Friday, my sessions resume. Gage walks me down the Ward C hallway and badges me through. He doesn't say anything. He hasn't said much since the incident—just nods when he sees me, positions himself at whatever door I need opened, and keeps his eyes moving. Checking exits. Checking corners.
The cell is the same. The man inside is not.
Jude sits on the edge of his bed. Hands on his knees. He looks up when the door opens and his spine straightens. He's present—more present than I've seen him since my placement began. His eyes track me across the room and he nods.
"Good morning," he says.
"Morning." I pull the chair out and sit. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Thank you."
I blink. Well, that's new.
The session runs forty minutes. He answers every question. Not the monosyllables from the first week—full answers. Complete sentences. When I ask about his sleep he tells me the medication knocks him out before ten and he wakes at five. When I ask about his meals he says the eggs are worse than the toast.
I smile before I can stop it. Keep writing.
Dr. Kennedy is at the far end of the ward when I finish. He's carrying a session file, and his face is tight.
"Your notes from this morning," I say. "How'd he present?"
Kennedy stops. "Cooperative. Verbal. Engaged." Each word comes out flat. He tucks the file under his arm and keeps walking.
I add a line to my notes.Dr. Kennedy's impressions align with mine for the first time since my placement began.
Lane is at the nurses' station when I round the corner. He looks up, and I follow his gaze to where a nurse is leaving Ward C through the security door. Behind the glass, Jude is standingnear his cell. He steps aside to let an orderly pass and says something. The orderly nods and keeps moving.
"He said thank you," Lane says. "He said thank you to her and she smiled at him."
I don't know what he wants me to do with that, so I smile. "That's good, right? Progress."
Lane looks at me for a long moment. Then he goes back to his paperwork.
I badge out, cross the parking lot, and drive home with the windows down.
I let myself in, drop my bag by the door, and kick my shoes off. This morning's coffee cup is still on the counter. My phone buzzes next to it. Mishel. I swipe to answer as her face fills the screen.
Dark curly hair piled on top of her head. Red lipstick, half-applied. She's getting ready for something.
"Where are you?" she says.
"Home. Are you going out?"
"Date night. Aaron's picking me up in twenty." She holds the phone at arm's length and tilts it. "Does this dress make my tits look good?"
"Your tits always look good."
"Correct answer." She brings the phone back, propping it against something while she works on her other lip. "How's the new job?"
"It's going. The facility's a mess. The staff don't want me there and the paperwork is a disaster."
"So the usual."
"The usual."
She pulls an earring from a jewelry box. Gold hoops.
"And the patient? How dangerous is this one?"
