CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
"I need normal…Or at least whatever passes for normal in my life," Alex thought as she drove away from Bobby's house. She called her sister, who was happy to hear from her and even happier to invite her to dinner. Her nephew Nate, who insisted on talking to his Aunt Alex, was even happier to learn she was coming for a surprise visit. Alex had a terrific dinner and evening, and she wound up spending the night in the lower level of Nate's bunk bed. She decided not to call Bobby that night, reasoning that he needed something approaching "normal" as much as she did. Exhausted by the day and Nate, she slept remarkably well until Nate woke her with a whispered, "Aunt Alex, are you still asleep?" She and Bobby had the day off, and she lingered for a long breakfast with her sister and Nate. It was nearly eleven when she left. She checked her cell phone, but found no messages. She called Bobby's cell phone, but her call went directly to voice mail. The same thing happened when she called his home phone. "Damn," she thought. "Surely he didn't go into work…" She called Major Case, but the officer there told her Bobby wasn't in. A heavy weight settled in her stomach.
Her anger and fear grew as she drove to Bobby's house and her calls went unanswered. By the time she arrived at his house, Alex was torn between wanting to badly hurt him or wanting to find him asleep in his bed. She fumbled with the key he'd given her, but managed to get the door unlocked. Her heart in her throat, she stepped into the house. Even though it was the middle of the day, it was dim. "Bobby?" she called. She hadn't been in Bobby's house for some time, since well before his latest ordeal. The living room was still neat, but there seemed to be dust on everything. It appeared as if no one had been in the room for some time. The kitchen showed signs of recent use if not recent cleaning. Bills and other papers littered the kitchen table. A notebook lay open in front of a chair, and numbers and calculations covered its pages. The writing was Bobby's, but it was more of an undisciplined scrawl than Alex remembered. The calculations and bills indicated Bobby was feebly trying to keep track of his finances.
"That's not like Bobby," Alex thought. "Even after his mother died…Even after he was suspended…He was careful about paying his bills…And what are these?"
She looked at a pile of small slips. In the midst of the chaotic mess on the table, they were notable for their neatness. With a growing dread and shock, Alex realized the slips were drug prescriptions. There were many of them—for vicodin, oxycontin, codeine, Paxil, Prozac—others that she barely recognized but knew were anti-depressants, sleeping pills, and painkillers. There were multiple prescriptions from multiple doctors. After her initial shock, Alex felt strangely numb. It was as if having her worst fears confirmed left her beyond feeling.
"Bobby," she thought. "Bobby is a drug addict…Bobby…He must be in really bad shape…To get to this point…What with his brother…His Mom…He was always so afraid of drugs…To do this…His body…His head…He must be really…And where is he?"
Alex examined the kitchen. The stove showed no signs of recent use. There were glasses in the sink, and some drying on the counter. Parts of the kitchen were clean or at least looked as if someone had tried to clean them, but other areas looked as if they hadn't been touched for weeks. A bottle of Scotch, two-thirds empty, sat on one counter, and Alex could see empty liquor and beer bottles poking from the trash can.
"Oh, God, Bobby," Alex thought. "How did you get to this? How could I not see…"
She opened the refrigerator. Only several bottles of bear and a package of coffee greeted her. Alex wondered if the only time Bobby ate in recent days was when she dragged him out.
"Oh, Bobby…"
She moved to his bedroom. The door was slightly open, and she called his name. There was no response, and she pushed the door open, dreading what she might find. There was no one in the room. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom showed signs of an effort to keep it in order. But clothes were scattered over the drawer and chair. The closet door was open, and Alex saw some more clothes scattered on the floor. Others were hung carelessly. She remembered the one time she saw in the closet when Bobby was searching for a tie, and how she teased him about how compulsively neat he kept his clothes. She turned her attention to the bed. The blankets and sheets were jumbled on the bed and dangled off it, with one sheet stretched out across the floor. Bobby appeared to have been in the bed sometime recently. But where was he now? Alex looked at the bathroom door. One of the few renovations Bobby had made to his house was to his bathroom, including the addition of a door leading from the bedroom and an extra large tub and shower. She saw a sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. She walked to and knocked on the door.
"Bobby?"
She turned the knob and pushed against the door. It wouldn't budge; something blocked it.
"Bobby!" Alex called again, fear edging into her voice.
She heard a deep moan, and a smell of a pungent mix of vomit and blood reached her. She pushed harder against the door, and a deeper moan responded to her efforts.
She rushed from the bedroom through the living room to the kitchen. She tried the knob to the bathroom door, but it was locked. "Damn," Alex thought. "Sorry, Bobby…" She leaned back and, grateful she wore her heavy shoes, kicked the door as hard as she could. She was lucky that the door and the lock were both old and that Bobby hadn't replaced them. The wood around the lock splintered with her first kick and shattered with her second. She slammed the door open and, stunned, stared at the door on the other side.
"Oh, God…Bobby…Bobby…"
END CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Fortunately, my only knowledge of drug withdrawal comes from fiction and wikipedia. My apologies if I've gotten things wrong.