Marc plucked the note out of Jamie’s pocket and studied the drug that the psychiatrist had prescribed. “It’s a mild antidepressant, and the dosage is quite low. Are you going to take it?”
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not an addictive drug, but I don’t know if I can put it in my body without losing my shit.”
“How did you take heroin?”
“What?”
“Heroin. You injected it, right?”
“Um...” Jamie swallowed thickly. “Yeah, you know I did.”
“This is just a tiny tablet. It won’t feel the same.”
“Won’t it?”
Marc glanced at the drug again. “This type of medication takes a while to be absorbed and take effect—a few months, at least. It’s nothing like the instant gratification you’re afraid of.”
Jamie hummed absently.
Marc squeezed his arm. “What about the rest of it? When does the CBT start?”
“A week. Apparently getting referred by you puts a rocket up the usual waiting times. I’m not complaining, though. I think I’m ready to deal with this now... I wasn’t in California. I was so focussed on staying clean—on surviving, you know?”
“And you did survive. Time to start living, eh?”
Jamie smiled, and Marc’s twelve-hour stint on his feet faded away. Over the last week or so, they’d wound up in bed at every opportunity, but more than that, their eccentric routine had solidified into a life that Marc could hardly remember not living. Jamie was there when he woke up, and when he went to sleep, and Marc couldn’t imagine it any other way.
“Is your shift over?”
“Just about—” The pager on Marc’s hip went off. “Shit. That’s a blue call.”
“A what?”
But Marc didn’t have time to explain. The code on the pager indicated that the air ambulance needed a trauma specialist for an emergency call. “I’ve got to go. Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course. Are you? Do you need me to do anything?”
“No.” Marc was already backing away. “Go home, or whatever you need to do. I’ll find you later and we’ll talk it out properly?”
Jamie nodded. “Call me when you’re done and I’ll meet you wherever you want me to be.”
It was the best promise that Marc had ever heard. His prosthesis was starting to pinch, but as he raced to the nearest phone to touch base with the air ambulance control centre, he felt no pain. Just a few more hours, and he’d have Jamie in his arms for the rest of the day.
* * *
“What’s your name?”
It was the third time Marc had asked the young man sprawled out on the train tracks, but this time he got a flicker of a response. Green eyes fluttered open and finally found focus.
“That’s it, buddy,” Marc pressed. “Look at me. My name’s Marc, I’m a doctor with the ambulance service. We’re going to get you up and into the chopper, but I need to ask you some questions first, okay?”
The young man blinked. With his jaw in such a mess, Marc took it as a cue to continue. “What’s your name?”
“Ludo.”
“Ludo?”
The young man blinked again and gestured weakly to his pocket. Marc followed his direction and retrieved a battered wallet from his jeans. The driving licence identified the young man as Ludovico Giordano, an Italian name for a lad whose hair was as light as Jamie’s was dark. “All right, Ludo, mate. Looks like you’ve taken a bit of a tumble onto these train tracks. They’re not live, so don’t worry about being electrocuted, but you’ve busted yourself up pretty bad. Do you remember how you fell down the embankment?”