29
There is a loud knock downstairs, but I don’t want to leave him. I’m scared that if I stop the compressions for even a second, he'll slip away forever.
I don’t have to worry, though, because they somehow get in.
“I’m up here! Please hurry, please!” I scream.
It’s already been five minutes, and he was already like this when I found him.
The first responders flood into the room, and everything becomes a blur.
They swarm the bed, moving me out of the way.
One starts chest compressions while another prepares a defibrillator, and a third works on his airway.
At some point, vaguely, I myself tell them it might be Paradise; the drug he took.
He mentioned to me when he was out of it that he needed more.
Some of them asked me what it was. All I could do was try my best to describe how he was before, his symptoms, him clearly hallucinating, and claiming that everything felt real to him.
Outside of that I know nothing else about this drug or what it is.
For all I know it might be powder or butterfly dust.
My hope is a little bit of information I gave them will save his life. Maybe they have some kind of emergency counteracting drug. If they did, they would have used it by now.
I watch them, feeling small and helpless.
I don’t want him to go, especially not like this… doped up, naked, and covered in his own cum on the bed. This is not how he would want to go. If God were real, how could He let this man die like this after everything he did to try and serve Him? It’s like Jessica all over again.
They keep working on him, but the heart monitor remains a flat, steady tone. I see them exchange looks. They are slowing down. One of them looks at his watch.
“Okay, let's call it,” the medic states quietly. “Time of death, 12:45 p.m.”
No.
My entire soul feels like it suddenly dies from the shock.
Before I can even properly react, King’s body suddenly jolts. He lets out a violent, ragged gasp and shoots up into a sitting position.
Everyone jumps back, startled by the sudden movement.
King’s eyes are wide, darting around the room as he struggles for air. He looks frantic.
“Who are you?” he asks, looking around at the medics. “Did you see them? Where’d they go?” he asks, looking frantic.
“Sir, you need to calm down,” one of the responders tells him, trying to gently push him back. “You’re having a medical emergency. We need to get you to the hospital right now.”
“No,” King replies, shaking his head. He tries to get up, but his legs wobble beneath him.
“King,” I say, a smile breaking through my tears. Hope surges through me because he’s alive.
He’s actually alive!
King stands up, towering over the medics despite his instability. “No, I’ve got to get back,” he expresses.
“Sir, please, stay calm,” the responder tells him. “We really need to get you into the ambulance.”
“No, I’m good! I’m great!” King says. He reaches out and cradles one of the medics' faces, looking at them with a demented smile, like he isn't even seeing a person. “You don’t understand. Haha! This isn’t real. I feel great!” he says, looking as though he’s on the verge of crying because he’s so happy, but then his eyes roll into the back of his head.
His body crumples.
The medics catch him before he hits the floor, but then he starts seizing again, worse than the one before.
“NO!” I cry out, collapsing onto the floor and rocking back and forth. I can’t bear to see this.
They move fast now, getting him onto a stretcher. They’re working to stabilize him as they rush him out of the room and down the stairs toward the ambulance. I run after them, bursting out of the house. Neighbors who usually keep to themselves are standing outside, watching the scene unfold.
I try to climb into the back of the ambulance with him, but a medic stops me.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he tells me. “There’s not enough space with all the equipment we’re using. So you’re gonna have to follow us to the hospital.”
I get into my rental vehicle and drive with them to the hospital, following the ambulance close behind, knowing I could get a ticket for this, but I don’t care.
On the tip of my tongue, I want to say a prayer, but fuck that. I am going to believe that King is going to be okay because he has to be.
He’s gone through worse, right?
My phone rings. It is Kiki, but I can’t answer it while I’m driving.
I get to the hospital. The ambulance pulls into the ER bay at Mount Fyner in Manhattan. I slam into the first open spot, kill the engine, and run after the gurney.
Paramedics are already wheeling King through the automatic doors, IV lines swinging and monitors beeping wildly.
“Family?” a triage nurse asks as I try to follow them into the restricted area.
“Yes—yes, I’m his sister,” I lie without hesitation. “Please, just tell me where they’re taking him.”
They direct me to the family waiting area outside the resuscitation bay. A different nurse hands me a clipboard. “Sign in here. Name, relationship, contact info. We’ll update you as soon as we can.”
I scribble Erica Richards – Sister and hand it back.
“His name is King. He overdosed on something he calls Paradise. That’s what I’m guessing. He was… Please… just tell me if he’s alive.”
The nurse nods sympathetically. “We’re working on him now. Someone will be out shortly.”
Twenty agonizing minutes later, a handsome doctor in scrubs, Dr. Elpis, according to his badge, walks into the waiting room and motions me over to a quiet corner.
“You’re here for King?” he asks.
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes the floor. “Yes. Is he—?”
Dr. Elpis keeps his voice calm yet hushed.
“He coded twice in the ambulance and again right after he first arrived, full cardiac arrest both times. We got him back with CPR and defib. He’s stable for now, but he’s intubated and sedated in ICU.
His heart rate was extremely elevated; tachycardia well over 180, with runs of ventricular arrhythmia. That’s what caused the arrests.”
My stomach drops. “What the hell is it? I mean… the thing he was on? I think it was the Paradise. Or maybe that’s what I think I heard him—or…what…what he was calling it.”
Dr. Elpis nods.
“Never heard it called 'Paradise' before, but based on the hallucinations, the hyperthermia, and the violent seizures he experienced, it fits the exact profile of a street drug we know as VR. It’s a novel synthetic hallucinogen; chemically, a long-acting 5-HT2A receptor agonist. It floods the brain with serotonin and triggers a massive sympathomimetic response.
It basically jacks the body's fight-or-flight system into overdrive.
“The hallucinations can last up to three full days. It also spikes the heart rate and blood pressure way beyond normal limits, causes the body to dangerously overheat, and in high doses, it triggers the kind of severe arrhythmias that caused his cardiac arrests.
“The level of toxicity your brother is exhibiting typically only happens when someone takes at least four times the recommended recreational amount. That pushed his system into extreme toxic territory. That caused his body to drastically overheat, and his heart rhythm became unstable, and his nervous system just… short-circuited.”
I nod as he continues.
“That combination lowers the brain’s ability to regulate its own electrical activity. Once that happens, neurons start firing uncontrollably. That’s what manifests the seizures. His heart just couldn’t keep up.”
The doctor pauses, giving me only a moment to process the information.
“Oh my God. Okay…” I whisper. “Is he gonna…” my breath hitches.
The doctor gives me a reassuring nod.
“We’re running full lab panels. He’s lucky because these designer drugs don’t usually show up on standard hospital tox screens right away.
Those rapid tests only look for classic molecular shapes like cocaine or basic amphetamines, and VR is engineered to slip right past them.
We only know what it is right now because of the information you provided on site and we could cross reference symptoms. I’ve also seen other patients suffering from similar cases. ”
“Do they call it Paradise too?” I ask, sniffling.
“Some call it Heaven, or Serenity. Along those lines. So, the info about your brother calling it Paradise gave me an idea of what to look for clinically.”
Hearing this, I’m so happy I talked to King before and he told me what it was. Even if he was out of it.
“Would he have… died if you didn’t know what it was?” I ask.
The doctor gives a slight pensive head tilt.
“Let’s just say your brother is extremely lucky that you found him and he was brought in when he was.
It’s honestly… surprising that he’s still here.
But yeah, because there's no direct antidote, supportive care is what saves people. We're cooling him down, pushing fluids, and giving him Antiarrhythmics and heavy benzos to control the agitation and seizures. The good news is, your brother is young, so that’s in his favor. We’ll keep him sedated until the drug clears his system. ”
I swallow hard. “Can I… can I see him?”
“I understand how worried you must be,” he tells me.
“Like I said, he’s stable on the machines right now, but the ICU team is still getting him settled into his room and adjusting his continuous sedation lines.
As soon as they have him completely squared away in the next few minutes, we’ll let you back to see him for a bit. ”
Dr. Elpis pauses, then asks gently, “While we wait, do you know if he has any medical history we should know about? Allergies, previous heart issues, or substance use?”
“Um… he’s an… was… is an alcoholic,” I state.
Dr. Elpis listens carefully, his expression remaining professional and non-judgmental.
“Okay. We actually already see a significant amount of alcohol in his blood work along with the other substances,” he explains.
“That combination can make the heart work even harder, especially with the kind of sympathomimetic surge this drug causes. Alcohol use history is important because chronic drinking can affect the heart muscle or interact with other substances, even if he’s been trying to stay sober.”
“Yeah, well… he’s been drinking quite a bit lately,” I reply, the guilt sawing its way through my aching bones.
“We’ll keep a close eye on his liver enzymes, electrolytes, and watch carefully for any withdrawal symptoms while he’s sedated,” he expresses.
“It doesn’t change our immediate treatment plan right now, but it helps us stay ahead of complications.
Have you seen him drink recently, or was mixing this with alcohol completely out of character for him? ”
“I saw him drinking but… I wasn’t with him the whole time so… I… just found him like… well, like that,” I tell him.
“I understand.” The doctor gives my shoulder a quick, professional squeeze. “He’s a fighter. We’re monitoring him very closely, and he’s in good hands. Hang in there. We’ll come get you the second we can,” he nods, giving me an encouraging wink.
I sink back into the plastic chair, my phone still buzzing in my pocket. I don’t answer it. I just stare at the double doors leading to the ICU and whisper the words I have been holding back the whole drive.
“Please… just be okay.”
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