Boss of Me

“They told me to come now.” His face is tight. His voice is tight.

The air is tight, and we stop talking. The wheels hum on the pavement on this short drive that feels like an eternity. He parks illegally in front of the apartment building I’ve left Marley at so many times. Two cruisers are parked along with us, and we both jump out, slamming the doors and jogging into the lobby. Taron punches the elevator button repeatedly until it finally opens.

My heart is beating painfully hard against my sternum. We’re rising higher, but it feels too slow. Everything feels too slow. Finally we’re at the top floor, and we dash toward the open door where a detective stops us in the entrance.

“Hold it. You can’t come in here.” He’s a shorter man than me, and his hands are in the center of both our chests. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue tie and a gun and badges are on his belt.

My insides are coming apart. All I can see is that fucking plastic baggie I should have taken out of here. I should’ve flushed it. What was it? Heroin? Fentanyl?

“Detective…?” Taron as

ks.

“Sanchez.”

“Detective Sanchez, this is our friend… He’s more than a friend. He’s a brother. We were in the military together.”

Sanchez nods. “Are you Taron or Patton?”

“Taron Rhodes.”

“Mr. Rhodes, I’m sorry. Your friend consumed a fatal dose of narcotics…”

A roaring noise fills my ears, and I walk away from the words of Detective Sanchez telling us our friend is gone. My insides are tearing apart. Until…

“He’s alive?” Taron’s voice breaks through.

EMS streams off the elevator guiding a gurney. They push past us into the apartment, where the cops are already wrapping yellow tape over the doors. I guess it’s a crime scene now.

“We’re taking him to the ER. They’ll check him for any physical effects, brain damage, stroke.”

They wheel him out, holding us back. A clear plastic mask is on his face, and his skin is gray. He looks dead already. I reach out to touch him, but they don’t even stop.

How could he do this? Again? A flash of rage hits me deep in my stomach, turning into burning pain in my chest. I should have done something, a fucking intervention. Anything.

“Can we see him?” Taron asks.

“I’m going to recommend a 72-hour hold. Once he’s stabilized, he’ll meet with a psychiatrist, who can determine whether an involuntary committal is in order.”

Taron looks at me, his face stricken.

“Do we have a say in any of this?” My voice sounds rough.

“Not really.” Sanchez looks like he wants me to try and give him a hard time.

He looks like he’s bored and disgusted with this whole scene. He thinks we’re a band of playboys whose partying has gotten out of hand.

He couldn’t be more wrong if he tried.

I reach for Taron’s shoulder. “Don’t let this get in the media.”

He nods, and I head for the door.

I need to get out of here so I can breathe.

I’ve never lost a man. I’ve never left any of us behind.

Everything has changed, and we’re facing a monster I can’t control. This isn’t an enemy I can track down in the jungle and blast to kingdom come. Riding the elevator down, my hands are in my hair, my fingers curling into fists.