Rhett by Margaret McHeyzer
Prologue
“Is she dead?”
Groaning, I try to roll over so I can see where the voice is coming from.
“She’s moving. We have to help her,” someone else says. Their voice is breathy, sounding panicked.
My limbs are heavy, my head is fuzzy, and I swear I can hear my mother’s voice.
“Hannah, are you high?” She aggressively holds my chin and stares into my eyes.
“No, Mom,” I respond, and giggle.
“Your eyes are bloodshot, and you’re barely looking at me.”
“I’m just tired,” I say and giggle again.
“What’s so funny?” she asks as she lets go of my chin and steps backward.
Shrugging, I look around the room.
“We need to call an ambulance,” someone says, reminding me that my mother isn’t here with me.
My vision is blurry. I can’t focus on anything at all. Turning my head, I look straight into the eyes of a girl. She’s probably around my age, but I bet she hasn’t seen half the stuff I have. She kneels beside me, and behind her are another two girls and three guys. One of them looks bored; he’s scrolling on his phone.
“What do you want?” I bark toward her, but my voice comes out broken, and slurry.
“Jasmine, she’s a junkie. Look at her. Just leave her. She’s not our problem,” the bored guy says.
“We can’t just leave her,” she snarls back at him.
Suddenly, my stomach starts contracting, and my breathing becomes challenged. Gasping for air, my body tightens with spasms, trying to get oxygen into my lungs.
“Shit, she must be overdosing. We gotta get out of here before anyone finds us,” bored guy says.
“I’m not leaving her. She’s just a kid.”
“She ain’t my problem. I’m outta here,” the bored guy says and takes off, the others going with him.
The girl stays with me, and as I try to focus on her, all I can see is the pretty chain around her neck. It looks like it’s worth a lot, I’m sure I could give it to Edgar for some crystals. Man, maybe a few days’ worth. I need money big time.
“I’m going to call an ambulance,” the girl says as she takes her phone out of her pocket and dials it. “What have you taken?” she asks.
Everything is fuzzy. Her voice sounds disjointed and almost robotic.
Reaching for my pipe, I scream in pain. But she doesn’t seem alarmed by my screams, maybe I’m actually not moving. Everything hurts.
“I need an ambulance…” her voice is frantic as she tells the operator where she is.
My eyes keep drifting shut, and she screams at me to open them again.
“She’s frothing at the mouth, and she’s barely moving.”
I try to turn over, but whatever those fuckers gave me was strong. It’s weighing me down. I can barely move.
“Her breathing is shallow…”
If I can just get up, I’ll find my way back to Edgar’s. He’ll look after me. He always does. Sometimes he asks me to do stuff for him. “I’m alright,” I mumble.
“She’s trying to say something,” the girl says into the phone. “Okay, I won’t touch her.” Her eyes are filled with pity and sadness. I stare up at her, and can see how concerned she is. I can see her. Can she see me?
“There’s a syringe beside her. I think she might have injected something. There’s a pipe, too. Maybe she smoked crack or meth?”
Yeah, baby. Crystal meth. Meth. Crystal. Ice. Tina. Glass. I love it. I love getting iced. It’s the best feeling in the world. Being invincible, even when there are a million people in the room. Being free. Floating. That floating is what I love best. Anything can be happening around you, and when you smoke a bit of ice, you’re floating above everyone. Free and happy and high.
“I’m here!” The girl jumps up and waves her arms frantically.
“Thank you for calling, we’ll take it from here,” another woman says to the girl.
The girl steps back and continues to stare at me. I’m being rolled over, and talked at by someone in a uniform. “What’s your name?”
“Hannah,” I respond.
“She’s unresponsive,” the woman says as she looks up to someone. She presses into my chest plate with her knuckle, and a shooting pain rips through me. “She’s barely coherent. Heart rate is down, pulse is weak. She’s overdosing.”
“Get me back to Edgar’s,” I say.
“She’s crashing. Administering Narcan.”
There’s a tightness in my chest. Pain soars through me, every part of me is like someone is stabbing multiple sharp knives into my body.
A darkness overtakes me.
A blanket of warmth is thrown over my entire body. My last breath escapes past my chapped lips.
Suddenly, I feel weightless. This must be what heaven feels like. It’s so peaceful.
“We’re losing her!” I hear someone yell.
Who’s losing who? What’s happening?
“ETA sixty seconds,” someone else says in a calm voice.
I’m not sure what’s happening, all I know is I like the quiet.
“Breathe, damn it, breathe!”
“Great, another dead junkie,” someone snickers.
“I haven’t lost her yet.”
“She’s just a junkie, Sally. Who cares if she dies? It’s another one off the streets.”
“Hey, she’s someone’s daughter. You want to be the one to knock on her parent’s door?”
I hear a grumble from behind me. More like a pained sigh.
Who’s talking?
What the hell is happening?
As it turns out, this is far from the end of my story.
