ready to leave and day staff strolling in. A time for patients to take advantage of the confusion—to elope, maybe sneak into each other’s beds or try something in a bathroom stall.
Now patients were trickling out of their rooms, some yawning, hair messy, eyes sticky. Some formed a line, others stood around scratching themselves. A couple of day-shift nurses pushed through, saying excuse me, morning, slipping into the locker room off the hall to punch time cards, then going to the staff room to pour coffee, finish their makeup.
Rose took blood pressures, Leo handled temps, Martin recorded the readings.
After a while, Rose said, “So who’s left to do?”
“Lemme see.” Martin going down the list with a finger. “Cenovia Delgado… . Frances Hoy, so what else is new? … Herman Massani, and who else? … Reynaldo Rivera … that’s it.”
“Can I have some cranberry juice?” A female patient getting into Leo’s air space.
Leo took a backward step into the nurses’ station. “In a little bit, Dolores,” reaching for the microphone and snapping on the intercom. “Cenovia, Frances, Herman, and Reynaldo, please report to the nurses’ station, we need to get your vital signs.”
Dolores said, “That boy Reynaldo loves him some Herman. All morning I see him he looking at the old man.”
“Really? Do me a favor, Dolores, don’t block the doorway, please. I’ll get everybody some juice soon as I’m through here.”
“The man got a cell phone, too. I seen it.”
Leo, arranging charts alphabetically, looked up. “Which man has a cell phone?”
“You gonna get me my juice?”
“Of course, but tell me, Dolores, who has a cell phone, now?”
“Reynaldo. He got a visitor yesterday gave it to him. Think I didn’t see? They slip it to him under the table in the dining room, a woman. I seen them, they think they slick.”
Leo moved past her and out into the hallway and looked down to the men’s side. He didn’t like what he was feeling. He started toward the men’s bathroom, saying without looking back, “The only men left for vitals are Herman and Reynaldo, correct?”
Martin said, “That’s right.”
Leo sure didn’t like what he was feeling and hurried past bundles of bedsheets outside the doors. Reynaldo’s room door was open, bed not stripped, no one in there. Leo barged into the men’s bathroom, one patient taking a shower. He headed for Herman Massani’s room now. The door was closed. It wouldn’t open, something blocking it from the inside. He put his shoulder into it and pushed, leaned with both palms and pushed harder.
Something scraped the floor, the dresser it sounded like, the door opening a fraction. He walked to the opposite wall, ran to the door and stomped it, the door bucking open, leaving a space wide enough for him to squeeze through. He poked his head in, jammed a shoulder through, saw what was happening and steppedback out and hollered down the hall, “Red code! Red code! Help, red code!” Banging the door against the dresser that was blocking it, shoving his way inside.
Reynaldo was pressing a pillow over Herman’s face, the old man clawing at Reynaldo, skinny legs flailing.
Leo shouted, “Stop!” running to grab Reynaldo. Reynaldo stuck out a hand and jabbed Leo in the throat. Leo gagged, backing up. Reynaldo released the old man and pivoted to face Leo.
Right there, something in Reynaldo’s eyes turned all icy, and gave him away: Dude was no mental patient. He smiled and punched Leo in the side of the head. Before Leo could raise an arm, Reynaldo hit him solidly in the face, dropped a step back, and Leo charged, reaching for the arms, to immobilize those lightning fists, seeing too late Reynaldo’s foot lifting in a roundhouse kick, the leg flying at Leo as he moved his head to the right to evade it, but the foot smacked him in the left temple and fireflies flickered and his vision dimmed, going darker, tunnel vision, and he swooned, felt himself floating
Now patients were trickling out of their rooms, some yawning, hair messy, eyes sticky. Some formed a line, others stood around scratching themselves. A couple of day-shift nurses pushed through, saying excuse me, morning, slipping into the locker room off the hall to punch time cards, then going to the staff room to pour coffee, finish their makeup.
Rose took blood pressures, Leo handled temps, Martin recorded the readings.
After a while, Rose said, “So who’s left to do?”
“Lemme see.” Martin going down the list with a finger. “Cenovia Delgado… . Frances Hoy, so what else is new? … Herman Massani, and who else? … Reynaldo Rivera … that’s it.”
“Can I have some cranberry juice?” A female patient getting into Leo’s air space.
Leo took a backward step into the nurses’ station. “In a little bit, Dolores,” reaching for the microphone and snapping on the intercom. “Cenovia, Frances, Herman, and Reynaldo, please report to the nurses’ station, we need to get your vital signs.”
Dolores said, “That boy Reynaldo loves him some Herman. All morning I see him he looking at the old man.”
“Really? Do me a favor, Dolores, don’t block the doorway, please. I’ll get everybody some juice soon as I’m through here.”
“The man got a cell phone, too. I seen it.”
Leo, arranging charts alphabetically, looked up. “Which man has a cell phone?”
“You gonna get me my juice?”
“Of course, but tell me, Dolores, who has a cell phone, now?”
“Reynaldo. He got a visitor yesterday gave it to him. Think I didn’t see? They slip it to him under the table in the dining room, a woman. I seen them, they think they slick.”
Leo moved past her and out into the hallway and looked down to the men’s side. He didn’t like what he was feeling. He started toward the men’s bathroom, saying without looking back, “The only men left for vitals are Herman and Reynaldo, correct?”
Martin said, “That’s right.”
Leo sure didn’t like what he was feeling and hurried past bundles of bedsheets outside the doors. Reynaldo’s room door was open, bed not stripped, no one in there. Leo barged into the men’s bathroom, one patient taking a shower. He headed for Herman Massani’s room now. The door was closed. It wouldn’t open, something blocking it from the inside. He put his shoulder into it and pushed, leaned with both palms and pushed harder.
Something scraped the floor, the dresser it sounded like, the door opening a fraction. He walked to the opposite wall, ran to the door and stomped it, the door bucking open, leaving a space wide enough for him to squeeze through. He poked his head in, jammed a shoulder through, saw what was happening and steppedback out and hollered down the hall, “Red code! Red code! Help, red code!” Banging the door against the dresser that was blocking it, shoving his way inside.
Reynaldo was pressing a pillow over Herman’s face, the old man clawing at Reynaldo, skinny legs flailing.
Leo shouted, “Stop!” running to grab Reynaldo. Reynaldo stuck out a hand and jabbed Leo in the throat. Leo gagged, backing up. Reynaldo released the old man and pivoted to face Leo.
Right there, something in Reynaldo’s eyes turned all icy, and gave him away: Dude was no mental patient. He smiled and punched Leo in the side of the head. Before Leo could raise an arm, Reynaldo hit him solidly in the face, dropped a step back, and Leo charged, reaching for the arms, to immobilize those lightning fists, seeing too late Reynaldo’s foot lifting in a roundhouse kick, the leg flying at Leo as he moved his head to the right to evade it, but the foot smacked him in the left temple and fireflies flickered and his vision dimmed, going darker, tunnel vision, and he swooned, felt himself floating
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