Page 13 of Rogue

Lotus is leaning on me heavily and limping as I lead her out of the clubhouse and into the dusky, velvety orange light of sunset.

About the only bright thing about this day is that I might just run into Dr. Melody at the ER. She told me she was starting a new job there this week. But that was before she left my clubhouse with a very frosty goodbye. So, I’m not sure how happy she’ll be to see me.

But I sure am looking forward to seeing her.

6

Melody

It’s my first day working at County General ER and I’m on the twenty-fifth hour of my thirty-hour shift. Things were starting to blend together as they usually do at about this point of a long workday. I came out for some fresh air and a coffee in the ambulance bay, but if I was expecting a stiff breeze to clear my head the reality of spring in LA had other ideas.

The sun is setting, coloring the sky a dull orange, and the smell of gasoline fumes coming from the busy avenue running past this hospital hangs low in the air, acrid and strong enough to make my dry eyes water. The sound of sirens is an ever-present reality in this part of the city. Even when none are coming this way.

I came straight to work after the two-day party that followed Hunter and Trixie’s wedding back home in Pleasantville, so all goodbyes I made were wrapped up in a lot of joy and a lot of booze. But they were goodbyes and the reality of that, of the fact that ten years of my life is now irrevocably over, has started to seep in every time I get a moment to just be.

Luckily, I haven’t had much time to just be.

Since I got here, I’ve already worked on three traffic accidents, four heart attacks, a stabbing, several gunshot wounds and countless smaller complaints. The amount of paperwork I still have to complete is a small mountain by now and given the fact that everything about the charts is done completely differently here than at the last hospital I worked at, I’m probably looking at hours of overtime as I attempt to complete those later.

But that’s fine.

I don’t really have anywhere else to go yet.

There’s no bed waiting for me, because I haven’t even had time to get a motel room yet. Everything I own is packed in the back of my station wagon and once I’m done here, I think I’ll just push everything to the side to clear enough space to lie down and sleep in the back. I don’t think I’ll have the energy to do much more than that. Especially since I’m looking at another shift just like this one tomorrow. Or today, depending on how you look at it. The best way to look at it is to just let days and months lose all meaning. Once it all becomes just hours, it’s easier to keep track of it all. I learned that little trick as a medical student and intern and I think it’ll help me get through the years to come as I make my way up to being a fully licensed doctor.

But hours can be misleading too. They’re short. But they can easily become long. Too long.

It’s been 239 hours since Edge was taken to the ER in San Diego with a wound he might not survive. And 232 hours since I last spoke to him.

And 225 hours since I first called the hospital to get an update on his condition. All I learned was that he’s still in critical condition and that they have moved him to the jail ward. And that as soon as he’s stable and healed enough, he’s getting moved to an actual jail.

He was shot in a battle that Devil’s Nightmare MC fought in San Diego about ten days ago. The aftermath of that battle, which I spent stitching and fixing up the men that were my only family for ten years, is still something I see every time I close my eyes. At this point, I’m afraid I’ll see it forever.

I couldn’t do much for Edge. Not with the bullet stuck in his stomach. All I could do was stitch up his wound to prevent even more blood loss. And I almost messed even that up because my hands were shaking so badly. But the last I checked—22 hours ago—he had already been transferred to prison and was expected to make a full recovery. I whooped very loudly when I heard that news.

One of the nurses—Shelly—waves to me as she exits the ER. Instead of waving back, I get up from the narrow bench I’m sitting on, thinking they need me inside.

She laughs as I join her. “Relax, I was just saying hi. You look beat.”

I grin at her. “I’m about to get my second wind.”

It’s a total lie. Even if my second wind came, it’d pass me right by. What I need is a good long sleep. I’m not hopeful that’ll come even after I leave for the night.

She lights a cigarette and offers me one. I take it, even though I quit two years ago and even though I know it’ll make me queasy. Which it does, the ground under my feet feeling like jello, and shapes in front of my eyes running together like oil stains on water.

“You can go take a nap in the on-call room,” Shelly says. “I’ll wake you if anything comes in.”

I shake my head and let the cigarette just smoke in my hand. “Better if I push through at this point. If I fall asleep you probably wouldn’t be able to wake me up.”

She laughs. “I can wake anyone up. Been doing it for years.”

She’s about my age, with curly brown hair and a heart-shaped face. The light blue nurse’s scrubs make her eyes glitter like the ocean on a calm afternoon.

“How long have you worked here?” I ask.

“Four years. And never a dull moment.”

She says this loudly over the deafening wailing of a siren as an ambulance comes rolling in. I drop my cigarette in the ashtray atop the garbage can we were standing next to, and move to follow her to the ambulance.

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