Saving Meghan(107)

She felt the car swerve sharply, heard the violent scrape of tires fighting for traction.

Oh … God, give me air, please, please …

“Becky, can you hear me?”

She may have felt a hand on her shoulder or her face. Her body burned and froze simultaneously, making it hard to feel anything. The voice, though, that was familiar—Zach, he was with her. He was driving.

“I just drove past the Village Pharmacy on Sudbury Road. I’m going to stop there. Have the ambulance meet us there; I’ve got to try something to help her breathe.” Did she see him put his phone away? Who was he talking to? “Becky, can you hear me? Stay with me, okay? You’re going to be all right.”

That was a lie. Becky knew it in her heart, her head, her soul. She was going to be anything but all right. She understood right then and there that she was going to die. It was about to happen. Minutes, maybe not much longer. Her lungs felt useless. The world was growing dark. But she wanted to see clearly, even for just a moment. She wanted one last look at the world before everything went black.

“We’re almost there. You hang on, now.”

Almost where? Becky wondered. With Sammy, perhaps. At least she’d get to hold her baby again. And maybe Cora would be there as well. Maybe she could finally make peace with that. Peace. Becky could feel and hear her heartbeat slowing. She stopped struggling for air. There was no point. But Meghan … what would happen to her? Who would care for her?

She’s not sick. She’s not. You’re sick. Carl’s voice came to her from deep in her subconscious. You’re sick and need help. You’ve done this to her because of your mom—history repeats, it repeats. It was Sabrina’s voice she now heard. Stay true to yourself, to your beliefs. Veronica. Her friend. Her helper.

She’s not helping; she’s not your friend. It was Carl’s voice she heard again, his doubt.

“Who’s not your friend?” That was Zach’s voice. But somehow Becky knew it was not in her head. She must have been speaking aloud.

“Zach … Zach … help … help me … can’t … can’t breathe right…”

“We’re here. We’re here,” Zach said, and she felt the car come to a hard stop.

A moment later, her door opened. She felt herself being dragged from the vehicle. Her legs were useless. Her body was shutting down.

Can’t breathe … no air …

Becky was a rag doll in Zach’s arms. The light changed, so she knew they’d gone from outside to indoors.

“Ipecac syrup!” she heard Zach shout. “Do you keep a bottle behind the counter? I’m a doctor. This is an emergency.”

“Yes, I think so,” someone said nervously.

Becky felt her feet leave the ground. For a second she thought she’d passed and was floating to the special place where Sammy would be, maybe Cora. But it was Zach lifting her, holding her in his arms. Soon she was on the ground again. She felt a pinch on her nose as a firm hand forced her head to tilt back.

“Get me a bucket and water, too. You’re going to hate this,” Zach said.

A foul-tasting liquid poured into Becky’s throat. For a moment, it felt as if she were drowning, but moments later the contents of her stomach gurgled before shooting back up her esophagus like an erupting volcano. Vomit poured from her mouth in a thick stream. She gagged, lurched forward, and vomited again and again. Her body quaked with each violent expulsion. A putrid smell filled her nose. But her lungs, those were filling with air now. She heard disgusted groans from nearby people, heard sirens blaring in the distance. Hot bile shot up her throat again. But none of that mattered, because she could finally breathe.

Zach held Becky’s head, keeping the hair from her face as she vomited. “You’re going to be okay, do you hear me, Becky? You’re going to be all right.”

The sirens grew louder. She heard him, and this time she believed him, even as more poison shot out of her body.



* * *



CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED to her along with a flood of bright lights. She heard hushed conversation mixed with strange noises. Her head felt stuffed with cotton balls. Her vision was blurred but clearing. A moment or two of hazy disorientation passed as she came more fully awake. A hospital … I’m in a hospital. Her eyesight continued to improve until shadows morphed into recognizable shapes. Bed. IV. Door. Window. Monitors. Tray. One blurred shadow transformed into a face that she recognized: Zach Fisher stood at the end of her hospital bed.

“Welcome back from the abyss,” he said.

“Where—?”

“White Memorial,” Zach said. “ICU. I had the ambulance bring you here. I figured you’d want to be close to your daughter.”

“What—?”

“Some kind of poisoning,” Zach said. She was glad he kept preempting her questions. Swallowing was near impossible and her dry, raw throat made talking feel like an endurance sport. It was then she became aware of a tube stuck up her nasal passage, which felt as though it ran all the way down her throat to her stomach.

“It’s called ‘nasogastric intubation,’” Zach explained as Becky tugged ever so gently on the tube inserted up her nose. “Your doctors used it to administer activated charcoal to absorb any residual poison in your gut. They’re also treating you symptomatically with Valium to control your muscle twitching.”