Tailspin (Better Than You) (20 page)

We hold each other’s eyes for some time, staring and searching, before she pulls free from my grasp and leaves the car. She doesn’t turn around, not once. The guy standing out front, in his expensive looking v-neck and designer jeans, says something to her as she passes by, but Logan doesn’t stop. Just keeps walking into the house. When she’s inside, he turns and meets my eyes, a million questions running a million miles an hour flashing through his. But then he follows her inside, leaving me on the outskirts where I’ve always been.

23

November 5, 2009

              The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is that the room is still dark, the blue-green glow from my phone lighting up a small portion of the wall. Rolling over, I stretch my arm out across the bed and reach for my nightstand. I rub my eyes, try to clear away the sleep that’s fogging my vision, and bring the screen closer.

             
Crowley.

              It must be an emergency. Danny had his trial recently. Sitting up, I swipe the screen. “Hawkins,” I answer, my heart racing, hoping for good news but expecting it to be bad.

              “I wanted you to find out from me instead of from someone else,” he says, out of breath.

             
Danny got cut loose. He’s coming for you. Watch your back.
These are the things I expect to hear. When Crowley doesn’t keep talking, I push him. “Spit it out, Derek.”

              “It’s Logan.” A pause, and then: “She OD’d, her friends called 911 and then left her to die. We picked her up on South Beach about-”

              That’s all I hear. I drop the phone on the sheets, jump out of bed, find clothes. It’s still dark in the room, I can barely see where I’m going or what I’m putting on, but turning on the light takes time. I don’t have time.

              It hasn’t been more than five minutes and I’m out of the house, barreling through the front door, not stopping to check if it closed behind me. Car door slamming, ignition starting, tires squealing. Streetlights flash by. Car horns blare. I’m driving like an asshole, weaving in and out of traffic and running red lights, but I don’t care. The hospital has never seemed so far away.

              Finally, it comes into view, the bright white lights leading me towards the end of the tunnel. I abandon the car in the emergency lane, run through the lobby and demand the front desk nurse to send me to her room. She sees the concern, the desperation, leads me to the room herself.

              I’m not prepared to see her.

              There are tubes, and machines and doctors and nurses. Someone grabs my arm, pulls me away from the door. Grabs my face and forces my eyes away from her.

              “Nathan. Focus.”

              Finally, I concede, turn my eyes towards Crowley and watch him sigh in relief and drop his hands. “Let them work on her. Let them save her.”

             
Let them save her
. I should have been the one doing the saving. I tried. I thought I did my best. Could I have done more? Will I get the chance to do more? This can’t be it.

Leaning against the wall, I sink down to the shiny tiled floor, close my eyes and will myself to remember everything; her laugh, her smell, the softness of her skin, the tickle of her hair against my chest, the warmth of lying next to her.

“Go home, Nathan. There’s nothing you can do.”

Ignoring him, I hold my head in my hands, breath in and out to the beat of the whirring machines. But then the beat is gone, a simple, long note held in its place, and it’s coming from Logan’s room. Within seconds I’m on my feet, rushing towards the sounds of chaos and electricity. Crowley holds me back again, stops me from entering the room and offering my life for hers, but he doesn’t pull me away. I see Logan’s body through the spaces and the gaps of the people trying to save her. I see the way her hand is dangling off the side of the bed, limp and empty and cold. If only I could hold it, let her feel me, let her know that I’m here.

After several long, excruciating seconds, the beeping is back. “That was close,” one of the doctors says, as if it was merely a bad pass, an unlucky move on the board.

Crowley’s pulling me again, forcing my body to move from this spot where I can see the curve of her neck. I’m too weak to fight him. He leads me through the hospital, back out the doors I came through before. Shakes his head when he sees my car in the middle of the emergency lane, still on and door wide open.

“Get in,” he says, with a jerk of his head. I do.

He drives us back to my house, curses when he sees the front door wide open. “What were you thinking, man?”

I don’t respond. I wasn’t thinking.

Crowley pulls out his gun, keeps it by his side in a firm, two handed grip. He disappears inside the house, and I stay in the car, still trying to figure out what went wrong. A few seconds later he’s back. “Come on.” He grabs me by the shirt, pushes me into the house and into a chair in the kitchen. Opens the fridge and rummages around, appears with a carton of orange juice. “Drink up,” he says, placing it in front of me.

Again, I do as I’m told. I feel empty. Gone.

“Nathan?” a voice calls from the hallway. I turn to find Emily, sleep rumpled and confused.

“Em,” is all I say. It worries her. She rushes forward, grabs my face in her hands, turns it from side to side as if she’s checking for injuries.

“What happened?” she asks, staring hard into my eyes.

“Logan…” It’s all I can say. Emily understands that something’s wrong, though, and pulls me into a hug.

Sitting back in the chair, I listen as Emily and Crowley have a conversation.

“Thank you for bringing him home.”

“I’m his partner. He’s kind of my responsibility.” A pause. “I’m Derek.”

Crowley
, I want to correct. Emily shakes his hand. “Emily. Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks for the orange juice.”

Emily giggles. “Help yourself.”

I realize what’s happening here, but I’m too out of it to care.

“Do you need a ride back?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Emily places herself directly in front of me. “I’ll be back, okay?”

I search her eyes, wonder if I should tell her to stay because it’s the middle of the night. But she’s an adult. I couldn’t save her if I tried.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, reading my mind. Crowley walks by, pats me on the back. “I’ll keep you updated,” he says, and then they’re both gone.

I’m left alone.

~~

              A few hours later, when the sun is cresting just above the dewy grass, I get in the car and drive back to the hospital. My mind is clearer. I have a plan. This time, I park in a visitor’s spot, ask the front desk nurse calmly for Logan’s room number.

              “She’s still asleep,” she tells me. “Will be for a while.”

              “Do you know if they’re going to move her again?”

              She nods her head. “To a rehab, most likely one of those state issued ones.”

              “I figured as much. Is there someone I can talk to about that?”

              “Sure. Right this way.” We switch directions, now going towards the offices on the other side. “Here we go,” she says before knocking on a large, white door.

              A tired looking man answers. “What can I do for you, Sharon?”

              She gestures at me. “This is…”

              “Nathan,” I fill in.

              “Nathan. He’s wondering about the facility treatment for the patient in room 227.”

              His eyes brighten, a small smile creeping on his face. “Ah. Perfect. Come on in, Nathan.” He steps back, allowing me to enter the room, then closes the door behind me.

              “I’m Dr. Garrison, by the way.” He shakes my hand firmly. “Have a seat.” As I sit, he rounds the desk and sits opposite me. “Your friend came in earlier, dropped off a bunch of records. It turns out that Logan has some family right here in Florida.”

             
Family?
“Wait…I’m confused. Who dropped off what?”

              “Derek, I think his name was. He said he found some records, next of kin type of stuff, and since her mother has recently passed, medical guardianship passes onto her grandmother, Amelia. When I asked Derek if he wanted to make the phone calls, he told me I should wait for you.”

              My mind is reeling. It’s literally all over the place. “He said you know more about the situation than he does,” he continues, “And we need to discuss rehab options with her personally. Logan’s going to need a lot of help.”

              I’m speechless. I was coming in here with the intent of demanding medical guardianship over Logan and sending her to the best rehab possible, even if it meant working another job to pay the bills. But Crowley... “How did he find that stuff?”

              Dr. Garrison shrugs his shoulders in a very non-doctoral way. “I’m not sure. That’s something you’ll have to ask him yourself. If-” A beep interrupts him. “I’ve gotta run,” he says, glancing at the screen of his pager. As he’s leaving the office, he turns just before reaching the door. “She’s going to need a lot of things, Nathan. Not just now while in rehab, but for the rest of her life. Addiction isn’t something that just disappears. She’ll
need
you. Here’s the number.”

              He hands me a slip of paper and leaves the room, leaving the door propped open. My hands shake as I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial the number.

              It rings four times before there’s an answer, and in those ten seconds I see the end of this ceaseless tailspin.

              “Hello?”

~~

“One day you’re going to find a girl that makes you question everything you think you know about love and life. When you find her, don’t let her go. Look for the answers in her and make her believe them, too.”

I wish I could say that I remember every single thing about her; her voice, her smile, the way she ran her hand through my hair when she was upset or worried, but as the pain of losing them fades, so do the memories. Mom’s face is a fuzzy picture floating in the peripheral of my mind until I dig out the photo albums and memorize every laugh line there is. I’m losing her, one piece at a time, just like I’ve lost Logan.

             
I don’t think Mom could have ever anticipated this situation; that’d I be in love with a girl who could be impossible to love. Because I am. In love with her, that is. And just as Mom told me so many years ago, I’m questioning everything about the notion and how it fits into my life. Sitting here beside her hospital bed, her bony, cold hand in mine and her frail chest barely rising and falling, I know one thing for sure; that I would do anything to take away the pain inside of her, even if it meant putting it inside of me.

              What kills me the most is the not knowing; how it happened, how she ended up here, how her friends could have left her to die, if she did it on purpose or not. Even if I knew, even if she woke up right now and looked me in the eyes and told me that she loved me enough, too, I don’t know that I can be what she needs. But god, I want to be. I want to be the one that puts the smile on her face and the peace in her heart. I want to be the one that lights up her whole fucking world.

              More than anything, I want to believe that she can change, that she can overcome this addiction and love me back.

24

November 10, 2009

              Every morning, the first thing I think about is Logan. I wonder if she’s doing alright, if she’s in pain, if she’s lonely or scared or angry or hurt. Since my mind won’t stop, just continues to race around in circles, I throw on a pair of sneakers and run along with it. Every morning, as the sun beats down on my back and sweat gathers on my forehead and rolls into my eyes, I try to convince myself that staying away is the only option I have.

              The run back to the house is always the worst; it’s getting hotter, the sun rising higher and higher and now I’m facing it. It’s feels as though it’s stealing my air, the warmth of it burrowing under my skin and setting my blood on fire. It’s demanding to be felt, like so many other things in my life, when all I want is to be numb, unaware.

              Emily and Joshua help to stem the feelings of failure that I can’t seem to escape, that voice in the back of my head that’s always telling me that I tried and failed.
It’s your fault,
it yells at me.
It’s your fault Mom and Dad are gone. It’s your fault Logan almost died. You should have done more.

              By the time I reach the house, I’m running so hard I almost pass it, as if I can outrun the voice in my head, but it follows everywhere I go. There’s an unfamiliar car in the driveway, I finally notice, and when I approach the driver side door opens and Crowley steps out.

              “I called,” he says, as if it explains why he’s here.

              “I don’t have my phone on me.”

              “You should. It could have been an emergency.”

              I walk past him, up the steps into the house. “Thanks for the lecture. What do you want?” I call out behind me.

              His footsteps follow me into the house. The door clicks shut. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Chief said you requested some time off.”

              In the kitchen, I grab a water bottle from the fridge and turn to face Crowley. “Yep. I’m great. Is your conscious clear now?”

              “You don’t have to be a douchebag, man.” When I don’t say anything, he continues. “Amelia wants to meet you in person. Ask questions about shit that I know nothing about.”

              “I’m sure it’s recorded somewhere,” I say, and I know it’s a low blow. He did me a favor by finding Amelia and solving Logan’s problems, but I wanted to be the one to save the day. It’s childish, but I can’t shake the bit of resentment I‘m having towards him.