Cure by Belinda Frisch Page A

that?”
    “They get the same meal, three times a day, except for the two post-ops. They get what they need intravenously or through a feeding tube. Neither of which are our problems. Nursing staff handles that. You can start on that side.”
    Zach wheeled the first bowl of food on a tray to a woman late in her pregnancy. He avoided eye contact, but could see from her slumped posture that the fight had long gone out of her. He pushed the tray close enough for her to reach it.
    “I can’t eat that again. Please, I’m going to be sick.” The mid-thirties woman held her engorged belly. “I need some crackers or something to settle my stomach.” She raked her fingers through her strawberry blonde hair and when she tucked it behind her ears, he noted the faint scars of a woman who had seen more than her fare share of stitches.
    He wished he had something to offer. He wasn’t cut out for this .
    Reid shook his head disapprovingly. “She knows better, Zach. She’s testing you. No refunds, no substitutions.” An eager grin spread across his face.
    No surprise.
    “Annie, you have to eat.” The brunette in the next bed tried to coax her, a southern drawl coloring her sweet voice. “If you eat, you’ll stay healthy. You’ll have this baby and be able to go home to your girls.”
    No way was Nixon ever letting any of them out of here, not for their sakes or anyone else’s.
    Zach turned to see Reid fidgeting with his two-way radio.
    “Hello, this is Reid. Do you hear me?” The basement played havoc with cell phones and radios. “Hello, do you hear me?”
    Zach went to the next bed and when he was sure Reid was busy he turned back to Annie. “Hang in there. I’ll see what I can do,” he whispered.
    “Thank you.” The brunette answered on Annie’s behalf and took her food without complaint. “She’s had it rough since the beginning.” Zach read the name Carlene on the chart hanging from the foot of the woman’s bed. Not quite as old as Annie and certainly not nearly as world-weary, he guessed she was in her late twenties. Her pregnancy barely showed.
    “Hello, what was that last part?” Reid was still shouting into his radio. “Keller, you’re going to have to handle this. We have a problem upstairs. Meet me in the Security Office when you’re finished.”
    Zach nodded, half relieved to have Reid away from him and half worried that with him gone, the instinct to let every one of these women free would take over.
    A sour smell came from one of the sedated patients. Her light brown hair was matted and her ragged nails were broken like she had, at some point, tried to escape. The other was less neglected looking, but only slightly. Her hair was greased back into a low side ponytail that wrapped over her shoulder. Her splotchy skin was scarred as if by a bad case of teenage acne.
    “Holly is sick. Someone needs to look into that smell.”
    Zach’s breath caught in his chest. The girl could have been Allison’s much younger sister six months ago, before the cancer treatments turned her skeletal.
    “Name’s Penny,” the girl said. The soft shape of her round, pink cheeks were those of a girl far too young to be having a baby. Nixon’s depravity knew no bounds. Penny radiated innocence from her deep, blue eyes to her bob-length, black hair styled plainly like a schoolgirl’s.
    Zach considered the introduction. Do you answer her? Tell her your name? No. Don’t get involved. This isn’t personal.
    “Did you hear me? My name’s Penny Hammond. I’m eighteen and an only child. I went to the clinic for my college physical and ended up here.” She was trying to humanize herself, a smart play under other circumstances. He slid a bowl of food over to her and refused to engage her. “Christmas is my favorite holiday. My parents probably still have presents under the tree. My Mom couldn’t take it down without me opening them. I’m my parents’ whole world. What you’re helping them do to me in here is