The Resistance(67)
He opens his eyes and stops moving.
“You’re hurting me,” I whisper just as a tear escapes.
His body jerks away and he stumbles backwards.
As images of the drugs I saw downstairs fast forward through my head, I lift up on my elbows and call him, trying to find a way inside his head to the man I know. “Jack?”
“Jack. Jack.” He grabs his head, holding it tight. “Don’t call me that. It’s wrong. All wrong.”
I sit up abruptly. His behavior is odd and he starts to fall apart before my eyes, his hands grabbing at the wall as he slides to the floor. I jump off the bed and kneel in front of him. “Dalton? Dalton. Did you take something? What did you take?” He closes his eyes and lowers his head, his body starting to shake. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm him.
“Stay back!” he shouts, his hands covering his ears as if it pains him to hear me. Leaning down, his body balls up and he lays there.
“Shit! Dalton. Baby, can you hear me?” When he doesn’t react, I get up and pull my pants on, buttoning them as I run out the door—down the stairs, and into the living room. “Dex, I need you.”
Dex looks up from the couch with a smarmy grin, and says, “I can squeeze ya in, sweetheart.”
“No, Jack needs you.”
“Who the fuck is Jack?” Putting his cigarette to his mouth, he sucks long and hard.
I whisper, “Johnny.”
“Fuck. Go bother Tommy.”
“Tommy’s here?”
“Dining room. That way.”
I run through the kitchen and into the dining room, finding that same couple I saw talking earlier. “Are you Tommy?” I startle him when I shake his arm, interrupting their conversation. “Are you Tommy? Jack needs you.”
“Whoa! What the fuck?”
“Please help me. Dalton needs you. Please. Please help him.”
“What?” he asks, standing up.
Looking at the woman, I turn to Tommy again, not wanting to say too much in front of others. “I’m Holli. Please. Help me.”
I take off running toward the stairs with Tommy right behind me. I open the door to the bedroom and find Dalton in the same position I left him, but it looks like he’s passed out. “Oh my God. Please help him.”
“What did he take?” He asks, kicking the door shut.
I lock it. “I don’t know. He just started freaking out. I saw pot and um, coke, liquor. I don’t know what else is out there.”
Tommy struggles to get him upright, then shakes him. “Motherfucking Johnny! Wake up!”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“No…”
“Dalton?” I say, hoping for a response this time.
He startles awake, jumping away from me. “What the… Where am I?”
His throat sounds dry as he coughs to clear it. I hand him a glass of water and watch as he drinks. Stroking his cheek, I turn my palm out, raising the back of my hand to his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
He’s calmer now, leaning against the headboard, when he replies, “My head hurts. Why are you looking at me like that? You look tired.”
“I am.”
Looking toward the window in his bedroom, his expression lightens, and he says, “We can watch the sunrise together.”
“And the sunset.” My statement seems to confuse him. “Are you hungry,” I ask. “I can order something. You should eat. You need to eat.” I try to settle the nerves rising within me.
“What’s going on? Why do you look so worried, Holliday?”
“What do you remember?”
His temper flares. “What the fuck is going on?”
I stand slowly, not wanting to upset him, not knowing the repercussions of the drugs he took. He keeps his eyes locked on mine while I move to the door. “You did drugs. You’re coming down. I’m not really sure. I never did drugs.”
His head jerks back. “I don’t do drugs, not the heavy stuff anymore. Pot occasionally.”
“I only know what I saw and was told, Dalton.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I don’t have a tone.”
“The absence of tone is what I don’t like. Why don’t you have a tone? You look scared of me,” he says, tilting his head. “Do I scare you?”
“No. I’ll be right back.”
“Holliday?” I hear him say just as I shut the door and rush downstairs to find Tommy.
“He’s awake,” I tell him. “You should talk to him.”
I turn to head back upstairs, but Dalton is standing at the top. By the look of his tensed jaw and the hardness of his arms as he grips the railing, he looks pissed. He asks, “What’s going on?” Tommy steps next to me, his arm going to the rail in front of me. My eyes tear up when I realize Tommy is taking a protective stance. With his hands out, Dalton walks slowly down the steps. “What’s going on?” he repeats when neither of us answers him the first time.