Reclaiming Lily (17 page)

Kai forced a smile. “Where is the patient?”

“Patient, my eye.” Holster Belt nodded over his shoulder.

A lone plastic chair sat in the corner farthest from the windows. On the floor near the chair sprawled a young man with stringy dark hair. Like the other confined youth, he wore a baggy blue cotton shirt and pants. One pant leg had been pushed up. A cloth knotted his muscular calf. With his head cradled in his arms, Kai could not see his face. Perhaps he had something to hide . . . or was hiding from Holster Belt.

As Kai approached the detainee, Joy’s shuffles . . . and snuffles . . . dogged her. To concentrate on the patient, she ticked off a checklist. Blood stained the makeshift tourniquet but did not pool above or below. Kai’s heartbeat slowed. Signs pointed to nothing serious, at least with his body. Here was the serious question
: Why did guards not bandage this wound?

Something slammed. A fist against the wall?

Kai cringed; the detainee jerked up his head to reveal a scarred face and dark goatee. His neck whipped to stare at her. “Told you, I don’t want no . . .” Curses, and a reference to Kai’s ethnicity, filled the air.

A movement niggled Kai’s peripheral vision. Kai turned.

Holster Belt’s hand hovered near his gun.

So the detainee refused treatment. I am sure Holster Belt did not mind in the least.
Keeping her eyes on the detainee, Kai backtracked and took the water bucket and first-aid kit from Joy. “Stay here,” she whispered, though Joy’s stiff limbs indicated little chance of her moving. Kai forced herself to breathe slowly, yet her heart galloped as she retraced her steps to the chair.

Kai stopped three feet from misery.

“Please.” She crouched down. “I mean you no harm.”

Hissing, her patient raised his head. With an arch of his neck, he flung hair out of hate-glazed eyes.

Kai shivered and then squared her shoulders.
Stop. Do not heap emotions on the situation. There is no reason for fear, not with guards and their guns steps away.
The right hand pulsated its yearning to help.

“Don’t you touch me, you—”

Kai knelt by his side. “Fine.” Her vantage point showed the words
Death Wish
,
Eduardo
and a skull and crossbones tattooed on her patient’s leg. “You take it off.” She pointed to the bloody strip. “We’ll do this together.”

An eternity passed as the boy—yes, he was a boy, now that she could see youth and hurt in his speckled eyes—scrutinized every inch of her. Then he slumped against the wall. The wrap slipped to the floor.

Kai motioned for Joy to pull rubber gloves from the kit. Kai stretched them over her hands, noted a deep laceration in the leg, and took a water bottle and towel from Joy, who shook visibly.
I know how you feel, dear sister.
After slipping the towel under the boy’s leg, Kai gently poured water on the wound to wash away blood. She squinted. Blinked.

No debris. She bent close enough to see a tiny mole on the boy’s calf. There would be debris. Never had she seen broken glass make such a precise, deep cut. Unless . . .
He is a cutter.

Her windpipe constricted. She stretched as a ruse to look for clues. . . .

Two meters away, a bloody shard glinted red on the waxy linoleum floor.

Kai swallowed bile. Flying debris hadn’t inflicted this wound. The boy had used a tornado’s afterbirth to cut himself. Had he attempted suicide or tried to ease pain by a release of endorphins? Most likely the latter, as suicide victims generally preferred the more effective wrist-slitting. Kai shuddered. If it were suicide, what power had shouted,
Enough!
Could it be the storm whisperer who had earlier calmed her? Dared she believe in such a thing?

“You ’bout done?” snarled Holster Belt.

The boy wrapped his arms about his legs. His head dipped to meet his knees.

Order him to stop hurting himself.

A tic worked in Kai’s jaw. Again she’d heard the voice. But to whom it belonged, she did not know. Kai extended her hands and covered the boy’s fists with power infused by . . . that voice. “Do not do it again,” she hissed, borrowing the boy’s earlier tone. “It is a travesty to the body, soul, and mind.” Her right hand trembled with a desire to smooth back the boy’s most unmanageable strands of hair, which again veiled those eyes.

The boy snapped to attention. Stared at her.

A strange heat radiated from Kai and manifested itself like the beating of a thousand swallow wings. Something powerful. Inexplicable.

The boy was the first to look away. Power welled in Kai. The air seemed to whoosh with relief.

Eager to utilize the uncanny release of pressure, of strength, Kai treated and covered the wound, which would need sutures. As she worked, she murmured encouragement. When she was finished, she tweezed the glass from the floor, picked up the bloody wrap, stuffed it into a plastic bag, and stashed it in the kit. “Another will be in contact,” she told the boy. “Someone who can help.”

Kai motioned for Joy to follow her past the guards, through the door, and into the foyer. Back on the side of freedom, or the illusion of such. Back by the drinking fountain, where they waited for Pete, who apparently had returned downstairs.

“That was cool, what you did in there.”

Though haunted by the boy’s expression, Kai managed to shrug and smile at Joy. Drained, her back aching, Kai let the wall support her. Faces of patients flashed through her memory, patients she had treated with skills taught by Harvard’s greats, perhaps her own bent for healing. Yet never had she experienced a presence like today, when a voice had instructed her in medicine. How could that be quantified or dissected? She was not sure if she would speak to David . . .
or anyone
 . . . about this. Perhaps Dr. Duncan . . .

“Why didn’t you tell the guard?” Joy asked in a husky whisper.

“Tell? Tell what?”

“That he cut himself.”

Ice water raced through Kai’s veins. How could a pastor’s daughter detect a cutting episode that guards had not even seen? She struggled to recall what the policeman had said about Joy. Yes, this was her first arrest.

Joy leaned close. “They would’ve used it against him, you know. Badgered him into doing it again.”

Kai’s spine went rigid. Her fists tightened. First arrest or not, Joy knew things an innocent would not know.

“You don’t look so hot.” Joy offered her a water bottle, which Kai accepted with numb hands.

“I don’t feel so hot.” Kai swallowed, unaccustomed to bringing attention to herself in such a way. The emotions rushing through her were eroding her composure. It was an entirely foreign feeling.

“I tried it once, you know.”

Joy’s words swallowed the air in the foyer. The water bottle plunked against linoleum and poured out onto the floor. Kai opened her mouth. Closed it. Every cell in her body screamed,
Why? When?

Fourth Daughter, whom they had saved from certain abortion; Fourth Daughter, whom they had nursed in the orphanage; Fourth Daughter, to whom she had come to test for PKD. There had been no more precious gift to the Chang family than Joy! To think she would end her life with a single slit! “How?” Kai hissed. “How did you do this thing?”

“With a razor.” Eyes dulled—by remorse? Desperation?—met Kai’s. Otherwise, Joy just stood there, as if she were dead. Her passiveness spurted adrenaline through Kai, who grabbed Joy’s arm and shoved a mass of beads and metals off her wrist.

A plastic band snapped. Blue beads flew into the air and bounced off the tile floor, as if in rebellion to the insult. As well they should rebel! Life was sacred. How could a Chang do such a thing?

The pale scar, neat as an inseam in a garment, cut an acute angle into Joy’s creamy skin. A scant two centimeters . . . yet enough to drain a body of its lifeblood.

Another miracle . . . or had Joy intentionally failed in her attempt?

Kai released her hold on Joy. One question answered, a million to go. How best to get answers? Her instincts screamed that the Powells must be present during such a discussion, yet Joy must know
this instant
what she thought. “We will address this, Joy. You must get counseling. This is not—”

As Kai stood, trembling and openmouthed, the elevator doors opened and spat out Pete and two men with a stretcher. Without comment, Pete picked up the water bottle and entered the holding tank, followed by the other two men.

Before Kai could broach the topic that had sucked the air from the hall, Pete returned, pulling a mop bucket. The other two men carried her patient on the stretcher, stopping near Joy. Kai stepped close enough to see her patient’s speckled eyes, which seemed to beg her to do something.

The EMTs carried her patient into the elevator. Doors whined shut.

After Pete mopped up Kai’s spilled water and returned the mop bucket to Holster Belt, he rejoined them in the hall. “We’re done here.” Pete wiped his hands on his trousers. “I’m taking y’all down.”

“One moment.” Kai strode to the holding tank and pushed the intercom button. Pete followed. Did he sense that Kai needed a monitor to deal with the guards?

Holster Belt swaggered to the glass. “Yeah?” Despite an air of indifference, curiosity gleamed in his eyes.

Kai cleared her throat. It was now or never. “As a physician, it is my opinion that the boy—my patient—needs counseling.” She debated telling Holster Belt the truth and, heeding Joy’s words, discarded the idea. “Please see that he gets it.”

“Who do you think I am? God?”

Most definitely not
.

Veins bulged in Holster Belt’s throat. “They’re all beyond help. Every stinkin’ one of ’em. All the money
in Japan
ain’t gonna fix ’em.”

Heat rose to Kai’s face.
Such ignorance, such indifference
. “If you are not . . . able to do so, I will report this myself.” She made sure to shrug. “In detail, I might add.”

Holster Belt’s sneer showed stained teeth. “Are you threatening a guard?”

“Quite the contrary. You have a choice. I care not how we proceed.”

“I’ll see to it.” Gumption swelled the voice of Pete, as if he was irritated by Holster Belt. Or was humane and kind.

Kai let out a breath.
Thank goodness.

“It’ll be on Moore’s desk,” continued Pete. “Yesterday.”

Kai offered Pete a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Together she and Pete moved away from Holster Belt . . . and the evil that seemed to seep from him. Kai took Joy’s arm. The three of them stepped into the elevator.

His head shaking, Pete pushed a button. “Holy smokes, lady. I don’t mind helpin’ you out. But they’re all crazy, you know?”

Kai battled a desire to scream. “So we stop trying?”

Pete shrugged. “Half of ’em try to kill themselves. Can you believe that?”

12

Pete mumbled good-bye and jetted from the elevator the instant the doors opened. Kai followed Joy into the foyer. She hoped Pete would honor his commitment to write that report—sooner rather than later. She’d follow up, just to make sure. But now she must speak to Joy.

Mr. Moore rounded the hall. Only his sweaty bald head and rumpled clothes hinted that a storm had ripped through. “That’s the last ambulance run. They say there’s nothing serious. Miraculously.” He shook Kai’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Kai smiled. “It is a privilege to be here.” She cleared her throat.
So it will be sooner that I follow up . . . rather than later. Just as well.
“The injured detainee has psychological injuries.” She furrowed her brow. “Pete, such a dedicated man, assured me he would file a report . . .”

“Glad to hear Pete’s doin’ his job.” Mr. Moore whipped a pad and pen from his shirt pocket. A detail person. Kai’s kind.

Mr. Moore scribbled, then stashed pad and pen. “Now about your daughter . . .”

Kai and Joy exchanged glances. “Actually, Joy is not my daughter.”

An eyebrow peaked.

“She is my sister.”

“Huh. Really?” Mr. Moore shifted about. “Do you have guardianship?” He fidgeted with his walkie-talkie, as if that would help him sort out things.

Kai shook her head.

“Hmm. She hasn’t been booked?”

“No.”

“Before she can leave, we gotta finalize the station adjustment. Her parents or legal guardians must be here for that.” Mr. Moore swiveled, as if the Powells might materialize in the lobby.

“Kai?” Joy squeaked. “Have . . . have they called you?”

Kai smoothed her lapels in an effort to remain clam. What
had
delayed them? The tornado, or something they had learned at the doctor’s? “I will check my cell.”

“So . . . where did they go?” asked Mr. Moore, surely thinking
dysfunction
.

“Mrs. Powell fell ill,” Kai answered. “Her husband took her to the doctor. We should hear from them at any time.”

Joy’s rasps signaled that any time needed to be now.

“If they have not called, I will call them.” Kai slipped her hand in her pocket, where she had stowed her cell. Found
Call History
. Nothing. Pressed another button.

A fast-busy signal answered. She jabbed the thing again. Same annoying sound.

“Busy.” She battled a frown. “The phone company’s probably swamped.”
Hopefully not with debris and water.

“They’ll get here when they get here. I’ll tell Nicole what’s going on.” Mr. Moore fiddled with his walkie-talkie. “In the meantime, y’all stay put.”

They were led into a lounge furnished with two sofas, a folding table, and four chairs. Employees slumped in two of the chairs, their eyes glued to a television set. Exhaustion began to creep up Kai’s spine, along with the knowledge of what she had to discuss with Joy and then the Powells.

As Mr. Moore left the room, she plunked down next to Joy, who’d sprawled on a sofa patched with duct tape and was biting her nails. With reluctance, Kai nudged her cell into the depths of her pocket.
To keep punching Redial and getting a busy will snap Joy’s nerves . . . and mine.
Besides, I must tackle this sticky-as-blood issue before Nicole arrives.