“Sam is addicted again, isn’t he?”
“We’re always addicted. But now, he’s using. It’s my fault this time. Last time was his, but this time, it’s on me.”
“Sam chose to do this for you. He insisted.”
“This trip was one way too many. He can’t trip again until he’s clean. That’s at least a week. And he’s going to be a real mess for a bit, so he can’t go to work.”
“I’ll go talk to his mother and make up some excuse for why he won’t be at the inn. It’s mid-September, so the season is over really, right? They’ll be okay without him.”
“Thanks, Stella. I’m going to clean up the kitchen and the bathroom.”
“Don’t. I’ll do it in a bit. You’ve done enough. Go rest. Get something to eat.”
He tries to wave me away.
“Please. I can’t have both of you down.”
“Okay. Maybe you’re right.” He gives me a weak smile before he leaves. “You can try the ice, if you want. It might help this time.”
I reach over Sam and grab two of the heavy ice packs. I set both on his bare back. He whimpers and scratches his nails into the sheets. The heat radiating off of him now is strong, and I can only imagine how high his temperature is. We’ve got another ten ice packs in the freezer, and I suspect we might need them.
I spend a while moving these two around, pressing them against his skin, and giving him some of the water that Costa brought in. Sam had made me promise not to give him any medication to help him sleep, but I’m tempted to ignore that promise right now. His fingers trickling over my skin had helped me, but me doing the same just agitates him, and he shakes me off.
When he’s warmed the ice packs, I switch them out for new ones and turn him onto his back. He struggles against it, but I get three on his upper body and another on his forehead. For a while, the cold and the weight of the packs seem to help although he starts muttering in a half-sleep state. I can’t make out any clear words, but he does cover his ears at some kind of invisible distress that’s plaguing him. Putting pressure on his legs and his arms appears to help, so I lean my weight into him and work over his body.
Just when I think that maybe the worst has passed, Sam breaks into tears and puts his hands over his eyes. “Stella, please make it stop. Please.”
“I’m trying, Sam. I’m trying.” I have no clue how to console him.
“Everything hurts.” He begins to choke and turns to hang his head off the bed. The ice packs fall to the floor, and he empties his stomach once again.
“Just get through this, and it’ll be over. No more. You’re done.”
“No, no, no. Toby.” He is pleading with me, but he can’t possibly continue death tripping, especially given that we are no closer to getting a useful power to search for Toby.
Some power augmenter I am.
“I’ll be fine,” he says.
I wipe his face with a wet cloth. “No, you won’t. This isn’t working.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Just trip me again, Stell. Just trip me. Please.” His desperation is excruciating.
“No, Sam. I can’t. It’ll just be worse after.”
“Then, I won’t stop. I’ll just keep tripping and tripping…” He laughs, but there is nothing the slightest bit funny about what he’s saying. “I can’t do it myself, so you have to help me. There are scissors in that bureau over there.”
“You need to sleep. Please just sleep. There’s not going to be any more dying.”
He begins to sob. “Don’t say that! That’s not fair!” Sam, usually so strong and rational, is like a child now. “The screaming won’t stop, and the headache won’t stop. You just have to kill me. You have to kill me! I would do it for you!”
“I can’t. I can’t.” This is a nightmare.
I use towels and the mop we have stashed in the room to clean up the floor for the umpteenth time.
