warnings: heroin use, minor character death, drug overdose, mentions of vomit
Chapter 16: Will & Sara
In which Will makes a promise
Her name is Sara Patrell.
She's young, maybe fifteen, with blonde hair and hollow cheeks, and they're not friends, not exactly, but Will knows her name and she knows his and some nights they share blankets, so they're something.
"I'm quitting, you know," she tells him one June evening as they shoot up together. "I'm gonna get clean."
Will glances over, watching as she unties her arm and sits back against the wall.
"Right," he says.
"No, really," insists Sara. "That was it, my last hit ever, I swear to fucking god." Her head lolls toward him. "You should quit too," she says hazily, reaching out and grasping his arm. "You and me, we should do it together. I hear—" Her eyes drift shut. "I hear withdrawals are a real fucking bitch."
"Okay," Will shrugs. He doesn't mean it, but Sara smiles dreamily, clearly reassured.
"You promise?" she asks.
"Sure," says Will.
Sara's grip loosens and they both nod off to sleep.
o - o - o
When Will wakes up the next day, Sara's dead.
o - o - o
He shakes her body, calls her name, but she's cold to the touch and her mouth's full of vomit and he knows it's too late.
He has no money for a pay phone and no way in hell is he going to walk down to the police station, but he can't just leave her here to be found god knows when, by god knows who. He can't let her be carted off to the morgue as a fucking Jane Doe.
He thinks of his dad, who'd know what to do, but screw his dad. Then, inexplicably, he thinks of Jonas, with his pizza and business cards and well-meaning lectures.
There are treatment programs for kids like you, he'd told Will last time he'd visited Casa di Jonas. They can get you the help you need to get clean, to get off the streets.
Fuck you, Will had said, and vowed to never go back.
Only now he doesn't know where else to go.
o - o - o
The pizzeria isn't open yet, but Will pounds on the door anyway, until Jonas appears with a frown and lets him in.
"Please, you have to call the police," Will pants the moment the door is opened. "There's a girl, her name's Sara, you have to tell them, it wasn't my fault, I just woke up and—"
"Whoa, now, slow down," says Jonas, catching Will's arm as he stumbles inside. "Here's a chair, alright? Why don't you have a seat."
Will sits, breathing heavily, hands pressed against his face.
"Now what happened?" Jonas prompts. "Is someone hurt?"
"No," says Will, shaking his head frantically, "she's dead, she's fucking dead."
"You found a dead body?"
"No, I— I mean yes, but I knew her; we used to— to, like, shoot dope together sometimes. But— but when I woke up—" He takes a deep breath. "Oh my god," he moans, "she was just lying there, and covered in— in puke—"
"So she overdosed," Jonas intuits somberly.
Will nods into his hands.
"On what?"
"Heroin," says Will. "She's in— in the alley behind BPO— the bar, you know? And... and I just left her there, but someone needs to get her, someone needs to know."
Jonas puts a hand on Will's shoulder. "I'll call the authorities," he says. "And I want you to stay here, alright? What's your name?"
"No!" gasps Will. "I can't— I don't— They'll arrest me."
"They won't."
"No, please—" Will stands up so fast that the chair clangs to the ground behind him. He freezes.
"Okay. It's okay," says Jonas, his voice conciliatory as he bends down and rights the chair. "I'm not going to force you to stay. But I want you to have this, alright?" he adds, holding out a small card.
Will nods robotically and takes it, already knowing what it is. "Please, tell them her name is Sara Patrell," he says, shoving the card in the pocket of his jeans. "I don't know if she's got a family or anything, but... I know that's her name."
"I'll tell them."
"Okay," whispers Will.
Jonas nods and pulls out his cell phone, which Will takes as his cue to leave.
He pushes open the door, breaks into a run, and runs until he can't, until his legs are on fire and he's gasping for air.
Then he stops, and staggers to his knees, and starts to cry.