parents, I respect their wishes. Her dad, Enzo, finally broke down one day and said they speak to their daughter a few times a month. Just knowing that gives me a little peace of mind, though not much. I want to talk to her too, but not happening anytime soon, obviously.

Knowing this call is going to bring up all the bullshit of our mixed past, I feel bad but need to make sure Frankie’s okay. So I dial their number and wait. One ring then two. Before the third one the call engages and I hear a kid’s voice.

“Hello, Camano house. Who’s calling?”

The little voice brings a smile to my face when in the background an older kid’s voice yells something about it being a residence not a house. Then footsteps and a grown man’s voice is on the other end.

“Hi. Sorry ’bout that, the lil’ one is quick. You got Enzo.”

I clear my throat and pray to God I’m doing the right thing.

“Enzo, it’s Malcolm.”

“Mal, good to hear from ya. Everything okay at the hospital? You and the zoo of animals good?”

I fight to control the emotions because Frankie’s family was supposed to be mine too, but again it took just one day to fuck everything up.

“Yeah, Enzo, work is good. That’s why I’m calling. I need to tell you something and ask you a question. First, a patient was brought in from the prison earlier today due to an episode inside, and two prisoners were severely injured. I hate to say it but, Enzo, one of the prisoners was one of the men from back then. I didn’t want him to see me but because he’s an asshole and started trouble, I went in and stopped him, along with help from my boss. My worry is if the other is not in jail or dead, don’t want him to find Frankie. No, I’m not asking for her number, just want to make sure she’s safe. Can you reach out and make sure?”

“Damn, Mal. Yeah, I’ll have Billie reach out once we’re done. Now what’s the question, son?”

Knowing I’m opening myself up to a world of pain, it needs to be done. I can’t keep living in the past. As much as it hurts, this is another process of healing, or that’s what my therapist has told me time and time again. Why I think this is the right time, who knows? Here goes nothing.

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