Storms 01 - Family Storms

them into another realm, and if I did hear Mr. March talk about cousins and uncles, it was always in reference to some fear that theywould be asking for money. I had never fully realized until now how lonely the three of them really were. They barely had each other, and now it was possible that after losing their younger daughter, they would lose their older one, too. As miserable as Kiera could be, she still filled some of the empty places in their lives. Their home was too kind to tragic memories. It welcomed them. They would never go away. They could live forever in the dark, empty hallways and rooms. Every shadow would protect a ghost, and there were already too many there.
    “She’ll be all right,” I said.
    Mrs. March nodded softly. “Why does she have to go to drugs for a good time? Why could she never see how dangerous it is?”
    I didn’t know what to say to her. We both sat sipping our drinks and waiting. At one point, she looked as if she had fallen asleep. I was very tired, too, but I wouldn’t close my eyes.
    I lost track of time, but finally, Mr. March, looking exhausted and defeated, that tall, self-confident posture gone, came into the lounge. His face was ashen. She looked up quickly.
    “Mat Kindle is examining her,” he said. Then he noticed me. “I got Deidre aside before the police returned for her and the others,” he said. “What more can you tell us about this?”
    “She wasn’t there, Donald.”
    “I know, but she might know something,” he said. “Something more. Well?”
    I told him all that Ricky had told me about the party. Iused his words to describe why Kiera had wanted the drug. I made a special effort not to sound happy or satisfied.
    He nodded. “That’s more or less how Deidre described it. She told me the rest, too,” he added.
    “What rest?” Mrs. March asked.
    “It appears Sasha was telling us the truth about it all. They did a very cruel, sick thing to her at Kiera’s bidding, I’m afraid.” He turned to me. “I’ll look into how we can get that tattoo off you.”
    I saw the mixed feelings in Mrs. March’s face. She was happy for me but devastated about Kiera.
    “We’ve got changes to make after this is over,” Mr. March said. “Everything got out of hand. It’s my fault. You were always right, Jordan. I’m sorry.”
    She started to cry. He went to her and held her. The two of them looked destroyed. Every part of me wanted to feel good, to feel vindicated and happy about their misery, but I couldn’t stop myself from crying, too. Alena was there in me, I thought. I moved over on the sofa and found Mrs. March’s hand. Mr. March looked at me, and then the two of them embraced me.
    It was the way the doctor found us.
    The three of us looked up at him.
    “She took a severe dosage of this crap,” he began. He was a short, stocky man with a dark brown mustache but a nearly bald head. I thought he looked more like one of those professional wrestlers on television, even in his suit and tie.
    “What is it, exactly?” Mr. March asked.
    “Technically, gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, known onthe street as GHB or just G. It looks like plain water, but if you tasted it, you’d immediately know it wasn’t. So there’s no chance it was a mistake unless someone snuck it into a drink. That happens, but I don’t think so this time.”
    “No, it didn’t. You’re right, Mat,” Mr. March said.
    “Why do they take it?” Mrs. March asked.
    Dr. Kindle laughed. “You have a few days to hear the sociological and psychological explanations for the drug culture? Kids are taking it because it makes them feel energetic, sensual, intoxicated. They grow talkative, high. They even call it Liquid Ecstasy. People who take it often pass out. That’s not unusual with this junk. In street talk, that’s ‘carpeting out’ or ‘scooping out.’ It has a dramatic effect on respiration. If they hadn’t gotten Kiera here quickly, she would most surely have died.”
    “How is she now?” Mrs. March asked in a soft, frightened voice.
    “We have her breathing stabilized. I can’t tell you exactly how much longer she’ll remain in this coma, but it’s usually not for days or weeks. In most cases, it’s hours. We’re moving her to a private room, and I have a private nurse there already, Donald. We’ll need to do a full evaluation of her, of course, and see if there has been any other organ damage. This is one of those drugs there are not enough statistics on, because