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Four
Bunny hated everything about Arcadian Waters Care Home. It seemed small and poky from the outside, fashioned of honeycomb-colored brick with landscaped gardens that were supposed to make it look more like some fabulous country mansion instead of what it really was—a waiting room. She was used to fast-paced action, saving lives from one minute to the next, pushing seriously ill patients through the system for specialized care. Prepping people for surgery.
She clenched her teeth as she walked up the smooth concrete walkway to the front doors. This felt like early retirement. And she hated it.
Inside, it was even worse. She’d been given a lukewarm welcome in the reception area before the care manager had finally arrived to give her a bare-bones tour. As they stood in the doorway to the recreation area, Bunny was grateful she’d been assigned the night shift. At least she would have minimal dealings with the residents. Her first appointment with the hospital counseling service was in a week’s time. She just had to do her thing, get paid, and go home until she finished dancing to Julian’s tune. Getting herself fired was not an option.
She barely paid attention as she was shown the kitchen area, the staff break room, and the nurses’ station. The care manager, Cerise, was a no-nonsense African-American woman who gave a brief overview of each area before bustling ahead to the next stop on their tour. Bunny appreciated the brevity. The only thing worse about having to learn about a place you didn’t want to be at was having to learn about it from someone who wanted to add their life story to the commentary.
They entered the recreation room. It was a large, octagon-shaped room situated in the heart of the building. The huge dome-like feature, complete with skylights let in the light, but didn’t afford any views of the outside world other than what the weather was like on any given day. It was full of the same yellow and blue upholstered furniture Bunny had noticed in the other parts of the building they’d already explored but was set up to resemble a large living area, complete with a fake fireplace, bookshelves, craft tables, and a few different TV areas. As it was the evening, the room was empty.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Cerise said curtly as they rolled to a halt on the dusky-blue patterned carpet. “But you do realize that this is a high-care facility, don’t you?”
Taken aback, Bunny couldn’t help but raise her brows. “I can handle it,” she said, her tone reflecting her arrogance. “If it wasn’t for Julian and the board, I’d still be triaging patients in emergency.”
A slow, knowing smile spread over Cerise’s face. She rocked back on her heels, her hands planting themselves on her scrub-covered hips. “You think you’re going to be bored,” she acknowledged, amused.
Bunny didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want to rile up her new boss, but she wasn’t a liar, either. When asked to give her opinion, she gave it freely. It wasn’t her fault if people didn’t like what she had to say. For right now, she opted for shrugging a noncommittal shoulder.
Cerise called her shoulder and raised her a head shake.
“Everyone who decides they want to work with sweet old people thinks it’s going to be a dream come true,” the woman said wistfully, as though once upon a time she had been that person. “Like being able to spend your working life looking after your grandma or grandpa. The reality is… quite different.”
She held a hand up to gesture at the facility in general.
“These patients all require specialized, around-the-clock care,” Cerise explained. Her face still betrayed the fact she didn’t suffer fools. “From bedpans and medications, to falls and fractures. And if you think you’re going to have it easy on nights, Ms. Major, you can think again. Hourly patient observations. Diabetes management. Moving patients in bed. Just some of the challenges you’ll be facing on a nightly basis, with very few staff on shift—certainly not enough staff to cater to all the residents at this facility. You’ll be worn thin, tested, and sometimes have to care for patients who are difficult—to say the least.”
Bunny resisted the urge the roll her lips inward. She’d actually bothered to put lipstick on for the night, and she didn’t want to dry it out prematurely. She met Cerise’s gaze, holding her own. The woman was her boss, not her friend. “Okay.”
But it seemed as though Cerise wasn’t the kind of woman to be put off by a few silences and one-syllable replies. She paused, as though trying to decide whether to say what she wanted to say. Bunny could tell when the decision was made from the way she dropped her left shoulder and tilted her head to the right. Oh Lord. Here we go.
“Julian told me about your mom. I’m sorry for your loss, but if they think you’re going to be able to escape the effects of death here, they’re wrong.”
“I’m not trying to escape death,” Bunny replied, irritation coloring her tone. This was supposed to be her orientation, not an inquisition. Was this part of the psych eval? “I’m pissed off about how unfair death is. There’s a difference.”
“Sometimes death is fair.” Cerise pursed her lips, her no-nonsense wall snapping back into place. “We had a violent patient pass away tonight—Mr. Walter Lucas, room 192. Man’s been in and out of jail his whole life, no family to claim him. Has hit just about every employee of this facility at some time or another, myself included.” She shrugged, as though it was all just part of the job. “Fact is? You got offered a pretty sweet deal, and your time here is temporary. Don’t be so pissed of about a bump in the road that you let yourself get complacent. This isn’t going to be the cakewalk you think it will be.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Bunny said wryly.
“You’re welcome,” Cerise said, in exactly the same tone. “Now let’s get a move on. Otherwise you’ll be starting your shift with only half the orientation you need.”
* * *
If one thingabout her new job was for certain, it was that there was just the same amount of paperwork. Bunny’s pen scratched across form after form as she filled in charts, wrote up her notes, and sipped her now-cold coffee. The whole building seemed to be sleeping, but she knew better. The lady in 217 had hypertension, the man in 225 had pain in his abdomen, and she had found a whole group of people out of bed watching reruns of Sex in the City in the rec room—like she didn’t have enough problems to deal with. It wasn’t the ER, but she could see how Cerise’s comment about this not being a cakewalk could prove itself true very easily.
The clock on the wall was a ticker. Bunny hated tickers. She remembered being about nine or ten when she had taken the ticking clock off the kitchen wall at her parents’ place, opened it with one of her dad’s screwdrivers, and removed the second hand. She glanced up to see that it was still only 1:45 am. Bunny lifted her watch up to her mouth.
“Make a note to buy a screwdriver,” she said, before letting her arm drop as her phone set the reminder for her. Technology was fantastic, and Bunny was a true addict. Why bother having relationships with real humans when you could get literally everything you needed from your watch and it didn’t stand you up or always expect you to pay for dinner?
The thought of food made her stomach growl in protest. She finished making her clinical notes and picked up the Disturbed mug she’d brought from home. A hot coffee and the sandwich she had brought with her for supper would be the perfect thing to enjoy while relaxing for a few minutes. Patient care and the evening TV club aside, she’d been making arrangements with the coroner to deal with the patient Cerise had mentioned earlier. She’d earned the break, and she intended to take it.
The fluorescent lights in the kitchen buzzed and then blinked before coming on. Bunny trotted past the long stainless-steel counters over to the fridge set aside for staff use, flicking on the coffee pot as she passed. She fixed her snack in the same methodical, efficient way she approached the rest of her work, and flicked the lights off again less than five minutes later.
The dimmed night-time light in the hallway was suddenly brighter without the light flooding in from the now-dark kitchen. She could expertly insert an IV in five seconds flat, but not filling her drink to overflowing sadly wasn’t a skill that Bunny possessed. With her mug in one hand and her sandwich in the other, she carefully watched the coffee level so she didn’t spill as the swinging kitchen door thunked closed behind her.
And in the corner of her eye, she saw a man dressed all in black quickly slip into a room down the corridor.
Her breath felt like ice water in her lungs. She gasped and lost her grip on her mug. It felt to the floor, hot coffee spilling everywhere. She didn’t stick around to watch the mug bounce on the linoleum without smashing; the sandwich fell from her other hand as she raced down the hall, lifting her watch to her mouth again.
