Joseph

www.trollriverpub.com

Joseph

Kings of Guardian (Book 2)

Copyright © 2015 Kris Michaels

ISBN: 978-1-939564-68-9

Cover Design: Angie-Proebook Covers

Editor: P.A.K.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, incidents and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

WARNING: The author and publisher would solemnly advise you not to attempt any of the sexual or non-sexual actions of any of the characters in this book. Any damage physical, mental or emotional is the sole responsibility of the person/persons attempting such actions. Please be aware that this is a work of fiction and you are responsible for yourself and the consequences caused thereof.

Dear Reader,

Kris Michaels has worked very hard on this particular piece of entertainment. This book was brought to you by hard labor and love. Please respect an artist’s work for the enrichment we try to bring you. I humbly ask that you don’t outright steal this child born on paper and brought to you by love. If you come by this book by nefarious means, and you are simply unable to give the change in your pocket for the purchase price, then take it with my blessing. But if you can purchase it and would like Kris Michaels to continue to bring you great books, please purchase a copy to support her.

Thank you,

Troll River Publications

Joseph’s muscles clenched, convulsing against the relentless attack. He couldn’t take much more. The searing agony following the whip’s sickening snap burned white-hot against his back, shoulders and ribs. Its unrelenting tentacles wrapped around his ribcage, wire barbs viciously rupturing skin from muscle. Blood ran down his body in small streams merging into tributaries of crimson. A pool of his own blood formed at his feet.

From the damage being inflicted, he knew his window for escape had narrowed, but he still had a chance. The extremist group had made a mistake. They’d underestimated him. Carried into the underground room unconscious, his captors only secured his hands around the post. His legs remained free.
Fools.
There were no less than five weapons within reach if he could just manage to free one hand. But time moved in the enemy’s favor, no longer his asset.

Soon he would be too weak to fight, too weak to escape, too weak to kill the slimy bastard behind him with a whip. Blood traveled down his arms soaking the ropes that held him to the post. Every time the whip ripped through his flesh, he pulled with all his strength working the lines to loosen and stretch the hemp, sliding his hand ever closer to release.

The man wielding the whip paused before he growled, “Filthy Assassin! I would kill you now, but you’re to be alive when you’re beheaded in public tonight. They did not say you had to be in once piece!” The vicious taunt echoed around the small cell.

Joseph hunched against the post for support drawing hot, putrid air into his lungs. He fought the nausea the pain and stench induced. The ropes biting into his hands had moved more readily the last time he pulled. He leaned into the wooden stake. His eyes focused on his sweat and blood as it co-mingled, saturating his bonds. The distinct sound of the whip slapping the ground brought Joseph’s attention back to his sole enemy in the room. His left hand would pull free on the next lash. He swept a covert glance to the weapons he could reach. A hammer and thin wood shims lay on the table at his ten o’clock position. A sneer ghosted across his face.
God he would love to pound those slivers of wood under the bastard’s nail beds.
To the left of the hammer on the same tray lay a surgical knife and a metal spreader. Castration.
Not today you bastard
.
Seize the scalpel first, then the hammer.

A deafening crack split across the room at the same time as the skin covering his shoulder and ribs seemed to be torn from his body. He couldn’t prevent his wrenching scream. His body convulsed in pain and his hand erupted from the binding. In one short lunge, he grasped blindly for the scalpel. His hand was numb, his body on fire. Instinct and training took over.
Pivot! Aim—throw.

The man holding the whip froze in mid-swing, stopping with the cat o’ nine tails over his shoulder. Joseph dropped to a crouch to catch the blood-soaked strands should they strike at him again. The man fell heavily to his knees. The scalpel had missed its mark. Instead of lodging in the man’s eye, the metal had somehow flattened in flight, spinning into the man’s neck. Blood spurted in hematic spews from the severed carotid artery. The man was dead. Physiology 101: Six seconds without blood killed the brain. The asshole’s body just hadn’t gotten the message yet. Crimson foam bubbled from his mouth as it opened and closed gaping like a fish out of water, and then he fell to the ground. Joseph stretched out and grabbed the hammer. Using the claw, he pried his right hand free from the rope.

He had to get out.
Clothes.
The filthy robes of his tormentor hung on the wall abandoned when the bastard got too hot. The layers of coarse material would prevent the blood from showing too quickly. Using the man’s keffiyeh, he wrapped his head, hiding his face, and ducked out of the cell.

There was no one in the hall. His body moved awkwardly as he pushed through the pain of his escape. Adrenaline surged through his system giving him the ability to propel himself across the basement and up the stairway. Hitting the door at the end of the passage, he ran through the narrow hallway into the kitchen.

An elderly woman lifted from her task of flattening disks of dough to look at him. The keffiyeh slipped showing his face. Shouts from behind him seemed to push the woman into action. She gestured wildly with her hands for Joseph to follow and God only knows why, but he did. Opening a pantry curtain, she kicked a camel hair mat to the side and pointed to the floor. A small trap door underneath the mat was exposed. The woman darted back out of the pantry and pulled the draped material closed behind her.

Every movement pushed unfathomable pain through his body, yet he moved. If he didn’t, he would die. He lifted the trap door and with numb hands clumsily attempted to position the mat over the top. When the door closed, the rug would conceal the small door. He hoped. The crawl space below was barely big enough for him to curl up and lie down in. The darkness smelled of mildew and earth, but it was cool and dark and, for a moment, safe. Minutes passed or perhaps hours, the complete darkness disrupted his sense of time. Vaguely, Joseph heard the angry shouts of men and the sounds of people moving above.

How much time had elapsed? The room above was quiet now. Slow steps and the smell of cooking food settled around him. The delicious aroma pulled wildly at his memories. Memories of home and of comfort. His body shook violently, so much so his teeth chattered. The pain and blood loss forced his body to do what his mind desperately needed to prevent. Oblivion consumed him.

*

Exhaustion spread through every fiber of Dr. Ember Harris’s body as she drove around the block for the third time looking for a parking spot. And once again, she was late for her date with Dale. That seemed to be the story of her life. Small wonder their relationship hadn’t prospered.

Her twelve-hour shift turned into fifteen because of a multi-vehicle accident on the New Orleans I-10. The ambulances arrived at the trauma center just before shift change. The last three hours drained her physically and emotionally. Despite her team’s best efforts, the two children mangled in the collision died. The parents, rushed by her staff into surgery, probably wouldn’t make it. Ember was the one to make the trek to find the grandparents and tell them the grim news.

She pulled the grief-stricken couple from the emergency room waiting area into a side room. You learned as a doctor to give the news directly and as compassionately as possible. Never tell a patient’s family they’re gone, had left or passed. Confusion, hope, and denial played cruel and bitter tricks with a desperate person’s mind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, I’m sorry to tell you both Kyle and Mandy died as a result of the injuries they received during the accident.” The grandmother’s shattered wail and the old man’s tears tore at her heart.

Ember continued as she gently touched the thin hunched shoulder of the grandfather. Looking into his eyes, she said the same thing she always said when delivering the worst imaginable news. “My staff and I did absolutely everything humanly possible to save them. Their injuries were just too severe.”

The old man held his small fragile wife tenderly. “Did they suffer?” The grief in his voice begged her to answer the question in a way he could accept. Ember closed her eyes and shook her head.

“No and they’re at peace now.” As a doctor, she didn’t condone lies and deception but what good would it do for them to know? Of course, she wouldn’t tell them the little girl remained conscious during the excruciating extraction from the vehicle. Nor would she say the terrified little boy had begged for his parents as they triaged him before his heart stopped for a second and last time. No, some things are best unknown. Ember arranged to have a ward nurse take them to the surgical waiting area and prayed the parents would be strong enough to pull through.

The tragic accident and her conversation with the grandparents would be a bitter memory that would forever define her parting recollection of three long years at the hospital. In a cruel twist, the drunk who crossed the median and drove into the family at ninety miles an hour would be fine. Ember personally oversaw the collection and processing of his blood sample.

“Pull the check sheet on this one Tammy. We’re doing it by the numbers. There’s no way I’m letting some bloodsucking lawyer get this guy off because of a collection error on the part of the hospital staff.”

“I understand Dr. Harris. It’s so tragic. The entire family…I’ve established the chain of custody and believe me this is one sample that is going to be pristine when it goes to court.” The lab tech’s pen inked her initials, date and time onto the evidence tag after she sealed it.

Ember shook her head as if the physical act would clear the memories. She fell into stride with the trauma room’s head nurse and started the normal rundown. “Gloria, make sure Dr. Rawlings gets the neuro consult on bed three. Dr. Sebastian needs to ensure the elderly woman in exam five is tested for Lewy Body Dementia. The tactile hallucinations indicate more than Parkinson’s.”

“You know, I do have a medical degree. You don’t need to ensure I do anything,” a deep voice boomed from behind the two women.

Ember jumped and pivoted. Dr. Sebastian glared down his rather large nose at her. Intimidation was his first line of defense and he had his doctorate degree in that skill.

“Really? Forgive me for ensuring my patients are looked after.” Ember responded.

“You’re here to triage and push them through to the specialties, not be the whole damn hospital. If I had a dime for every time you intentionally showed me up with your superhuman medical knowledge, I could retire and leave them all to you.”

“Well, it’s a damn good thing I’m leaving, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want my habit of being right to interfere with your career.”

“It’s a personality flaw, you know.” He fell in beside her when she attempted to storm away. His longer legs easily kept up with her smaller strides.

“What? That I’m right or that you’re an ass?”
His surprised bark of laughter turned several heads. “When you’ve had a stressful shift you revert to what you know and start rattling off volumes of medical terminology. That’s how you isolate yourself from the pain that surrounds you. We all have our coping mechanisms. That’s yours.”

“Well, this is the last time you get to see it. I was done as of three hours ago.”

“We’re going to miss you around here. Even the medical lessons.”

“You’ll live. Hopefully, your patients will too.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and hit the crash bar on the door.

Those memories faded as Em whipped her SUV into an opening slot on the street near the busy French Quarter restaurant. She took a moment to gather herself. A deep breath filled her lungs in a seemingly futile attempt to calm the shaking of her hands. Undoubtedly, the shakes were her system’s way of revolting against her steady diet of black coffee, Red Bull, and vending machine food. She’d been living on nothing but caffeine and stress for the last week.

Ember’s head dropped back against the head rest and she looked at the restaurant. Dale Landis, a lawyer she had occasionally dated, waited for her inside. Pulling her thick sweater tighter around her scrubs, she tried to compose herself. She patted a stray hair back checking to make sure her abundance of red curls were still tightly wrapped in the braided bun she’d forced her hair into for work. With a resigned sigh, she left her vehicle and walked to the entrance.

Ember waited just inside the door until her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the bar and grill. The hostess led her to a corner table where Dale waited.

“Well, if it isn’t God’s gift to medicine! So glad you could grace me with your omnipotent presence!”

Ember sat down and looked at the handsome man across the table. “Shit. You’re drunk and yes, I’m late…again.”

He chuckled and toasted her with his glass before downing the drink. “Damn straight I’m drunk.”

“Yeah and what are you celebrating tonight?”

He leaned forward slightly in the chair. “This is not a celebratory binge, sweetheart.”

Ember flagged down the waitress and asked for the menu. “Why did you want to meet me tonight? I’m leaving in a couple days. I told you that.” The waitress hovered near the table, and Ember waved her over. She ordered as Dale waved his glass for another drink. The day after tomorrow she was leaving New Orleans, probably for good. When her contract with the hospital came up for renegotiation two months ago, Ember decided not to renew. She wanted more, more than the ever present adrenalin rush, more than the constant work. She wanted a life, a relationship and maybe someday a family. She hadn’t had any time off since she started college. Four years of undergraduate work with a double major in Chemistry and Biology set the pace early. A follow on to medical school and her emergency medicine residency in Los Angeles all flowed seamlessly into her accepting a job at New Orleans’ premier trauma center. She had plenty of money. Her mom’s life insurance had paid for medical school, and scholarships paid for her undergraduate.

Dale leaned across the table taking her hand in his. He palmed a small object into her hand but gripped it to stop her from looking at it. He whispered without a trace of slurred speech, “This is why I had to see you. I need you to hold onto this for me. Take it with you when you go. Nobody can know you have it.”

“Why? What is it?” Ember’s tired body tensed.