Duncan Bernard IV was nervous...he was always nervous, but tonight more so than usual.
He had a Chem test tomorrow morning and he was woefully unprepared.
His dad would kill him if he failed. And to Duncan Bernard III, MD, PhD, anything below an A minus was considered failure.
Where were his note cards? He had just had them in his hand a second ago!
"Tyler?" he asked his roommate. "Have you seen my note cards? I just had 'em..."
Tyler Slade crossed the room to grab the note cards off the dresser.
Who the hell still used note cards? he wondered. The guy had a top of the line laptop with voice-to-text...he could re-read every damn lecture. And he did. Multiple times.
He shook his head in disgust.
The kid was wound so tight he was liable to snap at any moment.
"Here, Bernie..." he said. "Look...take a break...let's go out for an hour or two. There's a party up the block...some buddies of mine."
"I can't...I've got my test's at eight o'clock. I'll be up all night!"
"Bernie" took off his glasses and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. His mouth felt so dry he could spit cotton.
He shook his arms out...put his glasses back on...and took a deep breath.
Time to focus.
"I'm just talkin' about an hour." Tyler said. "C'mon...college is supposed to be fun!"
Bernie could see he wasn't going to get anything done unless he appeased his roommate. He pushed his chair back from the desk.
"Okay...one hour..." he said. "And not a minute longer."
Tyler grabbed Bernie by the shoulders and gave him a little shake.
"Atta boy!" he crowed. "You'll see...it'll be fun!"
He grabbed his shaving kit, and went to get ready. As almost an afterthought, he grabbed a small bottle...like the kind prescriptions came in...just without any label.
He tossed them in Bernie's general direction.
"Here...take a couple of these."
Bernie fumbled the pass...then bent over to retrieve the bottle.
"What are these?" he asked.
"It'll make you feel good...give you a buzz." Tyler said. "Trust me...it's perfectly safe."
He grabbed his towel and headed for the bathroom.
"Trust me..." he said again. "I wouldn't steer you wrong."
Bernie looked at the bottle like it might bite him...then he popped the top and shook a couple white pills into his hand. He didn't recognize the markings...nothing to give him any kind of clue what they were.
He shouldn't do it...he knew that. Never take anything new without talking to a doctor first...that's what his dad always said.
And usually in the next breath he said something like 'You take enough shit as it is...'.
But Tyler said it was fine. Tyler knew about having a good time...about cutting loose. And Bernie was about two steps shy of losing it. He was right...he needed a break. He needed to relax, have a drink, maybe he might even meet a girl. Maybe whatever those little white pills were would give him a little courage to actually speak to one.
Tyler wouldn't put him in any danger.
So Bernie swallowed two pills.
He was already feeling that buzz Tyler was talking about as they headed out.
They walked the three blocks to an older looking building on Taylor Street. Bernie struggled to focus to see the numbers. Some guys he knew lived in an apartment on Taylor...Pre-Meds...like him...and they were always complaining about the noise from down the block.
He wondered if that's where he was going...as he followed his roommate up the stairs to the second floor apartment.
He'd never seen so many people in such a small space. There must have been over a hundred. There was music, playing at an ear shattering volume...but you could barely hear over the crowd. People were drinking from bottles and from Solo cups...they were smoking...some were even passing a cigarette back and forth.
Bernie turned around and bumped into Tyler.
"Here..."he said. "I got you a beer."
He handed Bernie a red cup full of amber colored liquid.
Wasn't beer supposed to have foam on the top? This didn't have much of a head...and it wasn't very cold.
'Oh well,' he thought. 'When in Rome...'
And even though the stuff tasted terrible, he took a big swallow.
"Ambulance 61...700 South Halsted..."
"University..." Dawson said as they climbed in the rig.
"Whatever could they be doing on a Thursday night?" Shay quipped sarcastically.
There was a crowd outside the dorm when they pulled up.
"Third floor!" a guy shouted. "Room 342...right off the elevator!"
There was even more chaos when they got to the third floor.
The two paramedics entered the room to find a kid on the floor...and another guy doing chest compressions. And there was yet another guy screaming hysterically.
"I don't know what happened! We were at a party...an' he had like...not even two beers!
Dawson pushed the Good Samaritan aside.
"Fire Department..." she said brusquely. "How long has he been down?"
"I've been doing compressions about five minutes..." the guy said. "But he was passed out when I got here."
"Why is he all wet?" Shay asked.
The kid was wearing an expensive button down shirt...probably designer...and khakis...and he was soaked from head to toe.
"I put him in the shower!" Hysterical guy said. "What's wrong with him? Why doesn't he wake up?"
The paramedics worked frantically...looking for any sign on life...and finding none. They tore open that expensive shirt and slapped the pads on his chest...nothing. Flat line.
"Intubate?" Shay asked.
Dawson shook her head.
The kid was gone. They were too late.
"Time of death...twenty-one thirty-five." she said.