Chapter 7
Seven
Jackson dragged himself into work Saturday morning by sheer will.
He hadn’t slept more than a couple hours the night before, his mind constantly running.
No matter how long he thought about it, he had no idea where Dylan might be.
It was like he’d run into a brick wall. All the hope he’d had three days ago had vanished.
“I need caffeine.” Yawning, he stood from the table where he, Amber, and Moses had been playing a game of Monopoly.
He sauntered into the kitchen, squinting at the sun beating down through the windows, and went to the refrigerator and grabbed a Mountain Dew. He chugged it down, tossed the can, then took a second can and wandered back into the main room.
“You know, that stuff is really bad for you.” Swanny indicated the can in Jackson’s hand before taking a loud slurp of coffee from a large mug with Renegade Station One in bold letters on it.
“And that motor oil you drink isn’t?” Jackson shuddered. Even if he did like coffee, somehow, he doubted he wanted to drink anything Swanny brewed.
Moses snickered. “That’s what cream and sugar are for.”
“You guys.” Amber rolled her eyes. “Jackson, if you want something sweeter, you can always try a cold brew.”
He scowled at them. “What is this? A coffee intervention? I am not, nor will I ever be, a fan of coffee. I’m fine with this.” He lifted the can in a mocking salute, then he moved out to the ambulance bay. Might as well inventory their ambulance.
Swanny followed him. “Jackson, wait. Seriously, man. You haven’t been yourself the past few days. What’s up?”
Jackson looked at Swanny, his best friend in the world. “You know how Dylan went on a camping trip?”
“Yeah?”
Jackson clenched his teeth and forced the words out. “He’s still gone. I don’t know where he is.”
Swanny’s mouth dropped open. “Bro! This is serious.”
“I know. I haven’t seen him since the hearing, and I’m starting to think the camping trip might have been a lie. Only, I don’t know where the lying started. Did they go camping and something happened to them? Or did they not go camping at all?”
He avoided looking at Swanny to hide the sudden tears in his eyes.
“Dude, don’t lose hope,” Swanny rumbled. “Forget the statistics. If he was still texting…”
“I know, but I’m realizing I don’t know Dylan like I thought I did. I never thought he’d pull something like this.”
“Teens are hard,” Swanny said. “You remember what it was like. Too many hormones, too young to really be independent but feeling too old to have someone telling you what to do. Give yourself some slack.”
“You’re not wrong.” Jackson ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
“The only regret I have about leaving for the Army right after high school is that I couldn’t get custody when my grandfather died.
When I came back, he was already in foster care.
They granted me visitation, but I had a lot of boxes I had to check off before I could apply for custody.
I had to have a steady job that would allow me to provide for him.
I had to have a house with enough room for him.
Not even an apartment. The judge specifically said I had to have a house.
And I had to keep these for a certain length of time.
” He held up his fingers one at a time as if ticking items off.
The alarm went off.
“We’re up!” Swanny shouted, racing toward the garage entrance. Jackson pounded after him.
“Sixteen-year-old male, altered state of consciousness. Possible overdose.”
When he heard the word overdose, Jackson’s stomach plummeted. Not again. Sixteen was so young.
At the ambulance, Jackson pulled himself into the driver’s seat.
Please don’t let it be Dylan.
The moment the engine growled to life, Jackson flipped on the lights and the siren and maneuvered the vehicle through the traffic. When he hit the main road, the traffic navigated to the side of the road, letting him sail past in the left lane.
As the motor vibrated beneath him, Jackson silently prayed for the teenager. This was someone’s child—more, he was a child of God.
When they arrived at the house, he and Swanny took a moment to don their gloves before grabbing their gear and the stretcher, then approaching the front door. Jackson’s gaze swept the area, searching for any danger or signs that the scene wasn’t safe.
They were in an upscale area of Renegade. Most of the houses could have been on a magazine cover. This lawn displayed extravagant landscaping complete with a fountain, crystalline water flowing down decorative rocks into a small pool with goldfish swimming in it.
A frantic woman met them at the door. “It’s my nephew.”
“Ma’am, take us to him, please.” Swanny’s deep voice cut through her hysterics. She led them back to a bedroom. The house was immaculate and tastefully decorated. Every room they passed spoke of care and attention to detail.
It was also clearly a home. Family photos hung on the walls, and handcrafted quilts and pillows were piled on the sofa and armchairs.
They entered the room and saw the teen lying on the bed. He could have been sleeping, except his eyes were open. He was still, way too still.
Fortunately, his chest continued to rise and fall with shallow breaths. Jackson checked his pulse. “It’s there, but erratic.”
Swanny flashed a light into his eyes. “No response.”
“Ma’am, what’s your nephew’s name?”
“Jeffrey Whistler. He’s a junior.”
“Swanny.” Jackson pointed to the bracelet on the kid’s wrist. He was diabetic. He turned to the aunt, indicating the bracelet. “I see he has diabetes. Type 1?”
She nodded, pressing a clenched fist against her lips. “Since he was seven.”
“What has he ingested recently?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. He had a turkey burger with a baked potato and a salad for lunch. Diet soda.”
“Is he due for an insulin injection?”
“He has a pump installed.”
Jackson nodded and checked the kid’s pulse again. “His pulse is stronger. Just to be safe, let’s check his blood sugar.”
Swanny handed him a swab and the kit. Jackson pricked his finger and squeezed out some blood. “Blood sugar’s good.”
Probably because of the pump.
Swanny administered the Narcan, a quick-acting drug to counteract the effects of an overdose. Then he went to the stretcher and wheeled it over.
“Let’s get him on the stretcher and load him,” Swanny said.
Jackson glanced at the young face again. Dylan’s age. His chest ached, and he lifted a hand to rub it, then dropped it. This isn’t Dylan. He’s fine. Then shame filled him. Dylan or not, this was still a young man whose life hung by a thread.
Swanny and Jackson took hold of the sheet under the boy, then Jackson nodded at Swanny. “On my count. One, two, lift.” They used the sheet to lift the boy onto the stretcher, then placed an oxygen mask over his face.
Officer Mark Ortiz arrived, and a second officer moved in behind him.
Jackson nodded at Mark. “We have a probable overdose.”
“My baby wouldn’t do drugs!”
Mark motioned for Swanny and Jackson to leave. “Ma’am, in a case like this, we have to search for drugs. The quicker we find what’s behind your nephew’s condition, the quicker I can get that to the doctors who will treat him.”
After arriving at Renegade Mercy General, Swanny swiftly transferred the patient to the hospital staff. The trauma nurse led the gurney into the ER. Nurses and technicians swarmed in, and Jackson and Swanny started to back out of the bay.
“Wait! Do you know what drug he took?” Dr. Kira Yassan lifted Jeffrey’s eyelids and shone a light in them to check his pupils.
Jackson glanced down at the kid’s pale face. “No. The police are on scene trying to find something. But the aunt denied he’d overdosed, and we didn’t find any needle marks.”
“So he either ingested or inhaled it.” The doctor looked up his nose. “And there it is. His nasal passages are inflamed and there’s a sore. Definitely snorted it. ”
Doctor Yassan looked around. “Get an IV ready. I see he has an insulin pump, so we won’t do a drip. Hook him up to the monitors. We need to keep a close eye on his vitals.”
Jackson’s phone rang. It was Mark. “Hold on, doctor. This might help us.”
He answered his phone. “Hey, Mark. Whatcha got?”
Next to him, Swanny tensed.
“Not good, Jackson. I just stepped out of the kid’s bedroom. I’m outside talking. I found a stash of Neurosync and some OxyContin hidden.”
Jackson turned to the doctor. “Neurosync and oxy.”
She nodded. “Let’s move it, people.”
She barked orders. Jackson stepped against the wall to avoid getting crushed. The elevator door dinged. Two nurses exited, chatting calmly.
“Hold that elevator!” A trauma nurse grabbed the front of the gurney.
The nurses at the elevator held it open. Once the area had cleared out, Jackson turned on his heel and headed toward the exit.
“What do you think?” Swanny broke the silence on the way to the ambulance. Leaving this kind of scene always affected them.
“I don’t like it, Swanny. Two kids in a week. That girl Amber brought in and now this. These are children!”
Swanny’s mouth tightened. “Yeah. She was a sophomore, just a year younger than him. Same geographical area, so they’d go to the same school.”
“They probably had classes together. If she had the drug, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think he might have gotten his hands on it too.”
Jackson hopped behind the wheel again. The dark clouds from two hours earlier had dissipated, and the sky stretched above them, a clear blue with fluffy white clouds scattered like cotton balls in the sky.
He drove to Station One and reversed the ambulance into the bay, inching it back until the caution sensor lit up.
He turned off the engine and jumped down. Swanny’s door slammed on the other side, and the ambulance vibrated. “Not so hard, Swanny. It’s not good for the door.”
“Sorry. I’m just really angry right now.”
That made two of them.