Part 20 (1/2)

”Sara?” The voice came from somewhere in the blinding light.

”Sara? How are you doing?”

Not Miguel. But who else would use her real name? Everybody called her Morticia these days.

A doctor stood over her, a young Indian man who might have been handsome if not for the deep acne scars on his dark cheeks. He kept brus.h.i.+ng his black hair back from where it fell over his eyes as he talked. The room was too bright. She closed her eyes again but she could still hear him talking in a light Indian accent.

That accent ...

Someone speaking, telling her that an ambulance had brought her here to the emergency room. The same doctor?

”I'm not surprised that your eyes hurt,” he was saying. ”That's part of it.” He lowered his voice. ”Sara, I know why you had this heart attack. And I'm sure you know why you've had all these strange symptoms for so long.” She felt his touch on her forearm. ”Your skin temperature is finally starting to drop but there's still a lot of cocaine in your blood, Sara. Your eyes are going to stay dilated for a while.”

Sara rolled her head from side to side, noticing for the first time that there was a plastic tube under her nose. Probably for oxygen.

A hospital.

”I can tell you've been using for a long time,” he said. ”You have evidently lost a lot of weight.” His accent p.r.o.nounced it with a v: veight. ”That is because your appet.i.te for the drug has replaced your appet.i.te for food. You're very sickly and thin, Sara. It's time to stop all of this now, okay?”

Sara didn't answer. The doctor released her arm.

”Mmm hmm. You think you are fine. You don't see anything wrong with the way you look, and you feel stronger than you ever did before, right?”

She didn't answer.

”It's all cocaine, Sara. It enhances your self image. It makes the blood move from your skin into your muscles, so you look pale but you feel stronger. But you don't actually have any more muscle tissue. Meanwhile you're not using your muscles and you're not taking in any food, so you're really just wasting away.” Vasting avay. He pointed to the mirror above the sink behind her. ”Look at yourself, Sara. You're pale and weak.” Veek. ”The skin just hangs off your cheekbones and your eyes have dark circles under them. I know that cocaine made you feel invincible, but I think you can see now that it isn't real. You just had a heart attack, Sara. It's time to wake up and decide to live, okay?”

She nodded and spoke weakly. ”Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” It didn't matter. This guy would go away soon. She squeezed her eyes shut. A quivering afterimage of the fluorescent lights loomed on the insides of her eyelids.

”Good. Now you've got to stay here tonight, and maybe another day or two. I'm going to have a nurse call a rehabilitation center for you, and they'll come and pick you up when you are discharged. You should not go home right now.”

Sara opened her eyes, staring as her lids strained to slam shut again.

”No. No. You can't do that. I have to go home. I have to get out of here.” She turned to jump down from the bed but realized that she was held in place by an effective web of tubes and wires.

”Sara, I know you feel like you can't quit.”

She glanced up at his pockmarked face as her fingers worked on the tape.

”I know you feel like that but it's going to be fine. It's about your life, Sara. The drug stole your life. You have to do this. You have to get it back.”

Sara shook her head and continued to peel the tape from her arm. No friends no family no school no job. No love, ever. Life? You f.u.c.king quack. I am getting out of here.

Paramedics were wheeling in a new patient. From what she could tell, there had been a bad car accident. She finally removed one long piece of tape. The doctor's hand appeared over one of the electrodes, holding it in place.

”You're not ready to leave yet, Sara. Not for a day or two. We need to monitor your heart a little longer to make sure you're really strong enough to leave. As for the rehabilitation issue, I know you think you can't do it, but I know you can. Otherwise, you will continue to destroy your life. And I'm not going to let you do that to yourself. You have to try, not just give up. You can win this fight, Sara. I'll be back to discuss it with you in a little while. For now, just rest a moment.” He gently but firmly pushed her head back down to the pillow. ”You're exhausted. Just rest.”

She watched the doctor duck out through the curtain separating her bed from those of the other patients.

The IV they'd given her was flus.h.i.+ng out the drug, leaving behind a horrifying vacuum, a gaping maw of despair. She pulled the rest of the tape from her body and grunted as she pulled the IV tube from the vein on the inside of her elbow. She tried to stand but she collapsed back onto the bed. No way out- she'd collapse before she got to the door if she tried it. Then they'd package her up for rehab.

Her clothes were piled on a chair next to the bed with her purse on top of them. No c.o.ke in it, but there was another way out.

No f.u.c.king rehab. Not one day. How can a killer decide to live? Not one day.

She unzipped the worn Coach bag and fumbled inside, removing her gun from its special hiding place, the metal cold against her skin as she placed the barrel under her chin and c.o.c.ked back the hammer.

”I don' think that's really what you want.”

The accent had already told her who she would see. She lowered the gun and held it in her lap.

”Hi, Miguel.”

Miguel came closer. ”I call the ambulance for you, you know.” She nodded. ”This ...” he said, gesturing at the gun, ”this is not a good way to thank me.”

She gave a ragged sigh. Her whole body shook as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. ”I'm not what you think I am, Miguel.” She couldn't look at him so she just focused on a part of the white sheet covering her legs. ”I have a problem. You warned me not to get involved but now it's too late.” She managed to look into his eyes. They were squinted painfully tight, like her own. ”I'm addicted to cocaine, Miguel. I can't go without it - even for a little while.”

He nodded and gave her an understanding smile. ”Yeah, I know that.” He looked from side to side, then lowered his voice. ”Me, too.”

Of course he was hooked on c.o.ke. He'd always known so much about her problems ... and Miguel did have the look. But even Miguel would never understand all of it. She shook her head without lifting her eyes from the bed.

”Not like me.”

He nodded again. ”You think so?” They stared at each other, saying nothing, listening to the chaotic sounds coming through the emergency room curtain.

”I not so much bad, like you,” he said finally. ”That's true. But that's 'cause I seen bad stuff early. I decide to fight, you know?”

Sara wrinkled her forehead and flipped one wrist away from her lap in exasperation. ”But I don't want to fight it, Miguel. I don't want to stop.” She brought her hands back together, bending her head down toward her lap. Her tears had made the gun's blackened metal surface slippery. ”I'd rather die than give up c.o.ke.”

When she looked up at him again, he was nodding enthusiastically. ”Me, too,” he said. ”I rather die than stop the c.o.ke, too. But still I can fight, you know? I can fight it every time I think I wanna do it. Sometime I win that fight. Most time, I lose. But I fight every time.”

Why is he being so nice?

He's a nice guy. That's all. Maybe he wants a friend.

n.o.body's just nice. What does he want? Why is he here? n.o.body would want me as a friend.

”You mean you don't keep using more and more?”

He shrugged. ”No, I don' mean that. Sure, I use more an' more. Sure, someday I'm gonna be in here with a heart attack. It will win someday. But still I fight. Maybe I slow it down like this. If I don' fight, then it just going to win sooner, you know?”

Survive ... for a few more high times. Maybe. She sniffed, tucking the gun back into her purse and reaching for her clothes.