Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

26. Chris

Chapter twenty-six

Chris

G reyson wasn’t home when I woke up, nor did I have any messages from him. I got ready for work, keeping an ear perked for any sound of him, but I never heard a thing. There was no pre-packed lunch in the fridge. No coffee brewing. No note. No sign he’d been to the house at all. The unease in the pit of my stomach continued to grow with each minute that passed.

If there was one thing I’d learned over the past several weeks of basically living together full-time, it was that Greyson did not deviate from his schedule. He didn’t “go” anywhere, except to the grocery store every Tuesday, like clockwork. He didn’t “do” anything except work. Don had forced him into a shell, practically turning him into a hermit. Knowing Arcanum was closed for the day and it wasn’t a Tuesday, Greyson should have been home. So where was he?

After I put Nitro in the truck I tried calling him from the driveway. He didn’t answer.

Frowning at the phone, I tried again. Still no answer.

Exiting the squad, I jogged across his front yard and up the steps, pausing for a second, expecting him to open the door like he always did.

He didn’t.

I knocked, loudly.

No answer.

I slammed my fist against the door like I was serving a search warrant, my heart hammering along with my hand.

No answer.

I rang the bell, three times.

Still no answer. No movement in the curtains. Nothing.

Hurrying down the steps and over to the garage, I shone my flashlight into the side window. His car was there, so where the hell was he?!

I ripped my keys off my belt as I ran back to the front door. Fanning them out, I jammed the right one in, turned each lock as quickly as I could, and shouldered it open.

“Grey? Greyson!” I glanced at the living room on my way to the kitchen. No lit candles. No sign of his laptop or a book. Nothing was out of place. Absolutely nothing to give any indication as to where he was.

A cutting board with some herbs sat on the kitchen counter, like he’d left in the middle of a recipe, but the oven wasn’t on and the cauldron sat empty on a burner. The ever-present kettle, however, caught my eye. On a hunch, I touched my fingers to it. The metal was still warm so he had been there recently.

Moving upstairs to his bedroom, I drew up short when I saw his keys on the nightstand next to his cell phone. His laptop was sitting on the bed next to where Selene was curled up, her fluffy white tail twitching irritably at me.

Where the fuck was he?!

I spun on my heel, taking a step toward the door when something out of the corner of my eye stopped me. A white envelope had been taped to the bathroom door. The two words on the outside turned my mouth into the Sahara.

I’m sorry.

“Greyson!” I sprinted across the room and turned the handle. The door didn’t budge. One swift kick next to the knob busted through the locking mechanism, but the door didn’t swing open the way it should have under the force. It hit something heavy on the other side, only opening an inch or two.

Shoving my weight against it, I spied Greyson’s feet, like he was sprawled out on the floor. Fuck! He was blocking the door.

I heaved against it again, creating enough of an opening to force myself into the bathroom.

Scanning the area, I didn’t see any weapons or pill bottles or needles. The only thing out of place was a mug that had been knocked over. A little puddle of brown liquid pooled beside it, a clump of herbs staining the tile floor.

“Goddamn it.” I pushed Greyson flat on his back and shook him hard. “Greyson! Wake up!” Running my knuckles down his sternum as hard as I could, I waited, scanning every inch of his face.

There was no response.

His skin was pale, sickly. A blue tint had already gathered on his lips. Jamming two fingers into his neck, I found a pulse, however faint.

Unhooking my radio from my belt, I squeezed my eyes shut as I summoned dispatch over the air. “Control, K91.”

“K91,” dispatch acknowledged, a slight question in their tone since I technically hadn’t come on duty yet.

“I need an ambulance to 107 Spicewood Lane,” I said quickly, hoping they recognized the street and understood the urgency. “Male, late-twenties, possible overdose. He’s unconscious, barely breathing.”

“10-4, K91,” they responded over the clacking of their keyboard.

Rolling Greyson onto his left side in the recovery pose, I hurried through the house and out to my squad. I grabbed my med bag from the cargo area, ignoring Nitro’s excited barking. As I ran back inside, I left the front door open for the medics.

Tearing open the Narcan packaging, I held Greyson’s head steady and squirted the mist into his nostril. I didn’t know what the fuck he took, but I had a feeling that mug was involved. Nor did I know if Narcan would even do anything for him, but I had to try something .

I noted the time on my watch and let dispatch know the first dose had been administered.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I whispered to myself, shaking Greyson again. “Wake up! Come on, Grey! Come back to me!”

The seconds crawled by. I checked my watch twenty times, waiting until the magical two-minute mark before I gave him another dose of meds. It was all I had, which meant the medics better fucking get there soon or I was throwing his ass in my squad and taking him myself.

Greyson’s eyes parted and opened slowly, but his gaze was unfocused.

“Hey! There you are! Come on!” I shook him harder, trying to get his eyes to fix on me. “Stay with me! Come on, take a deep breath.”

His eyes sank shut again.

“No! Greyson!” I wanted to punch him, but I knew that wouldn’t do any good.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Greyson inhaled a ragged breath. His eyes cracked open again.

I squeezed his hand, which seemed to get him to focus on me. “Hey! Hi. Come on. Wake up.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m right here. Just stay with me. Ok? I need you to stay awake. I know it’s hard, but you have to try. Listen to my voice. Greyson, are you listening?” He barely nodded. “Ok. That’s good. They’re coming, Grey, just hold on. Stay with me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you. Feel my hand?” I squeezed it tighter. I’d happily crush it if it meant keeping him conscious. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”

Dispatch let me know the medics were on scene a minute before I heard a brusque knock downstairs. “Upstairs bathroom,” I replied into my mic, knowing they’d relay it to the men clomping through the front door.

“Mapleton Fire and Rescue,” one of the paramedics said as they lumbered into the bedroom and turned the corner, squeezing three guys into a bathroom designed for one or two.

“Oh shit,” Jace said as he came through the door. “You ok?”

I nodded as I stood up and got out of their way, indicating the empty Narcan bottles on the ground. “I dosed him twice. He came out of it for a little bit, but he’s not been steady.”

“Do you know what he took?”

“No idea. I didn’t find any pill bottles. Just that.” I pointed at the mug.

Jace grabbed the mug from the floor, sniffed it, and set it on the sink, out of their way. “Intentional?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “I found him like this.”

“We got it. Don’t worry.”

Jace’s partners had already gotten to work, running Greyson through their various assessments.

I leaned against the bathroom door as nonchalantly as I could, yanking the envelope down and stuffing it into my back pocket. Even if it was intentional, there’s no way I was going to tell the fire department that. Jace could guess all he wanted, but as far as the world was concerned, it was an accident or freak medical condition and nothing more.

The medics loaded Greyson up onto a stretcher and trucked him down the stairs and out of the house.

“You riding with us?” Jace asked in the driveway.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said, peeling off for my squad and calling Tom on the way to let him know what the fuck was happening.

“Let me know if you need anything out there,” my sergeant said.

“Will do.”

We were halfway to the hospital when something went wrong in the back of the ambulance. Jace stood suddenly, his massive frame hovering over Greyson, directing his colleague to do something with a series of urgent hand gestures.

I couldn’t see much through the tiny windows, but there seemed to be more commotion than on a usual ambulance ride. Of course, nothing came over the scanner in my squad. The two in the back were too busy tending to Greyson while the driver noticeably increased his speed, barreling down the road with their lights flashing.

As soon as we pulled into the hospital parking lot, they opened the doors and hurried Greyson out. I parked behind them, following hot on their heels.

“What happened?” I asked Jace.

“He coded on us, but we got him.” They quickened their steps and I fell back, stopping by the nurses’ station and scanning the list of personnel working in the ED.

Doc Reyes was on the board. And Janelle. Thank fucking God.

Even though I was in the middle of the emergency department with people moving to and fro, an overwhelming sense of loneliness crashed around me. Greyson’s letter weighed a thousand pounds, begging me to open it.

I ripped it out of my pocket and stared at it. Those two fucking words.

I’m sorry.

Sorry for what? For putting me in this fucking position? Because he knew I’d be the one to find him? Sorry for coming into my life and fucking it up and then offing himself?

Why? Why would he fucking do that?!

What could be so goddamn bad that he’d kill himself now ? After all that he’d already been through?!

Crushing the letter in my fist, I shoved it back into my pocket. My eyes burned and bile rose in the back of my throat, threatening to spill out as nurses and orderlies meandered around me, unaware of how close I was to puking all over their pristine white floors.

I ducked into a bathroom off the ED and lunged toward the sink, catching myself against the white porcelain and breathing hard. The urge to vomit didn’t dissipate, even as I stood there with my eyes closed. Turning the faucet on, I splashed some cold water on my face and forced myself to look in the mirror, exhaling a slow breath.

In my head, I imagined punching the face that stared back. I imagined the pain radiating up my arm, but not being nearly enough to give me the relief I wanted. I saw myself rip the paper towel dispenser off the wall and hurl it across the bathroom with a savage yell, followed by kicking over the garbage can on my way to grab the chair in the corner. I could imagine how heavy it was as I picked it up and launched it at the mirror, shattering the last of it.

I saw it all and the longer I stood there, the more I wanted to unleash that vision into reality. Shaking, gripping the edge of the sink so hard I might rip it from the wall in real life, I wanted nothing more than to have an outlet for the chaotic emotions churning inside.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not now, anyway. I could fall to pieces when I got home, as soon as I stripped out of the uniform that was barely holding my sanity together. When I was Chris again, just Chris, I could allow myself to feel. But for now, I was Officer Brandt, and Officer Brandt had fucking responsibilities and a report to write.