Free Life Sentences by Tekla Dennison Miller

Pilar acted like she didn’t understand. “What do we have?” she asked.
    “First day jitters.” She frowned at Pilar as though she shared a deep secret.
    C HAD W ILBANKS SAT IN a chair, his right wrist handcuffed to the arm. Pilar noted that he didn’t raise his head when she entered, but she was sure he appraised her from thecorner of his eyes.
    “Good morning Mr. Wilbanks. What …?”
    “Call me Chad.” Now he looked directly at her. Here was that newspaper photo, come to life. His smile was as engaging as she’d suspected.
    She quickly looked away and thumbed through his medical record. The typewritten words made no sense. Pilar faced Chad. “What brings you to the infirmary, Mr. Wilbanks?” She willed herself not to think of women’s mutilated bodies.
    “You look pale, Doctor Brookstone. Maybe someone should see you and not me.” His tone was pleasant, not condescending. He had a slight lisp, something she hadn’t expected.
    Two sentences, and Pilar was disarmed.
    This was not the monster she had read about in the newspaper. Pilar could see why Lorrie and the others were drawn to him. In fact, he seemed almost shy, vulnerable. He reminded Pilar of the many boys with whom she’d gone to Grosse Pointe Country Day School; dark, nicely cut short hair, a creamy complexion, and healthy, flushed cheeks. She pictured him in white tennis shorts and shirt. Chad was the very image of the man Pilar’s father had hoped she’d marry.
    Lorrie’s warnings echoed in Pilar’s ears, and put steel in her spine. “Mr. Wilbanks,” she commanded as she tossed his file onto a table, “if you don’t have a medical problem, then I need to send you back to your cell and tend to theother prisoners. My schedule is full.”
    “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to speak out of place.” He waited for a few moments before he looked away from Pilar’s face to her trembling hands.
    Pilar stuffed them into her lab coat pockets. Chad raised his head and studied her face again. “I have a sore throat,” he finally reported. “Strep has been going around the joint, so the block sergeant thought I should get in here before I got too bad.”
    “I see,” Pilar answered. She pointed to the exam table. “Sit there.”
    Chad chuckled as he jangled his cuffed wrist. “I can’t move from this chair.”
    “Oh, sorry.” Pilar’s faced heated, again. “Is that the policy for everyone?” She recalled the walk-away at Detroit Receiving Hospital chained to his bed.
    “Only if a guy tried to escape.” Chad shifted in the chair. His mouth formed a half-deriding smile. “But, a doctor can order them taken off if she wants.” Pilar was fully aware he noticed the tension in her shoulders.
    Here were those victims’ bodies again, cluttering her thoughts. She also remembered something she’d heard at the academy about a prisoner caught trying to tunnel his way to freedom. Hard for her to imagine someone as calm, engaging, and handsome as Chad could be a brutal murderer and an escapee. “I have a lot to learn,” Pilar mumbled. Once again, she regretted revealing her thoughts out loud.
    “Ma’am?”
    “Nothing. I’ll examine you where you are.” Pilar leaned over Chad. He made no attempt to hide his interest in her breasts. And, instead of being insulted, Pilar felt her increased heartbeat stimulate an adrenaline rush. The sensation was probably from her nervousness over treating a notorious killer. She was sure she’d soon get over it.
    Pilar manipulated a tongue depressor inside Chad’s mouth and softly said, “I’ll take a culture and send it to the lab.”
    She reached for a Q-tip and swabbed his throat, then wiped the specimen onto a glass slide. When she straightened, their eyes locked. “Meanwhile, I’ll give you a prescription,” she said. “Your throat does look red and swollen.” Suddenly dizzy, she stepped away to lean against a table, hoping he hadn’t noticed her unprofessional demeanor.
    “Aren’t you