“You should get up to bed. Rest some,” I told him.
“Too many fucking flights of stairs in this place. I’m sleeping right here until I’ve healed up a bit.” Lying back, arms wrapped around his torso, he sprawled himself on the three-seater, lifting his legs up onto the cushions, and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Eating seemed to have taken it out of him. Really taken it out of him. His face was even paler than before, and that clammy sweat had returned, beading on his forehead.
“You’re looking pretty gray, Sully. Do you think you can be cordial for a couple of minutes while I check your temperature?”
“Sure. As long as you don’t try to stick a thermometer up my ass.”
“I promise, that’s the very last thing I plan on doing.” I had no idea where his first aid kit was, and I hadn’t brought the one from The Big House with me, so I went old school and used the back of my hand, pressing it against his forehead.
“I’m sure that’s really accurate,” Sully grumbled.
“Accurate enough to tell me that you’re burning up. Jesus, Sully, you should never have left the medical center. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I had a better chance of survival at home, where Gale couldn’t shoot me up with adrenalin instead of morphine by accident.”
“Yeah, well. I suppose that’s a good point.” Rushing back into the kitchen, I grabbed a clean dishcloth from one of the drawers and ran it under the cold tap before taking it back into the living room with me. Sully’s chest was rising up and down so fast, it looked as if he’d just run a full marathon. I held the cool, wet material to his forehead, keeping it in place when he tried to push it out of the way. His arms were made of rubber, though—easy to fend off. He didn’t seem to have any strength left in his body at all.
“Can you call Ronan, please? Tell him I need him to come get me? I’m sorry, Mags, I shouldn’t have drunk so much.” He was slurring like he had been drinking. Way more than two glasses of whiskey. More like he’d drunk the whole bottle.
“Sully? Hey, Sully, can you sit up for me?”
“Not really.” He tried, though, gave it a valiant attempt. He strained, flexing his abs, rocking forward, and then he howled in pain, eyes shooting open, what little color that was left in his face draining to leave him ghostly white. “Oh, shit,” he hissed. “That was dumb.” He seemed to have returned to himself, but when he looked up at me, pupils swallowing his irises in the darkening room, he looked like he was vanishing again just as quickly.
Frowning up at me, he reached up with one hand, fingers outstretched. “You…you’re not her, are you?”
“I’m Lang.” I shook my head, correcting myself. “I’m Ophelia. Remember?” He looked hazy, like he couldn’t really hear what I was saying properly.
I got my cell phone out of my bag and dialed Rose’s number as quickly as I could. She answered on the fourth ring. “Hey, O. Kids are fed and watered. Amie’s already passed out, and Connor’s reading his book in bed. You on your way back?
“No, actually, I’m still at Sully’s.”
“He’s not at the medical center?”
“No, he refused to stay there apparently. Long story. Listen, I’m not really sure what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he was lucid when I got here but he’s burning up now, and he’s pretty confused. He asked me to call Ronan to come get him and take him home.”
“You should call the medical center. Have Collin come get him in the ambulance or something.”
“I was going to, but I was there earlier and there were posters everywhere saying out-of-hours treatment was only available Monday through Thursday until nine. And it’s Friday.”
“Shit, you’re right.”
“I can’t believe you guys don’t have a proper emergency room here, Rose. It’s so damned dangerous!”
“I know, I know, let me think.”
I’d been watching Sully the whole time I was speaking to Rose, but I turned away for a moment now, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and my index finger, so he couldn’t see how freaked out I was. He might not know which way was up, but he still didn’t need to see me panicking this hard. I was about to ask Rose if there was even a doctor on the Causeway I could drive Sully to, but then I heard a wet, retching sound behind me and I didn’t get the chance.
Sully was balled up on his side, curled as small as he could go, and he was throwing up onto his plain cream rug.
“Ahh, Jesus. I have to go Rose. He’s puking. I’ll call you back in a sec.” I hung up, and dropped to my knees, narrowly avoiding the mess he’d made.