Dutch Chocolate 8: It Must Be Love. Nothing Else Feels This Good!

By B.L Wilson

In the 8th novel of the Dutch Chocolate action series, Dr. Torres and Nurse Walton meet again, due to a chance meeting in a hospital elevator and a burst appendix. They previously met twenty-four months ago because of FBI Agent Zita Fernandez’s injuries due to a bust and buy gone sideways, feeling an instant attraction for each other. It seems they keep meeting because of medical emergencies. They keep making promises to see each other but never live up to them.

They exchange phone numbers and make promises to call, but life has a way of interfering. They never call each other. Now, once again, promises were made and not followed up on. Another year passes before the women bump into each other again.

What will happen to the two women when they meet this time? Will they finally live up to their promises of love and life together? Find out when you read Dutch Chocolate8: It must be love. Nothing else feels this good!

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.L Wilson
• Release date: Mar 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224120291

B.L Wilson

B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

Book preview

One: Helping my patient, Shawn Potts, stop chopping off his hands!

Ada yawned as she stepped into the waiting cab and placed her shoulder bag on the seat next to her. She had a right to be tired. While she was a morning person, this was way too early. It wasn’t dawn yet. She rubbed the ache in her stomach. It had been happening off and on for the last month. She changed her favorite street fare diet a little, thinking that should help. She’d stopped eating chicken or lamb gyros, hot sausages or franks with everything, curry goat with peas and rice and roti. She washed down the meal with homemade ginger beer or sodas. She stopped that too, drinking bottled water or ginger ale instead.

She glanced out of the taxi’s passenger window. The hospital came into view. It seemed like everybody used the hospital where Gayle Walton worked as a nurse. She wondered if she’d bump into Ms. Don’t Call Me; I’ll Call You Walton. Driver, let me off at the ER entrance, she instructed, rubbing her belly. She handed him two bills. Keep the change.

Thanks, Ma’am. I hope you feel better.

Me too, Ada remarked over a shoulder as she strode to the double doors that opened automatically. Why did I say that? I’m not here because of my aches and pains, she muttered.

She’d received a call about an injured FBI agent. The agent was a current patient. He was on medical leave because of the flashbacks he couldn’t control. She’d prescribed meds for his flashbacks. She hoped he hadn’t done something foolish. Her gut said he had. In sessions, he talked about trying to find peace in his head. He spoke about feeling dirty. What he’d done overseas made him feel so dirty that he wanted to cut his hands off. He said he was starting to dream about it at night. His loud, screaming dreams had begun to scare his wife and children. He’d moved out of their spacious apartment in the Bronx.

Now, he lived in a studio walkup in Washington Heights, upper Manhattan, where he could afford to pay for two households. He was coming to see her twice a week for individual sessions. He did group sessions weekly with other vets who had served in the Middle East as he had. The meds seemed to help him. He said he felt so much better. His wife was visiting him at his place on weekends. On weekends, he went to the movies and dinner with his wife and kids. He hadn’t had any more fiery, screaming dreams in months. He hadn’t had thoughts of removing his hands either.

She wondered what happened to set him off. She strode into the ER, looking for the FBI agent among the folks seated in the waiting area. She realized he was probably inside one of the cubicles. She stopped at the triage area to speak to the staff. After she showed ID, one of the nurses looked up his name in the computer.

Potts, right?

Yes, Shawn Potts.

The nurse frowned at the screen and then sighed. I remember him. He was very distraught when the police and EMS brought him here. He’d tried to scrape the skin from both hands with a razor blade. We had to sedate him before we could examine him. He needs surgery, skin grafts on both hands. He’s refusing to sign for it. We had a rep from our psych unit try to speak with him. He refused the surgery. We didn’t want to discharge him under these circumstances. I believe that’s why they called you.

Where is he?

Once we sedated him, the attending decided to put him in the psych unit under suicide watch, then had us contact you. We found your appointment card in his wallet. You’re his emergency contact as well.

How long ago was all this?

He arrived around dinnertime. 6:15 PM. We sedated him at 6:30. The nurse nodded and glanced at her watch. It’s been almost eleven hours. It should be wearing off. This is probably a good time to see him.

Ada nodded at the nurse. That would be the third floor in the isolation unit, right? She shrugged then yawned. Excuse me for yawning! I have to stop keeping such late hours.

Yes. The third floor. I’ll call up there and let them know you’re on your way, Doctor.

Thanks, Ada replied, then she walked over to a nearby elevator. She pressed the button for the third floor. It was empty. She rested her forehead against the cool, stainless-steel inner side wall. She could almost sleep standing upright. Or until the pain in her gut started up again.

She sighed, straightened up, and stepped off when elevator pinged on the third floor. She saw the arrows for the psychiatric unit. When she stopped at the nurses’ station, she found several orderlies, nurses and the supervising doctor who ran the unit waiting for her. The supervising doctor, Saul Bellows, was an old friend. They knew each other from their medical school days.

A short, chubby, olive-skinned man with streaks of gray among black curls grinned broadly as he walked toward her. Ada Torres! So, this is what it takes for you to visit an old friend, huh?

Ada Torres grinned then hugged Saul Bellows. You know I’m busy downtown.

Saul pulled her off to the side and away from his staff as he studied her. Mr. Potts didn’t mention he was FBI, Ada.

Ada nodded sympathetically. I know. I know. He’s ashamed of his military experience, Saul. He feels he shouldn’t be an FBI agent. We haven’t been able to track down whatever happened overseas. He believes he did something so bad, he deserves to have his hands cut off. He won’t tell us whatever that was. He hasn’t mentioned it in group either. I’d been treating him with meds and therapy both, individual and group with other vets with PTSD.

Is he married or living with anybody?

Ada sighed. He was married. His screaming, nightmarish dreams disturbed his wife and kids so much, he moved out. She finally divorced him. She rubbed her temples. I think two or three years ago.

How was he doing?

He hadn’t had bad dreams in months. His wife and kids usually visited him on weekends. Ada continued to rub her temples. The gesture helped her think. Or soothed a pending headache. Do we know what set him off, Saul?

No. We were hoping he might speak with you. He’s been sedated since 6:30 PM last evening. He managed to scrape several off layers of his skin before we sedated him. He’s on suicide watch now. Follow me, Ada.

They walked and talked.

How’s the FBI treating you, Ada? Are you ready to give up the badge for some real work yet?

Ada chuckled. Are you ready to give up your supervisory stint and let somebody else run things to join me at the agency, Saul?

Humph! I will if you will, Saul replied with a dimpled grin. What’s new? Did you ever find that perfect woman?

Ada smiled. I’m still looking. How about you, Saul?

I’m on wife two and soon to be divorced because of possible wife three.

Ada giggled. Same old Saul. Dating one or two women while married to a third woman. You realize it’s going to catch up with you one of these days.

Saul grinned broadly then placed a hand on her back to guide her down the corridor to the locked and guarded psych unit. I’ll worry about that when it happens. If it ever happens.

Keep doing it, Saul. See what happens, Ada jokingly threatened as she followed him down the corridor.

Saul nodded to the hospital security guard at the first set of locked doors. He pointed to Ada. This Dr. Torres. She’s with me. He used his ID to swipe the double doors open. He waited for the rest of his staff to swipe and enter before he swiped open the second set of locked doors.

When his staff was inside the unit, they all walked over to the small empty nursing station next to the closed drug-dispensing window. You guys wait here at reception. I’ll take Dr. Torres to see Mr. Potts.

Are you sure, Doc? the larger of the two orderlies asked. We don’t mind walking back there with you.

Saul waved his phone up in the air and pointed. I’ll call if things get dicey. I don’t think they will. He’s under lock and key. That was code for suicide watch. He didn’t like to say it too loud, as it might upset other patients. He looked around the large open area.

Some of the patients wandered around the space, walking and talking to themselves, visitors or other patients. Other patients sat at large windows, looking outside at nothing but clouds and trees. A few patients were playing cards or board games. One patient was sitting alone in a corner writing in on a legal pad. Another patient was quietly sketching other patients and visitors. The one thing all the patients had in common besides their current location, they wore hospital patient attire with robes covering them. Socks and flipflops covered their feet.

Come with me, Dr. Torres, Saul remarked, becoming more formal with her in front of patients. He guided her through the waiting area and down a long corridor, passing individual and group bedrooms on both sides of the corridor. He finally stopped at the end of the corridor and turned left. He stopped in front of a door with smaller safety glass window than the other doors on the bedroom they’d just left. Mr. Potts is in here.

Ada watched a man in his early forties dressed in a hospital gown struggle against the straps on his chest, belly, arms, and legs. She could see how his movements were wreaking havoc on the bandages covering his arms and wrists. They were bloody from his struggles against being pinned down. Let me see if I can speak with him, Saul. Maybe, he’ll recognize me and calm down.

I’ll have to go in there with you, in case he breaks those straps.

Ada sighed. Alright, but stay in the corner where he can’t see you. She walked inside first and stood where he could see her. Hello, Shawn. Do you know who I am?

Shawn stopped struggling to peer at her. You’re that witch! You put a spell on me. Take these off. Stay here and watch me chop off my hands. My hands are bad, Witch! They did such bad things. He tried to sit up. Help me, Witch. I killed ‘em. I killed ‘em all. Blew their fucking heads off. Do you know what headless little kids look like? Do you? Do you? he yelled at her. Then he started crying. I got kids. Somebody gonna blow them up one day for payback. He started struggling against the straps on his hands. He looked at her. Doc? Doc Torres?

Yes, Shawn, it’s me, Dr. Torres from our group sessions.

Tell ‘em to let me cut off my hands. All they gotta do is give me one of my knives. I’ll stick ‘em in ice first. I’ll make sure they’re numb. One chop for each hand.

Ada drew closer. Have you thought about this, Shawn? Once you chop off one hand. You won’t have a hand to use to chop off the other one.

Shawn stopped struggling to stare at her. He groaned. I gotta pee, Ma’am.

Ada noticed his catheter line taped to his thigh. How about if I turn around and stick fingers in my ears.

Thanks, Doc. Shawn watched Ada turn around with fingers stuck in her ears. He grunted and groaned then let go. Ahh, better. Hey, Doc! You can turn around now, he yelled at her and watched her drop her hands then turned around to face him. I was thinking.

Yes, Shawn, tell me what you were thinking.

I could use a meat grinder and just stick my hands in there.

Ada studied him. You could do that, but how would you hold your kids? She paused for a minute. Didn’t you tell me your daughter is pregnant?

Yeah, so what?

Don’t you want to hold your grandbaby and cuddle him or her with your own hands? Or hold your wife at night? How about teaching your son to throw a baseball over home plate? Or tossing a football. Shawn, if you damage your hands by removing them, none of that is possible.

I gotta do something, Doc. I hate my hands and what they did.

Can you tell me what happened?

Shawn sighed then frowned. Not sure I remember exactly. How could he tell the doctor that he woke up choking his wife? They’d had great sex for the first time in a long time. They enjoyed it. He reached a climax after he made sure she did first. He awoke up when she screamed and gasped for breath. She tried to fight him off. She finally kicked him in the nuts. He let go, realizing she wasn’t a monster. She took the kids and left when he started cutting his hands and wrists. She called 911 as she went out the door.

Would you like to think about it overnight and tell me or Dr. Saul tomorrow?

Shawn nodded. Yes, Ma’am, I would. He sighed. I’m scared to sleep, Doc. I might have bad dreams and try to kill my wife again. Can you tell Dr. Saul to give me something to help me sleep?

I sure can, Shawn. Thank you for speaking with me tonight.

Come back when I’m not so crazy, Doc. Okay?

Ada walked over to squeeze his shoulder. Sure, Shawn. You take it easy. I’ll stop by in a day or so if that’s good for you.

Thanks, Doc. Shawn sighed then yawned. He closed his eyes. Soon, he was snoring softly.

Saul stepped out of the shadows of the corner with a wide smile. They left Shawn’s room. Are you sure you won’t come to work for us? We could really use your skill set, Addy.

Ada sighed. I like what I do at the FBI. Here, I probably wouldn’t have connections. At the FBI, I do. I’ve met my patients in some way or other. Here with you, not so much. She rubbed her belly.

Are you okay, Addy?

My stomach’s been giving me problems. Ada sighed. I’m sure it has to do with food from the street carts I love so much.

Still?

Ada giggled and rubbed her belly at the same time. Yes, Saul. I still love those street vendors’ carts.

You’d better take some antacids when you get home, Ada. Saul smiled at his friend as he handed her the coat she wore and her shoulder bag. I’ll call you when he’s better and ready to give us details.

Thanks, Saul.

Nope. I’m thanking you for helping us tonight. Saul watched her wait for the elevator. It opened and she stepped on. She never made it to the lobby.

Two: Ah, we meet again. How come we never kept that date?

When Ada stepped onto the elevator, she felt blinding pain. She fell to her knees and grabbed her belly. Hands gripping her belly, she moaned loudly. There was so much red-hot pain, she couldn’t remember if she was alone on the elevator or not. She thought somebody else was on it as well.

A presence stood over her and then bent down next to her. Where does it hurt? a low-pitched voice asked. Can you show me where it hurts?

It’s my belly, Ada moaned, hugging her belly tightly. Pains. Bad pains. Feels like knife cutting me open! she managed to blurt out before blacking out. She opened her eyes minutes later. She was floating.

She felt her body lifted and carried somewhere. She was so tired, it didn’t matter where. She simply relaxed in the strong arms carrying her. She trusted the person they belonged to immensely. She was settled in a recliner and covered with several blankets. She felt a gloved hand pressing into her wrist to take her pulse. A cold stethoscope pressed into both sides of her chest and then her back. Her oxygen levels were checked. Somebody opened her eyes to run lights across them.

You have a fever. We should keep you here, Gayle Walton remarked, stroking Ada’s too warm cheek. I know you won’t follow orders. What should I do with you, Doc?

The best you can, Ada murmured, snuggling into the recliner. I have a court case to prep for in two days. I have to be there to testify for a patient.

Gayle chuckled. How about this? I stay with you in here and watch over you today. If your fever is gone by tonight, I’ll let you go home to prep. If not, you’ll stay here. We call the courts to say you’re contagious.

Ada sighed. Meany judge won’t care, she murmured, falling asleep. She didn’t feel the IV Gayle attached to her arm or the soft kiss against her forehead.

I care, Addy. I like you. I want you healthy. We’ll do this my way.

Gayle installed Ada in the tiny office she’d carved out for herself over the years whenever she wanted to hide away from the pain she saw as a nurse. Few staff had been here or even knew about the place. She’d told a couple of nurses that she trusted, and one doctor. It was very neat with a small desk, a banker’s lamp, an office chair, a recliner and a couch. A couple of file cabinets completed the picture. She and one of the maintenance guys kept it spotless. It was his way of thanking her for saving his grandchild’s life.

She selected a book from a drawer full of them. She sat down at the desk, dug out her reading glasses and started to read. She could barely keep her eyes open. It had been a long day into the night for her too. Her head lolled back against the wall and she fell asleep too. When she woke, she found Ada staring at her with a confused look.

Where is this place? Why do I have an IV stuck in my arm?

You have a fever. I’m trying to bring it down before you go on your merry way. This place is my little hideaway from the world when things get too fucked up for me.

Oh. Ada snuggled into the blankets. With only her eyes visible, she looked around. It’s very neat. It smells fresh and clean like you do.

Well, it is my office. Gayle sat up and walked over to the recliner. She squatted down to Ada’s eye level. How are you feeling? She reached out to stroke Ada’s cheek.

Pretty tired and pretty guilty because I haven’t finished my court prep. Did I mentioned I feel pretty silly too?

Let me call Judge Meany and tell him you need a delay of a couple of days.

Ada sighed and closed her eyes. I just wanna sleep. She heard the snap of latex gloves. Open. She felt the thermometer slide into her mouth. She felt the blankets shift from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized her blouse was open. Soon as she felt a cold stethoscope against her chest, she shivered. O-o-o that’s so cold.

I know it is. Quiet so I can hear. Take a deep breath and let it out.

Ada started coughing as she released her breath.

Let’s try this again. Take a deep breath.

Ada tried to inhale, which activated her coughing switch. She couldn’t control it.

Gayle handed her a cup of water. Drink.

Ada gulped it down then handed her the cup. I’m fine. Look? See?

Inhale and let it out. Gayle pressed into Ada’s chest again, which started another round of coughing. She handed her another cup of water. Slowly drink this time and scoot forward. She listened to her lungs. I think your lungs aren’t clear. I’d like to keep you a while longer.

Ada groaned and rubbed her belly. Bathroom, please. Oh God! I can’t hold it much longer. Gayle snatched her up, grabbed the IV pole, and rushed to the tiny bathroom in the rear next to the file cabinets. She pulled Ada’s panties down and settled her on the toilet just before diarrhea exploded out. She sighed. You aren’t going anywhere tonight, she called out through the closed door. Do you need help cleaning up?"

That would be too embarrassing.

What? I’ve seen poopy asses before. Gayle heard the toilet flush several times. She heard Ada straining hard. She knocked and then entered. She walked over to rub Ada’s belly. They both heard the plop, plop of a bowel movement. Then more diarrhea exploded out of Ada again. She flushed the toilet.

What’s your diet look like?

I love street fare.

What kind?

Chicken, beef, lamb, gyros, hot sausages. You name it, I’ve probably eaten it.

Gayle groaned. You probably ate something that wasn’t treated properly. Either handled wrong when prepared or not cooked enough or not kept at the correct temperature. She studied Ada, who was flushing brightly. Don’t hold it inside, Doc. Let your shit be free. I’ve smelled a lot worse.

I believe the quote is let your pee be free. I don’t think there’s a quote about shitting. She groaned and released more diarrhea then flushed. Dear God, it hurts.

Where?

Side to side. Ada grabbed her side and pointed to a bucket in the corner. Gimme that, right now! I’m gonna vomit.

Gayle lifted Ada quickly and turn her around to face the toilet. Go ahead. I’ll wipe your ass in a minute. She set Ada’s knees on the rug while she grabbed wipes and began cleaning Ada’s backside. How’s that? She heard Ada retching and retching. After first couple of times, nothing else came up. That’s it, Doc. Bring up all that bad stuff. We’ll just flush it away.

Ada groaned loudly, rubbing her belly. Toilet bowl. Lift me now, please.

Gayle repeated the routine a half dozen times before Ada’s belly settled down. She left Ada on the toilet while she went to get supplies, rubber gloves, plastic sheets, rubber sheets, a box of adult diapers and a case of wipes, bleach, six gowns, sheets and blankets and Lysol spray. She returned ten minutes later, with the supplies and a doctor in tow.

Ada looked up from the toilet, noticing another person, a woman, with Gayle. They were both standing in the doorway watching her. She sighed. This more than something I ate, isn’t it?

Gayle shrugged. Yes, probably. I brought a friend. Dr. Greene. This is the woman I was telling you about. She can’t seem to keep anything down. She vomited continuously for six to seven minutes. Before that, it was diarrhea for at least that long. She says her belly hurts in lower right quadrant. The belly button first and then it moved. She studied Ada, noting her flushed face. "It’s okay, Doc. We’ve seen everything you can imagine. Greenie was an army nurse just like me. She crossed