Resisting Bristol Parker

By McKenzie Devlin

In a growing mountain community previously known for its turbulent gold rush history, crystal clear waters of the Sandy Gap river are as ever changing as life itself here. Those that call the area home are not oblivious to the challenges and darker side of the community. It is a world where drug use is rampant, an underground escort service is run behind the scenes and yet religion is deeply rooted and wielded. The town is awakened to a cold blooded murder Christmas Day and while a rebellious girl escapes seemingly unscathed, life becomes altered. It’s one more layer to Bristol Parker’s challenging existence. Beneath her alternative style and hard rocker persona is a vulnerable and resistant core. Adapted skills for this wicked beauty aid in pushing those away who dare get too close. Rumors have always flourished about an affair between Bristol and the owner of the infamous Snake Pit Pub, yet when it ends abruptly, a more sorted relationship starts to brew. Ethics are set aside in place of attraction that both parties work hard to deny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: McKenzie Devlin
• Release date: Jun 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463493762

McKenzie Devlin

A tormented soul cursed with the passion of writing. Let's hope you think I'm good at it. Whatever happened to curling up with a book you couldn't tear yourself away from in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter night? Or...a blazing hot summer day, toes in the sand and the kid with the family next to you won't stop screaming. Our lives are too distracted. No I'm not going to rant on the evils of screens. I think we have overflowed our daily lives with so much other crud we can't breath. Stop and read. If not my books, someone's. Cheers.

Book preview

Chapter One

Altercation

Aslow insidious drip from an unseen faucet intermittently broke the silence of the hospital room.

Bristol clamped her jaw shut. There were few clues as to how much time had passed.

Voices sounded warped and distorted in the corridor. The muted hum of machinery radiated from the room next to her. And worst of all - the dark corners of the room produced shadows that seemed to take unnatural forms and move every so often.

In a minute, maybe two, the door would open and an entity with limited information about tonight would ask a lot of stupid questions. If she responded correctly, freedom would ensue. The return to home was on uncertain ground but the usual players needed time to cool off and sober up. Her stepbrother Aaron would be passed out after his night of lying to the cops.

Her thin frame lay on a bed that reeked of bleach.

The damn faucet kept dripping...

Bristol coughed and winced immediately from sharp pains under her left rib cage.

Hell, she muttered and took a shallow, uneven breath. The pain medications were wearing off. Usually these rooms were so brightly lit they caused cornea damage. However, the darkness was protocol when calming down a mentally unstable patient. For Bristol it was torture. Dark and blackness produced disturbing things.

Her feet were miserably shackled to the end of the bed. Both hands were attached to the side railings with oversized belts lined with worn down padding.

Damn leaky faucet...if only she could get her mouth under it for a drink. Waves of nausea plagued her in addition to a bad metallic taste on her tongue. Her lower lip was hot and swollen as well as some region under her right eye.

The real suspense was whether or not she was going to be officially arrested or just detained until a doctor could clear her.

Footsteps in the hallway slowed to a pause.

Bristol weakly rebelled against her restraints. Her efforts managed to hike the thin institutional gown to an inappropriate location on her hip. She swore under her breath as the door opened. Bright light streamed in from the hallway. It pierced her brain and her head flopped backward.

Bristol......Parker? A White Coat entered. He did not look at her directly but instead studied a clipboard.

Who are you? Where's the other one from before? Bristol asked.

The White Coat backed up against the counter. The door slowly closed and darkness engulfed the room.

When can I get out of here? Bristol spoke in a ragged voice. Hello? Listening to me? Whoever this new doc was, he was tall and dressed better than the rest of the lousy idiots.

Well - White Coat flipped through a thick stack of papers under the clipboard.

What's that? My life story?

Once you're done with radiology and a psych eval, you can go.

Huh? Bristol tried to lift her head up but the pain in her midsection dictated otherwise.

Do you remember why you were brought in?

Who are you? Yes, of course I fucking remember.

My name is Dr. Walsh. He unwound a stethoscope from his neck and set the chart down. So humor me. Why are you here?

Walsh? Bristol asked.

The doctor approached but since both her arms were attached to the bed railing he could not fully inspect the wounds.

Jewelry party gone awry, Bristol said, you should see the other bitch.

Displaying no reaction, Dr. Walsh placed the end of the stethoscope to her chest. Take a breath please.

Bristol tried to inhale. Fuck, she spat out quickly.

Is the pain sharp or dull? the Doctor asked.

She stared at the ceiling in obvious distress but said nothing.

You may have a rib fracture. Still waiting on the x-rays.

Wouldn't be the first fucking time, she said through clenched teeth. I don’t remember hurting like this before.

White Coat remained stoic, listening intently to her lungs until he was satisfied and then wound the instrument around his neck once more. He turned back to the chart.

Respiration sounds normal which is good. No perforation to the lungs.

You have a fun job doc. Naked gal strapped to a rotting bed. All alone in this dark room. Well unless you bat for the other side.

He turned toward her, unamused. You haven't told me what happened yet.

Why should I? Bristol studied the doctor. He wasn’t the usual scruffy nerd that roamed the halls of this confounding hospital.

Because you aren't getting out of here until you talk to me. And none of the usual bullshit.

You're psych.

Yes.

Great. What took you so long, someone hang themselves? Slit their wrists. Oh wait – that's what I did.

Did you?

Beats the fuck out of me.

White Coat was very patient. He didn't react to her sharp comments. Bristol was losing enthusiasm.

Do you have a loss of time?

You mean did I black out? How come doctors always ask that? How the fuck should I know?

You were in a fight -

Sure.

With who?

My pimp.

Are we going to play games or are you going to talk to me? White Coat calmly asked. Her chart read like a broken record. All tales of attempted suicide, domestic violence, mental episodes and incapacitation.

Bristol closed her eyes but they stung too much. The ceiling tiles would have to do. Blurry images of her mother's face floated before her. Greasy hair pulled back, some of it draped down. Half empty wine glass in her hand. Leaning in that front door entry. All the paint chipping off...

Bristol? the doctor asked but gained no response. The disheveled girl before him was clearly experiencing withdrawal from whatever she took that night in conjunction with the sedatives the ER had filled her with. He scribbled a few disjointed notes on a pad of paper. Her defiance was admirable, given the situation but if she didn't open up soon, he would have to admit her on a twenty four hour hold.

Tell me what took place. Anything you remember.

Bristol slowly gazed at White Coat. Huh?

How did you end up in the ER?

Bristol returned to staring upward at stained ceiling tiles. Cops brought me in an ambulance.

What preceded that? What was the reason for them brining you in an ambulance?

My stepbrother Aaron – drunk. Went off. What did happen last night? Mom was ignoring Dad as usual. Aaron was drunk…well, actually they were both drinking.

Your stepbrother?- the doctor asked.

Y-yeah. The fucktard was ragging on me like always.

He was goading you? Saying unpleasant things? There was plenty of domestic violence history in the chart but he was surprised no mention of diagnosed mental disorders. She was showing signs of memory loss but he didn’t think it was a permanent thing.

Bristol’s eyes glazed over. Dr. Walsh leaned back against the counter and waited.

Aaron always says unpleasant things, he’s a fucking asswagon, she finally said in a weak voice.

Darien plucked two tissues from a box on the counter and wiped the path where tears traveled down the sides of her face into mangled black hair.

What unpleasant things does he say?

I can't, I can't do this right now - Bristol said.

The sooner I can work out what happened, the sooner you get out of here. Telling this ravaged young lady that the police were impatiently waiting down the corridor was the last resort. She needed to trust him first.

Fuck, she mouthed. Okay, whatever, whatever. My demon spawned sibling and his nasty girlfriend were ragging on my ass. The usual garbage. I dress like a dyke. I worship Satan. I’m going to hell. I’m genderless. Bristol swallowed hard. I guess if you cut your hair too short and you dress like I do, you’re a fucking twinkie or pay hommage to things with horns.

Who hit you?

Who do you think?

This would go a lot faster if you could just answer my questions, the doctor said.

Aaron.

Aaron hit you?

Bristol grunted but kept her eyes upward. He beats on his girlfriend too, not that I object.

The little information that the police gave Dr. Walsh indicated a long history of family upheaval. The house was frequented by police thanks to complaints from neighbors. It was curious why this young girl resided there however many victims tend to stay in dangerous situations. She seemed very bright. Crass and defensive but not lacking intelligence.

What was your role - did you perhaps do or say something to escalate the situation, Darien internally cringed listening to himself ask such a ridiculous question. She was a victim in this and in grave danger of being killed next time.

I told you. They were both having a good time ripping me a new asshole. Sayin’ I was fucking into pussy and shit like that. What was I suppose to do? Look at my ass Doc, I’m small compared to that bloated whale.

Are you gay?

Bristol looked over at White Coat with glassy eyes. Why? Does that matter?

It could. In terms of a hate crime.

Shit. I would be so lucky, Bristol turned her head away. Not gay. Not bi. I prefer men just not many of them.

Darien Walsh scanned over her chart one more time. The whole thing was full of gaps and disjointed notes. Psychological evaluations. Abusive family dynamic. What concerned him was an absence of an accurate diagnosis. The other hospital had been throwing medication at her for years.

What drugs are you on Bristol?

You should know. This fucking place drew enough blood, she spoke slowly. Am I going to jail tonight?

No. He turned around. But I need you to cooperate.

Cooperation? I'm half naked strapped to a cart, what cooperation aren't you seeing here doc?

What substances did you ingest prior to being arrested?

I don’t do drugs. My fucking brain is messed up enough, or doesn’t it say that in there, she snarled.

What about the clozapine?

That shit doesn’t work. Sometimes lithium but that just takes me down and….I can’t be too messed up otherwise I’ll be in a ditch somewhere.

Dr. Walsh removed a prescription pad from his right front coat pocket and scribbled on two pages before tearing them off and placing them on the counter.

What's that? Bristol slurred.

Promise me you'll do what I ask. I'll keep you out. You need to do your part though. Darien grasped the door and once again bright light from the hall streamed into the room.

Hey, wait. What do those things say? I have to do what? Are you checking me into this loony bin?

See you soon Ms. Parker.

And with that he was gone.

Fucking jerk, she muttered and closed her eyes.

Minutes passed.

Perhaps an hour or two.

A nurse appeared and pumped some sedatives into an intravenous line stuck in the top of her hand.

Another hour and this time a bald man wearing scrubs with little kiddie prints and basketball shoes that had the laces loose came into the room. He was humming a familiar tune and smiling.

What are you here for, more samples or spiking my bag? Bristol asked.

Chris. Nice to meet you -, the man squinted at the chart in his hand, - Bristol? Hey don't hear that name too often. I'm taking you for a cat scan. Think you can hang with that? He planted two chubby hands on his nonexistent hips.

Don't look at me. I don't have any choice in the matter.

We can do this the hard way or the easy way, he said, starting to hum again. Chris unhooked the IV bag and laid it on Bristol's tender midsection. Sorry 'bout that.

Why am I getting radiated again?

Ah, well, let's see - he narrowed his eyes, reading the chart, says here you might have some fractured ribs...uh... He stopped when he saw the handwritten scribble of Dr. Walsh. He was seeking more information on past injuries. The orderly was no dummy and not about to say too much that might cause the patient to become antagonized.

Bristol closed her eyes. The sedatives were half working but also wearing off.

You gonna give me any problems young lady?

Bristol muttered something incoherently.

By the time they reached the elevator, she was seeing strange blurry people standing upside down on the ceiling. Humming from Chris was annoying but she hung onto it as something real.

Either radiology had moved to a different location in the hospital or the meds were screwing with her brain. No stranger to getting an occasional picture of suspected broken bones, Bristol knew radiology existed on the same floor as the emergency room. Maybe she really was in the psych ward.

Doing okay there? Chris asked.

No, she muttered.

Hang on. We're almost there. X-ray has been backed up all morning. Busy, busy.

Morning? What time is it?

Uh, let's see, about ten after eight. Time flies, doesn't it?

They reached the correct floor and the elevator doors slowly retracted. Chris guided her bed down a hall and through big doors. Bristol wanted to tell him to hurry up but couldn't think of how to form a logical request.

The second her hands were released from the straps, she grabbed the side of the bed and vomited violently onto the floor. The smell of it stung her nose producing another involuntary reaction. Chris seemed unaffected and grabbed her shoulder so she wouldn’t fall completely to the ground.

Come on, lay back, he urged. You gonna stay put?

Bristol shook her head weakly. Laying down makes it worse.

Okay, okay – just don’t go anywhere – I’ll be right back, he said calmly.

After the debacle was cleaned up and Bristol entered a strange state of sleep while sitting on the bed, it was time to get the scan done. She didn’t question why it was a CT and not x-ray again but who cared at this point? Afterward she curled up in a ball and lapsed into a deeper sleep.

Chris wheeled her back into the dark room and reattached the cuffs to her arms. Just another drug addict. Maybe this one would get help. He hated to see a pretty young thing turn into a scabbed-over shell of a person.

Chapter Two

Family

B ristol? Bristol can you hear me?

Go away, her words were stifled by the pillow over her head which someone promptly removed.

Can you open your eyes? What’s the matter – why do you have this pillow like that? a familiar voice spoke. Gentle. Kind. Steady...

Fuck I feel like crap, she said slowly. Ah, that goddamn faucet won’t shut the hell up.

Sorry about that, here, maybe this will help.

A motor whined. Bristol found half her body moving upward into a sitting position.

Sometimes laying down screws with your equilibrium….. Dr. Walsh scanned the CT report and was a bit angered, especially with this much Luminal. Jeezus, excuse me, I'll be right back. As far as he could tell the tech or attending nurse had filled her up with more drugs before the scan. Probably so she would be a corpse during the process.

Take your time, Bristol said, swishing a hand in the air. She watched several slow motion versions of her hand in midair. Making an escape crossed her foggy thoughts but that was probably a dumb move. Adding to troubles was her specialty.

Okay, sorry about that, Dr. Walsh said bursting back through the door.

Bristol ignored his rushed entrance. She was too distracted with groggily removing white tape from her arms.

Hold on there. He carefully pulled the medical tape from her skin.

Bristol's head dropped back against the bed. When am I getting out of here? she swallowed hard. You said I had to prove something?

He nodded and strode over to the counter.

Bristol studied him from the rear. You work out doc?

Dr. Walsh responded with a confirming sound but didn't elaborate.

I'm going to jail then, ain't that right? Bristol sighed. Fuck.

The rustle of a plastic gained her attention. Dr. Walsh turned around and plopped a blue bag on the bed.

What's this?

Your clothes.

My clothes?

Unless you'd like to return home wearing that gown.

I’m cut loose?

I believe that's what I just said. Dr. Walsh grabbed the two prescription papers he scribbled on earlier. Do you know the medical offices on Talus street in Sandy Gap? A hilly, vacant lot stands across the way -

Yeah. Maybe.

Monday, 11 a.m. - he placed the papers before her.

No way. What the hell is this? I have to come see you?

Do you have transportation? He didn’t want to release her yet but the attending psychiatrist with the hospital was aiming to have her committed for a week. Her tox screen had come back clean. No drugs, no alcohol. This girl was caught in a system with no escape. He had some assumptions about what was going on. He wanted to treat her but that was going to get sticky if she was locked up in the psych ward for a week pumped full of tranquilizers and anti-psychotics.

Bristol lay back again. Reindeer.

Excuse me?

My reindeer is parked outside.

No I mean can you get to my office on Monday? He waited patiently for an answer.

What happens if I don't?

I call your probation officer.

How the hell did you know about that? Fuck me. Whatever, whatever. Fine, Bristol said.

You'll be there? He wanted to hear confirmation.

Isn't that what I just said? What the fuck are we going to talk about? How I slit my wrists?

Darien took an iPhone out of his pocket and started skimming through notifications.

Did you slit your wrists? he asked. In his ten years of experience as a psychiatrist her injuries looked very sloppy and suspicious.

Did you do that or someone else? he tried again.

You just want a juicy story to tell the cops? And then they'll go arrest my idiot step brother and the whole thing will start over again. Coherence was slowly returning.

It wasn’t the clearest of answers but Dr. Walsh was going to put it down in his personal notes that the brother slashed her wrists to prompt the hospital to stick her in psych and get her admitted. Out of the way.

You married? Got kids? Bristol asked.

This was going nowhere. His shift was over and this patient, albeit interesting from a clinical perspective, needed to be on her way. Yet that meant home and back to the dangerous situation.

How about this – if I were to assume you didn't try and take your own life, and that it was something else of a malicious nature, how far off base would I be?

Bristol slowly stared at him. Maybe not that far.

Dr. Walsh returned to the counter and scribbled into her chart. You can get dressed now. Be careful, you have two fractured ribs.

Bristol barely heard him. Thoughts centered on home. And whether or not it was a safe place to return to. There was no other choice. She was out of money.

Darien grabbed the door handle and watched her try to stand. You have a ride?

I have a ride. It's called hitchhiking.

Excuse me?

Eh, don't worry doc. I can walk from here. Done it many times.

Darien let go of the door handle. It's twenty miles – you're not walking that far. He reached around to the back pocket of his grey slacks and produced a leather wallet.

Twenty miles? You're nuts. I only live a few blocks. Bristol peered into the blue plastic bag on the bed. Her clothes were neatly folded.

Bristol, you're not in Sandy Gap – this isn't McGoy Hospital. Darien became worried.

Well then where the hell am I? Some secret research bunker?

North Bowden.

Bristol picked up one of the pieces of paper from the bed. At the top in bold capitols it said AAMES-LAUD MEDICAL CENTER. It was North Bowden not Sandy Gap.

Oh fuck me. How the hell am I supposed to get home? Pale to start with, Bristol was turning translucent now.

Here - Darien thumbed through his wallet. Big bills. Damn bank never gave him twenties. He pulled a one hundred dollar bill and held it out. This should cover it.

Am I supposed to do special favors?

A taxi, he eyed her, back to Sandy Gap. Don’t mention that to anyone, he said pointing to the money in her hand. Also - use it to get to my office Monday morning.

Why are you at this hospital? Bristol was confused. You said your office is in Sandy?

Dr. Walsh shoved the wallet back into his pants. I'm filling in for a colleague today. I do rounds occasionally here. Psych ward is larger than the other hospital.

Bristol raised her eyebrows and made a noise.

Darien moved toward the door. Bristol’s hospital gown was untied and falling down her arm now. The girl had little concern for disrobing in plain view but he decided all the drugs the hospital had pumped into her caused a failure of awareness and modesty.

Good luck, see you Monday Bristol, he said stepping into the hall but paused. Um, you wouldn’t happen to have a friend’s house or another family member -

She sloppily waved a hand at him. Naw. Don’t worry. My brother sucked down a whole bottle of Jack. He’ll be laying down in a puddle of his own piss until morning.

Darien frowned and nodded. How wonderful, he uttered.

Bristol smiled and pulled a blood stained tee shirt from the bag.

Concerned that his patient was returning to the violent perpetrator who assaulted her, Darien Walsh was ready to call the Sandy Gap Sheriff's office and order a welfare visit. But that could backfire and destroy thin strands of trust.

The pavement was covered in fresh