Third Shift - 6. Chapter 9 William Foster

Chapter 9 - William Foster

February 16th

Cory walked slowly down the hospital corridor drinking in the ambience, as it were. Ever since his first visit to see Lawson, he'd wondered why he felt so annoyed. Part of it was simply being in a hospital, he supposed. Much of it was the forced hopefulness of the place.

For example, he noticed the walls were painted a muted, sedate yellow which suggested optimism, just not too much of it. Adding to this impression were the fabric panels lining the bottom part of the wall, also yellow but with some beige pattern to it. He supposed the panels soaked up the noise because the hall was surprisingly quiet.

Cory stopped at a portion of the hallway right before Lawson's room and looked at the painting. It was a group portrait of almost cartoonish looking animals lying around a toddler in a drooping diaper. It was literally a lion and bear lying among lambs and deer with a baby poised in the middle. He looked at the bottom for the name. It was called 'Peaceable Kingdom,' and it was especially absurd. He felt a surge of rage coming up from his belly and he swallowed hard to suppress it.

Shaking his head, the counselor continued on his path to his patient's room. He shifted the bag he carried to his other hand. It wasn't heavy, only containing the lockup clothes for Lawson to wear, but it felt burdensome. Instead of a task, it was feeling like an onerous mission. It was even worse since he couldn’t erase the most recent events from his memory.

Cory couldn't get the details from Sandy's insulting note out of his head. The gall of his ex astounded him. How could a man he loved treat him so poorly? It was bad enough he left him, but to take what he wanted without discussing it was mean and spiteful.

"Since I paid for everything…" kept ringing in his ears. Cory shifted the bag from one hand to another and snorted to himself.

About the only thing that had distracted him from his foul mood was the prospect of seeing Lawson. Even that idea needled him. Why was he so smitten and crushing on this straight guy who was in serious legal jeopardy and with whom he had nothing in common?

Cory sighed as he neared the guard outside Lawson's door. He gave the deputy a beleaguered smile and the officer dressed in the brown and tan colors of Hennepin County responded with the same.

"Moving him back to jail?" She looked stocky and sturdy, but Cory realized she was probably wearing a bulletproof vest which made her shape stolid instead of shapely.

"We are," answered Cory. "He'll heal as fast in a cell as he will here in the hospital."

"Do you think they're done with him?" she asked, tilting her head suggestively.

"What does that mean?" Cory barked. He realized his question was unreasonably sharp. "Sorry, I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"The guards and the other detainees, will they leave him alone now?" she responded. Her tone was even and inquisitive. It didn't sound like she had an agenda and was genuinely concerned.

"I don't know."

Cory looked closely at her face. Her cheeks were burning red and her eyes were shining. John Lawson had been making more friends apparently. His annoyance returned.

"Deputy Clark, has he been talking to you?"

"No sir. I just wondered…never mind. It's hard to believe what he did."

"I wouldn't know," Cory said. "I need to get him dressed and ready for transfer." He brushed past her through the door. The counselor breathed deeply as he tried to calm his racing pulse.

Lawson was lying in bed with his eyes closed. The monitors, needles, and other equipment were gone. Apparently the nurses had already taken all of it away and so the room felt empty and solitary. He looked a little larger without all the machines hooked up to him. His bandaged eye and wrapped shoulder and abdomen seemed almost like something from the theater or a soap opera. It didn't seem real.

Cory approached the bed and the man's eyes flew open. He tried to sit up but he bounced back onto the pillow when the restraints stopped him. Lawson groaned in pain and a sob escaped his lips.

"Are you okay?" Cory asked, breathless.

"No," the man answered through his clenched teeth. "The only thing I have for the pain is some over-the-counter shit." His eyes had closed tightly again.

"Can't have narcotics at the detention facility," Cory said.

"This is bullshit."

"The transfer guards will be here in a few moments. Should I call a nurse?" Cory asked. He set the bag down and looked over at the phone. Watching Lawson bear such agony was affecting him. He could feel the moisture collect in his eyes.

"I'll be fine," Lawson said, sighing. "It comes and goes." His voice sounded a little less strained.

"I brought you clothes."

"Thank you." The man's eyes opened and Cory almost gasped at the stunning color of amber glowing beneath the hospital lights. "At least you've come to see me. My fucking mother doesn't even care enough to see me."

The bitterness of his tone sent a sympathetic ache through Cory's chest. "I'm sure she loves you."

"Hardly," Lawson said turning his head. "Bitch got a restraining order against me. All because I wouldn't back the fuck down. Ice cold."

Cory didn't know how to respond to the outburst. For a mother to get a court order against her son did seem outrageous. Once again, the curiosity of what this man had done became overwhelming. He closed his eyes and counted to three with long slow breaths.

"What're you doing?" he heard the other man ask. "You're pissed at me too."

"No. I'm simply using a breathing technique to collect my thoughts," Cory answered. "It's very effective."

"Breathing technique?" Lawson asked. "Sounds like new age bullshit."

"It works for me," Cory said, coldly glowering at his patient. All sympathy had flown out the window with the latest remark. "Maybe I should go."

Lawson looked at him sullenly, then shaking his head said, "Please don't. I sometimes lose it a little. I'm sorry, man. I really am."

Cory watched as Lawson's features smoothed out. He was calming down after his bout of pain and temper. "Would you consider trying the breathing exercise?"

Lawson didn't respond at first. His face screwed up in disgust. Then he opened his eyes and gave Cory a look that was close to a smirk, but tinged with pain. "Why not?"

"Okay, here we go," Cory said. "First, when you feel your stress level begin to rise, you close your eyes and breathe in and out very slowly. It helps alleviate your tension and calm your system. Try it with me."

Cory pretended to close his eyes and breathed in deeply. Lawson watched him and mimicked his actions. His first breath wasn't very full, and he let it out quickly. Cory slowly let the air escape in an almost exaggerated way to demonstrate the process.

"Take a breath, hold it, and then let it out slowly," Cory instructed. Through the slits in his eyes he could see Lawson now did so with more vigor. The man's chest rose and expanded. He held the air and then slowly his torso relaxed as the air flowed from between his full, thick lips.

Lawson did the exercise three more times along with Cory. After the last one, he opened his shining amber eyes and smiled. "Say, it does work." He sounded astonished.

"I told you. It helps with stress of any kind including pain," Cory said, patting the man's arm. He could feel the heat radiating from him. It was like the man was a heating pad or a radiator. The warmth beckoned to him. Cory quickly slid off the bed and stepped back, ashamed at his reaction.

"Thanks," Lawson said. He didn't seem to have noticed Cory's blushing cheeks and quickened breathing.

Cory began pacing about the room looking at the chart on the wall, the white board, and the other notices as a distraction. "How are you feeling about going back to the detention center? Are you nervous?"

Cory fingered the marker hanging on a cord next to the white board. He waited for Lawson to answer, but the man remained silent.

He turned and saw Lawson was grimacing again, his face screwed into a mask of pain. Or was it rage? Cory couldn't tell for sure. Something about the other man seemed to screw up his brain making him feel dopey and out-of-it.

The man let out a huge breath and seemed to relax. "If they try it again, I'll kill them or die trying."

"Don't say that," Cory responded instinctively. "It won't help you to become belligerent."

"What the fuck difference does it make?" Lawson bellowed. "If they try fucking with me, I'll fuck with them. I know how to fight."

"I hope you're just letting off some steam," Cory said. "Because I'd hate to put into your file that you feel like picking a fight."

Instead of calming the man, Cory's words seemed to inflame him more. Lawson sat up, pulling against the restraints. His face was almost purple. The tendons on his neck and arms were showing. There were veins on his face that seemed to pulse with fury. Hate was steaming off the man.

"This is all my goddamned, fucking mother's fault. If she weren't such a whore, my dad wouldn't have left and I wouldn't be like this. She had to fuck anyone and everyone she could find," he bellowed.

"Your mother was a prostitute?" Cory asked, stunned. He stared as the raging man tied into the hospital bed snarled a response.

"She didn't take money like a street walker. She picked them up in bars and they'd buy her things. Then when they stopped or she was tired of them, she'd dump them. She used men so I never had a father," Lawson shouted. His words were punctuated with a mist of spittle. His nose was running into his mouth. The man was unhinged.

"She fucked me up. She's the cold-hearted bitch who made me a total goddamned loser. Because of her, everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone I love, I hurt. It's her fucking fault," Lawson hollered. By the end of his tirade, his voice had grown hoarse and his muscles began relaxing. He plopped back onto the pillow and turned his head. Cory saw huge drops of tears silently squeezed from his one good eye and rolled down his puffing, blustery cheeks.

"We need to discuss this further," Cory finally said. He watched as Lawson relaxed. His breathing slowed. His face regained its pallor. His bruises became more prominent once his temper subsided.

Lawson nodded as a response to Cory's comment.

After a few moments of quiet, the door to the room opened. Two detention facility guards came into the room. "I see our patient is ready to go."

"He still needs to dress," Cory said, pointing to the bag on the chair.

"We'll uncuff him so he can dress. Are you going to behave yourself, John?" the burlier guard asked. He was smiling and his fluffy red hair bounced as he talked animatedly.

Lawson grunted a yes and nodded. He turned and gave them a half-hearted grin.

The black-haired guard, thin and tall stepped forward. He unlocked one handcuff and then walked around to unfasten the other. "I'll pull the curtain around, but I have to stay in here with you."

"I don't care," Lawson said, rubbing his wrists. Cory could see his straining had chafed the skin and angry red marks were apparent. "You don't need to use the curtain. I'm not shy."

Cory saw the man glance at him briefly after his 'not shy' comment. Was he so transparent in his attraction, the man sensed it that clearly? He thought his professionalism was masking his urges. Obviously he hadn't been as ambiguous as he thought.

Lawson moved slowly and painfully pulling his scrub top off. His chest was nicely formed with tight muscles and a moderate spray of straight, dark brown hair. His nipples were large and brown. Cory tried to look away, but couldn't as the man slipped on his detention shirt and with one hand buttoned it up. His injured arm and shoulder seemed to hang uselessly.

All Cory wanted to do was help him. He bit his tongue and simply watched as Lawson finished up.

Next, the man untied his pants and they fell in a puddle around his feet. Lawson's legs were thick, heavily muscled and hairy. He was wearing jockey shorts and the tighty-whiteys did little to mask the thick forest of hair surrounding Lawson’s manhood. Now Cory had to look away. He returned to the white board, inspecting the names of the caregivers and notes with intense attention. The image of Lawson's package and powerful legs was burned into his memory. It's all he could see as he read the words on the board.

"I need help," Lawson said. Cory turned and he'd almost fallen over trying to step into the jailhouse pants using only his good arm. "I can't-"

"Sit on the bed and pull them up," the black haired guard said sounding disgusted. The red-haired guard was smirking and his cheeks were rosy. Cory wanted to slug someone. Obviously John was in distress.

"Here, I'll help," Cory said, marching across the room. Lawson sat on the edge of the bed. The counselor crouched down, picked up the pants, and slid them past his feet. Cory looked up and directly into Lawson's eyes. His patient was smiling at him, but not unpleasantly.

Cory quickly stood up and stepped back, retreating. He could feel his face heat up from the interaction.

"Can you get it from here?" Cory asked, putting the edge of the pants into the man's good hand.

"Thank you, Mr. McDaniel," Lawson said, softly. He stood up and finished struggling into the garment. He fastened them and sighed in relief.

"Let's go," the black-haired guard ordered. Cory saw his name was Guerrera.

"Are you going down to the street level?" Cory asked.

"Naw, we're walking him down the tunnel," Guerrara answered as he closed the strap on the Lawson binding him to the wheelchair. "It's easier than loading and unloading them into vehicles. Are you tagging along?"

"I have a shift tonight. I should get home and get some sleep."

"Later then," the red-haired guard said, grabbing Lawson's good arm. "Let's get hopping."

Cory watched as Guerrara grabbed the small bag with Lawson's few items in it. His colleague already had the detainee halfway out the door. It was all happening so fast.

"I'll see you tonight, John," he called after them. "We can have a session if you're up for it."

Lawson turned and looked at Cory. "I'm sure I'll be awake at the usual time."

"We can talk about things then," the counselor said, relieved.