Page 1 of The Sharpest Edges

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Chapter 1

Hope can bloom in the most desolate places.

The lavender flowers climbing up the chain link outside Ava’s infirmary window are proof of that. They grow through cracked concrete and weave through barbed wire, bringing beauty to the prison yard. They are the only beautiful thing she can see in this small white room where she spends most of her waking hours. They comfort her but must feel like a cruel tease of the real world to the inmates.

She turns away from the view to watch a caged clock on the wall, wishing the minutes would tick by faster so she can head home and wash off the prison scent.

The stench of antiseptic, bleach, plastic wrappers, and latex gloves permeates her clothes in a way she’s never quite gotten used to. Even after two years, she’s still sensitive to the chemicals used in this place. It’s an effort to scour away the germs with little consideration for the people breathing them in. She had to sign a waiver a mile long when she accepted this job. There’s got to be a line somewhere in the small print about hazardous fumes and potential lung cancer twenty yearsdown the road.

This isn’t the place for sensitivities. She learned that the first day when an inmate complained of stomach pains and she’d found a stick of deodorant stuck up his ass. It was lesson one on how cruel people can be to each other, particularly in a place where they have nothing but time to contemplate how to diminish the human spirit.

She sighs as she checks over the medical charts for the day. No one left on her list, all meds have been given and scrapes tended to. Nothing serious enough to require paging a doctor; no attempted suicides or gang-related incidents, which were always the most violent of cases.

It was a slow day, all things considered, and she’s grateful for that. Has been feeling the hint of a cold coming on, maybe spring allergies, she isn’t sure yet but it tickles the back of her nose. One of the guards handed her a box of tissues earlier and told her to sneeze on the inmate that he hates the most.

She doesn’t like that guard. He has his moments of decency, but the snide remarks and blatant cruelty toward the inmates make Nick the one person she’d prefer to aim her germs at.

As if on cue, the object of her disdain blows through the double doors at the end of the hall, tugging along a man she hasn’t seen before.

His hands are shackled, which is common practice, but his feet are free and dragging slightly as Nick pulls him toward the infirmary. He’s practically limp by the time they reach her, collapsing onto the stretcher pushed up against the wall, blood clotting over his eyes that he reaches for with cuffed hands. Nick wrenches them back down, securing him to the railing of the bed and grunting out an agitated ‘don’t’ in his direction.

Don’t what, she isn’t sure.

Don’t touch your face. Don’t struggle. Don’t pull away from me. Don’t get on my last nerve.

All possibilities.

“Got jumped. He’s new, don’t know what the hell happened but probably started it himself. Gotta learn the rules around here. Learn your place, that’s how you’ll survive till ya get out.” Nick directs the last part of his statement toward the man on the stretcher.

He’s a complete mess, spitting blood from his mouth onto the chipped tile floor. The apparent head injury is only one of his most obvious problems. She frowns as her eyes rake along his body, taking in the ripped clothing and shivering frame, the cuffs clinking against the railing with each tremble. She worries about internal injuries from the way he’s curling in on himself, trying to tuck his knees up as best he can, the hint of fresh bruises evident beneath the rips and tears along his shirt.

He is barefoot, which is concerning enough all on its own. She knows what crawls around on these floors, has seen how easy it is to contract an infection or virus just from existing without shoes. The gallons of bleach they pour onto the tiles do little good in the long run. Not when some people behave like animals in their own living space and the sewers back up every few weeks. Being in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia with limited resources, means lackluster living conditions at best and few who care enough to do much about it.

One of his toes is bent at an odd angle, possibly broken. Definitely needs a splint.

“What’s your name?” Her tone is matter-of-fact but gentle, not wanting to upset him even more.

He doesn’t answer, only grips the bed railing tight andnuzzles ineffectively into the pillow to clear his vision, unable to bend enough to reach his face with his hands.

Nick speaks up instead. “Name’s Dean Dawson. Got here last week. Guard on the floor said there were three of ‘em that took him down. Brought him right up, left a trail of blood like fuckin’ breadcrumbs back to C Pod.”

She scowls at Nick’s helpful but booming voice from the corner of the room, giving him a short nod and turning her attention back to her patient. Lowering a towel to his face she reaches for his shoulder with the other hand, trying to give him some warning that she’s about to wipe all the gunk off his eyes but the moment she touches him he flinches hard enough to make the whole bed rattle, hissing out a scathing ‘don’t touch me’ and attempting to shove himself back into the corner.

Before the reprimand from Nick can come, she cuts him off with a raised hand. “Can you get me a coffee, please? From the break room.”

“Nope. He’s new. Can’t be alone with ‘em when they’re new, you know the rules.”

“This is a lot. All of this. I think he just needs a minute. He’s cuffed to the bed, Nick. He couldn’t hurt me even if he wanted to, and that’s not a real rule. It’s a suggestion you…suggested.”

She isn’t lying. It’s not a rule that she can’t be alone with the patients. In fact, she often is if something takes too long for a guard to want to put up with. They are always cuffed and shackled. She is usually safe and this situation would be no different. In a bigger facility, there would be rules and regulations a mile long and a hefty price to pay for breaking them, but regulations here are optional or non-existent. It’s one more side effect of being in the backwoods.

For all his bravado and snarky words, Nick is reluctant to leave her with someone new, has been since the one time it wasn’t okay. The one time a guard on duty needed to pee and didn’t lock the cuffs tight enough before he left.

Nick made up this rule for her protection and despite her feelings for him otherwise, she can’t deny that it’s a good idea. She embraced it after the incident that almost took her life and left her ready to quit this job. Knowing there was always a guard within feet of her allowed her to work without spiraling into a fit of anxiety, but it’s been years and she’s trying, trying to move on. There was never a reason to question the supervision until now. Until he’d dragged a new patient into her infirmary that was coming out of his skin, so tense with fear that it seeps into her bones. One less person for Dean to worry about can only be a good thing.

Nick rolls his eyes, double-checks the cuffs, and tells her she has one coffee with two sugars coming right up. Throwing over his shoulder that if this one is an escape artist and shivs her when she’s not looking it’ll be her own fault this time.

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