CHAPTER 5: THE PHANTOM RHYTHM
I. The Craving
Friday night was a cage.
The wind was howling around the eaves of the farmhouse, rattling the windowpane in the guest room. Inside, the air was hot, stifling, and smelled of the sweat that had soaked through Ryder’s t-shirt.
Ryder lay on his back, staring at the amber bottle on the dresser.
It was 11:00 PM.
Rule Number Three: One pill every four hours.
He had taken his last dose at 6:00 PM. He wasn't due until 10:00 PM. But he had skipped the 10:00 PM dose because he was trying to be tough. He was trying to prove to Elena—and to himself—that he wasn't the junkie she thought he was.
Now, at 11:00, the bill for that hubris had arrived.
His femur felt like it was being crushed in a hydraulic press. The muscles of his quadriceps, traumatized by the surgery and the PT sessions, were spasming in violent, rhythmic cramps that made his leg jump on the mattress. Every spasm sent a fresh bolt of lightning up his spine.
"Damn it," he hissed, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached.
He reached for the call button Elena had rigged up—a wireless doorbell that chimed in the main house. But he dropped his hand. He wasn't going to call Cole. He wasn't going to call Maya. He was a grown man.
He dragged himself upright. The room spun.
He grabbed his crutches.
He swung his legs off the bed. The blood rush was agony. He stood up, swaying, breathing hard.
He hobbled to the dresser. He reached for the bottle.
It was empty.
Ryder stared at it. He shook it.Silence.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no."
Then he remembered. Elena took the supply with her at night. She left him exactly the daily allotment. He had taken the last one at 6:00.
He was out.
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest. It wasn't just the pain; it was the loss of control. He was trapped in a body that was torturing him, and the key to the exit was in a medical bag five miles away.
He grabbed his phone.
He didn't think. He didn't check the time. He dialed the clinic number, knowing it forwarded to her cell after hours.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Stone Creek Medical, this is Dr. Rosales." Her voice was sleep-rough, husky.
"I need a refill," Ryder said. He didn't say hello. He sounded desperate, and he hated himself for it.
"Ryder?" A pause. The sound of rustling sheets. "It's eleven o'clock. You're not due for a refill until Monday."
"I'm out," he said. "The pain is... it's bad, Elena. It's a nine. The muscle is seizing."
"You skipped a dose, didn't you?" She knew. She always knew. "You tried to white-knuckle it, and now the pain is ahead of the curve."
