Chapter Eighty-Eight
"What am I doing back here?" asked Lucky in a small, frightened voice as he cautiously looked around the spartan, locked unit hospital room. His left hand started shaking, and he gripped his blanket firmly in an attempt to ground himself. There were black things holding his wrists firmly to the bed. "What's going on?"
"What's the last thing you remember, Lucky?" asked Kevin. Kevin leaned back in his chair with his hand to his chin and observed Lucky closely. Fear, tension, sadness and confusion radiated from Lucky's face, and he seemed very disoriented.
"I was sleeping in bed and someone woke me up, splashed water all over me," answered Lucky in a vague, distracted voice. His eyes looked distant as he tried to recall what had happened to him.
"What time was it?" probed Kevin.
Lucky stayed silent for a minute before answering. "Afternoon?" he asked.
"What were you doing in bed in the afternoon?" continued Kevin.
Lucky colored and looked away from Kevin, concentrating on memorizing the wood grain in the door. He shrugged.
Kevin sighed and leaned forward. He grasped Lucky's shoulder and looked him in the eye as he spoke. "You were brought to the hospital at 4:00PM yesterday. You'd been taking drugs and tested positive for heroin, amphetamines and PCP. You were out of control and violent. You had to be restrained, which is why your wrists and ankles are still attached to the bed. And you don't remember any of this?"
"What's PCP?" asked Lucky in a scared voice. "I only took the her…" His voice trailed away as he realized he'd caught himself in telling the truth about taking the heroin.
"PCP is a powerful dissociative drug that causes people to feel distant from reality, cut apart from the world. Many people, like you, become uncontrollably violent when taking the drug. When I first came into your room this morning, you thought you were back in Faison's compound, right? And then you experienced a flashback. You can thank the drug for that." Kevin looked upset and pushed back his chair. "What I want to know is why you were taking drugs in the first place. Why heroin? And why so much heroin? What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Nothing," Lucky replied blankly. "I kept having dreams. I didn't want to scare or hurt my girlfriend, so I went out one night and bought a…a hit."
"Bad answer," stated Kevin. "Why would you resort to that when you had medications, plenty of support through your uncle and myself, lots of alternatives."
"I was desperate," pleaded Lucky. "Nothing else helped. That's why I ran in the first place…and…and I just wanted it gone, gone for good."
"Wanted what to be gone for good?" probed Kevin.
"The dreams, my feelings." Lucky's lower lip started quivering as the tears hit him. "My mother," his voice wavered. "Maybe my life," he said in a very quiet voice. "It's not a bad way to go," he insisted softly. Lucky turned his face away again.
"So slow death by drugs, that's what you were after," stated Kevin frankly. "Maybe we should let you go so you can resume your activities. Is that what you want?"
"I don't know," replied Lucky uncertainly.
"Lucky, there are a lot of trust issues involved here," stated Kevin. "You haven't trusted me to help you with your problems. And how can I trust you not to run away again and go back to the streets? You've had intensive therapy, substance abuse counseling. What's going wrong here?"
Lucky remained silent.
"Think about it," said Kevin as he rose from his chair. "I have other patients to see, and you need your rest. We'll talk later this afternoon. At that time, I want you to tell me what you want from me, and if you actually want to get better."
~*~*~*~
Kevin walked with Barb back to the nurse's station. Barb opened Lucky's chart and waited with a ready pen. Kevin leaned against the counter. He was in the mood to be conversational and philosophical rather than issuing orders and running off to the next patient or crisis.
"I had to get tough with the kid," he explained sadly as he held the side of his head in his hand. "He's at a real crossroads where he has to make a choice, for better or worse. Either he cooperates and participates in his own treatment, or he decides to go it alone, which almost certainly means substance abuse and probable death. I gave him several hours to think about it, but he needs to be clear on what he wants and in whom he'll seek assistance. I'm demanding that he stand up and take responsibility for his life and its outcomes. He's been very quick to retreat to drugs, and I'm concerned he won't give me an answer that will help him. He won't take the meds that I prescribe for him, yet places his full faith in a shady drug dealer that gave him total junk." Kevin shook his head and frowned.
Barb laid down her pen and gave Kevin an encouraging smile. "Kevin, " she said. "I've been in this business for twenty-five years, and I feel like I've seen it all. At times, it seems like a revolving door with the same people coming and going repeatedly. Lucky Spencer is different, in my opinion. He has a core of strength that is missing in many patients, and he has one of the most loving, attentive support systems going. He needs to hear some hard truths right now, but I think he'll listen. For as ill as he was when he was first brought here, he's made great strides. He's going to make it."
Kevin smiled briefly. "You're a breath of fresh air, Barb, not to mention you've been in the business for a decade longer than me. I trust your judgment. You know that, don't you?'
Barn smiled back at Kevin. "And that's why you're my favorite doc to work with." She picked up her pen again. "What do you want as far as orders?"
Kevin straightened up and became all business again. "Remove his restraints for now. He's no longer violent. Keep him on the IV with the current meds listed. Have Jim check on him this afternoon. Put him on suicide watch. I'm not sure of his reactions to his situation, and he said a few things that worry me."
~*~*~*~
When Barb walked into his room, Lucky was asleep, his bangs falling over his closed eyes, and his breathing regular and shallow. He was still connected to his oxygen and IV as well as the black restraints. Unlike the night before, his hands were relaxed and uncurled. Barb noticed a few spots on his palms where his nails had pierced his skin, leaving behind angry red marks. Almost as a reflex, Barb brushed his bangs out of his eyes. He looks twelve years old with his hair cut short, she thought to herself.
When Lucky stirred, Barb said, "Lucky, it's Barb. We need to talk for a minute." Lucky lazily opened up one eye, and then the other and gave Barb a small smile. "Hi Barb," he muttered sleepily.
"I have an order to remove your restraints," she stated matter-of-factly as she opened up the cuff on his right wrist.
Lucky winced and flexed his hand several times. "It's bruised," he stated.
Barb glanced at the wrist and nodded. "You weren't a happy camper yesterday," she said lightly. "You did that by pulling hard."
Lucky looked uneasy and bit his lower lip. "I don't remember," he said softly. "But I'm sorry if I bothered you or hurt anybody. I…I didn't hurt anyone, did I?" Lucky waited fearfully for Barb's answer.
She shook her head. "Not physically. But emotionally, I 'd say you did quite a number on yourself and your uncle, too," she added as she met Lucky's eyes. Lucky turned his head away in shame and started crying silently, with one fat tear rolling down his cheek, a testament to his feelings. When Barb removed the last ankle restraint, Lucky sat up too quickly and fell back over on his side, moaning. "I'm gonna throw up," he announced. Barb handed him a plastic receptacle, and Lucky groaned and heaved. When he was finished, he lay back down panting.
"Order number one," stated Barb firmly. "Stay in bed and press the call button if you want anything. You're still recovering from a massive amount of drugs in your system. You're going to be sick for awhile. I'm sending someone in here in a minute to bathe you and help you into some spare scrubs. Your uncle has your clothing, so maybe he can bring it by later. And, you might as well get used to the fact that two people will be with you at all times. You won't have the privacy that you may have gotten used to on the minimum-security floor. This is a lock-down unit, and doors need to be open at all times. You'll need to be on an IV for at least another day, and Dr. Perkins will look in on you later this afternoon. You'll need assistance to go to the restroom, so call when you need help. I don't want you to fall down. Understand?"
Lucky nodded morosely.
"Dr. Perkins said that you can start eating broth and soup for lunch today. But, if you can't manage it, tell someone. We need to know how you're doing. Any questions?"
Lucky shook his head and closed his eyes. "Okay, then," said Barb cheerfully as she patted Lucky on the leg. "Welcome back to my favorite patient." Lucky opened one eye and stuck his tongue out at her as she headed for the door.
~*~*~*~
"And so he lives," quipped Jim as he entered the door to Lucky's room. "Or is that a zombie lying in that bed? You sure look like one."
Lucky barely cracked a smile on his tense, white face. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"How do you feel today?" asked Jim, who looked rather zombie-ish himself with almost no sleep the night before, and smudged dark circles under his green eyes, with pale skin accented by his short, dark brown hair.
"Bad," admitted Lucky sheepishly.
"What's bad mean?"
"Oh, uh, nauseous, shaky, headache, muscles ache, wrists, ankles and feet hurt," listed Lucky.
"Let me see your feet," mentioned Jim. "I heard you pounded on a car window and cracked the glass." Lucky thrust out his right foot, which was swollen and covered with bruises. The left was bruised but less swollen. "Does it hurt if you bear weight on either foot?" asked Jim.
Lucky shook his head no. "But my right ankle is messed up," he said. "I can't really walk on it - I have to hop." Jim turned the ankle slightly, and Lucky yelped loudly.
"It's probably a bad sprain, but we'll have it x-rayed just in case," stated Jim. "What about food? Are you able to keep anything down?"
Lucky turned green at the thought of eating and rolled his eyes. "No," he said quietly.
"We'll keep you on the IV for today and see how you do tomorrow," Jim recommended. "Now, I want to talk to you about the drugs that you took. I was real disappointed to see the results of your bloodwork. You had heroin, amphetamines, and PCP in your blood. Do you know how dangerous it is to mix drugs like that? That's how many people die. I've seen it happen, and it's not pretty." Jim paused and gazed at Lucky for emphasis. "Did you know that you bought PCP?"
Lucky looked chagrined and shook his head no.
"I didn't think so," said Jim. "It's a very powerful illegal drug that often gives users extremely bad trips. Drug dealers sometimes pawn it off on the unsuspecting since it has such a bad reputation on the streets. You were so violent and disoriented when you were brought in here that if you'd remained on the street, I have no doubt that you would have died or killed someone else. Do you understand?"
Lucky took in a few deep breaths and held them, trying to calm himself. He felt crushed under the weight of his recent actions as well as realizing how stupid and powerless he was. "Yeah, I understand," he mumbled as he averted his eyes from Jim. "Am I going to be alright - after the drugs?" He blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears.
"I think so," said Jim. "You took an awful lot of heroin, but by some miracle hadn't become physically addicted yet. The PCP can cause brain damage, but you're alert and responsive, so it seems you live up to your name. I hate to see you doing this to yourself. Promise me you'll cooperate with Kevin. Okay, kid?"
Lucky's eyes briefly flickered over to Jim's face and then promptly looked down at the blankets on his bed. "I'll try," he said.
~*~*~*~
Lucky lay curled up on his side, holding a pillow to his stomach like a life preserver. He thought about how he'd messed up every relationship he'd ever had. His mother hated him, his father wrote him off. Lulu didn't remember him. Lucky was sure that Tony was disgusted with him and wanted nothing more to do with him after everything that he'd done. He definitely didn't deserve anyone as wonderful as Emily - not after betraying her like he did. Nik was busy with his own life and probably tired of him by now. And Cindy…what happened? Lucky gripped the pillow even tighter and began crying. He wasn't ever going to see her again, that's what Tamara had told him. He wanted her so badly, wanted to kiss her lips and lie still on the bed, holding and caressing her. Now, nothing would ever be the same again. How was she? Was she as miserable as he was? How was she coping? Would they let her come back for her ceramic dogs and silk pillows? Would she be okay by herself? Lucky felt himself sinking into a black pit of despair as he realized that he'd never know.
~*~*~*~
"This is YOUR fault," sneered Dara as she slapped more papers onto Taggert's messy desk and scowled at him.
"What now, Dara?" Taggert asked wearily as he winced and rubbed his shoulder. Damn, that kid was heavy, he thought. We almost had to carry him to the squad car yesterday. "Well, what is it?" he asked sharply. "I don't have all day."
"Read these." Dara pointed with a tense finger toward the folded papers.
Taggert's mouth twitched as he began round two in the ongoing war of Taggert and Jensen. "Forgot my reading glasses," he said lightly as he pouted at the DA. "Enlighten me."
"Oh, I'd love to enlighten your dense brain," retorted Dara. "But I don't have twenty years!"
"What's up?" Taggert asked in a bored tone of voice.
"Spencer is trying for a plea bargain instead of a new trial." Dara said as she paced in front of Taggert's desk. "They're going to overturn my conviction. It goes against my record. He's offered to plead guilty to manslaughter." Dara felt the tears invade her eyes, and it only made her angrier. She placed her right hand over her eyes and shook her head as her lips quivered. Taggert rose from his chair and approached Dara with his arms open. Dara nestled into Taggert's arms and tried unsuccessfully to hold back her tears. It made her so mad to show her emotions in public, but she accepted Taggert's sympathy.
"Who ever told you you had to be perfect," Taggert said softly as he stroked her hair gently and patted her on the shoulder. "We all make mistakes. It's human. Unless there's something you're not telling us." Dara separated from their hug and frowned in confusion as Taggert gave her a big smile. "You didn't pop out of a pod or anything, did you? Cause I was awfully sure that you were a human bean."
Dara chuckled in spite of herself and slugged him in the arm.
"Ouch!" said Taggert. "That's assault, Ms. DA."
Dara shrugged. "Then handcuff me," she said coyly.
Taggert looked at her with one eyebrow raised and a small smile on his face.
~*~*~*~
Luke sat in his cell and leafed through the thick papers that his attorney had mailed to him. Ken had been reasonably sure that the DA would accept Luke's plea in exchange for forgoing another trial. Trials were expensive and public. This option was relatively pain free for all parties involved. Providing the DA accepted the plea, the court date for sentencing would be in two weeks. It would be the first time that Luke left the set of buildings called Pentonville in nearly two years. Better make the most of that upcoming hour or two, he thought wistfully. I wonder if they allow children in the courtroom or if that would be appropriate.
Luke sat back on his bunk and reflected that he hadn't heard from Lucky in awhile - over two weeks as a matter of fact. Bad news, his gut told him. This happened before, and then Barbara Jean showed up with yet another horror story. She tries to spare my feelings and tell me after the fact, but I want to know now. What are we going to do to help my kid?
~*~*~*~
"What's been happening today with Lucky Spencer?" asked Kevin as he approached Barb. "Has he been up and around?" Barb shook her head. "Jim examined him and reported that he needed to stay in bed for another day. He can't keep down food and has an injury to his ankle. Staff have reported that he's cooperative, but not forthcoming. He won't speak unless he's spoken to. He seems listless and depressed to me. He's been lying in bed in the same position for hours, and he hasn't asked for anything to read or occupy his time. That's usually his main concern because he gets bored easily."
Kevin looked concerned and asked for Lucky's chart. He scanned the entries closely, then handed the chart back. "I take it he's not well enough to go to my office, so I'll meet with him in his room," he said. "Thanks Barb."
When Kevin entered Lucky's room, he was on his side, holding a pillow, his eyes open, but staring straight ahead. He looked worn, like he was wrung out and left to dry.
"Hello, Lucky," Kevin said.
Lucky raised his eyes, but didn't move. "Hi," he said shortly.
Kevin pulled a chair close to Lucky's bed. "We'll have a session in here since you're not feeling up to leaving the room," he stated.
Lucky slowly struggled to a sitting position, but his posture was slumped, and his head hung down with his bangs obscuring his eyes. He halfheartedly fidgeted with his hands, pressing one thumb into the top of his other hand, pausing, then releasing it. His face was expressionless as he repeated that motion over and over again. He hid his bruised feet under the blankets, pulling them up to make sure that they were covered.
"Have you thought about our conversation this morning?" asked Kevin. He waited as he searched Lucky's face for a reaction. He didn't get a reaction, but Lucky said, "Yes, a little," in a slow, unhappy voice.
"And what is it that you want?" inquired Kevin gently.
Lucky shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I want. I can't have it."
"Let's just say that you can have whatever you want," suggested Kevin. "What would it be?"
Lucky pulled in a deep breath and held it. He looked up hesitantly at Kevin, but quickly turned away. "I'm afraid to say because then it won't happen," he stated sadly.
"It's safe to say in this room," Kevin encouraged.
Lucky ran his hand through his bangs and rubbed his eyes. "I want to see Cindy again to know if she's okay. I want to see my dad and Lulu. I want my mom not to hate me anymore. I want to see Emily and make things right with her. I want my old job back. I want my car, money and a decent place to live. I want to smoke, dammit." Lucky paused and ran his hand over the rough texture of the blanket. He turned away from Kevin. "But none of that will happen, and I'm too tired to try," he said decisively. His head hung down dejectedly, and he refused to look at Kevin.
Kevin leaned back in his chair and regarded the defeated attitude that was written all over Lucky. "Lucky," he said gently. "When you stopped taking your medications, they were at a therapeutic level, meaning that they were fully active in your system. Now, you've only been back on your meds for one day. I think you'll feel better and more hopeful when you've taken the antidepressant regularly for a period of time. Kevin watched Lucky, but the boy made no response. "Lucky," he said firmly. "Look at me."
Lucky raised his head and looked into Kevin's brown eyes.
"Those items that you mentioned wanting? Most of them are achievable. Are you willing to work to have them? To follow directions and to cooperate? If you are, then you have a whole world in front of you, ready for your contribution. What do you say?"
"I can't take care of myself," Lucky admitted as he shifted his eyes from Kevin to the top of his bed. "I screwed everything up, even when I meant well. How can I possibly get better? Who is left to care about me anymore? Nobody wants to be around a screwup."
"Again, Lucky," stated Kevin. "A lot of that is the depression talking. Most of the problems you have are fixable. And your support system is intact. No one is leaving you or giving up on you. They just want to know that you're doing everything you can to become well."
Lucky sighed. "I can try again," he said. "But I still don't think the therapy will work. It was stupid of me to run from the hospital and even dumber to get into drugs again. I won't bolt, but I can't say that I have any hope. That's me being honest."
Kevin stood up. "Lucky, I'll be back in a minute," he said as he walked for the door. He returned about ten minutes later with a wheelchair. "Hop aboard," he instructed. "We're heading for the nurse's station so you can use the phone. Your aunt gave me a number to call your father. He's waiting for your call. How about it?"
Lucky brightened and scooted to the edge of the bed. Kevin helped him into the wheelchair, and Lucky brushed his bangs out of his eyes as he was wheeled to the nurse's station.
~*~*~*~
The nurse's station was evacuated so that Lucky could have his privacy. Two psych techs were stationed nearby but out of hearing range.
"Dad?" asked Lucky softly. "It's Lucky."
"Boy am I glad to hear your voice," said Luke happily. "It's been awhile, son." Kevin had called Luke earlier saying that Lucky would be phoning, and he wondered what was up.
Lucky played with the black cord, turning it around his index finger and pulling on it. "Yeah, I know," he said. "It's my fault. I ran away from the hospital about a week ago. They brought me back here yesterday in a straightjacket or so they tell me. I don't remember it."
Here it comes, thought Luke. I knew something was wrong. "What's wrong, Lucky?" asked Luke. "You can talk to your old man."
Lucky sighed deeply. "Can I tell you everything? You won't hate me?"
"I'll never hate you, son. Nothing will ever change that," stated Luke firmly.
"Okay," said Lucky. "I went AWOL from the hospital, got a job at White Castle, met a girl, got laid, went back to drugs, got some bad dope and was hauled back to the hospital. That's it in a nutshell."
Luke smirked in spite of himself. "Got laid? I take it she was a beautiful babe?"
Lucky laughed. "Yes, she was as a matter of fact." His tone changed and saddened. "But they took her off to Juvy, and I'll never see her again. And now I realize too late what I did to Emily. I cheated on her, Dad. How could I do it?"
Luke chose his words carefully. "Well, sometimes a man makes mistakes," he explained. "Especially in the heat of the moment. A young man's mind turns off as the blood rushes from his brain and heads south, you know what I mean?"
Lucky smiled. "Yeah. I know exactly what you mean."
"But you learn from those mistakes," continued Luke. "And you get back on your saddle and do better next time."
"So you're saying it's okay to try to get Emily back?" asked Lucky hesitantly.
"I can't make any promises on how a particular woman might react or feel," warned Luke. "But, yes, go back and win your woman's heart."
"Maybe I will," replied Lucky. "Dad?" Lucky continued tentatively. "I broke a window in Lt. Taggert's car when he brought me back to the hospital."
Luke almost laughed, but caught himself in time. "And what was that all about?"
"I was taking drugs, heroin, actually, and when Tony and Taggert found me and loaded me into the police car, I realized I was fucked, uh, sorry, I mean messed up, and so I took a pill that I thought was speed, but it was PCP they tell me, and I went insane. That's about it."
Luke paused. "That's a mouthful, cowboy. Why the drugs?"
Lucky sighed. "I keep having these dreams," he said tensely. His voice went rough from the tears that welled up in his eyes. "I keep dreaming, um, you know, about mom and stuff. And I just want them to go away. They didn't so I took the drugs, and the dreams went away, but so did I. I couldn't handle it. I just binged on them. Maybe because I'm an alcoholic? I dunno. But I learned my lesson. I feel, man, I feel bad. And, damn, Taggert's window must have been hard because I've got these bruises all over my feet." Lucky laughed.
"I'm glad to hear you still have your sense of humor, son," commented Luke. "But, please, no more drugs. Stay clean - for your old man. You don't want me to have a heart attack, do you? I love you, Lucky. Don't ever forget that."
"Thanks, Dad," Lucky said,
smiling in between his tears. "I love you, too."
.