The smells of the hospital hit me hard when I escorted Blair's gurney into the ER. The strong stench of blood was present, mostly from his wound, but also wafting from the examining rooms. So were many other noxious smells. Sweat, urine, vomit, alcohol and drugs leaching out of pores, the odor of anxiety, and the peculiar scent of sickness were all there waiting to sandbag me, and I quickly did what Blair had taught me and turned down my dial for scent before I became overwhelmed.
Blair's spirit form followed along with the gurney. I kept looking at that image and then at Blair, and everything he had ever babbled about out-of-body experiences made me think he was in serious trouble. I remembered he'd said that there was a kind of fail safe about being out of your body: if you got scared, bam, you were suddenly back where you belonged. Blair hadn't succeeded in his reunification; maybe he had lost his way or was stuck, hovering over his figure until he died. I whispered to him, afraid that I'd get thrown out of the ER if I yelled like I wanted to, that he couldn't go, that he was needed.
The paramedic who'd worked on Blair at my father's house and in the ambulance pushed Blair's gurney into a curtained-off cubicle and gave a brief verbal report to the triage nurse, then signed off on the transfer. I caught his eye and nodded my thanks; he clapped me on the shoulder before he left. One nurse handed me paperwork to fill out while other nurses efficiently hooked Blair up to monitors.
A few minutes later a doctor strode in and glanced at the chart and the monitors. The EMTs had started Blair on a saline solution earlier in the ambulance, and the doc gave orders for meds to be injected into the IV since the blood pressure reading was critically low. He unwrapped the bandage covering Blair's right thigh and pursed his lips as he examined it, then ordered a pint of blood. A nurse fixed another IV and hung the bag up on the stand. Blair's fever had returned, and his pulse was still weak and fast. The doc also decreed blood tests, and a catheter. Blair was sure to love that last item. I wanted so badly to hear him bitching about it.
The doctor treated the gash in Blair's leg – stitches and butterfly bandages – and made the no-brainer decision to admit Blair to the ICU. He motioned me to step over next to him. "Okay, what can you tell me about this guy? We've pulled up his records, so unless there's something new regarding allergies, we're good about that. Is he a drug user? On any medication?"
I explained about the antibiotics and his bout with mono and strep. "He doesn't use drugs."
He gave me a cynical look. "Well, we'll find out. He's underweight, and that can be a red flag for drug use. He wouldn't be the first guy to fool family and friends... Which are you? I hear you're a cop, but I can see he isn't a case to you."
I glared at him. "He's my lover. He doesn't use drugs, so if you find anything in his system it's because he was slipped something."
Suddenly there was a beeping noise from Blair's cubicle. The doctor dashed back to Blair's side and I followed. Blair's chest wasn't moving.
The doctor shook his head. "He's not breathing. Let's bag him." A nurse had already gotten out a kit. She passed the plastic tube to the doctor, but before he could insert it, Blair inhaled on his own and continued on with extremely shallow respirations.
The doctor took the oxygen mask away and inserted the tube efficiently. Blair was placed on a ventilator, and I was glad. He wouldn't have to use his waning energy for breathing.
I took his hand and looked up. Blair's astral body was higher now, floating horizontally almost at the ceiling. I squeezed his fingers, feeling the next thing to despair, and aimed my words upwards. "Don't you leave, Sandburg. You understand me? We've got things to do and it's a real mess down here, Chief. I could use a hand, okay?"
I wondered if Simon had contacted Steven yet. I knew that I should call my brother, but I didn't want to leave Blair's side. Maybe I was being irrational, but I felt if I stayed with him, he wouldn't die.
And how was I supposed to explain to my brother that our father had killed himself when I didn't understand Dad's behavior at all?
A couple of nurses popped into the cubicle and began unplugging various monitoring devices, relying on the batteries for the transition to ICU.
"C'mon, honey. Let go of him and let us get him situated down the hall. Family can visit the ICU for ten minutes every hour at first, probably longer later on. Are you a relative?" The nurse, black-haired, petite and looking way too young to be doing this job, spoke kindly and patted my arm.
I let go of Blair reluctantly.
"Why don't you get some coffee, honey, maybe something to eat. We'll take good care of him, I promise."
"No, I need to be with him. He's hanging on for me."
An older nurse spoke up. "Let it go, Janie. He might very well be right."
As they pushed Blair's gurney out of the ER, I saw that the two gunmen, with cops there for security, were being treated. I listened in and heard that the guy with the shoulder wound, while needing surgery, was expected to recover. The other asshole's chances of making it were slim, and he was rushed to an operating room. The nurses settled Blair into the ICU, but one at the desk blathered some bullshit about me not staying with Blair. I used my badge and said that he was the victim of an attempted murder and was under police protection. It was a good bet the two men who'd been shot would end up in Intensive Care also, and I expressed to her, a little forcibly, that I wasn't leaving Blair unguarded in case of dangerous visitors who might want to take out someone they considered a witness.
Also, I told Nurse By-the-Book that I was listed in his records as being his health care proxy agent and she accepted that I had some rights. I decided to skip the part where we were lovers. I couldn't risk being kept from Blair by some homophobic asshole.
So I stayed. Blair's blood pressure readings improved, but even so they were still dangerously low. A new doctor came in and read the chart, introducing himself as Doctor Curtis. He was Blair's doctor now.
"The lab tests aren't back yet, but Captain Banks brought in some medication bottles that were discovered in the house where Mr. Sandburg was found unconscious. I spoke with your captain, and I'm sorry for your loss, Detective Ellison. Your father had been prescribed Hytrin, an alpha blocker drug used to lower blood pressure and help with prostrate problems. There is a significant amount of this medication missing from the bottle and, while I don't know for sure yet, judging by Mr. Sandburg's reaction he was given this drug. It dissolves easily in water and is tasteless. It was probably added to the coffee he drank."
He eyed me sympathetically. "Mr. Sandburg is a young man and that is in his favor. However, he took a high dose of Hytrin, and he might not recover. If he has other family, it would be a good idea to contact them."
"No. No, it's not gonna come to that. He's a fighter, and he's stubborn, the most stubborn person I've ever met. He's going to hold on; he's going to be okay, do you hear me? He's going to be okay!"
"I hope your intuition is correct, Detective. And I'm inclined to allow you to remain with him. But you must stay calm, understand? If you can't, you'll have to go to the waiting room."
I took a deep breath, like Blair had drilled into me a million times. "Yeah, I can do that, Doc."
He patted my arm before he left, and there wasn't much to do except wait it out. I pushed all thoughts about my father away. I couldn't afford to deal with that, not yet.
An hour passed, then two. Blair's spiritual form never moved from floating near the ceiling. His face was blank, not animated as it had been when I'd first seen his image.
Simon showed up in the waiting room, but Blair could only have one visitor and I wasn't leaving. He came to the ICU doorway, though, and told me quietly that Dan was doing the autopsy for my father. Steven had been contacted and wanted to talk to me. He was very upset, Simon told me. I had no idea where my phone was, and Stephen would have to wait. I still had the feeling that if I left Blair's side, he'd die. Blair needed me; I was staying.
The lab tests came back, confirming that he had overdosed on Hytrin. He was also borderline anemic. The nurses continued to check vitals, and changed an IV bag, adjusted his IV meds.
I held his hand, not wanting to let go.
I had asked the black jaguar to bring Blair's spirit animal, but it was another two hours before they showed up.
"Where have you been," I muttered to my spirit guide. He regarded me disdainfully, and I decided I'd better be more respectful.
"Look, I'm sorry. I've been out of my mind with worry. Please, I ask for help from the spirit world. Save him, Suq'a."
The wolf walked around Blair's gurney three times, and I remembered Blair saying that three was a powerful number.
The big black cat roared once more, a series of sounds that sounded like coughs, and then he jumped and melted into me. I felt a rush of power and I gripped Blair's hand tighter, feeling the power flow from me to him. The wolf leapt up on the gurney and lay down on top of Blair. One moment he was there and the next he was gone. I saw a silver cord leave Blair's body from his navel area and spiral upwards, twisting and turning until it reached Blair's astral form. It touched his belly, connecting him back with his spiritual form, and I felt an urge to tug on that cord. I sent that energy into Blair, that pulling down sensation, and Blair's spirit began lowering down from the ceiling. I put every ounce of strength I possessed into yanking him down into his physical body. Sweat dampened my clothes and trickled down my face. I was growing as tired as if I'd run twenty miles with a full pack, but I didn't stop until Blair's spirit form was touching his body. And then his astral image was gone.
His monitors were beeping like crazy and a nurse hurried in to check him.
His eyes fluttered open and he looked at me. Tears started spilling out of his eyes; I touched his cheek, my other hand still holding tight to his.
"You're going to be okay. Rest now." He closed his eyes, and I wiped away the tears that were dripping down his face into the pillow.
The nurse finished with the monitors and I read his blood pressure. Sixty over forty-five. He'd turned the corner.
Blair was going to live, and I scrubbed away the telltale wetness of my own eyes when the nurse left the room. My father was dead, but Blair was alive. He was alive.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~