"I'll try. But I think we'd better get to a hospital," Adam said, glancing down at Daryl, whose skin had become cold and clammy.
"I'll lead in the van," Sammi said, getting out. "I have a light bar in the grill. Get us there in record time. I have to make sure Roach is still zonked anyway. Moira, you get up here and drive. Follow me to Parkland Memorial."
Sammi hopped into the van and took off, and Moira pulled in behind them, scratching the pavement with rubber.
"Nice pickup," Moira said. "You okay back there?"
I don't know,
Adam thought. Daryl was still shaking, more violently now. Moira threw a Bic pen in the backseat.
"If he's biting his tongue, put this between his teeth," she said. Adam tried to force Daryl's mouth open, but his jaws were too tight. He checked his nose, found he was breathing shallowly, but freely, through it.
Come on, Daryl,
Adam thought, holding his friend's head.
Don't die on me now. Not after what we've just been through.
He reached for the nodes and focused their power on Daryl, imagining him well again. He kept it up for as long as possible, before his concentration gave out.
When he opened his eyes, Daryl was breathing normally. His body had relaxed, and the seizure had stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up at Adam.
"What happened?" Daryl said weakly.
"I'll tell you later," Adam said, relieved. "Just relax. You're about to start that vacation we promised you."
Daryl smiled faintly, then went back to sleep.
Daryl woke in what appeared to be a hospital room, on a reclining bed set in the upright position. A curtain had been drawn across the room, separating him from another patient, who sounded old and wheezed and coughed constantly. From a clear plastic bag hanging from the ceiling, a tube ran to an IV tube in his arm. The area the needle was inserted was sore, suggesting it had been in there a long time.
Then the memory of what had happened flooded over him.
I narked on Presto. I narked on the Man. And everyone saw me with the wire.
He looked over at the door, suddenly nervous for his safety.
If they find me, I'm dead.
Then he saw Adam, sound asleep, curled up on an uncomfortable-looking chair.
A nurse walked in carrying a tray of something. When she looked down at Daryl and their eyes met, her eyes widened in surprise.
"You're
con
—awake," she said.
Daryl frowned, not liking the nurse's reaction much.
She's lookin' at me like I woke from the dead.
Then he thought about this a moment.
"It . . . it happens," Daryl said. His voice, at first, refused to work. "Where am I?"
Adam stirred, looked up with sleepy eyes. "Daryl?" he said, with a smile. " 'Bout time you woke up."
"I'll get the doctor," the nurse said, and was gone.
"What happened?" Daryl asked. He felt horrible. When his jaw moved, it sent a shooting pain through his skull. "After . . . what happened? The cops were carrying me out of a building. That's the last thing I remember."
Adam looked pensive, and for an uncomfortable moment Daryl thought he might lie to him about his condition.
"You've been out for three days," Adam said. "Before that, you had a series of seizures. They had to sedate you. They did other things to you. You were coming off Black Dream, and they didn't think you were going to make it."
Daryl managed a laugh. "I don't remember any of it."
"Which is just as well. They have you on Librium. They said you would have died without it."
"Really?" he said. "Funny, I don't feel high."
"You'd probably notice it if you weren't on it," Adam said, rubbing his eyes.
He still looks sleepy. How long has he been here?
"Or maybe not. They say they'll have to take you off of it, soon."
Daryl thought about what that meant. "I want off it," he said. "I want off everything." He felt a tickling between his legs, and when he lifted the sheet to see what it was, he nearly screamed.
"It's a catheter," Adam said. "Don't worry, you're okay down there. They had to hook you up so you wouldn't pee all over the place."
"Oh," Daryl said, suddenly embarrassed. "Anyway, like I said, I want off all of it. Everything. Coke, Dream, booze, pot, everything."
Adam was gazing at him in wonder. "Are you sure about that?" he said. "I mean, really sure."
Daryl didn't have to think for very long. "I almost died. A number of times. I'm lucky to be alive."
Yes, I want off everything,
he thought. For a frightening moment, he was afraid no one might believe him this time. "Death has a way of getting your attention."
"It does that," Adam said, but his eyes had wandered off, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
"What about . . . my dad? And Mom," he said, suppressing a groan. "What, if anything, do they have to say about this?"
"They're in a treatment center," Adam said. "Your father is being treated for cocaine addiction, and your mother checked in for Valium dependency. They're both at the Dallas Regional Chemical Dependency Center. They were kind of hoping you'd join them when you were well enough to get out of here."
The news stunned him.
Dad's in a treatment center?
"Was it his idea, or did the court tell him to go?"
"His idea," Adam said without hesitation. "He wants to get well, too."
"This is too much," Daryl said. "I mean, that's the last person I expected to—"
A doctor came in, a young man in his thirties, wearing a white coat. "Hello, Mr. Bendis," the doctor said, with irritating cheerfulness. "I'm Dr. Cochrane. How do you feel?" he asked, pulling a pocket flashlight out and shining it in Daryl's eyes.
"Like shit," he said, flinching away from the light. "But I guess I'm lucky to be alive."
Cochrane raised his eyes at that. "Yes, I'd say you were," the doctor replied, replacing the flashlight. "We'll be easing you off the Librium today. There may be some complications—"
"I don't care," Daryl said. Without realizing it, he'd grabbed the doctor's wrist firmly. "Take me off everything. Today. I don't care what happens."
Dr. Cochrane nodded thoughtfully. "We'll do it. I would suggest a treatment center, as soon as possible."
"Dallas Regional," he said automatically. "That's where my parents are."
"Very well," he replied. "We'll see what kind of shape you're in today. You might be able to go in this afternoon."
He went in that afternoon, after the Librium wore off, and from that moment on hated everyone and everything around him.
"What do you
mean
Adam can't come see me? He's the only friend I have in the world."
The nurse was firm. "No visitors. In the third week, maybe. But while you're in detox, no way, no how."
Daryl stared at her. "Detox? I've already been through detox."
The half smile she gave him turned his blood to ice.
Detox, for real, turned out to be a room, a bed, and a toilet, which he hugged for three solid days while he retched his guts out. When he didn't have his head in a toilet, he was on the bed, shivering and sweating under three layers of blankets, with no sleep. In the few moments of lucidity, he became a fan of Beetlejuice and Tiny Toons cartoons, mindlessly watching the images act out their insanity on a tiny four-inch TV.
He thought he was going to die. He wanted to die.
Nothing's worth this. . . .
He woke in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat, as usual. He made it to the toilet in time. As he was staggering back to his bed, he remembered the dream.
Elves?
he thought.
Peter Pritchard turned into a monster. Long pointed ears. A long nose. Claws like an eagle.
Remembering the claws, he went back into the bathroom, and looked at his pale and clammy face in the mirror. Across one cheek were the faint traces of a scar, four lines, as if caused by . . . a claw. He raised his gown up and saw another set across his abdomen.
I remember what happened,
he thought.
Or was it a hallucination?
. . . a hallucination that leaves scars?
He tried to go back to sleep, but lay awake, thinking about that night at the New You.
Black Dream. Water supply. The Police. The wire. Was Adam a cop? His mother was. He was wearing a shirt that said
POLICE
. What the hell happened back there?
When dawn broke and touched the wall next to him with a ray of light, Daryl nodded off to sleep.
Death has a way of getting your attention,
Daryl thought, watching the tombstones file past the limosine's window.
Especially when it's someone else who's died.
Justin's funeral was simple, quick, and sparsely attended. Daryl didn't know if it was a closed funeral, or if the Bendis family had run through so many friends nobody cared anymore. A few kids from school showed up, but in the heavy downpour few others did. As the line of black cars pulled away from the gravesite, the rain let up some, but continued to fall in steady torrents.
Daryl rode with his mother and father. He had hoped their reunion might have been under happier circumstances, but somehow it seemed fitting they should see each other clean and sober for the first time at Justin's funeral. At least to Daryl, it drove home how important it was to stay that way.
He'd noticed a change in his father right way. Paul Bendis looked defeated, and Daryl didn't know how to react to that.
Father has never been beaten before. But then, neither have I. This is a new thing for both of us.
Yanni, his mother, said absolutely nothing past the first greeting. Without her Valium, she looked as if she were going to unravel at the funeral. But as soon as they began lowering the casket into the earth, she looked relieved.
It's over,
seemed to be the thought shared by all of them.
The whole thing hurt, more than anything he'd ever been through, but at least he was feeling it. His counselor at the treatment center said it would take time to get over it. For him, he was taking time just to feel the pain. And for the first time while in pain, he didn't feel the urge to reach for a chemical to change that.
Not over it, not under it, not around it, but through it,
the words echoed through his head. Now he understood what that meant.
Of course, Adam, Samantha, Moira and another tall guy he didn't recognize showed up at the funeral. Adam had his arm around Moira, and although she was quite a bit taller, they looked for all the world like the perfect couple. It was the first time he'd seen Adam since the hospital. His memory of that night still nagged at him, and he asked Adam to come by and visit that day.
At Dallas Regional, there was a simple garden maintained just for such visits. It had tall rock walls surrounding it, and it still looked like a prison, but at least the grass was green and not antiseptically white like the rest of his world had become. The earth and rotting vegetation smelled good after the heavy rain. He eyed the sky suspiciously, wondering if the storms would ever pass.
"Hello, Daryl," he heard, and he turned around. Adam was still wearing his black suit. He looked a little less formal now, having removed the tie, but he still looked stuffy.
Why do people have to wear black to funerals? Funerals are for the living, not the dead.
"Thanks," Daryl said, going over to Adam, and giving him a big hug.
"For what?" Adam said, looking surprised.
"For being there at the funeral," he said. "You saw how many friends we had left."
"That will change," Adam said. Daryl looked him over and sensed that something had changed in him. He seemed older, more mature.
Guess some big things have been happening in his life, too.
"How long are you going to be here?"
"Another week." He looked up at the clouds, which had begun to break, revealing blue sky. "You know, I still crave it, sometimes. Cocaine. Black Dream. Drugs in general. I still have dreams about it." His eyes left the clouds, then met Adam's. "Does it ever go away?"
"I don't know," Adam said. "But I do know there's a difference between a thought and an action. You can think about it, but what really matters is what you do about it."
Daryl nodded, but something else was eating at him. "You know, I saw some pretty weird stuff that night we were at the New You."
They started walking down a concrete sidewalk with beds of flowers on either side. "Do you remember much of what happened, back there?" asked Adam.
"When I was in detox, I remembered everything," Daryl said, and paused. He looked Adam directly in the eye. "You're my best friend, Adam. You're the only one who stayed by me. You've helped me more than any friend ever has. You might even be the only friend I've ever had. . . ."
Adam smiled serenely and put his hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Thanks, Daryl. But what are you getting at?"
Daryl studied his shoes, as if he'd find the courage to say what he needed to down there.
"Are you and your mother, like,
aliens
or something?"
Adam smirked this time, then looked up into a ray of light that had just burst from the sky.
Daryl heard a light buzzing in his ears, like a bee or mosquito, but the sound came from everywhere. For a second he felt light-headed, but the dizziness passed, and he took a deep breath of humid summer air, cleansed with rain.
Sunlight flooded the garden as the clouds parted. And in moments, his mood lifted. He had, for the first time, a sense of a future. In that moment, he saw everything he could be, if he tried hard enough. Only moments earlier, he had a craving for something, but he didn't know what it was.
"What was I saying?" Daryl asked.
"Oh, I think it was something about how the present looks good right now. And the future. You're only eighteen, you have a whole lifetime and a whole world in front of you."
"I guess that was it," he said, but he still felt confused. "You know, I can't remember anything of those last few days. Is that what they call a blackout?"