by H. T. Night
“Didn’t realize you were such a glass-half-empty guy,” I said to Steve.
“You know exactly what I’m about. Have I ever been the optimistic type?” Steve looked at me as if to say, ‘Come on, we’re talking about me here.’
“Well, anyway,” I said. “Dave, the Crenshaw character, overdosed and was in a coma. Today, I made a decision that ended his life.”
Steve was quiet. This was about as deep and heavy as our relationship would go. “That doesn’t seem fair to you. You’re only a fucking crisis counselor.”
“Only a fucking crisis counselor?” I said, offended. I never felt Steve truly respected what I did for a living. Steve thought it was all about holding hands and singing Kumbaya all night.
“You know what I mean. Listen, Hunter. You know I’m on your side. I know you’re excellent at what you do.”
“Excellent? Really? I’ve had three outpatients die on me just this year. I think I’m pretty lousy at what I do.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself. Most of the time, you’re making beds in a burning house.”
“I know. I’m tired of it.” I paused. “This guy was different, though. I saw him making progress. He was clean for six weeks. It just makes zero sense to me that he would overdose in his apartment. He was starting to have a normal life. I had gotten him a job at the sewage company, and he was making substantial progress. We had him on the right medication, and I truly felt we had it under control.”
“Are you suspecting foul play?”
“Even the police suspect foul play, but they’re just writing it off as a drug deal gone bad. They don’t feel the beating and the overdose are conclusive. They think he got into a fight and went home and felt bad. Then he overdosed.”
“You know, that’s probably what happened.”
“You ever have a gut feeling about something?” I asked, staring Steve in the eye.
“All the time. It’s kinda what I do.” Steve laughed.
“I know there is more here. He was different. I could see it in his eyes. He was making amazing changes. He was clean and was thinking clearly.”
“I can look into it if you want.” Steve looked at me and nodded with confidence. I knew he meant what he said.
The waitress came over to the table and set down my beer and walked away in one continuous motion. She made zero contact with me. Now I was taking this personally. “Did you see that?” I said to Steve.
“Are you sure you haven’t slept with her and didn’t call her back? Because that was pretty blatant.” Steve laughed. He always enjoyed seeing me strike out. In this case, I hadn’t even stepped into the batter’s box.
“You think?” I said. I wasn’t a man-whore or anything. Just a guy who liked to have a good time. I always remembered a face. I took a drink of my beer and sighed. This girl officially thought she was out of my league; therefore she made zero attempt at flirtation. That, or she was in a committed relationship, and was loyal to her dude no matter what.
Steve looked at me and gave me a serious stare. “So, you told them to pull the plug?”
“Yep, I sure did. He had zero percent chance of coming out of it.”
“I’m sorry, man. Look, we don’t have to watch the game. Do you want to go somewhere to get your mind off it, like shoot pool or something?”
“Isn’t that the same thing we’re pretty much doing here?”
“No,” Steve said, “we would not only be watching the game, eating wings, and drinking beer. We would also be shooting pool.”
“Nah,” I said.
“What else will we do? I sure as hell don’t want to go to church and pray about it.”
“I’m just so tired that I’m not there in time. By the time these guys get to me, they are so far gone that it’s hopeless. I wish once I could get there before it happens. Stop someone from doing something awful to themselves and others. It’s not just him. It’s all my outpatients. I feel like I’m not even helping. I just wish that one time I could stop someone from ever getting addicted. Be there at the very beginning.”
As I said those words, something came over my body and the room started spinning. I thought I was about to throw up. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
“You okay, man?” Steve asked me.
“Yeah,” I said, catching my breath. “I just got a little nauseous there.”
“You’re not having a seizure or anything?”
“You know I don’t have them while I am awake?” I said to my friend, who knew full well about my epileptic sleep paralysis diagnosis.
“Then we won’t shoot pool, but I don’t think you’ll mind me taking the rest of your wings and fries instead.”
“Go ahead,” I said. I pushed my plate in front of Steve and he began his second eating wind. “I’m going to make it a point to look into it first thing Monday morning.” Steve paused and swallowed his food. “You know, stopping someone before they hurt themselves or others is a common thing we all feel in our line of work. We give a shit about people,” Steve said. “It’s a curse. Even in my line of work. People come to me when it’s too late. I would love to be able to talk to families and tell the parents to love their kids better before they run away. Or speak to a man before he makes an impulsive decision to murder or hurt someone. It would be a great job to have that gift. To stop people before awful things happen, but that isn’t the way it works. You and I get called when it’s too late.”
“I know,” I said. “And it sucks. It makes me question why I got my degree in psychology, just to be a drug counselor.”
“You can always take the necessary steps to become a psychologist.” Steve gave me the usual look he gave me when this subject came up. Steve had wanted me to finish my doctorate for years, so I could get a cozy office and charge rich people an absurd amount of money to fix their issues, or at least make them think I did.
“You know why I do what I do,” I said to Steve.
“Your parents, Hunter. They would want the best for you. You can only fall on the sword in their name for so long.”
I nodded and thought about my parents. My mom died when I was sixteen, and my dad died a year later. They were both drug addicts. Eventually, drugs killed them both. I came home one day and found my mom hunched over: an overdose in bathroom, Marilyn Monroe style. She was dead by the time I got to her. My dad got so high one night that he decided to take his car and fly over a cliff in the San Bernardino Mountains, thinking he was Superman, apparently. “Are we done talking about all of this?” I asked Steve. “I do have 500 dollars on the game.”
“It kind of makes no sense that we pay a bookie to make a 500 dollar bet and for us to pick opposite teams. We might as well just bet each other.” Steve grinned at me.
“The difference is I know our bookie will pay me when I win; trying to get you to pay up is like trying to get this waitress to acknowledge my existence.”
We both laughed and I said, “You’re probably right.”
“What about your main squeeze?” Steve said, teasing me about a woman named Donna. She had been a friend of mine since high school. Steve teased me because I always spent time with her volunteering my services. The truth was, Donna was a dear old friend who I had cared about for many, many years, and just never could sort out exactly what I felt.
“Donna isn’t my ‘main squeeze.’ We haven’t kissed since college. We’re good friends.”
“Kiss? You did more than just kiss. Hey, that was what you told me.”
“Donna is a wonderful person. She just has a few more demons than the rest of us.”
“Speaking of that, are your debts almost paid off with Charlie?”
“Not even close. Charlie still keeps fifty percent of my winnings.” Charlie was the name of our bookie. No last name. Just Charlie.
“How much more do you still owe?” Steve asked.
“Ten grand,” I said. About nine months ago, I felt great about my bowl game pick. I had seen every game and you know what, I thought it
was such a no-brainer, I put fifty grand on the game. The most Charlie allows. I lost. Let’s just say Charlie and I needed to do a payment arrangement plan. I paid him one grand a month and he kept half of all my winnings. I had gotten most of it paid off in the last few months. I had been on a hot streak.
“Well, aside from today, you have been on a massive hot streak. Your algorithm is unmatched. You’ve made us both a lot of money. Just once in a while there is a kink in it like tonight, where you make a horrid pick. Better than the alternative.”
“What?” I said. “Him hurting me?” I paused. “I’m sure that isn’t one of his tactics.”
“I don’t know. I hear things,” Steve said.
“I hear things too, and that’s why I bet with the guy; he has a chill enterprise. I have always paid out my losses on time.”
“Just hope your team covers tonight.”
“You better hope not. You bet the other direction.”
“It always makes for a fun game, doesn’t it?” Steve grinned and we both looked at the big screen TV in front of us. There were about ten others in the bar and they all had the football game on. I needed an escape and sports and betting was the best way for me to do it.
Controlled Chaos
is available at:
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Paperback
About the Author:
H.T. Night is the #1 bestselling author of the Vampire Love Story and Entwined series of books. He lives in southern California, where he’s hard at work on his next novel.
Please visit him at www.htnight.com
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