Swithin carefully rotated Amy’s convulsing body onto the couch beside him and braced her head as she seized for nearly two minutes straight.  Once she settled, he pulled his phone out of his tote and called 911. 

As he heard the sound of sirens approach the apartment building, Swithin hurriedly redressed Amy.  Then he redressed himself.  Seconds later he heard the buzzer sound and ran to the apartment door.  To the right of it, he found an intercom box with a large rectangular and a small circular button.  He pressed both buttons and held them down for a moment, pulled open the apartment door and headed back to the couch, on which Amy was laying in a barely conscious stupor.

“You had a seizure,” Swithin said to Amy, “I called 911 and help is on the way.”

“Don’t be shilly…” Amy said in a slurred voice.  “I didn’t have a sea shore.”

Tears started to well into Swithin’s eyes.  “I wish you hadn’t.  But you did.”

A fireman rushed into the apartment, carrying a medical kit in one hand and a portable defibrillator in the other. “Is this her?” he asked Swithin as he squatted down in front of Amy.     

“Yes, her name’s Amy,” Swithin replied as he stepped aside.

“What’s her last name?” The fireman asked, maintaining his focus on Amy.

Swithin paused.  “I don’t know.”

Two more firemen rushed into the apartment.  One squatted down next to the first fireman and the two exchanged whispered words.  The third fireman grimaced and walked over to Swithin, who was now standing nervously in the kitchen. “I have to ask,” he said in a whispered voice as he leaned in toward Swithin’s face.  “Were you two doing drugs tonight?”

Swithin glanced over at Amy.  “I wasn’t, but she was.”

“What kind of drugs?”

Swithin looked down at the floor. “Cocaine and Marijuana.”

The fireman took Swithin’s chin between his fingers, lifted his head and looked him in the eyes.  “What’s your name?”

“Saint Swithin McGuire.”

“You have ID?”

“In my bag.”  Swithin looked back toward the couch and saw Amy being taken away on a stretcher.

“Get it.”

Swithin walked over to his tote, pulled out his wallet and handed the fireman his ID.

The fireman pulled out a folded piece of paper and a pen and wrote down Swithin’s information, and then handed his ID back him.  “We’re taking your girlfriend to Davies Medical Center, it’s on the corner of Castro Street and Duboce.  You can ride with her in the ambulance or you can drive up on your own.”

“I’ll drive,” Swithin replied quickly.

“She’ll be in emergency,” the fireman said as he turned around and followed Amy and the other two firemen out the door. 

Swithin picked up his tote, turned off the stereo and started walking down the hall.  As he was about to pass Amy’s room, he stepped in and closed the door behind him.  Inside he found rails of cocaine lined out on a mirror on top of her dresser.  Next to the mirror was a glass pipe stuffed with burnt weed and a small plastic bottle filled with clear liquid.  He opened the top drawer of her dresser, slid everything incriminating inside, and then slammed the drawer closed.  As he was about to leave the bedroom, he noticed a purse dangling on the inside doorknob.  He opened the purse, and pulled out Amy’s wallet and apartment keys.  When he left the apartment he locked the door behind him. 

Outside, beside his car, he changed back into his pants, shirt and shoes. 

As he sped down the street on the way to the hospital, he pulled out the tabs of acid he’d planned to drop with Amy, opened the driver’s side window and flicked them into the wind. 

He reached the corner of Castro and Duboce and realized the hospital was only a handful of blocks away from Carlton’s apartment—nearly across the street from the dog park where his deal with Gifford went down.  He found parking on Duboce and started up the hill toward to the hospital, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground each step he took.

Outside the entrance to emergency, Swithin opened Amy’s wallet and read the name on her driver’s license.  “Amy Styles,” he whispered to himself, then closed the wallet and walked in.

The lobby to Davies Medical Center Emergency was a short narrow rectangular room.   To the right of the entrance was a closed door.  To the left of the entrance, along the wall, was a short row of chairs that ended at a payphone.  Directly across from the entrance, between the two extremes of the room a man sat busily writing behind a large window that read Emergency Admittance overhead.

Swithin cleared his throat and approached the man behind the Plexiglas window.  “I’m looking for Amy Styles.”

The man looked up at Swithin.  “What’s your name?”

“Saint Swithin McGuire.”

“What’s your relationship to the patient?”

“I’m her boyfriend.”

“Do you have her ID and insurance information?”

Swithin opened Amy’s wallet and pulled out her driver’s license.  “I have her ID,” he said as he slid it over to the man through a narrow cutout at the base of the window.  “I’m not sure if I have her insurance information.” A moment later he found an insurance card.  “Here it is.”

“She’s being looked at right now,” the man said as he looked at Amy’s insurance card.  He pointed to the short row of chairs without looking up. “You can wait over there.”

“Is she okay?” Swithin asked in a desperate tone.

The man looked up.  “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here,” he replied without emotion.  “She’ll let you know how she’s doing when time permits.  Until then, you’ll have to have a seat.”

Swithin took a breath, walked over to the seat second closest to the phone and sat down.

A few moments later the man behind the window tapped on the glass.  “Did you say your name was Saint Swithin McGuire?”

Swithin nodded. “Yes.”

“Neat name,” the man said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Swithin replied, and then looked down at his wristwatch—it was 8:45 pm.

Almost two hours later, the man behind the window tapped on the glass again and called Swithin over.  “Your girlfriend wants you to call this number,” he said as he slid across a small piece of paper.

“Is she okay?” Swithin asked as he walked over and took hold of the paper.

“From what I understand, yes.”

“Can I see here?”

“She’s undergoing a series of tests and can’t have visitors now.  The doctor will be out to talk to you in a little while.”

Swithin looked at the paper, but saw no name beside it.  “Who’s number is it?”

“She said you’d know,” the man commented through a sigh.  “Do you want me to go back and find out?”

“No,” Swithin replied.  He pulled out his cell phone and started dialing the number.  “I’m pretty sure I know who’s it is.”

“Hello?” a female voice answered a few moments later.

“Samantha?”  Swithin questioned.

“Yes?”

“It’s Saint Swithin, we met last week at The Reunion.”

“I remember.”  Samantha paused.  “What is it?”

Swithin took a breath.  “Amy had a seizure.”

“Where is she?”

“Davies Medical Center Emergency.”

Samantha paused.  “I’m on my way.”

Thirty minutes later Samantha walked into emergency. “How is she?”  She asked Swithin in a concerned voice.

Swithin stood up.  “She’s okay.  They’re running tests and looking her over.”

“Have you seen her since she got here?”

“No,” Swithin glanced at the man behind the window. “They want us to wait.”

Samantha turned and walked up to the man behind the window.  “Can I see Amy Styles?”

“I’m sorry but you’ll have to wait.  She’s undergoing a series of test right now and can’t have visitors right now.”

“Can you at least let her know I’m here?” Samantha asked in an exacerbated tone. 

“What’s your name?”

“Samantha Clark.”

The man wrote down Samantha’s name on a small piece of paper and stood up. “I’ll let her know.”  

Samantha walked back over to Swithin.  “Where did she have the seizure?”

“At her apartment.” Swithin paused.  “We were having dinner.”

Samantha glanced at the chair next to Swithin and sat down.  She leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and pressed her head into her hands.  “Was it drug related?”

Swithin paused.  “Yeah.”

Samantha sat up and sighed.  “I’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

Swithin pursed his lips.

“Amy and I grew up together in San Luis Obispo,” Samantha continued as she gazed off at the floor.  “She was the awkward girl with dreams of being popular, and I was the studious girl with dreams of being a teacher.” She took a breath.  “Both our dreams came true.  But Amy’s dream fizzled a lot earlier than mine.”

“How did it fizzle?” Swithin asked.

Samantha turned, looked at Swithin and smirked.  “Are you her boyfriend?”

“I suppose so…  I don’t really don’t know.  We never talked about it.”

“You two do drugs together?”

Swithin cleared his throat nervously as he glanced off toward the man behind the window.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Samantha replied, her voice flat.

Swithin looked into Samantha’s eyes.  “I’ve never done drugs with her,” he whispered.  “But I have sat by and watched on while she did.”

Samantha remained locked on Swithin’s eyes and said nothing.

“I feel like shit for having done it,” Swithin continued, “and I wished I’d stepped in or said more.  But I didn’t.  So a big part of me feels responsible for her being here tonight.”

Samantha’s face softened.  “Don’t beat yourself up to much.  Amy’s been living at this pace for a while.  Besides…  If you’d a hassled her, she’d have only dumped you, or sucked down the drugs when you weren’t around.”

Swithin leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Samantha said.  “Amy’s a great girl and a dedicated friend.  But when it comes to drugs, she’s out of control.  Has been ever since we moved here.”

Swithin turned and looked at Samantha.  “You two moved here together?”

Samantha nodded.  “Two years ago…  I’d just finished college, and picked up a teaching job here in the city.  Amy was bored and looking for a change, so she came along with me.” Samantha sighed.  “At first, I was happy she’d came along.  But then, a couple of months after we settled in together, things started to change between the two of us.”

“How so?”

“Amy met a guy at a party who swept her off her feet.  Treated her to expensive dinners, took her traveling and showered her with gifts.  She was happy, and I was happy for her.  But then, one day, Amy let it slip that her new boyfriend dealt drugs.”

Swithin raised an eyebrow.

“As you can imagine,” Samantha continued, “I was worried for her.  So one night—the only night in months she wasn’t high—I tried to talk to her.”  Samantha paused.

“What happened?”

“She freaked out on me.  Told me I’d betrayed her trust.  Then, she started going on vacations to San Felipe with her boyfriend, vacations I pretty much knew were drug runs.  Shortly after, that Amy began storing drugs in our apartment.  That was the last straw.  The following weekend I moved out.  Aside from the occasional phone call and accidental encounters, she and I haven’t talked much since.” Samantha stopped talking and looked down at the floor.

Swithin took a breath and started rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.  “The name of this drug dealing boyfriend wouldn’t happen to be Gifford would it?”

Samantha turned and looked up at Swithin.  “You know him?”

“Saint Swithin McGuire?” A woman suddenly called out as she entered the waiting area through a door at the other end of the room.  She was wearing a doctor’s smock and had a stethoscope looped around her neck. 

“Yes,” Swithin replied as he stood up and shook the woman’s hand.

“My name is Doctor Shea,” the woman commented.

“Glad to meet you,” Swithin replied.

“And, you are?” The doctor asked as she looked at Samantha.

Samantha stood up and shook the doctor’s hand.  “Samantha Clark.  I’m a friend of Amy.”

The doctor took a breath.  “You’re both aware Amy had a grand mal seizure earlier this evening?”

Swithin and Samantha both nodded yes.

“She had a second one in the ambulance, on her way here.”

Swithin glanced to the floor.

Samantha took a breath.

“She arrived unconscious,” the doctor continued.  “So in an effort to see what she’d taken, we ran a drug screen on her urine.  She tested positive for all five drug-metabolites screened—cocaine, marijuana, opiates, amphetamine and methamphetamine.  A new record.”  The doctor paused.  “It’s really quite simple…  If Amy continues to use drugs, she will either harm herself more severely or die.  There is no way around it.  The body can only take so much.”

“Will she be okay?” Samantha asked.

“She’ll be able to leave tonight,” the doctor replied in a flat voice.  “But, whether or not she’s okay is completely up to her.  Amy needs to separate herself from the drugs she been using and the people who provide them to her.  She needs to actively seek rehabilitation and enroll herself into a program.  If she chooses not to do these things, then no, she won’t be okay.”  The doctor took a breath.  “I’m sorry if I sound crass or insensitive, but Amy’s lucky to be alive right now.  And, unless she chooses to stop living this way, sooner or later, she’ll get a slow drive to the county morgue.”  

Both Swithin and Samantha were silent.

“Amy is about to be discharged,” the doctor continued.  “Seizures are mentally and physically draining, so she’s going to be tired and disorientated tonight—this should pass some time tomorrow afternoon.  She was given 100-milligrams of Dilantin.”

“What’s Dilantin?” Swithin questioned.

“It’s an antiepileptic medication.  She has a prescription for it.  A prescription that she’ll need to fill soon.” The doctor paused.  “Who’s taking Amy home?”

“I am,” Samantha said quickly as she glanced at Swithin.

“Will you be able to stay with her tonight?” The doctor asked.

“Yes,” Samantha replied.  “Yes, I will.”

The door at the other end of the room opened and Amy walked slowly over to where everyone was standing.  Her makeup was washed off and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.  She was still wearing her silk pajamas and moving laboriously, her arms dangling down as if they were weighted.  In her right hand she was holding a plastic bag containing a small pill bottle and other miscellaneous possessions, including her drivers license and insurance card.  In her left hand, she was holding several pamphlets.

The doctor walked up to Amy and took the plastic bag and pamphlets away from her.  “Let me give these to Samantha.  She’ll be taking you home.”

Amy glanced up at Samantha.  “Hi Sam,” she said in a weak voice.

“Hi Amy,” Samantha said through a tearful smile. “You’re gonna be the death of me girl.”

Swithin took a deep breath.  “Hey Amy.”  He said in a soft voice.

Amy looked up and smiled at Swithin.  “Hey baby,” she said, her voice still week.

The doctor turned to Samantha and handed her Amy’s plastic bag and pamphlets.  “These are her personal belongings.  Her prescription for Dilantin, information regarding Dilantin, seizures and drug addiction.”

“Thanks,” Samantha replied.

Swithin turned around and picked up Amy’s wallet and keys from the chair closest to the phone.  “These are Amy’s too,” he said as he tried to hand them to Samantha. 

“Thanks,” Samantha said as she walked over, wrapped an arm around Amy’s waist and started guiding her toward the exit.  “Could you hold onto them, until we get her to my car?”

“Sure,” Swithin replied.

“She’s got enough Dilantin with her for the next three days,” the doctor added as Samantha, Amy and Swithin were leaving.  “But she’ll still need to fill her prescription.  Starting tomorrow, make sure she takes one capsule three times a day.”  The doctor took a breath. “Good luck.”

At the car, Swithin handed Samantha Amy’s things, and then helped Amy into the passenger seat. Once settled inside, Amy dropped her head back and closed her eyes.  Swithin kissed the tip of his fingers and pressed them to her head.  Then he carefully shut the car door and looked over the top of car at Samantha.  “I’ll meet up with you at Amy’s apartment.”

“Thanks,” Samantha said as she started to get into the car, “we’ll be fine from here on out.”

Swithin smiled uncomfortably.  “You’ll need help getting her up the stairs.”

“Well be fine!” Samantha snapped back, as she got in and slammed the door.

Before Samantha could pull away, Swithin ran around to her side of the car and tapped on the window.

Samantha rolled the window down a crack.  “Listen, I’m sorry,” she said in a nervous voice.  “You seem like a nice guy.  But I don’t know you, and right now, I don’t trust anyone from Amy’s social circle—especially someone who considers himself a boyfriend.”

Swithin started to mumble something, but stopped himself short.

“I’m sorry,” Samantha said as she drove off.  “It’s for Amy’s own good.” 

Chapter 30 - Spending Time with Family >>