Page 25 of The Darkness Within

“I’m back in hell,” I croak, straining to bring the room into focus.

“Nah, just the hospital.” I know that voice. It belongs to… “You know, if you missed me that bad, you could’ve just come to see me, you didn’t have to go and get yourself admitted.”

Liza.

Even though my vision is still blurry, I can make out the monitors next to my bed, and the tall square shape of Liza’s rolling med cart.

“Tilt your head back, Sergeant.” Without warning, she drips cold liquid in my eyes, and I squeeze them tightly shut, making the eyedrops roll down my cheeks. Next, she smears petroleum jelly on my dry cracked lips before wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm. The damn thing squeezes the blood from my limb, causing it to go numb with tingles.

“Everything looks good. Despite your best efforts to take yourself out of the game.”

Take myself out of what game? I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just trying to… Not exist. Doesn’t she understand the difference?

“I’ve given you several different meds through your IV. Would you like a run down?”

“I don’t care what you pump in me.”

“Well, maybe you should, Sergeant. Maybe you should start taking better care of yourself, so I don’t have to do it for you. And by the way, my friend says that the front door is coming out of your security deposit.”

And the punches keep on coming.

“You have a visitor, so I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be back shortly with your dinner. In case you’re wondering what’s on the menu, you’re on a liquid diet.”

Why can’t she just knock me unconscious again?

Before she leaves, I call out, “Hey, what happened to me?”

“You’re detoxing. Most likely you had a couple of episodes, and it raised your blood pressure through the roof. You came to a couple of times, but you were hallucinating. Something about tree roots and rats,” she shrugs.

Before I can even wonder who my visitor is, his large body fills the doorframe, sucking all of the energy out of the room. The look on his face reminds me of dark storm clouds and thunder.

“We need to talk,” Brewer demands in a no-nonsense tone. He closes the door behind Liza and takes a seat next to my bed.

The pain in my head doubles, pounding at my skull like a jackhammer. “I didn’t take any more meds after you left. I didn’t OD. I swear it.”

The frown on his face softens somewhat. “I know you didn’t. This is what withdrawals feel like. That isn’t what I want to talk to you about.”

I can feel it coming, that sense that he’s about to turn my world upside down.

“I found something.”

While he searches for the right words, my heart beats a mile a minute, causing the alarms on my monitor to scream.

Did he go into my bedroom?

“You need to stay calm,” he insists, scooting closer to my bedside.

How in the fuck can I stay calm when he’s about to have me committed to the psych ward?

“Do you want to try that breathing thing again?”

“No, I just want you to fucking spit it out. What did you find? You had no fucking right to find anything because you shouldn’t have been inside my bedroom.” His dark gaze narrows and I realize I said the wrong word, quickly amending, “I mean inside of my home when you weren’t invited in.”

“Were the EMTs supposed to wait for an engraved invitation? You could have died. You could’ve had a stroke or a heart attack. You were this fucking close,” he bites off, holding his thumb and forefinger together. “Mandy called me in a panic, not knowing what he should do. I warned you not to let your actions become his consequences. I will not let your death be put on his conscience. So yeah,” he seethes, leaning forward, “I went into your bedroom, and you know exactly what I found.”

I can’t swallow, hell, I can barely breathe. My throat is closing, my tongue becoming thick in my dry mouth.

Brewer just shakes his head, at a loss for words. “What the fuck, Nash? What in the goddamn fuck? What were you doing with that thing?” he hisses.

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