We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  She glanced at the table and squinted slightly, then nodded. She spoke to Devin calmly as she attached a cardiac monitor to his father’s chest. “Was he breathing when you found him?”

  Devin tucked his hands under his armpits. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like it. His lips were blue, so I started mouth-to-mouth. If he was, it was weak. I couldn’t feel a pulse, but maybe I was pressing too hard.”

  “You did good,” she said. “Better safe than sorry.”

  Another EMT entered the room carrying a bright orange stretcher made of heavy plastic and unrolled it next to his father. The addition of three more adults to the tiny room made it feel claustrophobic.

  Devin pressed himself against the wall and watched as they rolled his father onto the stretcher. The paramedic began an IV and did a blood stick, explaining as she worked that she was checking his blood sugar. She lifted his eyelid and flashed a tiny light in his pupil.

  “Let’s push point four milligrams of Narcan,” she said to her partner.

  The officer continued working the bag.

  “You okay there, Digger?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Just slow it down a bit. We don’t want to hyperventilate him.”

  Digger grunted but did as she instructed. After she injected the Narcan into the IV, Digger pulled back the mask. She checked his pulse, then shook her head.

  Devin felt Danielle’s hand brush against his. A lifeline. He wrapped his large hand around her much smaller one and squeezed.

  The officer replaced the mask and resumed bagging, counting quietly.

  After strapping his father into the stretcher, they navigated down the hallway and the steep, narrow staircase, where they had to lower him almost upright in order to make the sharp turn. Once down, they placed him onto a litter set up in the dining room. The paramedic assessed him again and prepared for a second push of Narcan. Digger continued to breathe for him as she injected the opioid antagonist into his IV.

  Seconds later, his father moaned, then he gagged. His head rolled as the EMT tilted the stretcher to the side. Digger reached for the mask, but his father got it first. He tore it off, then vomited forcefully onto the officer’s leg and over his shoes. There hadn’t been much in his stomach, but whatever it was, it was now all over the cop.

  “Jesus Christ!” Digger yelled, jumping back.

  Devin felt Danielle begin to titter beside him. She covered her mouth with her hand. If he weren’t so frightened, he might have laughed with her.

  “Oh, you mother—” Digger cut off when he saw Devin standing beside him.

  His father’s eyes, glazed at first, stared past the officer right at him.

  “Oh, fuck,” he mumbled. Then he closed his eyes and sank back against the litter.

  The officer stood motionless in the small puddle.

  Danielle quickly got herself under control. “I’ll get something,” she said, rushing from the room.

  The paramedics were reassessing his father when she returned with a roll of paper towels and a wet dishrag for the officer. He sponged the wet vomit off his pant legs and shoes, then blotted them with the paper towels.

  Danielle motioned to the small, wet pile on the floor. “I’ll clean this up.”

  “You didn’t expect me to do it, did you?” he snapped.

  Devin looked up. What a jerk.

  “No sir.” She blinked several times, her big brown eyes tearing up.

  There was no need to talk to her like that, and Devin was about to say so, when the paramedics began wheeling his father out of the house. He followed, needing to find out where they were taking him.

  When the officer came outside a few minutes later, walking stiffly in his wet pants, he was carrying a plastic evidence bag that contained the syringe, spoon, and the glassine bags, as well as his father’s belt. Devin knew the chances of him forgetting the evidence were pretty slim, but he’d hoped that was exactly what would have happened.

  His father was mumbling and cursing as they loaded him into the rig. He seemed dazed and incoherent, not quite aware of what was going on around him.

  Devin watched as the ambulance backed down the driveway, followed by the squad car. By the time it pulled out onto River Street, the high-pitched, repetitive beep was replaced by the wail of sirens.

  “Let’s go,” Danielle said, coming up beside him. “We’ll meet them there.”

  With no warning, Devin bent over and threw up onto the grass.

  “Shit.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waited to see if his stomach would betray him again. He pressed his thumb and fingers against the sting of tears in his eyes, praying he wouldn’t humiliate himself even more by crying, too.

  “Are you okay?” Danielle rubbed her hand over his back.

  “I guess. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Go wash up. I’ll take care of this.” She motioned to the small puddle next to the brick walk.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Go!” She pointed to the house.

  He wasn’t about to argue. By the time he’d rinsed out his mouth and locked up, Danielle had buried the contents of his stomach with some dirt she’d scooped out of the pachysandra bed with an empty flower pot.

  The ride to the hospital was quiet. Their relationship had moved past the point where they felt it necessary to fill the silence. And really, what could he say? I hope my dad’s still alive when we get there. Of course he felt that way. She knew that.

  When they arrived at the hospital, he checked in at the desk and then settled into a hard plastic chair in the waiting room next to Danielle. “No news is good news, I guess.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sorry about all this.”

  She swiveled in her chair so she was facing him. “Please stop saying that. None of this is your fault. Besides, I care about you, Devin—a lot. I’m glad I was here with you. Okay? So please stop telling me you’re sorry.”

  He frowned as he watched a woman argue on a cell phone while her toddler ate spilled corn chips off the stained carpet.

  “You know,” he said, “I think I’ve expected this day since I was old enough to understand. You’d think I’d have been better prepared.”

  “You were prepared. You probably saved his life.”

  “Mr. Donaldson?” A man in a white coat approached them. “I’m Dr. Bergman.”

  Devin stood and nodded.

  “How about we step in here for a minute?” He motioned to an office off the main waiting area.

  Dr. Bergman closed the door and instructed Devin and Danielle to have a seat. He perched on the edge of the desk in front of them.

  “The labs confirmed the paramedics’ suspicion that it was a drug overdose. The paramedics followed protocol and gave him a couple of doses of Narcan, which counters the effects of the heroin. They were able to revive him before transport, and he remained awake, although he’s not alert. Since he’s been here, his blood pressure, breathing, and heart rhythms are returning to normal. However, the lab report also showed there were large amounts of cocaine and alcohol in his system.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Devin muttered.

  “Is this the first time something like this has happened?”

  “I don’t know. I guess. I know he smokes pot once in a while. But this?” He threw his arm up. “I don’t know what the hell all this is about, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Not really. People don’t usually inject heroin as their first foray into drug use. I meant has he overdosed before.”

  Devin shrugged. “Don’t know. Sorry.”

  “We can speak to him about that later, when he’s sober.” Dr. Bergman jotted some notes on a clipboard, then set it down, crossed his arms, and zeroed in on Devin.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Do you think this was an attempted suicide?”

  “What? No!” Devin shook his head vehemently. “He and my mom were having some problems, but no way. I don’t believe he
’d do that. No. He’s just an idiot.”

  The doctor’s brows lifted. He jotted a few notes onto his clipboard.

  “Since there was such an unusually high amount of drugs and alcohol in his system, and because we can’t be certain that it wasn’t a deliberate attempt to take his own life, I’m going to insist we keep him overnight and order that he speak with a psychiatrist in the morning. We’ll let that doctor make the determination as to whether or not we need to keep him longer.”

  Devin took a deep breath and nodded.

  “We’re giving him IV fluids and oxygen, and we’ll continue to monitor his vitals. Apparently he became aggressive and threatening in the ambulance, so we have him restrained until we’re certain he’s calmed down.”

  Devin winced. That sounded about right.

  “Okay, then. We’ll need you to fill out the necessary paperwork so we can check him in and—”

  “You need to check him in under an assumed name,” Danielle interrupted.

  What?

  “If word gets out he’s here, the hospital is going to be swamped with fans. You have to keep this hush-hush.”

  Dr. Bergman turned to Devin.

  “I mean it,” she continued, inserting herself between Devin and the doctor. This was a side of Danielle Devin hadn’t seen before. “Check him in as Devin Kelly or John Doe or even Eugene Fitzherbert. He’ll sign whatever papers you need when he’s able, but in the meantime, you have to keep his admission under wraps.”

  Devin mumbled something in agreement, not quite sure what to say.

  “Who is he, if I might ask?”

  “His legal name is William Donaldson,” she said. “I’d rather not give you his stage name, but rest assured, it would be akin to letting the public know Jon Bon Jovi was here. Do you have the kind of security you’d need to keep people out and protect him at the same time?”

  Devin’s eyes grew rounder. It was getting harder to maintain a straight face.

  “No.” Dr. Bergman shook his head. “We really don’t.”

  “Well then. I suggest you keep this as quiet as possible. You especially need to keep the news media out of here. Once they learn he’s here . . .” She clicked her tongue. “I hate to think—”

  “Absolutely.” Dr. Bergman nodded efficiently. “We do have a protocol in place for this. I’ll see what I can do. And you are?”

  She thrust out her hand. “Danielle Kelly.” She gave him a smile and a wink. “Let’s just say I work for his manager. You make this happen, and I’ll make sure the next time he performs in this area, you’ll have front row seats.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Dr. Bergman said, although he looked like he was buying whatever she was selling.

  “I insist.” She gave him a professional nod. “When can we get him moved into a private room?”

  “I’ll get on that right away.” He stood. “You can wait with him until we can move him. This way, you can make sure no one bothers him in the meantime.”

  “On behalf of the family and Mr. Fitzherbert, I’d like to thank you for your discretion.”

  Dr. Bergman led them through the emergency room to his father’s bedside, then promised to return shortly and pulled the curtain tight.

  Devin stepped closer to the bed. His father was either asleep or passed out. His skin had a grayish cast under his tan, his hair was stringy and tangled, and there were dark smudges beneath his eyes. He was connected to a variety of machines, including oxygen and some type of IV.

  The image was jarring. Devin began to feel a wave of nausea just as Danielle’s hand closed around his wrist.

  It was hard to speak over the lump in his throat. “How long do you think they’ll keep him strapped down?” he whispered, not expecting an answer.

  “I think it’s pretty common in these cases. When they push the opioid antagonist, sometimes patients react violently. I think they get pretty pissed that someone just killed their high.”

  “Who are you, Ms. Kelly?” He couldn’t help smiling.

  She slipped her sunglasses off from atop her head and tucked them into her purse. “I read. Plus working a police beat most of the summer, I learned a lot.”

  “So when did you become an agent, and who the hell is Eugene Fitzherbert?”

  “Seriously? Eugene Fitzherbert is the love interest of Rapunzel in Tangled.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes and frowned.

  “From Disney? Tangled?”

  He shook his head again.

  “Man, you’ve led a sheltered life,” she teased. “As for the other, I just figured your mother didn’t need anything else to worry about right now. I asked the police officer if he could keep it quiet. It turns out he’s a friend of your mom’s. He said for her, he’d try, but not for your father. He wanted me to make sure I understood that.”

  That was an odd thing to say. Danielle just shrugged.

  “With the drug packets and the needle right out in the open like that, I don’t know that they won’t charge him, but for now, I just wanted to keep it out of the news. That’s why I told the doctor the same thing. I know your dad made some headlines a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t think any of you would want a repeat of that.”

  “I didn’t even think of that. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She smiled. “I did it for you. And your mom. I hope it works.”

  So did he. Danielle was right. This was absolutely the last thing his mother needed.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rhiannon stood over her father. She ran her fingers over his hair and whenever he let her, she held his hand. She had rushed to the hospital as soon as Devin called. He’d sounded scared on the phone, but now he was acting all pissy and pacing back and forth. You’d think it was Dad’s fault, the way he was carrying on. Drug overdose? Gimme a break. Somebody had probably given him some bad stuff, and as distraught as he’d been over her mother’s latest theatrics, he might have been a little careless. That’s all.

  She had no idea what had happened between the two of them this time, only that her mother had called and left a message the day before insisting that Rhiannon remind her father to have his things moved out before she returned home on Friday. She’d been ankle-deep in bubbles when her phone rang, and seriously, all this drama lately was just getting to be a bit much. She’d let the call go to voicemail and enjoyed the rest of her pedicure. She’d meant to check in with Dad, but the boys had playgroup and by the time they got home, they needed a nap. Then Dena had called, and to be honest, she just needed a break. So here she was, standing over her father in a hospital bed while her mother—well, who the hell knew?

  “Daddy,” she crooned, leaning closer. Ugh. He smelled, and not in a good way.

  She pressed the tip of her finger under her nose. “Do you need anything? Something to drink, maybe?”

  Devin snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bet he needs a drink.”

  She shot her brother a dangerous look. He might be over a foot taller, but she could be a whole lot meaner.

  “Water. Please.” His voice cracked.

  Rhiannon reached for the cup on the tray table, bent the straw, and held it to her father’s lips. The water seemed to revive him. He sank back against the pillow as his eyes darted from her to Devin to Doug, who sat silently in the corner looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but there.

  Then his watery blue-gray eyes settled on hers. “Where’s your mother?”

  Not this again. He’d woken several times over the past hour, and each time, he did little more than mumble and ask for Kate.

  “We haven’t called her.” She glared at her brother. “Devin thinks we should wait.”

  “I need your mother.” He pushed against the mattress and tried to sit up.

  Rhiannon reached for the button and adjusted his position. “We’re here, Daddy. Devin and I, and Doug.”

  “Where’s Katie?”

  Devin didn’t give her a chance to answer. “She’s s
till in New York. We’re not calling her, and we’re not telling her, so forget it.”

  “I need your mother.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Devin demanded, throwing his hands up in the air.

  “Daddy, you don’t need Mom right now,” she said, trying to soothe him while shooting daggers at her brother. “We’re here. We’ll take care of you.” She tucked the sheet over his chest and sniffed. “Frankly, I don’t think she should be here. If she’d been home, this wouldn’t have happened. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but she can’t keep throwing you out every time she gets a bug up her ass.”

  “Rhiannon,” Doug said firmly. “That’s enough.”

  Oh, no he didn’t. “Excuse me? That is not enough. My father almost died. She needs to think about someone other than herself. I know she’s grieving. We all are. But don’t you dare tell me that’s enough!”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath. Thank God for yoga classes. She turned back to her father and smiled. “You don’t need her. You have us.”

  Devin kicked the foot of the bed. “I’m done,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t care anymore. You may be my father, but you don’t deserve the title. You’re a self-centered sonofabitch who thinks of no one but himself. You want Mom? Fuck you, Dad. I’m not calling her, and no one else better either.” He gripped the edge of the bed. “I told them you weren’t trying to kill yourself, and I don’t believe you were. But I have to ask you this, Dad.” He pronounced the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Were you trying to kill Mom?”

  The look his father gave him would have frightened anyone else, and if Devin had been a bit younger, he might have hightailed it out of there.

  “That isn’t even worthy of an answer,” her father replied.

  In a feeble attempt to break the tension, Rhiannon grabbed the cup of water, sloshing drops of it onto the sheets, and held it to her father’s lips. He angrily waved it away.