Chapter 2

The weeks following The Incident were not the most pleasant in my life. It's odd how, even in my own mind, I can only refer to the happenings that night in words with capitals... but to me it was, and always will be, The Incident. Anyway, that's all beside the point and, to you, rather irrelevant. The first few days immediately following my encounter with the patients of Ward 24 were busy - first came the treatment for my injuries (luckily all relatively minor) which was immediately followed by an interview with the police. Then I was allowed to rest for forty-eight hours before the hospital authorities got in on the act. I had to give interview after interview to Departmental Managers, Personal Managers, General Managers, Area Managers and god only knows what other sorts of manager. And then the Trauma Councillors appeared and they were the worst. Suspended and sent home on full pay, I was told that I would be informed as soon as possible what the results of the internal investigation were.

Regrettably when I did get back to my flat, I discovered that some of the 'red top' so-called newspapers had managed to get hold of the security tape from the casualty department and there, splattered all over the inside of The Sun and The Mirror, I was caught and exposed on that trolley for all to see over a double page spread, complete with stars over the 'rude bits'... but they didn't hid the shame I was feeling inside. Then the phone started ringing... media, girly magazines, weirdoes and perverts all wanting a slice of the action. I turned them all down and pulled the phone out of the wall... but not before I'd sent off an E-Mail to my Master. In my heart I knew that things had gone much further that he would have wanted and that, when it had all started to go wrong, there was nothing he could have done about it... but, even so, I did hold him responsible for my troubles. If he hadn't given Tony permission to use me, things would never have got into the state they did. I told Master this in my message and ended with the opinion that I wished to be left alone for some time and if I wanted the relationship between us to be renewed, I'd get back to him. Wisely, I think, Master seemed to understand my needs and he didn't attempt to force matters between us.

The results of the police investigation came in next - no charges were to be made against Tony and his pals. It had been concluded that their actions had been brought on by a combination of drugs and drink and that they were in no way responsible for what they had done. Fucking great! Tony had the presence of mind to do one thing to save his skin as he suddenly realised the consequences of what he'd done the evening - he'd formatted the hard drive of his lap top thus erasing the evidence of the web-cam link to my Master. He'd also thought to hard boot my Psion thus removing all the evidence there of my activities as Naughty Night Nurse, an action that not only made life easier for him but saved my skin as well!

Eventually I was summoned back to the hospital to face the investigating panel. To cut a very long story short, I was found to be totally innocent and was reinstated. The only good thing that came out of all this investigative process was that the regular nurses on Ward 24 were all severally reprimanded for allowing their area to become a dumping ground and, even more so, for allowing alcohol to be smuggled in in the first place.

So, the next Monday it was back to work, on the night shift and in my own ward. But over the next few weeks I couldn't settle. I kept imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to me and I couldn't sleep during the day. As my personal health deteriorated, I kept calling in sick. Eventually an appointment with one of the hospital's psychiatrists was arranged and, to be honest, when he informed me that his conclusion was that I should be transferred to a less stressful day duty, I was pleased. During that weekend I contacted my Master again and explained what had been happening recently; I suggested that we restart our relationship but emphasised that it would have to be rather more low-key than before until I regained my confidence. He agreed to this new arrangement and, thankfully, stuck to it giving me only easy tasks while he retrained my as his slut.

After a further couple of weeks I was feeling much better. I'd been assigned to the Dialysis Unit and given the necessary training to operate the expensive and lifesaving equipment there. Basically, the idea behind dialysis is that a machine replaces the functions of the patients kidneys and removes the poisons that build in in the body of someone with damage to that part of their anatomy. These machines are literally life savers and can keep people alive for years until a donated kidney suitable for transplantation becomes available. The advantage for me, of course, was that it was an easy job. Office hours, almost, with every weekend off. Unusually, each of our machines was housed in a separate room with one nurse assigned to an individual. After arriving, the patient would be 'plumbed in' (as we called it) by a doctor who would then leave while we sat there making sure that the patient was comfortable and that the machine ran correctly. Since most of the patients had been taking the treatment for quite some time and the machines were very reliable, there was little to do apart from to talk to the patient (if they wanted) and to be there in case of emergency... a thing that rarely happened. Most of the patients were pleasant and liked to chat to pass the time for the hour or so they were linked to the machine.

For awhile, all was well and then on one Wednesday morning I was called into the Charge Nurse's office. "Carol," she said after asking me to sit, "I'm hoping that you can help me out. Well, that's to say, help the hospital out." I said that I would do what I could and she went on to explain further. "There's a new patient coming in..." she paused and looked at the surface of her desk for a few moments.

"That's not very unusual," I hinted, trying for a smile and hoping to make her more comfortable than she clearly was.

"Yes, that's true... but this patient is rather... different."

"Different? How?"

"He's a prisoner... a long term prisoner up on the Moor. He's suffered total kidney failure... and is very ill..."

"And what's he doing time for?"

"He was a big time gangster... you name it, he dealt in it. Drugs, murder, robbery, fraud, protection, prostitution... even kiddy porn..."

I felt my stomach churn; I wasn't sure I wanted to be alone with a man like that and I said so. "Carol, you wouldn't be alone. Two guards would accompany him throughout his visit. And he's not likely to do anything while he's here, now is he? Without the treatment, he'd get ill very rapidly and die shortly afterwards. He needs us too much to hurt us..."

"And by 'us' you mean me. Why me, Sally?"

She looked at the floor and coughed.

"Let me guess, Sally - you didn't want to ask me because of what happened..." Now it was my turn to look at the floor before I finally went on, "... up there. In fact, you've already asked everyone else and they all turned you down... so now you're reduced to asking me. Right so far?"

At least she had the decency to look guilty. "Yeah, you're right." Now she looked me in the eyes, "It's not that you're not competent, Carol, 'cos you are... it's just that... well, we thought that you'd been through enough. But now I've run out of options."

"I'll think it over... give you an answer tomorrow. Okay?"

She smiled with relief. At least I was willing to think about it which was more than the others who must have given her a blanket refusal...

That evening I sat at home and consumed a bottle of good, heavy red. I needed to think. I didn't want to meet a man like that. I didn't want to touch him, to talk to him. Yet I am a nurse... how could I refuse to treat him? But, like, shit - kiddy porn! I mean, that's so sick! I opened another bottle and got back to my thoughts...

Next morning I told the Charge Nurse that I'd give it a go... with the proviso that I could pull out if I wanted to after giving it my best shot. Totally relieved, she agreed - she'd have complied with almost anything I'd requested - and then she told me that the patient was due for his first session at 10.30 the next morning. I gave a rueful smile and told her I'd be ready.

Come the appointed hour and I was in the small treatment room along with Doctor Patel. It wasn't my regular room - this one had been chosen because it was the only one without either a window or a skylight. There was one way in and one way out... and that had been fitted with some bolts on the inside as well as a pair of mortise locks. I pointed out to the Doc that, in my opinion, the bolts should be on the outside rather than the inside. He told me that he thought they were simply there to slow down a fleeing man rather than to hold him permanently trapped...

At which point the conversation came to an abrupt halt as someone knocked polity on the very door we were discussing. Doctor Patel called out for them to enter and in they came. Two uniformed prison guards escorting the patient who was attired in a hospital gown and who was being pushed on a trolley by some orderlies. This being his first treatment, the patient had already been up to surgery where he'd had some tubes inserted into his body. These would remain attached for as long as the treatment was being applied so that on each weekly occasion he arrive here at the unit, we could quickly and easily hook him up to the hemodialyzer. I looked straight at him, almost as if I was expecting to see horns sprouting from his forehead... but there were none. Instead all I saw was a sick man, pale and weak. I'd say that he was in his early to mid fifties and he'd clearly been a large, strong person in his time. Now he struggled to lift his head to look back at me... and when he did, he smiled, a set of perfect teeth that somehow managed to convey menace even in that brief few seconds. I swallowed and turned away to check on some equipment. The orderlies wheeled the man to the side of the bed in the centre of the room and, with the aid of the Doctor and myself, transferred him over and settled him down. "Are you comfortable?" I asked.

"As much as can be expected," he replied in a rich baritone voice that made my toes curl. I looked a little closer and rapidly concluded that, with some weight put back on, he would be quite handsome... and, coupled with that voice, in his youth he must have had the ladies queuing up for him.

Doctor Patel explained to the patient what he was about to do and, once the man had agreed that he understood, the procedure began. This being the first visit, it took a little longer to attach all the tubes because of all the checks that had to be carried out but eventually the machine whirred into life and the blood from the man was sucked out before beginning its journey through the bank of filters and other processes before being returned to his body. After satisfying himself that all was well, the young doctor took his leave telling me to bleep him if he was needed.

"I will, doctor," I assumed him.

"Fine, Carol, fine... I know you will." And then the guards opened the door and he left. I sat down on a chair at the bedside and reached out to take the patents pulse.

"My name's Foster," he suddenly said, catching me by surprise. "And you're called Carol... is that right?"

I nodded, "I know your name - I've read your notes."

"You don't like me, do you, Carol? I can tell... most people either dislike me or fear me. You very clearly fall into the dislike camp. I assume then that they've told you a little about me?" he went on.

"Yes, and I don't like what I've heard," I stated stoutly. "I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to get to know you. You're ill and I'm here to treat you - nothing more, nothing less. I might ask you to do things sometimes, I will ask how you're feeling. If you feel uncomfortable, you should tell me. Other than that I'd be very happy to sit here in silence until the treatment is over. Am I clear?"

"You are, Carol, you are," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. Then he looked away and didn't speak again for the rest of the visit.

Wednesday mornings now fell into a sort of routine. I'd get in to work and set everything up. The patient would arrive, walking now that the surgical procedures were complete, change into a gown behind a screen before taking his place on the bed. The duty doctor would make the connections and then leave me to it. The guards never said much and neither did I. After an hour or so, the doctor would return, the connections broken, the patient would dress and leave, still escorted by his guards while I prepared for the next patient. The only break in this routine would be the days where the doctor was delayed for one reason or another and then I would do the plumbing. This wasn't strictly correct procedure of course, but it was standard practice.

As the weeks rolled on, the barrier between myself and the patient started to break down. It began with the usual remarks about the weather, then came some comments on the current headlines and finally we were chatting just like I did with any other patient. At times I had to pull myself up short and force myself to remember just what this man was. It was really odd because, in himself, he came across as a cultured, educated person with wide ranging interests. I used to smile and tell myself that I supposed that even Adolf Hitler, if met 'off duty', probably seemed like a nice man. But we never talked about my personal life or the activities that had lead him to the Moor. These subjects were just taken as being taboo by both of us.