CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

BRIAN

“For Christ’s sake, Justin, pick up the fucking phone!”  I bark into his voicemail again.  “I’m going to be late… Gus is in hospital.  He keeps being sick … we don’t know what the problem is because no-one’s fucking spoken to us yet.  Look, just call me as soon as you get this, right?”

I bang the phone back into its cradle and walk down the corridor to the waiting room where Mel’s sitting, chewing her nails.  She looks up as I approach.

“Did you speak to him?”

I shake my head in frustration.  “He doesn’t like to be distracted when he’s working, so there isn’t a phone in the studio.  And the little shit always forgets his cell.”

“He’ll pick up the message sooner or later,” Mel says, laying her hand soothingly on my arm as I take the seat beside her.

“Like Lindsay is?”  I’d stopped by her place on the way to the hospital and let myself in with my emergency key when pounding on the door hadn’t produced a response.  I’d half expected to find her unconscious and puke-covered, but there’d been no sign of her.  Her ratty little Honda wasn’t in the garage either, so she’d obviously gone off somewhere.  And her cell, like Justin’s, was going straight to voicemail.

“She wouldn’t just disappear without leaving a contact,” Mel says worriedly.  “What if she went out for a drive to clear her head or something and got sick … she might have had an accident!”

“Jesus, Mel.  Get a grip.  She hasn’t had an accident … maybe she’s just somewhere she can’t get a signal.”

“Maybe … but it’s late, Brian.  She told Gus’ teacher she’d be there to pick him up after the party … that finished hours ago.  So where the fuck is she?”

I shrug angrily.  I’m only too well aware how late it is … it’ll be getting dark outside, and somehow I’ve got to get to Britin.  If only I could let Justin know what’s going on …

I stand up.  “I’m going to find a nurse,” I tell Mel.  “Somebody must know something by now.”  I stride to the door and nearly collide with a tall, bespectacled, black woman wearing a white coat.  She looks at me enquiringly.  “Are you Mr. Kinney?”

“Yes, I’m Gus’ father,” I tell her.

“And I’m Melanie Marcus, Gus’ adoptive mother,” Mel says, coming to stand beside me. 

“My name is Doctor Sanchez,” she says, shaking our hands.  “I’ve been treating your son.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?  Is it serious?” Mel asks nervously.

She considers us with her dark eyes for a moment, with something that almost looks like suspicion.  “Yes, to the first question, and I’m not sure to the second.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snap, and Mel elbows me, hard.

“Forgive Brian, Doctor,” she says.  “We’re both a little strung out.  Please will you tell us what’s wrong?”

Sanchez is still regarding us with that wary expression, but she nods.  “Your son has suffered acute bouts of vomiting, with resulting stomach cramps and mild dehydration.”

“No shit?” I find myself saying, and Mel elbows me again.  “I kinda figured that out for myself.”

“Has he got food poisoning?” Mel asks.  “He was at a party … he might have eaten something …”

Sanchez shakes her head.  “The onset was too soon.  Besides, his temperature is normal.”

“Then what?  Is it Norovirus?”

“No.” 

“Doctor …” I force myself to speak calmly and not pin her to the wall.  “Just stop hedging and tell us what the fuck is wrong with our son.”

She regards me steadily.  “Nothing is wrong with him, Mr. Kinney.  It seems that Gus is simply reacting to the syrup of Ipecac he ingested.”  She cocks her head to one side.  “Perhaps you’d like to hazard a guess as to how that may have happened?”

I gaze at her blankly.  “Ipecac?  What the hell is that?”

“It’s an emetic,” Mel says in a low, troubled voice.  “It’s used in cases of accidental poisoning.”

“And also by patients suffering with bulimia,” Sanchez adds, eyeing Mel.  “I don’t suppose you suffer from the condition?”

“No!”  Mel looks stunned.  “Never, and I don’t know anyone who does.  I have no idea how Gus could have gotten hold of it.”

“So I take it that this information is a surprise to you too, Mr Kinney?”

“I haven’t seen him for a week,” I tell her.  “Gus lives with his birth mother.”

“And where is she?”

I rub my hand through my hair.  “We don’t know.  We can’t contact her.”

“Perhaps she can show some light on the matter.  Ipecac is a legal substance, and freely available, although most doctors would debate its use on children, except in an emergency.  And the patient should certainly never be left unsupervised.  The drug can cause palpitations, respiratory problems and, as you have seen, prolonged stomach cramps and vomiting. ”

“Is Gus in any danger?” Mel looks stricken.

Sanchez’ face softens a little.  “No, not at all.  Although we’d like to keep him in overnight to monitor his fluid intake.”  She looks at me curiously.  “Mr Kinney?  Are you alright?”

I realise my hands are shaking.  There’s a lump of ice in my chest and it’s killing me.  “I’m fine,” I hear myself reply, although my lips are numb, too.  My voice seems to be coming from a great distance.

“Can we see him?”  Mel asks hopefully.

Sanchez nods.  “He’s sedated, so he’s quite sleepy.  We’ve transferred him to the paediatrics ward … if one of you would like to stay the night, I’m sure we can make arrangements.”

“I’ll stay,” Mel says.  “I’ll call Michael, I’m sure he can keep JR overnight.”

“I’ll inform the nurses.” 

She walks out into the corridor and Mel moves to follow her, but I grab her arm and pull her back.  “Mel … I have to go.”

She glares at me.  “Fuck off, Brian.  You can spare five minutes out of your busy schedule to check your son’s okay!”

“No, I can’t.”  I lock eyes with her.  “You don’t understand … I told Lindsay that Justin was alone at Britin … I have such a bad feeling about this, Mel.”

Her face changes as she sees my implication.  “Oh God, Brian, she wouldn’t … don’t be insane!  I’m sure there’s a logical explanation …”

“I hope I am fucking insane,” I interrupt her, “because if I’m not, and Lindsay’s there, it might already be too late.”  I drop a kiss on the top of her head, and she stares at me in shock.  “I can’t take the risk.  Take care of him for me … and tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Then I go, pushing past the surprised Sanchez, first walking and then running, echoes chasing me down the corridor like the footfalls of doom.

*****************************************************

I stare in disbelief at the snow swirling down from the dark sky.  It’s settling thickly already, and it looks like it has no intention of stopping anytime soon.  I glare upwards, cursing the fates or God or whoever the fuck is conspiring against me.  An ambulance pulls up, snow crunching beneath its tyres, it’s flashing lights turning the tumbling flakes blue and red, and I think of trying to drive the Vette down the country roads all the way to Britin and cringe.  But I don’t have any fucking choice.  What the fuck was I doing, trading in the Jeep for a fucked-up sexmobile with all the traction of an ice-skate?  What I really need is something with four-wheel drive … something big.  Big like a big, fucking truck.

And then I know.  I pull out my cell, punching in the number, praying he’ll pick up.  After a minute, he does.

“Boot?” I say, feeling the relief wash over me.  “Get your ass in your truck and get over to Allegheny …  I have to get to Britin.  I think Justin’s in a shit load of trouble.”

 TBC