Part 16 (1/2)

Once the boy was calm, I commanded his body to reject the opiate. White, thick fluid oozed out of his pores. It coated my knees, the carpet. ”Just relax and let the drug leave your system,” I said as his body convulsed.

As I watched, the boy's body reject the poison, images of my deceased wife superimposed over him. She was an innocent, much too fragile to have married the likes of me, but we were in love. Against her father's and my master's wishes, we married.

Unfortunately, life with me had been anything but happily ever after. I couldn't adjust to married life. I had nightmares of my years under Ma.n.u.s's rule, and I tested her every step of the way until she gave up. One night she went missing. I'd looked all over the village for her. I found her in an opium den, strung out.

I'd dragged her home and purged her body of the drug like I'd done with the boy. She didn't get better. She looked for other ways to cope with my mood swings, constant need for rea.s.surance, and my vampiric lycanthropy.

Later I pulled on pajama pants I unearthed out of the walk-in closet. The boy now known as Mike was wrapped in three blankets. Mike was knee deep in withdrawal and I held as much of his drug sickness at bay as I could.

After four days of nausea, throwing up and irrational frenzy, Mike appeared less erratic, and he could hold down herbal tea. I wiped the sweat from Mike's brow and coaxed him into taking a shower. I realized Mike needed more help then I was able to give and looked in the phone book for reputable rehab centers. After a full day of making calls, I settled on one rehab center in Suffolk County, Long Island, the Tilly Drug and Substance Abuse Rehabilitation House.

”Daedalus?” Her eyes opened to semi-darkness and the distant sound of cars driving past. Gradually, she became aware of wetness on her forehead and arms. She turned to her digital alarm clock on the night table. It read 5:30. ”c.r.a.p,” she groaned.

Ilida?

Yes?

Were you in my dream?

You were in mine?

We have to talk.

Maybe this will pa.s.s.

I don't think so.

As quickly as he'd responded to her the connection went dead.

Ilida sat uncomfortably in her chair as her co-workers stared at her waiting for an answer. She felt as if a car was backing her against a wall of thorns. ”Did you all have your coffee this morning?”

”We're waiting for an answer,” Thom her supervisor and director, prompted.

They were a close bunch-started Tilly House together and depended on each for everything. They even gave each other moral support when it came to their patients and their outside lives. Ilida was the backbone bone of the group. Her co-workers went to her first for moral support. She couldn't say she relied on them for moral support.

Ilida felt as if she was suffocating. Once again, they depended on her for something. If Mike got violent with her, would they help protect her? She narrowly eyed Thom then finally said, ”Okay, I'll take his case.”

A collective sigh went around the room. Thom slapped her on the back. She swore her shoulder snapped. ”I knew I could count on you, Ilida.”

”Yeah, right. He's only a kid.” She hoped.

”He's a troubled six-one-and-a-half foot kid who bit his previous therapist's ear off,” Thom said.

Yeah, only a kid with a violent streak. ”You're a big burly man, Thom. Why don't you take his case?”

”I have patients up the wazu. If I take on any more patients my wife will kill me, and I'm not kidding. I've been so absent minded of late I almost gave my one- year-old the dog's Alpo.”

Beverly turned to her and said,”One of your patients just graduated.”

Man alive! This was not looking good for her.

The therapist with the huge lungs sitting next to her chimed in. ”You're perfect for Mike.”

”I don't want to lose an ear anymore than you people do.”

”Your used to physical confrontation,” Sally, the drug withdrawal specialist said.

She was a non-violent, peace-loving person until one day five years ago when a teenager socked her on the right cheek. A month in self-defense cla.s.s changed all her non-violent ways to violent when necessary. She could take down a mugger, rapist if needed, but she drew the line at one of her patients. ”I don't want to fight my patients, Sally.”

”You'll work with his guardian closely,” Thom interjected.

”Guardian?” Ilida leafed through Mike's file finding his parents' names. ”What happened to Mike's parents?”

”They gave up on him. A Mr. Sqourakis is his legal guardian now. He's in your office waiting to talk with you.”

”He's a millionaire, Ilida,” Beverly said.

Ilida crossed her arms. ”Oh really? Is this guy scoring points per his PR people's suggestions?”

”He's a billionaire actually and gorgeous as sin. His voice...” Sally seemed to vibrate in her chair.

Oh boy.

”He's a billionaire?” Beverly turned to her with a wide s.e.x-starved plea on her face. ”Look if you don't want to take Mike's case I will,” Beverly said.

Homegirl looked serious, too. Beverly loved love and men. She had a boyfriend, but you could never remind her of that. ”Okay, bucket of water for hot and bothered here.”

”Meeting's over boys and girls. I expect two progress reports by the end of next week, Ilida.”

Ilida watched the therapist vacate the conference room. She didn't have to ask where. ”Guess I'd better go meet Mr. Billionaire Do-Gooder.”

Thom held her arm back. Ilida faced him. ”The minute this kid gets physical with you, he's out.”

Thom forgot they weren't seeing each other anymore. He and his wife reconciled after their divorce. She was his rebound bed partner and it fizzled quickly after that. He still gave off proprietary waves toward her. She didn't need his protection. ”I doubt he'll get physical with me.”

”Be careful anyway.”

Mike needed someone to care about him, someone to give him his or her full attention, and she was the one who would do it. She wasn't so sure about Mike's guardian. Rich people made her itch. They cared until there was money involved. ”Time to meet the Good Rich Samaritan,” she sighed.

Ilida rounded the corner walked down the stairs and found all of her fellow female co-workers fogging up her office door. ”Hey, can we show some professionalism here?” she said, as she clutched her door k.n.o.b, then a hand shot out in front of her and pulled down the window blind.