Chapter Forty
Kevin Collins opened the door to the quiet, white surgical recovery room and eyed the young man lying on the bed. Lucky appeared to be sleeping, his still, pale face lying to the right side of his pillow, and a thick white blanket pulled up to his chin.
The nurse had mentioned that Lucky should be awake any time now, and Kevin decided to wait in Lucky's room. He spotted a blue molded plastic chair and pulled it over, placing his long, black coat on its thin, metal arm. Kevin contemplated the problems of his young patient and wanted to talk to him as soon as possible in order to determine how this incident could have happened when he'd made such huge strides toward his recovery.
Kevin rubbed his hand over the five o'clock shadow on his chin, leaned his weary head against the wall and closed his eyes. It wasn't easy being a psychiatrist on call day and night, and the weekends were especially perilous with twice as many suicide attempts, relapses and psychiatric admissions compared to the rest of the week. TGIF, chuckled Kevin wryly. Not when they end up in the bottom of the Port Charles River or passed out somewhere. Kevin rubbed his neck, loosening the tight, knotted muscles and groaning to himself. No wonder I never get to see a hockey game or a play. Oh, man, I need a vacation. Hawaii sounds good right about now. Kevin imagined lying on a sunny Maui beach, his back caressing a brightly colored beach towel with a woven, Panama hat tilted jauntily over his eyes. One hand lightly grasped a long, tall cool, fruity cocktail, and his toes dug rhythmically into the rough, hot sand. The sound of the water repetitively lapping back and forth on the beach's edge lulled him into the twilight zone between napping and wakefulness.
"Kevin," said a small, weak voice.
Kevin roughly jerked awake and accidentally banged his head against the hard wall as his coat slipped saucily from the chair's edge and fell into a puddled heap on the beige linoleum floor. Kevin's foot brushed down on top of the coat and left half of a dirty footprint on its dark surface.
Very quiet, breathy laughter erupted from the boy lying on the recovery bed. Kevin blinked his eyes in confusion and gingerly rubbed the sore spot on the back of his skull. He grinned sheepishly and rose from the chair with a yawn and a stretch.
"Caught me," he smiled as he walked over to Lucky. Kevin frowned as he turned to grab his chair and noticed the dirty coat hugging the floor. Sighing, he pulled the chair to Lucky's bedside and threw the coat onto the seat and secured it by sitting straight down on top of it.
Kevin's eyes softened as he looked at one of his favorite patients. "Hey, kid, we've got to stop meeting like this," he said with twinkling brown eyes. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know, Kevin. I don't know," Lucky said carefully, capturing and subduing the sob in the back of his throat. "I can't remember anything."
"You don't remember drinking?" Kevin questioned seriously.
"No," whispered Lucky. "The last thing I remember was eating dinner…and then…Tony trying to wake me up in a bathroom at Wyndemere. I'm so afraid, Kevin. Why can't I remember?" A fat tear ran wetly down Lucky's cheek, and he turned his head away.
"Lucky, you are on four different medications, and some of them definitely do not mix with alcohol," reminded Kevin. "In fact, I believe the combination of large amounts of alcohol and the drugs in your system are what caused your temporary amnesia. What I want to know is what is it that set off this drinking binge? What is the last thing you remember?"
"I was having dinner with Nikolas. We were having a contest as to who could eat the most, and we tied for the honor," chuckled Lucky. "We were so full. I think he mentioned going back to Wyndemere, but that's it. There's nothing else there in my mind." Lucky growled softly in frustration and hit his forehead several times for emphasis with the butt of his hand.
"Giving yourself a headache won't help the amnesia, Lucky," stated Kevin as he gently grasped Lucky's wrist and pulled his hand from his head. "But, talking about Friday night and the events that led up to the incident might help both of us figure out what went wrong. Tell me what you did that day starting from when you woke up. Anything unusual happen that day?"
"I woke up, got ready and went to work. I spent the whole day at GH, pouring over computer printouts and trying to find a bug in the code. That's it. I was finishing up for the day when Nikolas stopped by." Lucky paused and a shadow passed across his face. He began fidgeting with his hands and absentmindedly pressed down hard on a thumbnail.
Kevin noticed the negative emotions that Lucky emitted. "I didn't realize that your brother was in Port Charles. You never mentioned him," stated Kevin.
"He was out of the country most of the time on the Eddie Maine tour," Lucky said flatly. "We don't communicate," he added tersely.
"Why don't you keep in touch with him?" asked Kevin curiously.
"I didn't have a phone for one," Lucky said vigorously with disdain tingeing his voice and pink color flooding his cheeks.
"But you do now," pointed out Kevin logically.
"Yeah, so what," Lucky retorted as his eyes moistened. His breath quickened as he grimaced and placed a protective hand over his stomach.
"Why did your brother come back to Port Charles?" Kevin continued.
"He wants to cut his losses and leave town," Lucky hissed angrily. "He's trying to sell Wyndemere and General Hospital so he can move to Manhattan and forget about all the bad memories."
"Did your visit with your brother set off some negative feelings or make you feel insecure in some way?" Kevin prodded.
Lucky remained silent for nearly two minutes. He cleared his throat several times, frowned and concentrated on repeatedly folding the blanket edge over and under with tense, efficient fingers. He looked pale and a bit green around the edges as he slid further down into the bed and swallowed heavily several times. "Kevin," he said with a cracking voice and hooded eyes. "I don't feel so good."
Kevin nodded and poured him some water. Lucky took the cup with a shaking hand and gratefully took a sip, then moaned. "That was a bad idea," he said simply as he grasped his stomach and winced at the cold liquid that rolled down into his sore stomach and wetly sloshed around. "Oh God, Kevin, get me that thing, that thing over there," Lucky motioned frantically toward the kidney-shaped tan plastic receptacle conveniently placed on the end table. As Kevin looked around for what Lucky needed, Lucky turned over on his side and jerked abruptly several times as he vomited the bloodstained water onto the white blanket.
"I'm going to get your physician, Lucky," Kevin stated emphatically as he rushed for the door. Lucky lay curled up on his side, crying silent tears and gripping his stomach with a tense white hand.
~*~*~*~
Kevin and Tony sat in the waiting area, sipping coffee from white paper cups and making faces at the taste.
"They should pay us for drinking this swill," Tony commented, shaking his head. "Instead of us paying them."
Kevin nodded sagely. "Let's make it an official policy and institute it first thing Monday morning."
Tony held up a finger. "Better yet, let's call the PCPD and have them arrest GH administration for serving with intent to poison." Tony snorted, but lost his grin as he looked down into his coffee cup. "Now if they would add some Irish crème or something else potent to the coffee it might justify the expense."
Kevin shook his head and sadly smiled. "Our boy is having some trouble, Tony," he said quietly, his brown eyes growing serious.
Tony's face sagged a bit. "I know, Kevin," he said as he glanced worriedly at the recovery room door.
"He's walking into a minefield every day, not knowing what will happen that will set him off," Kevin noted as he looked down and studied his coffee cup. "We're not dealing with a simple case here. There's family dysfunctionality, emotional, physical and sexual abuse, physical illness and alcoholism. I'm trying to provide him some relief with medication and counseling, but it is a difficult case, Tony. He's going to have relapses, you know that don't you?"
Tony nodded. "Yes," he said tiredly. "It's just so hard to watch. I want so much for him to be whole and happy, not hurt and confused."
"He is making progress, Tony. I want you to know that," stated Kevin firmly. "He's been opening up more in therapy, and you see how well he's done with his job and social life. I'm just concerned about another relapse. He could have died last night either from alcohol poisoning or a lethal mixture of drugs and alcohol. His mother is key here, but we're powerless if she won't acknowledge her son. He's legally an adult, and we can't force her to participate in his life."
Tony's face grew hard. "I'd like to strangle that woman with my bare hands," he gritted between his teeth.
"I get the impression you'd have to take a number and stand in line," Kevin dryly quipped.
~*~*~*~
Lucky's tears had dried by the time Karen Wexler and the other doctor reached his room. But now that they'd left, he felt the sadness welling up inside him again, and the tears began falling in earnest. He lay on his side, one hand under his pillow and the other playing with the corner of the pillowcase. He couldn't believe he was back in the hospital and that he'd drunk himself unconscious. Things had been going so well with no recent cravings for alcohol. Was this the way it would always be? Was he a prisoner to his emotions and addictions? Was life a constant seesaw with awesome highs and disastrous lows? What was he going to do when all the medications and counseling in the world didn't seem to help fill him with hope or peace? What kind of life was that?
Lucky sighed deeply and fought back the tears that kept welling, falling and refilling in his soggy eyes. He lay there without thinking for several minutes, and his mind eventually drifted back to the time when he'd held the cold gun barrel to his head. God saved me that time, and he helped me recover from the pneumonia, Lucky reflected. Maybe he can help me through this, too. Lucky felt a bit calmer and settled contentedly. I need to be more thankful for what I do have, he thought. I've been too busy running around and not thinking about anyone but myself.
"Dear Lord," he prayed under his breath. "Please help me to recover from this setback and keep me on the right path. Help me. I'm sorry for how I treated Tony and Emily and for worrying Kevin. Show me what to do. I'm sorry for thinking too much about the bad stuff and not thanking you for the good things in my life. Amen."
~*~*~*~
Tony walked into Lucky's room with a little blue suitcase in his right hand. "Grabbed some fresh clothes for you. Are you ready to go, kiddo? I see they've disconnected your IV. They said you were all set."
Lucky sat up in bed and nodded. He pointed at the blue suitcase. "Does that have my name engraved on it yet?" he joked. "It seems to follow me around everywhere."
Tony handed the suitcase to Lucky with a laugh. "It's as good as yours, Lucky."
Lucky's face grew serious. "I have something I want to say to you before I get ready to go." Lucky's gaze softened as he looked into his foster uncle's eyes. "Tony, I apologize for not calling you last night and for making you find me and take care of me. It's not fair to you, and I was wrong. I promise you I'll call if I'm ever late or delayed. It's not right what I did. You've helped me more than anyone else, and I want you to know that I really appreciate having you in my life, Tony."
Tony's face softened, and he replied, "I've enjoyed getting to know you better, Lucky. I'm proud to call you family. I realize that it's not been easy, and I want you to know how proud I am of you. But, yeah, I'd appreciate a call if you're late. You remember me, the mother hen!" Tony flapped his arms for emphasis.
"How could I ever forget," groaned Lucky with a smile.