Chapter 7 - The False Emergency
The light went out. Through the food slot I heard shoes moving fast and the metallic rattle of an equipment cart. Somebody in the hall said, "She's in eighteen."
I stepped away from the door. In my EMT years I'd learned the difference between a rushed response and a carefully staged one. No one called my name. No one asked whether I needed help.
The slot opened. A hand pushed in a paper cup containing two white pills.
"Doctor's orders," an officer said.
"What medication?"
"Something to help you sleep."
"I'm not taking unidentified medication. Please record that I declined."
A low curse answered. The slot slammed closed. Minutes later the light returned, and Officer Nia Brooks appeared at the door.
"Keep your voice down," she whispered. "Shore signed a transfer order for you this afternoon. I asked why there was no diagnosis. Fitch told me to stop asking."
"Can you call my attorney?"
"You've already got a legal visit on record. I can document your refusal and request a supervisor review. That's what I can do without losing access to the record."
"Josie disappeared. So did Morgane."
Brooks's eyes tightened. "Josie was listed as transferred for respiratory treatment. She passed her physical yesterday."
"Then put that in your report. Please."
She nodded once. "A report matters only if somebody can see it."
After she left, another officer arrived with a folding wheelchair. "Medical transport. Stand up."
"I'm walking," I said, "and I haven't agreed to an evaluation."
"You want restraints instead?"
I stared at the chair, seeing the route Leah must have taken. If I fought physically, they'd call me violent. If I went quietly, nobody might know where I ended up.
May you like
I sat down slowly and asked for the time and destination to be entered in the log. The officer's mouth twisted.
"Destination? That's the part you're not supposed to know."
