By the time they got Jagger to the hospital, he was experiencing sharp hallucinations and paranoia about substances that he was trying to protect people from. Jagger was convinced they’d all melt if they weren’t careful. This time, no one suggested they wait for Doc, who got called off after the ambulance left with Killian. Tony along with two of Jagger’s employees instead brought him right in.
Jagger had already told Tony that when he met with Killian, they had a drink together in his office and that Killian had already had a drink. The hospital staff acted quickly to sedate him and monitor his vitals while getting blood to run some bloodwork as well.
***
It’s hours later, and Killian is still unconscious. I’m still at his bedside with his brother and we’re waiting to find out what it was that he was given. Wesley went back to the club to grab the bottles of alcohol in Killian’s office, bringing them in to be tested. Jagger’s team are still there working on the security system upgrades.
The police are also here. It started with one officer asking questions and then not long later, two detectives arrived and asked even more questions. I’m wondering if they’re the same police Killian has been talking to about New Year’s Eve.
And I’m wondering if this is connected to that.
I’m angry and scared and also relieved. Because he didn’t have a nervous breakdown. He was having an episode of psychosis because of drugs.
I hate that it happened, but I’m also relieved because I thought there for a minute that nothing would ever be the same, that the future Killian told me we’d have would not get to happen.
I can’t imagine my life without him. I sat and did that today, imagined raising a baby without him by my side, imagined not having another Christmas like the one we just had – mourning at the thought of what our child would miss out on. I imagined losing out on experiencing the beautiful life he was showing me he was going to give me.
50
Killian
I’m tasting and smelling chemicals as my eyes open. I see Violet and my brother beside me. It takes a second to realize where I am. A hospital. Confusion frizzles in my brain for a minute and I’m having trouble connecting dots. Dario’s wedding. Shadows swarming. Violet screaming.
No. That’s not right. No. What the fuck?
Will is staring at his phone, his free arm thrown around the back of Violet’s chair. She’s got her elbow on the arm of the chair, face leaned against her palm as she stares at nothing, her eyes looking haunted.
I feel like I’m stumbling through pictures, tripping through a backwards reel, past flashes. Moments.
Max Amos, hulking over Violet, kicking her in her very pregnant stomach, his eyes pointed my way as he laughs. She cries and her eyes bleed red tears.
My eyes rove over her. Her stomach isn’t big.
Willie, crying in the corner, huddled into a ball, just five or six years old.
No. Willie’s an adult.
Nan, smoking one of her cigarettes, blowing the smoke out the open window, gesturing with her hands to my mother, who sits there rolling pennies into brown paper so she can take them to the liquor store.
Blood running out of the taps, overflowing and dripping mixed with grey sludge over the countertops. I’m trapped in a box, a glass box like a fuckin’ mime and I can’t do anything. My fist aches from trying to punch the glass.
“Gonna puke,” I mutter and both Will and Violet straighten up.
I sit up, retching and realize I can’t move my arms just as Will holds a trash pail in front of me, just in time for me to hurl the contents of my stomach into it.
It goes on for a few minutes, uncontrollable puking with my arms restrained and I’m aware of people moving into the room with me. I want to stop puking long enough to demand they take these things off my arms, but I keep heaving up liquid. And then air. Air that tastes like dirty bleach.
Finally, it stops and I realize a nurse has taken over holding the trash pail for my brother who now stands back with his arm around Violet. Violet’s crying.
A doctor and nurse hover too close, way too close. I’m agitated.
“Let me out of these. Now. Then fuckin’ fuck off. Back off, people. I need a goddamn minute. Let me out.”
They try to calm me down, saying they need to check my vitals, but why the fuck am I restrained? I’m telling them to get away at the same time as demanding that they release me which makes no fucking sense.
And then things make even less sense as I take in my wife and brother standing back. Because they’re doing nothing.
“Will. Violet. The fuck?” I clip. They’re both standing back, not telling these fucks to uncuff my arms. Why?