Free Stuck in the Middle by Virginia Smith

And the worst part was that it felt good , like she had accomplished something worthwhile . She’d be able to sleep now.
    Standing in the dimly lit kitchen, a deep horror stole over her. Gram’s kooky organizing quirk was hereditary!

    “Dr. Fletcher, you’ve got a customer.”
    Ken swiveled the desk chair toward the nurse standing in the doorway. “Thanks, Debbie.”
    She slid a thin folder across the desk and disappeared. Ken rubbed his eyes. Bad enough to work the midnight shift, but sitting in this closet-sized office while he filled out endless reports on the computer was enough to lull anyone to sleep. Good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic.
    He opened the folder. A ten-year-old male with a laceration on the bottom of his left foot. Immunizations up-to-date, compliments of the health department. Vitals all good. Weight a little light for his height, but in the acceptable range. The responsible party was his mother. Ken closed the folder and left the office. He walked past the row of empty hospital beds to the one across from the nurses’ station. The curtain had been pulled closed for privacy. He took a breath and arranged his features into a pleasant expression before stepping through the curtain.
    The boy sat unmoving in the middle of the hospital bed, as though afraid to soil the crisp white sheet. His shaggy dark hair looked like it hadn’t been washed, or even combed, in days. A fresh pressure bandage, no doubt compliments of Nurse Debbie, wound around one filthy foot. The kid’s chin rose as he threw a defiant glare toward Ken. But Ken detected a hint of fear buried in his tough-guy stare.
    “I’m Dr. Fletcher. And I’ll bet you’re Michael.”
    The boy didn’t respond, just stared. Ken shifted his gaze to the woman who sat in a hard plastic chair beside the bed. She looked like she could stand a shower too, and some clean clothes. He took a step toward her, his hand extended, and kept the smile on his face though he nearly flinched at the sharp odors of cigarette smoke and sour alcohol that rose from her. She looked maybe twenty-five. Surely not old enough to have a ten-year-old son.
    “You’re Mrs. Lassiter?”
    Her grip was timid, as though she wasn’t accustomed to shaking hands. “I’m not married.”
    “Ms. Lassiter, then.” Ken grinned at the boy. “But you’re this big guy’s mother, right?”
    The kid rolled his eyes and looked away. Okay, too old to be called a “big guy.”
    “Yeah, that’s me.”
    Ken kept his hands behind his back as he bent over the boy’s filthy foot. “So, Mike, I see you’ve got a battle wound here. Mind if I take a look?”
    One edge of the boy’s mouth twisted. “That’s why we’re here.”
    Smart-aleck kid. Ken swallowed a sarcastic response, and crossed to the sink against the wall to wash his hands. Both sets of eyes followed him. He pulled on a pair of examination gloves and unwound the bandage. As soon as he pulled the gauze away, blood seeped from a two-inch wound. Deep. Broken glass, probably. Ken had seen a couple like this in Cincinnati. He glanced at the boy’s face.
    “Want to tell me what happened?”
    “I stepped on a busted bottle.” His voice was tight. “Didn’t see it in the grass.”
    “How long ago was that?”
    His mother spoke. “About half an hour ago. I brought him straight here, soon as I saw it.”
    Ken glanced at the clock on the wall. 2:47. “Out kind of late, weren’t you?”
    The boy shrugged. Ken kept his gaze on the wound but saw the woman bristle out of the corner of his eye.
    “We fell asleep in front of the TV.” She sounded defensive. “Michael must have got up and went outside without me knowing.”
    Passed out was more likely, considering the smell of her breath. His jaw tightened as he bit back a disapproving response. “Mike, can you move your ankle up and down, and wiggle your toes?” He did, which brought a fresh flow of blood. Ken blotted the wound with a clean Steripad. “Good. Now I’m