Secrets, Lies, and Double Lives

Chapter 2: The Overdose

Chapter 2: The Overdose“Go away. Leave me alone.” Elijah’s face contorts to a pained expression as he desperately tries to will his limbs into cooperating.

His effort is pitiful.

The man stops where he is, less than a step away, and nods at him.

Elijah finally gets a good look at the stranger, who carries himself with such confidence. Physically his body is more mature than Elijah’s in build. Maybe that’s what is making him come across more intimidating. The man’s attention goes to the shattered mirror on the floor, following up to the medicine cabinet. He frowns at the sight of the door barely hanging by the hinges. He steps forward and pushes the broken door closed, the slow creak of the hinges interrupting the tense silence.

“Why did you break that open?” he asks, shifting his attention back to Elijah.

Elijah stays silent and looks away from him again, being defiant in the only way he can with the rest of his body numb.

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?” The man pauses, allowing Elijah an opportunity to respond before he speaks again. “Okay, I understand you’re afraid, but you don’t have to be. Not of me. I’m not here to hurt you, all right? And I won’t force you to stay either, but right now, this is probably the safest place for you to be.” The man looks him up and down as he crouches to his level. “You look starved. What can I get you to eat?” He gives a kind smile and extends a hand to help him up.

“I don’t believe you,” Elijah says, voice raspy, his mouth and throat feeling dry.

“If you just give me the chance to explain…” The stranger reaches for Elijah’s arm.

“Don’t touch me. Leave me alone,” Elijah screams.

Once again, the man stops when asked, pulling back before attempting to make eye-contact. “Do you want to starve?” He questions jokingly.

“Well, either way, I’ll end up dead,” Elijah says, staring into the eyes of the man before him. His gaze is fierce, but his captor’s eyes are soft, concerned, even.

“You know it can take up to around three weeks to starve to death, right? I mean, the pills I understand trying but going for a starvation method would be one of the most strenuously drawn-out ways to kill yourself and, if I’m honest, just a little too dramatic for my liking.” The man smiles. “Now, what can I get you to eat?”

The dark humor almost wins Elijah’s trust. “Why are you being nice to me?” he asks, wondering if this man is a master at deception or whether he’d judged him wrong. He’s caught between naively falling for the stranger’s kindness and stupidly pushing away genuine help. The thought of getting it wrong either way confuses him.

“Because right now you’re in a position where you need someone to take care of you.” The man again offers his hand. Elijah winces in pain as he lifts his heavy arm up, curious to take this offer and find out what is really going on.

With a grin, the mysterious man helps Elijah to his feet, holding most of his weight as Elijah gauges whether he’s even able to walk.

After a rush of pins and needles, Elijah tentatively takes a shaky step. Moving is going to be a slow process like this. Elijah whines as his knees buckle and he collapses against the other man.

“Okay, you’ll have to sleep this off,” the man says, lifting him and placing him on the bed where the morning’s drama had started. He takes the time to make sure Elijah is lying comfortably, while Elijah takes in his surroundings.

The door is open from the bedroom to the hallway now, so Elijah mentally notes exactly where it is, counting the steps it must be in his head. He wants to know all of his exits, so as soon as he gets the chance, he can escape. No more locking himself in rooms and trapping himself. As soon as this guy turns his back, Elijah wants to know which way to run. He silently curses himself for running towards the end of the bed this morning instead of the short distance to his right where he’d have found his freedom released to the rest of the house.

Hindsight is cruel.

“Please let me go,” Elijah begs, not caring for how pathetic he might sound. ”Stop messing with me. Just let me go or kill me.”

“You won’t get very far in this state. Maybe you shouldn’t have swallowed all of my anti-depressants.”

“I doubt that’s what they were.” Elijah’s focus locks on the door as if it might disappear if he takes his eyes off it for even a second.

“What, you didn’t even read the label?”

“No. I didn’t care what it was, I just wanted it to kill me.”

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t work. The last thing I needed was to find you dead in my bathroom. My name is Zeke, by the way. You?”

Elijah risks another confused look at the man beside him. “Eli-Elijah.” Surprised by how difficult his speech is, something he assumes it’s a side effect of his overdose attempt, Elijah groans. The unconsciousness he’d fallen into after attempting to overdose has left him so groggy and weak, along with a migraine, he can no longer ignore his body begging for rest, no matter how hard he wants to fight it.

“I hope you feel better after a good sleep.” Zeke smiles and walks out, turning the light off on the way but leaving the door to the hallway open. “Call out if you need me for anything.”

Left in peace, Elijah attempts to reassess his situation, but his eyes are too heavy to keep open. The final thought before he falls to sleep is that Zeke might have left him on his own to mess with him. It certainly doesn’t appear that he’s being kept locked up. Zeke likely assumes he can’t walk, so maybe he doesn’t think of him as that much of a threat right now.

I’ve got to get out of here. Elijah’s eyes close, and he slips back into unconsciousness.

* * * *

Zeke stands in the bedroom doorway while Elijah is being examined. Corey, Zeke’s closest friend, is checking his heart rate and blood pressure, noting it down.

“Thanks, Corey. He told me he couldn’t walk and that he felt like he was going to pass out, and that he’d tried to overdose on my meds. He threw up a lot when he woke up, so I’m hoping he didn’t do too much damage. I’ve been watching him, only left him for a couple of minutes to call you.” Zeke frowns and watches as Corey packs away his equipment and walks back over to join him.

“His vital signs are in normal range, blood pressure is low, but that’s not unexpected considering the vomiting and the blood loss. Make sure he has plenty of fluids. Muscle numbness and aching are typical overdose symptoms, but if his condition doesn’t improve over the next twelve hours, or gets worse, don’t hesitate to call me back.” Corey tucks away his notepad.

“He didn’t even flinch. I would have woken up if someone was stitching me back together.” Zeke shakes his head, a little amused by the whole situation.

Corey laughs. “You say that as if I’ve not run a full set of vitals on you or stitched up your wounds while you were asleep a few times. I’ve taken blood samples and set up IVs while you’ve slept, too. You get home from jobs and just pass out. There’s no way I’m waiting until you wake up to check if your health has been compromised on a mission.”

“No way.” Zeke turns his attention back to the younger guy asleep on his bed. “Is he going to be all right? Anything else I should look out for?”

“He’ll be all right. Expect him to sleep for quite a while and have difficulty speaking. Slurred speech is a normal side effect. That’s another reason to make sure he has plenty of water. He’ll have a dry mouth and may experience migraines. Best not to give him any pain killers though; any additional pills while his body is recovering from this kind of shock could have an adverse effect on him. He’ll probably be very sick with nausea and vomiting. If he can’t keep food and water down tomorrow, call me and I’ll try to get here to give him a drip. Obviously, I can’t weigh him like this, but he doesn’t look like he’s got much body fat to lose, and, especially while he’s still in danger he’ll need his energy, so we’ll want to keep on top of his health, in case things take a turn for the worst.”

“I noticed that when I picked him up. There’s nothing to him. Should I get him on some protein drinks?”

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” Corey nods, looking down as a pager in his pocket beeps. “I better go.”

“Of course. Thanks for this. You…You won’t tell anyone about this, right?” Zeke rubs his forehead. He can feel a headache coming on just from the stressful last twenty-four hours.

“Zeke, how long have you known me? Haven’t I proven to be excellent at keeping secrets? But are you sure this is the right thing to be doing? I mean, if someone finds out, then—”

Zeke cuts in. “The last time we left a survivor victim to the police to protect, he was dead within a week. He’s safer here with me. I don’t care what our policy is. If you don’t tell anyone, then no one will find out.”

“What about visitors? I know there’s someone that spends a lot of time here when you two aren’t working.”

Zeke curses under his breath and tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ll work it out. I’ll come up with something. I can’t think right now it’s been too much of a day. I’m exhausted,” he says, running his hands over his face. “Thanks for your help.”

“No worries, that’s what I’m here for. And if you need me to check up again, then just call me and I’ll be right over.” Corey pulls a set of car keys out of his pocket.

Zeke walks him to the front door, watches Corey get in his car and drive away, then he closes and locks the door before returning to the bedroom. Elijah is still asleep, so Zeke sneaks into the bathroom, almost stepping on glass from the mirror.

“Great.” He shakes his head at the mess and trudges down the hallway to find a dustpan and brush.

* * * *

After a few hours of rest, Elijah wakes up, realizing he’d rolled in his sleep. He moves his limbs, testing that they work before pulling back the sheets and getting up as quietly as he can. It seems like he’s been out for a while because the sun is now on its way back down. Licks of sunlight paint the walls orange and highlight the open doorway out of the bedroom. Elijah cringes at the pins and needles that shoot up his legs as he puts pressure on his feet, carefully taking steps towards the doorway and glancing out around to see where to go next.

The back door is in view at one end of the hallway, mocking Elijah with how easy his escape could have been. He could have been with the police by now.

His legs sting with each step, but he most definitely can put weight on them, and move them himself. He creeps out the door and takes a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He glances up the hall to where he can clearly hear Zeke washing the dishes. He slips out and to the back door, turning the knob and opening it.

He can escape right now. The hope of freedom sends adrenaline rushing through his body and he steps outside, feeling the dry grass on his feet and the wind blowing over his face. But just as he is about to run, the dizziness kicks in again and his head feels like it is burning up. He leans against the door frame for support but slides down it to the ground before his vision goes black again.

Elijah comes to, now in a dark room lit only by the light coming from the hallway through the open door, back on the bed like it is a cruel trick of déjà vu. He sits up slowly and lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his head. He’s confused, disorientated, and feels a migraine throbbing behind his eyes, making him want to just shut them and go back to sleep. Dehydration and a day without food taking its toll on his body. He screws his eyes closed, rubbing his temples with his thumbs.

“Welcome back.” Zeke’s voice shocks him and his eyes shoot open to see Zeke walking out of the bathroom, drying his hair.