Chapter 14

A/N: This chapter has several different points of view in it, but, once again, I have to have a chapter like this since Randy has ODed on some kind of pill. (When will that damn psychiatrist ever learn?).


Friday December 5, 1997

Mark's POV

I wake up earlier than normal and take a shower. On my way out, mom catches me and asks me to go down and wake Randy up.

It sounds like she's having one of her mornings again. Every once in a while, she wants everyone to sit at the table and have breakfast together like we used to when we were little kids.

4 months ago, waking Randy up would be as simple as going down and saying 'Randy, wake up'.

But now he's always a grouch when anyone tries to wake him up.

I mean, the other day Brad tried to wake him up because Lauren was on the phone, and he told Brad to "fuck off". (And Brad could beat the crap out of Randy).

As I walk down the stairs, I say a quick prayer even though I'm not very religious.

When I walk in, all of the lights are turned off.

'Damn!' I mumble as I trip over a bottle.

'Randy, mom wants you up stairs for breakfast' I say considerably loud.

No response.

'Randy, if you don't want to get up, then just tell me, and I'll leave' I say, hoping he'll answer "yes".

No response.

So I walk over to the light switch and flip it on, wondering what the hell he's doing so that he can't hear me. Usually telling me or someone else to "fuck off" is a highlight of his day.

Then I see the empty bottles that once contained liquor, and I see Randy passed out on the bed. Breathing, but passed out.

I run back upstairs to get mom, taking the steps 3 at a time.

'Mom, Randy's passed out; and there's two empty liquor bottles down there' I yell without even waiting to make it to the dining room where my mom is setting the table.

'Oh my God! Okay, grab the cordless phone, and come downstairs with me' she orders.

I listen.


Jill's POV

I run down the stairs two at a time, just praying that Randy hasn't tried to OD on something else.

When I get down there, I can tell he's done something the way he's passed out on his bed.

'Mark, give me the phone' I shout in a panic.

I dial 911.

I'm panicking so much now; I don't even know what I'm saying.

Next thing I know, I'm handing Brad the phone, and I'm bent across Randy's body.


Brad's POV

The dispatcher who answered the 911 call asks me to check for Randy's pulse and to check to see if he's breathing.

I check the pulse. I can't find one, but I can't even find my own pulse. I tell this to the dispatcher.

Next I check for breathing.

'Yes' I say. 'He's breathing, but just barely'.

'The paramedics should almost be there. If he stops breathing, begin mouth to mouth resuscitation' says the dispatcher.

The next thing I know, I hear paramedics come bursting through the door, wheeling a gurney down the stairs to the basement, where everyone is waiting for them.


Jill's POV

'Mrs. Taylor, do you know what your son has taken?' asks one of the paramedics.

'Well, the only things I know of are the booze and the amitriptyline' I say.

Now, for the third time in three months, I find myself riding with my son to the hospital in an ambulance.

I'm sitting in the waiting room now.

I spend most of my time focusing on the hallway that the doctors took Randy down, but risk a glimpse at my watch.

8:34. Mark and Brad are sitting on either side of me, both trying to act strong, and trying to not lose it.

I wait for a few more minutes, and then see a doctor come walking towards the waiting area.

I jump up, grab his arm, and demand to know how Randy is doing.

'Lady, I don't know who you're talking about. I'm just coming out here to do charts' he says.

Feeling embarrassed, I sit down again.

Another 10 minutes pass, then I see another doctor. This time I don't make the mistake of jumping up and grabbing the doctor's arm.

The doctor heads my way.

'Hi, are you Mrs. Taylor?' she asks.

'Yes' I say.

'Hi. I'm Dr. Payne' she says.

'You're son is suffering from a tricyclic antidepressant overdose' she said.

'What the hell does that mean?' I ask.

'It means he took too many of his amitriptyline' Dr. Payne says.

'So it was the amitriptyline' I say.

'No. You're son's stomach contents were very interesting, Mrs. Taylor. We found champagne, scotch, the amitriptyline of course, and marijuana' says Dr. Payne as if she's discussing the weather.

'What? Marijuana? Champagne? Scotch?' I question in disbelief.

'I know it may be hard to believe, but that is what we found' the doctor says.

'Ya think it's hard to believe?' I ask in shock.

'Mrs. Taylor, I noticed on your son's chart that he has attempted suicide before. I don't mean to pry, but could there be a reason he keeps attempting suicide?' Dr. Payne asks.

Let me tell you, that woman is living up to her name.

'Umm, yes. About three months ago, my husband was shot and killed on a highway. He's been very upset ever since then' I state.

'I can't guarantee your son will be fine. Honestly, it doesn't look good right now. Your son put a lot of amitriptyline in his stomach, and it was in there for quite a while. And amitriptyline is a very toxic drug, just like any other kind of tricylic antidepressant.

'Well, I have other patients I have to see, but I'll talk to you later on Mrs., er… Ms. Taylor' Dr. Payne says.

This is just ridiculous I think to myself.

Why does Randy keep trying to do this? I know Tim's death was hard, but Randy's death would just make things even harder.

I sit back down and tell Brad and Mark what Dr. Payne just told me.

I also make sure that Brad knows we will be discussing the marijuana later.

As I sit there, I start wondering about life. What if life as we know it is just a dream? If it is, why is it we as the characters in the person's dream can't wake the dreamer, or control their lives in that dream?

Another thought that occurs to me:

What if hell is a unique situation for each person? For Randy, it might be a place like Pittsburgh where all there is to eat is meat. For Mark it would be a bright, sunny meadow where cute little bunnies frolic around all day. Brad, it would be eternal school. But what would it be for me? Or am I already living in my hell?

Sometimes you just wonder if you ever really have any control over anything that happens in your life, right on down the line, even after you die.

- Chapter courtesy of Mark, Brad, and Jill Taylor.

A/N: I don't know why I threw that last part in there. It just seems like it fits in this chapter.

Hmm. That dream part sounds kind of cool, doesn't it?

Well, please R&R, and thanks for reading.

-Yours truly, Randy Taylor