6

A few months later, I’d left, too.

Just as I began to unzip that memory while Rose was telling me what their plans were for tonight, I heard a sound.

It was one I couldn’t ignore.

One I’d been tuned in to for years.

It was the sound of someone who needed help.

My feet stopped, and I scanned the area in front of me and on both sides until I found the source. There were two men just steps inside the mouth of the alley up ahead. One was sitting on the ground, hunched forward. The other was hovering over him, trying to evoke a response.

It took less than a second to assess the situation.

My heart began to race, my hands trembling to the point where I almost dropped the phone.

The man kneeling was shaking the unconscious guy’s shoulders.

There was still no reaction from him.

My experience told me he would only get worse without a medical intervention.

He needed an EMT, and then he needed to be brought to the hospital.

It was a process I was quite familiar with.

But, even if I wanted to help him, I didn’t know if I could.

God, I needed to pull myself together.

I needed to slow down my breathing and stop my body from quivering.

To start, I blinked.

Hard.

And I saw that I was standing in the center of the sidewalk.

Frozen.

There were people moving by me in both directions.

I still had the phone pressed against my ear, and Rose was blabbing away.

I shook my head. I stared at the two men, and I forced myself to focus on what I needed to do.

“… and we’ll order some sushi—”

“Rose, I have to go,” I said, cutting her off.

I disconnected the call and filled my lungs with as much air as they could hold. Then, I willed my body to loosen enough that I could rush over to the entrance of the alley. When I got there, I said, “Do you need help?”

The guy who was kneeling quickly looked up at me. “Are you a doctor?”

There wasn’t time to tell him about all the training I’d had. Instead, I slid in next to them and lowered myself until I was at their eye-level. “I’m someone who can help. What’s his name?”

“Joe Marino.”

I pressed my fingers against the side of Joe’s wrist. “Joe?” I used a sharp, stern voice. “Joe, can you open your eyes and look at me?” His pulse was extremely slow. “What has he taken?”

“Just a lot of booze.”

I pushed Joe’s upper body until he was no longer slumped forward, and his back was resting against the building. Now that his head was lifted, I evaluated him again. His lips were beginning to turn blue. His cheeks were flushed, telling me his temperature was rising. I lifted his eyelids to see how his pupils would react to the flashlight on my phone. They were dilated.

“Are you sure that’s all he’s taken?” I asked.

Joe’s jaw slacked, and I heard crackling coming from the back of his throat.

“His wife served him with divorce papers this morning. I guess it’s possible he could have popped something before I met him at the bar. But, shit, I don’t know.”

I turned off the flashlight and brought up the keypad on my phone. “Who are you?”

“Smith Reid, his best friend.”

“When was the last time you saw him conscious?”

I kept my eyes on Joe while Smith said, “Just a minute ago. We were in the bar, and I could tell it was time for him to go home. We made it through the door, and he fell on me. I carried him over here to check him out and see what the hell was going on. You showed up a few seconds later.”

Without responding to Smith, I hit nine, one, one on my phone. Once the call was answered, I said, “I’m dispatcher eight, four, nine, nine, three, seven for Boston. I’m in an alleyway between Beacon and Fairfield Street with an unresponsive male, approximately thirty years of age, experiencing a slowed heart rate, dilated pupils, cyanosis, and a restricted airway. From my observation, he’s showing visible signs of an overdose. Please send an EMT.”

“I have an ambulance in route,” the dispatcher replied. “ETA is three minutes. What’s the male’s name?”

“Joe Marino,” I said into the phone. “He’s here with his best friend, Smith Reid. There’s full access to the alley, nothing blocking the entrance. Tell the paramedics to bring a stretcher.”

“I’ll let them know right now,” she said. “Will you be staying with Smith and Joe until the paramedics arrive?”

“Yes.”

“Then, you’re free to end the call.”

As soon as I slipped the phone into my bag, my eyes connected with Smith’s. “Can you hold up his chin? If there’s any liquid in his airway, we have to make sure he doesn’t choke on it.”

Smith moved closer to Joe’s side and positioned a hand at the base of his neck with another at the back of his head. “How long until they arrive?”

“Around two minutes.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

In training, I’d been taught to never answer questions like that. So, I kept my attention on Joe and said, “I really don’t know.”

With my hand now on his forehead, it felt warmer, and his skin was turning even clammier.

There was nothing I could do to treat him. I didn’t have any medical equipment in my purse, no Narcan or fluids.

“Do you really think he’s overdosing?”

There was so much concern in his voice. As I quickly glanced at him, there was just as much in his face.

“With no way to test him, I can’t confirm what’s happening inside his body. The only things I can confirm are his symptoms.”