Silence answers. I push through. Dalton catches up, and he’s shouldering past Kenny, gun in hand.
We move quickly into the living room. Diana is lying on the futon, curled on her side, blanket pulled up. I let out a sigh of relief. There’s no sign of a struggle. No sign of trauma. She’s just asleep.
Dalton heads for the stairs as I walk over saying, “Di?” I reach out and shake her shoulder. “Di? It’s me.”
She doesn’t stir. I try harder. One good hard shake, and she topples to the floor, head lolling.
“Eric!” I shout as I drop beside her, my hands flying to her neck, searching for a pulse.
“Nicole’s gone,” he says as he thunders down the stairs. His wet boots squeak as he draws up short behind me. “Her bed’s empty.”
I take one running step toward the stairs. Then I glance back at Diana.
“Nicole isn’t there,” Dalton says. “Stay with Diana. Is she knocked out?”
I drop beside her again. “I don’t know. Damn it. I can’t tell.”
He’s on the floor, hands going to her neck as I check her wrist.
“I think I feel something,” I say as I pick up a faint pulse. “Do you?”
He shakes his head and yanks a picture frame from the coffee table and holds it in front of her mouth. A light fog of condensation forms on the glass.
“Kenny!” he shouts.
Kenny’s right there. He’s been here the whole time, in the doorway, watching and waiting for instructions.
“Get Will, right?” Kenny says.
“Please,” I say. “As fast as you can. Then get everyone. Nicole’s gone.”
He takes off. I check Diana’s vital signs again, as if that breath-fog was a trick of the light. It wasn’t. She’s breathing. Her pulse is weak, though.
I shine my light on her neck. No signs of strangulation. I look around. Dalton has backed onto his haunches, and he’s holding out a teacup. I lean over and sniff. It’s an herbal blend, which makes it impossible to tell if it smells as it should.
“It’s almost empty,” Dalton says. “The cup was teetering on the edge.”
As if she’d been falling asleep fast, with just enough energy to put it back on the table.
“Sedative,” I say. “But it’s too much.”
He sedated Diana to kidnap Nicole.
Nicole’s gone.
We couldn’t protect her. He’s taken her again.
Diana twitches, reminding me I have to focus on her. Her breathing is dangerously shallow. I start CPR. Between bouts, I try to get her to regain consciousness. She doesn’t.
Our first thought is that she’s been given the sleeping pills we left for Nicole. Anders knows where they are, though, and when he arrives, he checks. Nicole’s supply hasn’t been touched.
We get Diana next door to the clinic, and as he’s assessing her, I’m digging through the drug locker. It’s secured with a heavy-duty lock, and there’s no immediate sign that anyone has broken in. I go straight to the sedatives. The box looks fine, but when I grab the stock chart, I can see exactly what’s missing.
I run back into the examination room. “You haven’t given Nicole or Shawn any benzo without marking it down, right?”
He shakes his head. “So that’s what we’ve got? Shit.”
I know enough about overdoses to understand his curse. Too many sleeping pills is rarely fatal. An OD of benzodiazepine is another matter.
“I’ll…” He trails off and then exhales. “The only remedy I even know is to pump her stomach, which I’ve never done.”
“We have instructions,” I say, grabbing the binder from the shelf. After Beth left, Dalton and I went on a research binge.
“Manuals are awesome for figuring out a new car stereo,” Anders says as he scrubs in. “Life-saving procedures are not exactly the ideal time to learn a new skill.”
“Sorry,” I say, squeezing his arm as I walk past. “Stomach pumping is one procedure you just weren’t getting volunteers for.”
He lets out a ragged chuckle and then says, “I had a beer after work.”
“Hmm?”
“I know you can smell it on me, and you’re trying to decide if you should ask how much I’ve had. You can always ask, Casey.”
“I don’t need to because you’ll always volunteer.”
Anders does drink too much. It never interferes with his job—Dalton wouldn’t allow that—but we do wish he’d cut back a little. Yet we also know why he drinks and that, maybe, if it doesn’t become a problem, there are worse ways for him to silence his demons.
We pump Diana’s stomach. Then I need to go work the scene. I don’t want to. Whatever she’s done, when I saw her unconscious on that floor, it felt the same as when I’d found her passed out from her ex’s supposed beating, right before we came to Rockton.
I still care. I’ve never pretended I didn’t, but that heart-in-throat terror reminds me how much. It won’t fix anything. Things might never be fixed, probably should never be fixed. But I care. I always will.
*