"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 kno
w, I can't remember anything of those last few days. Is that what they call a blackout?"
"I think so. Oh, and I wanted to ask you."
"Yeah?"
Adam's eyes shifted as he glanced slyly toward the door where the nurse's station was.
"Do they let you play D&D in this place?"
THE END
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Elvendude
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Elvendude Page 30