Alice & Dorothy Page 2

  But she was broken. She was unconscious and maybe about to die. If it was anyone else, Rabbit might have dumped her in a trash bin and started working on his alibi. He had too much shit going on to have the cops sniffing around his house. He threw her in the passenger seat of his car and ran around to the other side. He threw his cigarette away with a flourish. He jumped in behind the steering wheel, tossed the engine, then threw it in gear and drove away from his house.

  The car was cold and he could see his breath. Looking over at Alice, he was relieved to see her breathing as well. It was a good sign. At least she’s breathing. He turned onto a larger road, made another turn a few minutes later from an off ramp and jumped onto the freeway. Hitting the gas, his old car rumbled and groaned in protest. He lit another smoke. Then he flicked on the radio. He had a top end stereo in this yellow piece of shit. Pioneer deck, JBL speakers. All top of the line for their brand, and all stolen.

  They were gifts from junkies that he’d traded for drugs. Drug addicts were like farm cats that brought their masters birds and chewed rats in hopes of garnering favour. He’d pat their heads and say good boy, who’s a good boy? Here’s a little treat for you. Pat, pat. The stereo was worth more than the car. Alexisonfire was screaming about the end of the world. Preach on, fuckers. The end happened a long time ago.

  He got off the freeway and turned down a well-manicured side road. The trees along one side were all exactly the same size and shape. On the other side, gas powered lanterns cast yellow halos every thirty feet. When yuppies bought up inner city property and redecorated, the results usually looked something like this. Row after row of skinny infill houses with sports cars and sedans parked in front. Rich women were out in droves walking tiny dogs. Not a heroin crowd. They did coke over the holidays and smoked weed on the weekends and thought they were badass.

  Alice moaned something about a clock. Or maybe she said cock. Rabbit wasn’t sure. He made another turn, and saw the first lights of the hospital ahead. He flicked off his lights and slowed down. He saw a pair of lights splash across the road, leaving the lot. He pulled over and turned down the radio.

  A big fat ambulance bounced light across the hood of his car as it turned toward him, then settled into the road. It drove slow as it passed. Rabbit looked up at them and saw the driver staring back. They locked eyes for a moment, and then they were gone, the ambulance picking up speed as it drove off. Rabbit realized he’d been holding his breath.

  He flicked the lights back on and spun the steering wheel, and the vehicle lurched back out onto the road. At the entryway Rabbit turned, drove past two parking lots, and the followed a wide path up to the emergency exit. Two men were standing outside smoking.

  “Fuck,” Rabbit whispered. He tapped the steering wheel and came to a stop 20 feet from where the men were standing. They both looked at the car, waiting for it to do something. Dammit. He looked at Alice, then back at the men. They were talking as they watched him. They’re talking about me.

  He couldn’t drive up there. His plan had been simply to ditch Alice in front of the door and take off. They’d see what was happening. Maybe they’d try to stop him, maybe not. Most likely they’d yell for an orderly to call the cops or something. Either way, being caught with an overdosing junkie was grounds for Search and Seizure warrant. An S&S, as the cops called them, better known as a Shit Sandwich. On the inside, they’d say the cops fed me a Shit Sandwich, and found my stash... and he had enough shit in his house to make a very big sandwich. Might take him ten years in Fed to eat the damn thing. Unless…

  He tapped the gas, pulling his car up toward the emergency entryway. One of the men flicked a butt out onto the road. Rabbit pulled his hat down low to cover his eyes. He stopped in front of the two men. Opened his door and stepped out.

  “Hey,” Rabbit said. “Can you boys help me out?”

  “What’s wrong son?” the man on the left said. He was in his late fifties and he looked exhausted. The man beside him could have been his son. Both were dressed for the country life, plaid shirts and ball caps. The younger man’s over shirt was hanging open and he was wearing a Lost Souls t-shirt underneath. A couple days’ growth and thirty years separated their faces, but the relation was easy to see.

  “My girl is really sick,” Rabbit said, avoiding eye contact with the younger man and looking squarely at the father. “Can you guys grab a wheelchair and help me get her inside?”

  “Yeah,” The father said, moving immediately. “Jason, grab a chair, boy.” The father moved over to the passenger door and caught a glimpse of Alice.

  “Jesus, is she alright? She looks unconscious.”

  “Yeah.” Rabbit scratched his nose and adjusted his hat. “I think she is. She hasn’t spoken much the last few minutes. Flu or something, I think.”

  “Flu doesn’t make you go out like that,” Jason said, wheeling a chair up to the door. The tone of his voice said he smelled bullshit on Rabbit’s breath. The old man’s eyes flashed on Rabbit for an instant, like he had been thinking the exact same thing.

  “I’ll get the door,” the old man said. “Jason, go ahead and grab her under the arms when I get out of the way.”

  “Sure pop,” Jason said. To Rabbit he said, “Can you grab the chair?”

  “Yeah. Thanks a lot guys, I really appreciate this.”

  “Let’s just get her squared away,” the old man said. He popped the door and stepped aside for his son to get in and grab Alice.

  “Aww Jesus, she’s got puke all over the place,” Jason said. He breathed though his mouth. “Come on darling, let’s get you out of here.”

  “Grab that chair,” The old man said to Rabbit. It was more like at Rabbit though, it had the sound of a man who was used to barking orders and having them followed.

  “Right. I just gotta grab my wallet out of the car.” He slipped in behind the wheel. Jason was watching him like a hawk through the open passenger side door. “Here it is,” Rabbit said, looking down. He reached up and popped the car into drive. The car jumped forward.

  “What the fuck!” Jason yelled as the car door slammed shut beside him. Rabbit heard the old man groan as the car bumped him and he went down. Rabbit punched the gas.

  In the rearview mirror, Jason helping his dad get to his feet. Both of them watched as Rabbit drove off. Behind them, slumped in her wheelchair, Alice dropped one hand toward the cold pavement.

  “Get better, baby,” Rabbit whispered through his teeth. At that moment, he felt every bit the low life piece of shit his mother had always sworn he was. Life in the big city. This was his part in the big book of life. Asshole. Scumbag.

  When the on ramp to the freeway approached, he skipped it. He lit a smoke and rolled the window down, allowing strong cold air into the car. It was a clear night, he could see the stars.

  Chapter 2

  “We need some help here!” The old man yelled. He was standing in the yawning doorway on the hospital emergency room, faded John Deere hat in hand. He was using it to wave at the front desk nurses. In the sanitized emergency room waiting area, rheumatic, sad eyes looked up at the noise. Nobody moved. A few of those waiting for treatment looked over at the admissions desk.

  “Sir?” one of the nurses said.

  A fat Cuban in a white security shirt approached the man. He did his best to look like an authority figure, though he refused to make eye contact for more than a moment or two at a time. “Sir?” he said in a heavy accent, more street than island. “What’s the problem?”

  “Sick girl,” the old man waved the guard through. “Some guy just dumped her and took off. She’s totally out of it, man.”

  The mechanical entrance doors hummed to life and swung open with a puff of air. Jason appeared, He pushing Alice in her wheelchair. Her blond hair hung limp and sticky in her face, clothes mired with grey vomit. She was unconscious. The security guard pushed her head back so he could see her face. Her eyes fluttered. Mouth agape, her sewage stench breath exhaling shallow puffs of air. A duty
nurse had come around the counter, through the sealed emergency room doors and past the twenty or so onlookers.

  “Overdose,” the guard said, earning a dirty look from the nurse.

  She was a small, birdlike woman, a wisp of brown hair hanging down one side of her face. She had a light in one hand and a stethoscope around her neck. “Thank you Carlos.” There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice, someone used to talking down to the men in her life. She pushed Alice’s head back and then thumbed one eye open, shining the light in it. No response from Alice.

  “Hey,” Carlos said, turning to the old man and his son. “You don’t know her at all?”

  “Some asshole ditched her with us,” Jason said. “Little wiry guy in one of those plastic coats. Said his girlfriend was really sick, and needed help getting her into a wheelchair.”

  “A plastic coat?” Carlos said. “Like, uhh, a rain jacket?”

  “Wind breaker,” the old man said. “One of those ones that fold down into a little square. You know, with a belt? Black. My boys had em when they were kids.”

  “Ahh yeah,” Carlos said. “Anything else?”

  “Ok sweetie I’m going to take you to the back,” the duty nurse said, speaking loud enough for Alice and the rest of the people watching to hear. Being a big shot. “Katie can you open the door for me?”

  There was movement behind the check in desk, and the twin frosted glass doors on the other end of the room opened to a maze of hallways and multi coloured strips of paint.

  The older man watched the nurse disappear with Alice. He turned back to Carlos.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Uhh, he had metal in his mouth. Like gold teeth or something, I can’t be sure.”

  “I never saw that.” Jason scowled at his father.

  “Big surprise,” the older man said. He turned back to Carlos. “Hey, when can we get in and see my daughter?”

  “Oh,” Carlos said, biting the tip of his pen. He pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket and was scratching a few notes down. “Uhh, I’m sure they will call you.”

  Jason shook his head. “All fuckin night.”

  “Whose fault is that?” his father said, glaring at him.

  “Come on, Dad,” Jason said, shaking his head. He put his hat back over his hair then pulled it down hard.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” There was a disgusted finality to his voice that marked the end of their conversation.

  Jason looked up at the clock. It was just after 2am.

  Alice was rushed down a long hallway following a single green strip. At a T-intersection, the single strip turned into a double strip, and the nurse continued to walk as quickly as her legs and comfortable shoes would allow. Eventually they came to an open area lined with beds separated by curtains. There were a few people back here, doctors quietly puttering around files and light tables, nurses walking back and forth, talking quietly among themselves. Some of the curtained beds were occupied. A woman was crying in one; in another a young man was whispering earnestly about getting out of his fucking bed and catching a score for the morning.

  The nurse jotted down a few notes on her clip board. Looked up and smiled when the attending doctor came over to see. Dr Bale, tall and lanky, designer black framed glasses. Name brand expensive, for a name brand lifestyle.

  “Know what it is?” the Dr Bale said, inspecting Alice’s face but not touching her.

  “I don’t even know who she is,” the nurse said. “I don’t know if she has insurance or anything.”

  “Just wandered in off the street? Or was she brought in?”

  “Dropped at the front door,” the nurse said. “Apparently some guy got her into a wheelchair and then took off. She was brought in by the family of Deborah Angles, the abuse case in six.” She corrected herself. “Presumed abuse. Looks like she got punched in the face. Orbital fracture, nose cracked open.”

  “Not on my list,” he said. He waved a hand to change the subject.

  “Sorry doctor, I just see these fuckers come in spouting some shit about hitting her head on the staircase or walking into a wall, I mean, come on.” She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Like we don’t see that twenty times a day, always the same stories. Same shit.”

  “Still not on my list,” Dr Bale said. He made eye contact with the nurse and held it for a moment, making sure she got the point. Not Interested.

  “So what’s her deal?” He said.

  “I checked pupil response, blood pressure’s low, respiration laboured. She’s almost in a coma. Looks like opiates. Heroin, probably. She has pinpoint pupils.”

  Dr Bale reached down and grabbed Alice’s arms; thumbed this inside of her forearms. Made a clucking sound with his tongue.

  “She’s got some tracks, but not a lot of them. Recreational heroin.”

  “If you want to sign off on this,” the nurse said, “I can start trying to figure out who she is.”

  “Negative,” Dr Bale said. “I want you to start an IV drip immediately. I want you to dig me up a narcotic antagonizer. Naloxone, if we have it. Let me know when you’re done.”

  “But doctor,” the nurse said. Her eyes shifted back and forth. “We don’t know what kind of insurance she has. We don’t know anything about her.”

  “Interesting that you are more interested in her money than her health,” Dr Bale said. He scowled. “Just do it. If anyone says anything, which they won’t, ask them to come see me.”

  “Yes doctor,” the nurse said.

  “Cheer up,” Dr Bale said. “You’re probably going to give a girl her life back tonight.” He snapped pen onto his clipboard and turned on a heel, not bothering to wait for a response.

  “Yeah, If I don’t get fired for it, Dr Fuckhead.” She pointed the wheelchair toward an empty bed. “Come on sweetie,” she said into Alice’s ear. “Let’s get you tucked away. You’re about to have a hell of a trip.”

  The nurse called an orderly to help get Alice into bed. Then she secured the girl down with arm and leg straps and added another across her hips. She winched a strap across her chest. There were arm bars located on the sides of the bed, the nurse pushed Alice’s right arm straight out from her body. She ran a thick I.V. drip into Alice’s hand, the flesh puckering around the needle and immediately soaking up the bag of saline. Finally she ran a hose from the respirator in the wall to her mouth and nostrils. She secured them with medical tape; little X’s on both sides of her mouth and one across her nose. A little piece over each eye would keep them shut.

  She measured Alice’s heart rate and temperature, then double checked by feeling the thrum of her heart on the inside of the girl’s wrist. More scribbles on the girl’s chart. At the top of it, she wrote “Jane Doe: Pending”. More paperwork for the stack. Medicine these days was eighty per cent paper and twenty per cent drugs. Ahh, the miracles of modern living. She checked her watch.

  At the bottom of the sheet she wrote Naloxone 20cc requested by Dr Bale 2:30am.

  She’d have to make sure the good doctor signed off on the request. That way, when they asked who was going to do the paperwork she could step out of the way. With any luck, nobody would even talk to her about it.

  Nalaxone was a drug designed specifically for junkies addicted to opiates – usually heroin, but just as often morphine or codeine addictions caused when people had to take pain medication for an extended time. When the Nalaxone entered the bloodstream it reacted with opiates in the blood and in the brain. It was a sticky cell; it collected the opiates in clumps and then flushed them from a patient’s blood through their kidneys and out through the uterine system. The whole process took about four hours, was very expensive, and included follow up treatment for three weeks of taking Nalaxone tablets. It was a sort of miracle among heroin users; it allowed rapid detoxification without the weeks of agony associated with opiate abuse. This girl would have flu-like symptoms for about a week, and, as long as she kept taking the pills, opiates would have no effect on her. Hopefully in that time, she could
get her shit together.

  Myra headed to the pharmacy, found a small row of Nalaxone bottles among the dozens of other bottles, grabbed a 50cc syringe, and signed for it. Then she went back to where Alice was laying on the table, attached a heart monitor from the wall to Alice’s finger, and filled the syringe from the bottle. She pushed the plunger forward to get the bubbles out of the needle.

  “Good luck sweetie,” she said, pushing the syringe into an entry point on the I.V. needle in Alice’s arm. “We’ll see you on the other side.”