13. Jinx #2
"Ellie, this is Dr. Price. He's here to—"
"I know why he's here." Her voice is flat and that's worse than screaming because it means everything's been shoved so far down, it'll take excavation equipment to reach it.
But the therapy shit can come later. Right now, we just need to keep her alive.
"Kade sent a doctor because Kade thinks throwing money at problems makes them go away. "
"In fairness," I say, settling into the chair by her vanity, "throwing money at problems is a lot more effective than most people give it credit for."
"This isn't a problem. I have an anxiety disorder and a prescription that ran out. That's not the same thing as a fucking addiction."
"Miss Riggs." Dr. Price steps forward carefully, as if approaching an animal that bites.
And she fucking does, judging from the bloody crescent mark on Kade.
"I understand you're frustrated, but I'd like to check out a few things.
Blood pressure, heart rate, and a basic neurological assessment, if you're willing. It won't take long."
"I don't need an assessment. I need everyone in this house to stop acting like I'm dying."
"You could be," Price says quietly.
Ellie stares at him. Her fingers stop counting.
"Benzodiazepine withdrawal in chronic users can produce grand mal seizures," he continues, setting his bag on the foot of the bed and unzipping it with steady hands.
"It can cause cardiac arrhythmias as well.
Psychosis, in some cases. Particularly when the patient has been supplementing prescription medication with substances of unknown composition and combining them with alcohol.
" He pulls out a blood pressure cuff. "So I'd very much like to check your vitals, if that's all right. "
Ellie's lips press into a thin line and she clenches her jaw.
Oh my God, she's as stubborn as Kade.
"And if I told you I'm being kept here as a prisoner?" she asks. "That I don't consent to treatment?"
Dr. Price glances nervously between us.
I grin. "I told you. She just says the darndest things, doesn't she?"
He gives a weary sigh and sets his bag down on Ellie's bedside table. "Your arm, please."
She gives him a death glare, but the fact that she's even willing to go there is proof of how far gone she is. Not that Price is likely to give a shit about professional ethics if he's working for Kade. I may not know exactly what his deal is, but no one who works for us is completely above board.
Tank fills the entire doorframe. He didn't make a sound in the hall, but his presence is unmistakable.
Dr. Price looks up at the scarred masked giant blocking his only exit and his hand freezes on the blood pressure cuff, the color draining from his face so fast I can practically hear the whoosh in his blood vessels.
A sound comes from behind Tank's mask that's close to a growl.
"Easy there, big guy," I whisper, reaching over to pat Tank's forearm, which is like patting a concrete pillar. "We need him alive. He's the only doctor who makes house calls and doesn't ask for insurance cards."
Or call the police when his patient tells him she's being held against her will. That's a niche speciality.
Tank's dark eyes stay fixed on Dr. Price's hands. Specifically, on the one that's touching Ellie's bare arm. The message is loud and clear enough to read from space.
Careful.
"Traitor," Ellie mumbles, but there's not as much bite in it as there is when she talks to the rest of us. Clearly, Tank's not fully on her shit list.
Yet.
He blows a puff of air through his nostrils in a soft sound that communicates more than words. We're doing this for you, he signs as an addendum.
Maybe she'll listen to him.
She looks away stubbornly, still pouting, but she doesn't argue, so that's progress. I think.
Dr. Price, to his credit, doesn't flee. Most of our men see Tank and get the fuck out of dodge. His fingers tremble slightly as he wraps the cuff, but he pumps it efficiently and reads the gauge.
"Blood pressure's elevated. One forty-four over ninety-three." He frowns and reaches into his bag for a penlight. "Look straight ahead for me, please."
Ellie obeys, but her mouth doesn't stop. "So do you do a lot of house calls to places with armed guards and guys in masks holding women as prisoners, Doctor, or is this a new experience?"
"I work with a variety of clientele," he says in a dry tone.
"Is that doctor-speak for criminals?"
"It's doctor-speak for people who value discretion." He clicks the penlight off, checking her pulse at the wrist. His fingers press for a minute, lips moving silently as he counts. "Any tremors? Nausea or visual disturbances?"
"Tremors." She holds up her hand. It's shaking like a leaf, and the sight of it certainly makes me nauseous. "The nausea comes and goes. No visuals yet."
Yet.
"How long have you been on alprazolam?" he asks.
"Since I was sixteen."
"Daily use?"
She shrugs. "More or less."
"And your current dosage?"
"It varies."
He sighs. "Miss Riggs, I need a number."
She's quiet for a little while and just when I think she's going to refuse to answer, she says, "Five milligrams a day. Sometimes more. Depends on the day."
Holy shit, Ellie.
Price nods, showing no reaction as he makes notes on a small pad he's pulled from his breast pocket. "When did you last take a dose?"
"Last night. Around nine." She pulls her arm away from him the second the cuff deflates, tucking both hands under the blanket. "Before my jailer dragged me out of a bathroom."
"Hmm." Price caps his pen. "You're still in the early window, so I'm not surprised you aren't showing many symptoms yet. The fact that you're having any at all is a sign you've been using excessively and I'd suspect a bit more than your estimate."
That's a very diplomatic way of saying she's lying through her teeth.
"The next forty-eight to seventy-two hours will be the most acute," he goes on. "After that, symptoms should begin to decrease in intensity, but the full taper will take weeks."
"Weeks," Ellie repeats warily. "You're not making me quit all at once?"
Tank hasn't moved from the doorway, and his eyes haven't left Price's hands.
"No. That could kill you," the doctor says in such a matter of fact tone that her eyes widen slightly.
Good. The first glimmer that she actually understands how fucking serious this is and we're not just overreacting.
"I'm switching you to 40mg of diazepam, tapered by ten percent each week until symptoms are manageable. "
"Great," she mutters. "Can't fucking wait."
"I think we're good, Doc." I stand and gesture toward the hallway. "Let's chat outside."
Price gathers his things hastily, clearly not needing to be told twice. He gives Ellie a stiff nod. "Try to get some rest, Miss Riggs. I'll check on you soon."
"Sure, Doc," she says flatly, going back to staring at the wall.
She thinks we're doing this to punish her, and that's fair, all things considered. But I've lived without her for four years, and I'm fine with her hating me if it means she lives seventy more.
I follow Price into the hallway, where Cyrus is already waiting with a folder. "Now that you've seen her, here's the withdrawal plan I've laid out. Any issues?"
Price takes the folder and scans the contents. "Is this... laminated?"
I look at Cyrus, who gives me a look that says "don't you fucking dare."
Price clears his throat. He's reading the plan with both eyebrows elevated, which on a doctor either means this is impressive or this is insane and I genuinely cannot tell which one it is. Both are a fair reaction to Cyrus's neuroses.
"This is... thorough," he says after a moment, flipping to the third page. "The taper schedule is sound, exactly what I was about to prescribe." He looks up at Cyrus curiously. "Where did you source this?"
"Clinical literature. Ashton Manual primarily, supplemented by three peer-reviewed studies on outpatient benzodiazepine tapering and a meta-analysis from the British Journal of Clinical Pharmacology." Cyrus pauses. "I can forward you the bibliography if you'd like."
Price blinks. "That won't be necessary. I'd recommend monitoring her vitals regularly for the first week.
Blood pressure, heart rate, temperature.
Watch for signs of seizure activity, especially between hours twenty-four and seventy-two.
If she presents with confusion, hallucinations, or any loss of consciousness, call me immediately.
I'll come by every evening after my shift at the hospital to check on her otherwise. "
Kade appears suddenly behind my shoulder. "There's an extra ten-k in it for you if you can get here in five minutes when I call you, anytime day or night."
Price opens his mouth, and I see the dollar signs behind his eyes. "I think I can manage that."
"Good." Kade pulls out a roll of cash and peels off enough bills to make Price's medical bag seem inadequate as a carrying vessel. "Here's a retainer. For the first week."
Price takes the money with slightly unsteady hands, tucking it into his bag, and produces a small pill bottle to give to Kade.
"Start her with one tonight to bring her back to baseline, then follow the taper schedule.
She should take them at the same time each day.
No alcohol, which goes without saying, and no supplementation from any other source. "
"Obviously," Cyrus agrees.
"And she needs to eat," Dr. Price adds. "Even if she doesn't want to.
Withdrawal depletes electrolytes and blood sugar.
Small meals frequently are ideal." Price snaps his bag shut and glances toward the door longingly, like he can't wait to be out of here.
"I'll check in tomorrow. Call me if anything changes before then. "
Tank escorts him to the door, which is really less of an escort and more of a vaguely menacing haunting. The doctor rushes through the door like his ass is on fire.
The four of us stand in the downstairs hallway, dead silent.
"Now what?" I finally ask.
Kade pockets the pills. "Now we wait."