“You need to call an ambulance.”
“Braden’s already calling 911.”
“Good. Goddammit.” He was silent for a moment before saying, “I’ll call the front desk and see if they have any Narcan.”
I’d heard of Narcan and knew it could save someone who’dOD’d—so I prayed Mick could get his hands on some…and I immediately felt relief that I’d called. For a split second, I felt like he was like a real dad. But I couldn’t respond because now I was sobbing.
“It’ll be okay, kid. You did the right thing calling me. I’ll be there in a little bit.”
After I hung up, I squeezed my eyes together. I wouldn’t be any help if I was losing my shit. Braden was now half in the bathroom, still talking with the 911 operator who seemed to be asking questions. I looked around the room for tissue to wipe my face, even while knowing I’d have to get it in the bathroom, but I settled for a napkin beside the tiny coffee pot. And then I spotted an amber bottle with a white lid—some kind of medication.
Had Zack overdosed on something else?
I picked up the bottle to read the label. It was prescribed to Zachary Ryan—Alprazolam, 0.5 mg tablets, with the instructions toTake one tablet by mouth once daily or twice daily as needed for anxiety. Anxiety? I knew Zack was having problems with depression but I hadn’t known he’d been having other struggles.
I couldn’t miss the sticker that saidMay cause drowsiness.
This bottle had just been filled at a Walgreens in Las Vegas a little over a week earlier. The prescribing doctor, though, was from Dalton.
And a shiver charged up my spine as I realized the bottle that had once held sixty tablets was almost empty.
Had he intentionally taken a lot? Had he been…suicidal maybe? Was he suffering that much and we’d all simply shut him out to protect ourselves when he’d needed us the most?
I made my way back to the bathroom. Braden had just hung up his phone and said, “They’re on the way.”
“He’s still breathing,” Cy said. “His pulse is faint, but he’s still alive.”
“I found this,” I said, handing it to Braden. “It says it causes drowsiness. Do you think he maybe took a bunch of those?”
Cy said, “He takes a couple every day but…maybe? What did Mick say?”
“He’s gonna see if the hotel has any Narcan.”
And the minutes moved as slowly as a snail might across a lawn. As the seconds ticked by, my stomach felt like it was going to eat itself. We wet a washcloth with cool water, not knowing if it would do any good, and I knelt beside Zack, unable to stop myself from crying as I dabbed at his face, trying to get him to wake up. Both Cy and Braden talked to him, saying his name often while telling him to hang in there, that help was on the way.
When there was banging on the door, I felt another rush of relief, certain help had finally arrived. Braden got up from where he’d been sitting on the toilet and I stood to make way for the paramedics.
But it was Mick.
“The hotel doesn’t have Narcan. You called 911?”
Braden said, “Yeah.”
“Good. You think he OD’d on heroin?”
“Yeah…and maybe this.” I handed him the bottle.
“Goddammit. He’s taking Xanax?”
“Yeah,” Cy confirmed. I hadn’t known that was what the medicine was. Although I’d never heard of Alprazolam, I’d heard of Xanax, thinking my mom might have taken it on occasion when I was much younger.
“And he was drinking?”
Cy said, “We’re talkin’ about Zack here. Of course he was.”
“Xanax and alcohol could be why he won’t wake up—so why’d you think he OD’d on heroin?”
“This,” Cy said, handing him the spoon and bandana.
