…
“I took care of it, sir,” I said.
Quintin steadily looked at me, then back at Dottie. “Call the ambulance.”
“I don’t know where the phone is.”
He went to a side table and picked up the receiver of a rotary telephone. I hadn’t seen one of those in years. He dialed the number the old fashioned way and waited. “Rescue. 146 Bridge Street. My girlfriend’s unconscious. Yeah, I just got here. Yeah, there’s a kid here.” He gave me a steady look. “We’re gonna have to talk to him so bring the police.”
I stood there, my mouth open. He was going to accuse me of doing something? I had to get out of here, and fast.
“Stay right there,” said Quintin in a growly voice after he hung up the phone. I looked around, planning on getting out when the rescue came. “I know you didn’t do it.”
I stopped looking around. “You do?”
“Because I know Brian.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit down over there. You’ll have some explaining to do.”
I sat down on the chair as I heard sirens. I saw flashing lights through the windows, and took a deep breath. Who would get here first?
It seems the cops did. I could see them through the doorway to the small foyer just off the living room. He was talking quietly with the police, and I was sweating. Then the EMT’s showed up next, and went right to Dottie. “Ma’am. Ma’am.”
“Her name is Dottie,” I said.
The EMT didn’t miss a beat. “Dottie. Dottie.” He tapped her gently while his partner checked her pulse. “72, strong and steady.”
She moaned, lolled her head side to side.
“Dottie, wake up. Wake up, you have to wake up.”
“Do you know what she took?” the EMT looked at me.
“Brian said something about Oxycontin,” I said. “I don’t know what that is.”
The EMTs nodded to each other and let the gurney down. I didn’t think they could lift Dottie up onto it, but they somehow did. By this time Quintin and the cops had disappeared, and the EMT’s had a clear way to go outside. In a few minutes, sirens blared and they were off.
I bounced a little on the chair, impatient. After what seemed like an eternity, a policeman came in. By then, I had to go to the bathroom, I was so scared. He was tall, dark, and built, and reminded me of Matt a little bit.
“You’re the one who saw what happened?”
“I didn’t see what happened. I guessed it when I saw her passed out.”
“Then what did happen?”
I told him about dinner, about Brian, and about my accusing him, and how we got into a fight. I told him that Brian walked out just as Quintin came in.
“How did you know it was Oxycontin?”
“Brian mentioned it before, when Dottie came home.” I asked, “What is it, anyway?”
“A painkiller.”
“Oh.” That explained why he wanted to give it to her the moment she got home. How many times had he done this and no one knew? I knew I should have killed him.
Patience, came Grimalkin’s voice. A mage knows when the world’s resources are in motion.
My heart leapt. Grimalkin was still with me. I knew that when the spell came to me for the harbinger, and that the harbinger didn’t leap out of my control, that she must have had something to do with it. I stifled a smile while the cop wrote something. “So, Bob, how long do you think you’re staying in Salem?”
“I don’t know.” Quintin must have told him another name, and I fell right into it without stopping. “Probably through the summer.”
“Your uncle wasn’t sure.” Quintin, I owe you. He closed the notebook. “We’re going to see if we can pick up this Brian and find out anything from him.”
The other cop walked in, Quintin leading him. “Kitchen’s right this way,” he said.
“Joe, come in here.”
The cop talking to me lifted his head and went into the kitchen. Quintin opened cupboards and the two cops peeked inside, not touching anything. “The junk drawer,” I offered, and they opened that. Quintin rummaged through it and shook his head. “Nope.”
They looked through a few more things and then Quintin led them upstairs. I stayed downstairs, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway of the kitchen and the living room. They eventually came down. “She needs those pills,” Quintin said. “And if they’re on him – that is, if he didn’t sell ‘em, I want them back.”
“I can’t guarantee that, sir,” the cop said. “We would have to keep them as evidence.”
Quintin didn’t look happy as the cops left. He closed the door, then turned to me. “Get your crap, you’re coming with me.”
“I don’t really have anything,” I said, walking to the door. “It’s in her car.”
He waited until I walked out, and then he stood in the doorway for a minute. He turned on the outside light and brushed his hand against the door frame before shutting the door and making sure it was locked. The lights were still on inside.
Quintin escorted me to his car, a rather beat up nondescript Chevy-something. “I don’t trust you enough to leave you there alone.”
“I understand.” I climbed into the passenger side and started to buckle up.
“Besides, you and me have to talk.” He turned to look at me when he got into the driver’s seat. “Bob.”
927 words.