My gaze falls on her gorgeous heterochromatic eyes. “Hello.” We don’t get much conversation in before the walls start changing colors, triggering a drug-enhanced episode. I fall into my mother’s arms as Niven runs out the door. I feel my body being maneuvered like a sack of potatoes as my arm is draped over my mother’s shoulder so she can guide me to the ambulance.
Halfway there, a voice on the wind reaches my ears: familiar, soft, and scared. Looking up, I scan the horizon—my gaze falling on… Emory? Her figure is trailing and blurred, so I blink many times trying to clear my vision, blaming my elevated state. Finally, she comes into view, and she is running at me, her hands outstretched—screamingmyname.
I peer down and notice, subconsciously, my body is reacting to this image. I am compelled to startshoving, jabbing, and trying to break free from my mother’s hold. Once she can no longer hold me back, I run to Emory and do not look back. Hands out-stretched—screaminghername.
Am I hallucinating?
Is she really here?
I don’t care.
I must find out.
Our hands nearly touch when a massive, muscular arm yanks me away.
“No!” I shout, kicking and screaming, “It is her. Emory is right there. Please let me go.”
“Evelyn, stop! You are sick.” He carries me with ease. No matter how much I throw myself, nothing throws him off kilter. “Let me get you to the hospital, and I’ll make sure you have a bed right next to her?”
Is he serious?
Did he not see or hear her?
So much was coursing through my brain. Still full of doubt, I try to make sense of what he said, “What are you talking about?” I wrestle with him, trying to pull away, but in my debilitated state, I am no match for a man of his stature.
“We must go now, baby.” The urgency in his tone fades, “Please!” I pass out from overexertion.
Christian
Upon arriving at the hospital, the doctors advise me that it would be faster if I stay back while she is examined. I comply when I see the state her mother is in—there is no way I am going to leave her worrying by herself. While the suspense of waiting for the results is torture, the boredom has it beat.
“So,” Her mother finally breaks the silence. “We were unable to get acquainted.”
“My name is Christian, ma’am.”
“Oh, manners,” Raising an eyebrow, as a small smirk crept across her face, “How did you meet my daughter, Christian?”
“In the most unlikely of places,” I chuckle. “Rehab.” The smile fades from her face.
“Oh.” I break the awkward moment by snorting as I fail to hold in my laughter. She starts with a small giggle that gradually grows into a deep belly laugh—now I know where Evelyn gets it from. An awkward silence follows the laughter, but before the conversation can get out of hand, the hospital erupts in an endless stream of shouting.
A loud boom caused by the crashing of a crowd of medical workers bombarding the emergency entrance, attracts everyone'sattention. One of the doctors runs over and grabs a clipboard from an EMTs. “What do we have?”
“Another T40, Jane Doe.” He calls out over all the other noise, “I swear that’s the fifth victim this week to fentanyl.”
The doctor nods his head, then looks to the female EMT performing chest compressions. “Can you tell me anything else?”
“Estimated mid—30s.One, two, three.”She tries to continue CPR. “Found unresponsive in a motel room.One, two, three.” She was speaking so fast, but not too fast for me to understand with my prior combat knowledge. “CPR was initiated upon arrival—alongside two doses of naloxone, they were administered with no response.One, two, three.”
As they rush to get to a room, I try to catch a glimpse of the person’s face. They said she was a Jane Doe, but that all changes once they make a sharp turn and the patient’s hand slips. There, bouncing slightly to every pump was a shimmering silver bracelet, with a singular charm. My heart is ramming against my chest as I try to slow my breathing from the sorrow swelling up like an old sponge in dirty dish water.
"Mrs. Selby-” I try to sound unfazed, “I must go check on something, I shouldn’t be too long, OK.”
She waves to me from her seat in the waiting room, as I place my hands together in prayer and mouth, ‘thank you’.I make it to the room and watch through the small window as the doctor’s muffled voice seeps through the cracks and spaces surrounding the door.
“Patient is unresponsive, still not receiving a pulse.” His voice is calm but assertive, “Get the crash cart!”
“Crash cart on the way.” A slightly shorter nurse responds, “Oxygen mask ready.”
